#orgasms galore

[breelynnxoxoxo]

NEED I SAY MORE?? 💕💕💕

#more orgasms #orgasms galore #mind blowing #pictures of you do me

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Hello hello my talented friend 🫶

Well I want to know about ALL of them, butttt let’s go for:

Chiaroscuro (I’m guessing regency Benedict?)

And

Prussia (I’m sort of getting A and B vibes from this one, but I’m guessing Benedict again?)

I hope they both are alright in these fics, cos you know I’m a total wuss who can’t handle them being injured or dying 🫣 I just want to see them happy and orgasming all the time tbh. Ok that sounds unintentionally creepy but ykwim… 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, sorry, please tell me about those two WIPs 😁🧡🧡

Hello to you my 3k queen 👑

Bahahahaaa you'll be glad to know that you chose two stories without death and injury (but maybe just a lil bit of the supernatural variety 😉) I know that you want the boys alive and enjoying themselves hehehehe. Don't worry, B is enjoying himself very much in both of these fics...

Chiaroscuro is my Vampedict story, you found it! 🧛‍♂️ This will be posted in the week leading up to Halloween and I'm keeping the deets under wraps, but I'll give you a snippy to sink your teeth into 😏

"Something sparked behind your eyelids as his mouth descended on yours, wiping your mind blank and tensing every muscle. You were certain you had been electrified. Then his lips moved, hungrily exploring yours as he groaned under his breath. If this was just another dream you had lapsed into, you were going to take full advantage of it. You kissed him back, gasping his name, thrilling at the taste and feel of him and trying to sear it all into your memory. His hands roved from your face to your neck to your hips, pulling you flush against his body, pressing into you with undeniable desire. Despite his actions, a chill ran through your limbs. The autumn air was invasive."

Prussia is a 2am fever dream idea that is planned for my Benophie smut series but actually contains a twist! Benophie are indeed getting down and dirty on a trip to Prussia. But they aren't the only ones. I bet you can guess who the other couple may be...😏

Thank you for the ask! 💙

#answers from el #don't worry #orgasms galore in these ones

[ugh-yoongi]

a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly. 

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway).  When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and…  “Kissing,” she says finally.  “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.”  He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines.   “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”  Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion. 

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt.  “Yeah—want you, Joon.”  “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”  “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her.  Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does.  She hates that he’s right.  Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides.  It’s perfect.  Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy.  “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster.  “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing.  When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes

[yandere-kokeshi]

Warnings: yandere sub and NSFW

My favorite type of yandere (and one I don't write much LOL) is the subby, worshipping type that just won't leave you alone.

They are always doing their best to please you; househusband/wife duties flowing in their blood.

They'll do anything to please you — kiss your feet, lick the floor upon which you walk, and overall beg for attention. Any attention you give them has them purring, groaning in love.

And let's not forget about the oral galore sex. They always make sure to please you first, giving you oral till you cum a few times as they expressly show their dedication to you; humping the end of the bed as their boxers are coated with their own cum.

Just as you finish from your high, they politely decline when you ask them to come over — shaking their head, and the shy voice of, "You don't have to please me!" After they finish your nth orgasm, and seemingly ensure that you don't have to waste your breath on showing them appreciation.

But how can they say no? Your hands are so gentle, already making your way down to their sensitive body. Playing with their sex, and biting their neck till they are whining.

And when they're about to cum, heart pupils magically appear, and they cling to you closer — tears and desperate gasps escaping from their lips as they scream that they love you.

#kokeshi!! #kokeshi rambles! #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere #yandere sub #yandere worshipper #yandere x you #yandere smut #yandere thoughts #yandere ideas #sub yandere

[amourcheol]

paris

❝You and Jeonghan, jazz-filled corners, hidden history, and the city of love.❞

old hollywood! au | exes to lovers! au | angst, fluff, smut | 50k words

s u m m a r y : disgraced by hollywood for the last time, you, a once superstar-turned-alcoholic, escape to the city of love to seek sanctuary from the ruthless tabloids. your sanctuary comes in the form of film noir superstar yoon jeonghan, the enigmatic man who taught you the art of acting, lust and love before your fame. when he asks to meet you once, just like old times, you cannot refuse. what is meant to be a simple date turns into a path of passion, pain and everything that comes with fooling around with your ex in the jazz-filled corners of paris. 

c o n t e n t s : actor! mc, actor! jeonghan, mc is bitter and makes bad decisions, agent! seungkwan who is tired of fixing them, jeonghan is the suavest, sultriest mf, mentions of parisian landmarks in this fic during the golden hollywood era, also a bit of french peppered throughout, greek mythology art references, tons of fluff which is also layered with angst, quite hurt-comfort mature warnings -> alcohol consumption and abuse, smoking, this is basically sexual tension with plot, making out, oral sex (f. receiving) unprotected sex (refer point to bad decisions), multiple orgasms, jeonghan worships mc fr, praises galore, slightly angsty love-making, basically this is going to be an emotional rollercoaster 

p l a y l i s t : here!

t a g l i s t : at the bottom of the fic

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e : she is here...finally...longer author’s note at the bottom of the fic but RIP to y’alls tumblr on mobile </3 thank you for reading and thank you ysl jeonghan you will always be the most iconic mf on the planet !! anyways enjoy <33

THE LOS ANGELES MIRROR, 28TH SEPTEMBER, 1954

_____ SEEN FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER FOX SCANDAL AT LAX!

Scandalised Princess of Hollywood was finally spotted after a week, hurrying into Los Angeles International Airport in the early hours of the morning!

The last time we reported on her was to announce Fox Productions terminating her contract after having a vicious altercation with her movie director and producer. As if showing up on set drunk and high out of your mind is not enough, but lashing your tongue out at the big boys? Our Princess has exceeded too many limits within her Kingdom, and is now running away like a traitor! 

We bring exclusive photos of her interacting with our reporters just before airport security stopped us—though, judging by the expression on her face, and the message on her hand, she may not be too pleased to see us…

We wonder, readers, where she plans to run away. Some sources say that she may look for sanctuary in New York, but there is a likelihood that she may be crossing the Atlantic! Our colleagues in London and Paris anticipate her arrival, but who knows? Maybe our disgraced actress has places even the most shrewd of our reporters cannot find.

Worry not, though, readers! We will bring more news should she be brave enough to show herself in public again!

In the meantime, read on to see which famous superstar has just landed in Paris for his world-class premier…!

YOU ALWAYS WONDERED WHETHER ONE COULD SLEEP FOREVER.

Not die—death was too serious. Death meant going somewhere else, confronting your entire life within seconds. Death was excruciating, death was isolation, death was the end.

But sleep? Sleep could be forever, but it was temporary. You knew that if you slept, you would always wake up. No matter what happened to you the night before, your eyes would open to the morning light breaking through your curtained-windows. 

This time, you wished you did not see such light.

The morning sunshine glared through the heavy lids of your eyes, using all its strength to try and snap open your eyes. You remained stubborn, turning away from the window. Your fingertips lazily held a curved glass, not quite sure what it contained.

Red wine. From last night.

Red wine, which had no doubt stained your bedsheets. 

You let out a low, sluggish curse, holding onto your dirty champagne glass. Yes, sleep could be forever, and it was precisely that fact which made you wish you were slumbering once more.

However, exterior forces always found a way to sneak past your already weak defences. 

Exterior forces like the beginning of the new day, refusing to let you stay in the refuge of the night. Exterior factors like the damning thoughts of your mind, reminding you of how disastrously you could have messed up the night before.

Exterior forces like a jug-full of ice cold water thrown at your face. 

The moment the water hit your face you let out a shocked screech, flinching all over as you snapped open your eyes. A high-pitched fuck! flew from your mouth as you sat up, creasing at the soreness of your muscles, still reeling from the few-hours sleep you managed to salvage. The moment you gained consciousness the worst possible headache tormented you, and you had to hold your head in your hands, groaning at the cold tingling your skin. Of course, your hangover would come crashing now, numbing your brain.

“Be thankful I did not fill up the entire jug,” was the icy snarl you were greeted with.

You groaned at the voice, slowly turning your head to face the man who was hell-bent on murdering you. “One day, Seungkwan,” you rasped out, coughing immediately afterwards, “Someone is going to punch you in the face, and I will watch and laugh at you.” 

He towered over your crumbling figure as he stood at the edge of your bed. “Why stop at punching me? I wish someone would put a gun to my head and blast my brains out!” He brought his hands to his hips, holding a folded newspaper. “At least then I won’t have to witness your daily screw-ups!”

“What are you talking about?” you mumbled, blinking back to clear your hazy vision. When you craned your head back, your agent’s glare had you recoiling. “God, don’t do that to your face…not a good look on you.”

The glare soured even more. “Be angry? Go to Hell, ______! I have every right to be angry at you!” 

“What have I done this time?”

“Only gone and left this goddamn room, drunk enough to be jailed for indecency!” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if reliving a rather painful memory. “One of the receptionists off duty brought you back here and reported it to me! 

“Oh…I see.”

“That is it? Just an I see? My God, I should be paid more for this!” He pointed to the entrance. “You know the receptionist was about to report you for indecent behaviour! I had to shut her up with a couple hundred dollars! Do you know how much that is in francs?” 

You were about to guess a wildly wrong answer. 

“That was a rhetorical question!” He crowed. “I doubt you would have known the answer anyway, seeing as you enjoy spending these francs more than taking them into account!”

“Whatever,” you muttered, raising your knees so you could hug your legs. “What is done is done.”

“Don’t whatever me,” he snapped, slapping the newspaper he held down on the bedside table. “You do nothing but get drunk—” A pointed finger towards the empty glass— “Waste yourself away in your room, and when you somehow have the will to try and do your job, you always do something to screw it up! You need to just—ugh!” He stopped himself, looking away as he swept a hand through his hair, blazer rising. 

You knew he wanted to go on—you knew he was stopping himself, if only to save the scraps of dignity that still resided within you. You looked at the empty bottles scattered in your room, along with the tabloids, pages open to the columns which wrote about you from weeks ago.

“Did you get an answer for the chemistry read?” 

Seungkwan seemed to have an infinite amount of glowers in his arsenal. “Do not get me started on your fucking chemistry read.”

Your confusion had him breathing through his nose. “They said to me, and I quote, ‘Don’t ever let her inside the audition house again’.”

You had the nerve to chuckle. 

“Laugh at your failure one more time, and I’ll throw water at you again.”

That killed off any amusement.

Your dear agent, and apparent dearer friend sighed. “Get your act together, _____,” he said, crossing your arms as he turned on his heel, navigating through the rubbish you had compiled in your room. “Goodness sake, _____, this is a five star hotel! Could you treat it as such?! If those damned reporters saw the state of your room…” he shuddered. “The poor housekeeping staff…”

“Don’t you start judging me,” you sneered. “I have enough of it from the press.”

Seungkwan pursed his lips. “You are fortunate that the press have not seen you once here. God forbid some late-night reporter saw you stumbling in the Ritz halls instead…they would have eaten you alive.”

You furrowed your brows. 

The two of you knew that the media would have released something horrendous about you, regardless of whether you were drunk and disorderly, or sober and charismatic. You were not fortunate to have avoided them—you were skillful. You would have died than catch yourself in front of the cameras in this city.

Even if you nearly caused a blunder yesterday.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan began, glancing at his watch.

“Oh, so you can say ‘whatever’ to me, but I am not allowed?”

A scathing look. 

“I can, dear _____, because I do not have consequences to bear, since I do not commit such stupid actions. You are wasting away in a five-star hotel you cannot afford, you are butchering auditions you need to resume your career, and you are drinking and rotting in your room when you should be finding a way to climb out of this scandal!” 

When he saw your stunned expression, he let out a harsh breath. “Or maybe you can throw me a goddamn bone, and actually try to help yourself! God knows I am trying to get you out of the mess you have created.” 

Well—suppose he could not stop himself.

The silence that followed his declarations had you shifting uncomfortably on your bed. When you continued to avert his gaze, he shook his head, realising that you will not do a thing about your problems. 

You hated when he did that—as if you were solely responsible for your downfall.

“Right.” He dusted at his blazer, looking to the door. “I have a few calls to make before I go to the Louvre this evening.”

That had your brow raising. “The Louvre? That is a bit random, no?”

“Well, if you have dragged me to this god-awful city, then I suppose I better explore it.” When you opened your mouth, he cut you off, “And no, you cannot come with me.” He raised his finger to quieten you once again. “No, no! I refuse to have a dozen reporters following after me every time I look at an old stone.”

You gaped at him in disbelief. “So you’re just…leaving me here?!”

His saccharine smile hit a nerve. “You and I both know I am not leaving you here…you seem to stay here just fine on your own!”

You scowled. “I hope the press catches you in the Louvre.”

“I will be sure to send them your way, then!”

He earned a harsh groan from you, gesturing towards the entrance. “Get out, Seungkwan!” 

“With pleasure,” he simpered, making his way to the door. “Do not forget the readings for next week!” 

“Whatever!”

His eyes never left yours, souring with your reply as he twisted the doorknob, opening the entrance. “Whatever to you too!” 

And he was out of the door before you could curse him outright. 

When you were sure he would not bother you again, you quickly grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine, unscrewing the cap. 

With no regrets you indulged in the alcohol, hoping it would soothe your hangover even if you knew acutely well that it never did.

So what if Seungkwan did not wish to enjoy the museum with you? To Hell with him—you can admire the art quite perfectly by yourself. 

But to go outside…

That was the one great difficulty.

You sneaked a glance at the window, grimacing at the sun brightly shining on its Parisian subjects. 

Your agent was right—you were fortunate to avoid the press this far.

The last time they caught you was in LA, and once again, there was something positive at play when they could not figure out the destination of your flight. It had been more than a couple of weeks staying in the Ritz, and still, you had managed to evade them at every corner in the central parts of the city. Though you would never admit this to him, staying at the five-star hotel was not the smartest decision, with its luxury and grandeur and horrendous fees, but you could not help yourself—you needed to feel like a famous actress.

You needed to feel like a star once more.

Of course, those days were becoming more like distant memories. 

Seething, you finished your bottle, slapping it atop the bedside table.

Heaving from your bed, you trudged to your window, swiping the curtains to a close. 

Because of your actions, you could not go outside in the daytime. Yes, you may be safe now, but that wish to roam freely under the sun without the prying eyes of others—it was impossible. If the journalists ever caught you in Paris, you knew that you would not be able to garner the raging, resentful attitude you had back home. This time, you would crumble under the camera flashes, the constant shouting, and be forever the actress that was blacklisted by one of the biggest production companies in Hollywood.

You could have forgiven the press for ruining Los Angeles for you.

You could never excuse them for trying to ruin Paris.

So, with your eyes heavy-lidded and your heart incredibly bitter, you thundered to a certain spot under your bed, bringing out another bottle of wine. 

With your prospects at an all-time low, you unscrewed the cap and continued your journey to intoxication.

THE LOUVRE WAS ALWAYS MORE BEAUTIFUL IN THE NIGHT.

You had never noticed it before, but with half the lights dimmed, no sneaking eyes to prey on your every move—the vast museum had become a safe-haven to your sluggish movements.

Perhaps the guards should have noticed a drunk, failing actress and stopped her in her routes, but none batted an eye as you sauntered in from one of the less popular entrances. Of course, you feigned your best nonchalant, sober appearance, and it seemed to have worked a charm. 

At least your acting talents had not vanished with your fame.

You were hit with the vast collections at the very beginning, artworks and objects from all corners of the world. With every step there was another artifact—broken stone aged from the 2nd century BC, a medieval portrait of some foreign king, carpets embroidered in the age of the Ottomans. 

You did not care for these specific wonders.

No, you walked on, a slight determination in your step as you walked past the earlier Egyptian wonders, the Greek and Roman antiquities as you turned a right, finding yourself in the more modern sections. Even so, paintings had never fascinated you as much as other mediums. Paintings, you found, could be celebrated regardless of the amount of work one applied onto the image. Whether it was Renaissance masterwork, or simple rebellious lines of paint over an empty canvas, both could be deemed masterpieces.

What was undisputed, though, was the sheer talent of the sculptors.

Your eyes gazed over the vast, open room. 

Ah!

The marble columns were in their dozens, etched to the sides of the hall as they arched over onto the ceiling. Underneath them scattered an abundance of white sculptures—scenes from mythology, depictions of Roman generals or early modern emperors were settled together, as if they were all linked by the marble from which they were birthed. 

You could not help taking the hasty steps forward, admiring the citizens of marble. You admitted that you did not like art much, but these people before you were something else entirely. They were full of life, given the breath of the human soul, yet were completely lifeless. They looked exactly like you, had limbs like yours, exposed happiness, grief, anger identical to you, but they were frozen, as if paused in their ministrations.

They were the only bodies that could not judge you. 

Closing up on a closer sculpture, admiring the physique of the Greek god, your sight further wandered, trying to find a particular piece that you used to admire many years ago. You distinctly remembered the piece depicting gods too, male and female—you could not recall their names, but the first time you had witnessed such a work, you had been completely shaken. You bit your lip, trying to recollect its location.

You knew it had to be in this room. 

The specific sculpture, which you had seen in the very height of your fame—the very centre of your happiness. 

Steps quickening a little, you focused on each carved figure—no, no, no, you repeated in your mind, the memories stagnant. However, you were certain that the piece had been here the last time you had entered the museum.

The man who was with you that time made sure you witnessed such a sculpture. 

A smile as ghost-like as the memory etched onto your lips. 

Your gaze scoured the room, catching the far-right corner, right next to the hall entrance.

There. 

The sculpture was supposed to be there.

But the work of art was not present.

No—instead of two lifeless figures, there was a living being standing in its place.

You blinked.

The figure’s back was to you—clad in black, your stare struggling to distinguish the details. Fully silhouetted from you, you decided to take a step forward, your heeled-boots making much too loud a noise.

The phantom turned around.

You felt the world sway beneath you.

That was a face you could recognise in any corner of the world—forget the old walls of this gallery. 

It was the man of your memories.

Memories of a long time ago, too long ago, when you were young and wild and free and alive. Your hallucinations had outdone themselves this time, with the way they portrayed the figure of your past. He looked just as he had done the last time you had stepped in this gallery—half of his midnight hair swept under a beret of the same colour, burgundy trench-coat half buttoned, tied at the front. His face was blurry still, but you could not mistake his dark eyes. 

Dark, intense, mystical eyes that were rooted to you.

Perhaps this was delirium—consequences of the alcohol, repercussions of dreaming up times of your past which did not bring great despair. This man before you, not ten feet from you, was not real. He was simply a figment of your imagination, because a man like that did not exist in the spheres of your existence.

Not anymore. 

Shaking your head, you took a step forward.

The apparition took a step backward.

Ah. You smiled. Staying away from you. As ghosts always do.

With great hesitancy, you continued, walking ever so slowly towards the vision.

The vision, in turn, took the exact amount of steps opposite from you. 

Continuing this strange game, you lead the apparition back into the maze of sculptures. So bizarre, the way he perfectly circled each piece, as if he was aware of every marble-figure that rested in the room. One step forward, one step back—one heel of yours that progressed, one boot of his that receded. 

The longer this went on, the quicker your pace became, the quicker he matched it. It almost became a fool’s errand, swirling around the marble spectators as they watched your fruitless flight with melancholy stares. You scowled as you saw the only moving eyes dancing underneath the limited moonlight.

Your visions of madness were beginning to aggravate you.

Soon, you were back in the place that the fated sculpture was supposed to be, the exit behind you. The vision stood amidst the floods of sculptures, you refusing to accept who was teasing the chase. 

You had had enough. 

With one last look at the dream-like illusion, you turned to exit, run out from the gallery to escape your past. 

It was at that moment that the past caught you. 

“Tired of me again, chérie?”

You stilled. 

The entire room, the world stilled, more frozen than the statues around you.

When you truly comprehended the origins of the voice, you whirled around. All thoughts abandoned you the second you truly saw the apparition.

Good God. That was not some apparition. 

You could barely speak.

“J-Jeonghan?”

Yoon Jeonghan. The most famous actor in the world.

He smiled a little, and everything came crashing back—God, he looked so different, yet the exact same since the last time you had seen him. Granted, he dominated every television screen, every cinema theatre, so you never really escaped his existence, but it had been eons since he graced you with his physical presence. 

What had not changed in the slightest was his undeniable charm; he was as beautiful as he was the last time he was in front of you, more so after all these years. He had grown exquisitely into his features—his cheek bones heightened, his soft, delicate nose, coral lips stretching wider the further you examined him. His eyes—his magical, arched eyes—glimmered in the moonlight which shone through the huge windows. A few of his stray locks freed themselves from his beret, accentuating his tenderness—a feature which never left his face.

For a moment, you saw the twenty year old boy, fresh out of drama school, outside of the audition house.

For a second, you forgot why you were here in the first place.

“Bonjour, _____.”

You did not have the voice to greet him back.

Not when you realised the situation the second he said your name—who you were, why the hell you were in this city in the first place. 

Shit.

You could not do this today.

Suddenly, you wished he was a mere figment of your imagination, because then he would not have to see you in your drunken, disordered state, looking for art that was not there, looking for the past in the present.

But then he began to move.

This very real presence walked closer to you, and you felt your entire body constricting, because Yoon Jeonghan was in front of you. The greatest star in the world was approaching you, the man of your distant memories was coming too close.

“Wait,” he then said, and your throat was closing up, you were blinking rapidly, chest growing heavy, and you needed him to get away. He came closer, and you knew then and there you were going to die on the cold floor of the Louvre, marble eyes on you—

And then your own gaze was glistening, and when he noticed it became harder to contain yourself. “_____, are you all right?”

“Yes!” you got out, but then you proved yourself wrong when a few tears slipped out, staining your cheeks.

The man wasted no time, closing the last space between the two of you as he reached out. Instantly, you repelled from his touch, almost flinching from his surprise. “No!” you rasped out, bringing out your own hands to create distance, taking a step back. “No, you don’t need to do that…I’m fine.” 

You breathed sharply through your nose. “I am fine.”

Hastily you turned to the empty space where he last was, before you followed him like a madwoman around the hall. He watched you, your back almost to him. “What…what are you…” you paused, trying to normalise your shaking voice. “What are you doing here?”

You could feel his inquisitive stare upon you. “I could ask you the same thing.”

That question was not being answered. “I asked you first.”

Because you could not see him, you were not aware of his reaction. Still, it was enough for him to answer, “Well, in the Louvre, or in Paris?”

You gritted your teeth at that. “I think everyone knows why you’re in Paris at the moment.”

“Do they, now?”

You could not help it.

Casting a momentary glance at him, you were taken aback to find his gaze upon you. “Are you aware, at least?” he asked you.

Despite his simple questions, your impending headache, you had to clamp down on your remarks. “Of course I’m aware,” you muttered. “The papers are all over the press tours you’ve been doing.”

A perfectly groomed brow arched at your comment. “I’m surprised you follow the papers at the moment.” 

You knew exactly what he meant. “One must keep check of the stories they gossip about,” you only said, focusing back on the empty space. “Those journalists cannot be trusted.”

“Hmm…” you heard shuffling amongst his clothes—no doubt crossing his arms. “I have read the stories.”

A scoff. “I suppose you believe them, don’t you?”

He noted the cruelty in your response. The actor did not take it to heart.

“I have always believed in the stories you told me, chérie.”

This time, curiosity controlled your movement.

Curiosity had you turning back, forcing you to observe his expression, catch his lie. 

But you found no deception.

No, there was only sincerity—pure as the moonlight shining on the two of you.

Chérie.

The last time someone had called you such a sweet name was a lifetime ago.

How ironic, that it was the same man beside you who had bestowed you this very endearment.

A shuddered breath left you. 

You could not do this now.

You were going to say as much when Jeonghan interrupted you.

“Were you looking for something in here?”

Your furrowed brows had him humming. “I thought as much.” Gently, he jerked his head beyond your figure. “Strangely enough, I was looking for it as well.”

Confused, you glanced back at the empty space, where that certain, mysterious sculpture was supposed to be. “That is why I came to the Louvre,” you heard him say.

There was still suspicion laced in your features. “How do you know that we are thinking of the same piece?”

That ghost of a smile crept up again. “You act as if you don’t remember.”

Your sigh was sheepish. “I do,” you said, reminiscing on the memories. “But the name…”

No matter how hard you endeavoured, your memory of the sculpture, and its identity, was too hazy for your half-drunk mind. 

You searched him for an answer. “I’m sure you have not forgotten.”

“No…I have not.”

You waited. His silence had you insisting, “Well?”

When you saw a slight glimmer in his whimsical gaze, you knew that he had something else in mind. The implications had you biting your lower lip, anxiety blooming.

The nerves grew when Jeonghan spoke.

“I will tell you if you see me tomorrow.”

You blinked back.

“There’s an exhibition opening here tomorrow afternoon,” he continued, taking a step towards you, careful not to startle you again. “It’s centred on the sculpture we both wanted to see, but it’s been moved to another hall.”

He confused you a great amount. “How do you know that?”

His stare went beyond you, to the wall. “It says on the plaque.”

Sure enough—when you looked back, there was the notice. Because your French was adequate at best, you did not understand it fully. You simply had to trust his linguistic abilities.

That you could do—you were aware of Jeonghan’s fluency in the language of love. 

He cocked his head, a few strays cascading the side of his face. “You and I could see it there.”

The offer had shaken you. “Why?”

“Why?”

You knitted your brows suspiciously. “Why do you want to go with me?”

The film noir star watched you then, you shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny. God, you forgot how intense his eyes were—in fairness, you had not been the subject of his stares for a few years. 

He locked his gloved hands behind his back. “Because you need a break, _____. From everything.”

He offered you a smile. “Let me be the one to give you that. If only for the day.”

You could have crumbled before him.

It was at this stage you cursed yourself for being in such a state. Perhaps if you were sober, you would have carried on this conversation in a more respectable manner, taken more caution.

It was incredibly difficult, composing yourself around the man.

“I can’t…” you inhaled sharply, trying to form the words. “I cannot do midday…too many people, you know…staring, judging…”

“Ah.” He nodded, parting his mouth in thought. “Then tomorrow night?”

Stretching your mouth, unsure, he assured, “They will not follow you here at this hour.”

“How are you so sure of that?”

This time, he sighed, surprised at your anxiousness. “I see you’ve not changed, then.”

You narrowed your gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

But the actor did not seem like he was going to elaborate. 

He instead took another step towards you, a mere two feet left. 

“Do you trust me?”

You tilted your head back. 

What kind of question was that?

Do you trust me?

You did not trust anyone. Not after this whole debacle back home, when almost all your friends within the industry had contributed to your downfall. Hollywood was filled with traitors, the worst being the people who haunted the journey of your disgrace at every moment.

It was impossible to place any ounce of faith in another.

As you watched his eyes settle on you, you noticed an emotion you had not witnessed in forever.

Tenderness.

Tenderness with no ulterior motive—gentle acceptance, as if he recognised your position. As if he recognised your change, the apprehensive nature of your questions, your pauses. It physically hurt being stained with such compassion, when you had been begging for it from the world all those weeks ago.

It hurt, having someone who understood you.

You, however, should not have been surprised.

Yoon Jeonghan had always been like this. Especially when you both were together.

You could have smiled. 

What a time that was.

As if he could read your mind, the film noir star began, “You remember, don’t you? That I’ve never let you down?”

You decided to let yourself slip—you could always blame it on the alcohol. 

“What time do you want me here tomorrow?”

His eyes widened slightly—relief. “This hour. They will not follow us here.”

Nodding hesitantly, you then realised just what hour it was, and inwardly cursed. Seungkwan was going to murder you.

“I…I need to be getting back,” you said, gaze falling to the entrance. “It’s quite late.”

He followed your trail of sight. “Let me walk you to your hotel,” he offered. “I can’t have you stumbling around in Paris at this hour.”

Forever the gentleman. “It’s only a fifteen minute walk from here.”

“All the easier to walk with you, no?”

You averted his stare. “Hmm.”

There was a growing feeling that he was still looking at you. 

His voice morphed a little amusement when he said, “Should we start walking, are you going to spend the night avoiding my gaze?”

Cheeks heating, you gestured to the stairs, deigning only a second-glance. “I’m not…” you trailed off, finding it difficult to lie to him. “Let’s go.”

His eyes followed the stairs. “After you.”

Obliging, your heels conquered the low, marble stairs, his phantom presence right behind you. You took the same route, this time reversed as you tried to exit the museum, the actor pointing out a few works you had missed on the journey to the sculpture hall.

Once you both were out of the gallery, the cool Parisian air kissed your face in greeting. The city had been cloaked by the night, the moon bathing the sanded-stone streets grey, a myriad of stars twinkling in welcome. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, taking in the mellow atmosphere of the coming autumn. 

“Never before…has someone been more…”

Cars could be heard in the distance, a sweet forties’ song tuning in from the neighbouring streets. The noise of the citizens grew louder as you both left the borders of the Louvre Palace, walking along the road. 

“Unforgettable…in every way…”

Jeonghan’s hands went to the top of his trench-coat, lifting up the lapels. Consequently, the sides of his face were hidden from view, effective enough for far-away onlookers to avoid guessing his identity. You, on the other hand, forgot your face mask, but a bitter feeling inside you knew that you did not need it.

Compared to the man beside you, you were nothing.

You hated how envious you had become.

“Why the frown?”

Perking up at his question, you shrugged, not wishing to elaborate over your unreasonable emotions. “Nothing. Simply tired.”

Fixing his beret, he asked, “Oh? Are you working on something?”

You shook your head, quirking your mouth to the side. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” A hint of sarcasm slipped into your response, without control. “One can’t find much work when one is scandalised from the industry.”

“One won’t be able to find work, dear _____,” he countered, “If one is hiding from the industry.”

“One is not hiding,” you griped. “One is…thinking. Figuring out one’s situation.”

A lingering, incredulous look. “One needs to travel across an entire continent to think?”

This time, you returned it—surprised him with your misery. “When one’s situation is this bleak, even travelling across continents is not enough.”

Jeonghan’s melancholic frown had you looking ahead. “Whatever,” you said, “At least Seungkwan has not given up on me.”

The name had the actor almost lighting up. “Seungkwan? He’s here with you?”

“I dragged him with me when I left LA.” You huffed out a chuckle. “Poor bastard has been finding auditions for me in every corner of this place. I don’t think he realises that no one actually wants me amidst…all this.”

Turning into another slimmer road, your company slowed his stride. “You will climb up from this. Every actor in Hollywood has had a scandal, some worse than yours!”

“It’s been weeks, Jeonghan!” you exclaimed, growing restless. Noticing a few heads rise from your slight outburst, you tried to sober your speech. “I just…I don’t think I can come back from this.”

His tone softened, a mere muttering. “You cannot give up hope.”

You did not deign him a glance. “There is no more hope to give up.”

The actor was silenced by your declaration.

The two of you did not say much more, walking on the roads until you reached your hotel, marked by the tall, bronze column, a statue of famed, Corsican general at the very top. 

When Jeonghan regarded the sheer luxury of your residence, he quirked a groomed brow. “For someone with no job, you sure are living like a blockbuster actress.”

Your sour glare his way had him laughing softly. “I still have funds from my earliest hits,” you crowed. “And why shouldn’t I live like a star?”

“I wonder how Seungkwan feels about your opinion,” he pondered, greatly entertained. “Last time I remember he promised to fix your spendthrift habits.”

Crossing your arms, you strolled closer to the hotel. “He’s not kept his word, then. I am a pauper living like a princess.”

He followed your trail. “That’s because you were a princess once.” His hands slid in his pockets. “Ruling over cinema.”

The grand doors of the Ritz were right in front of you. “And now the king of film wishes to associate with his disgraced subject.”

But this king, face half-hidden from the crowd, only observed you in the lamplights. “No, it is…simply two people from the past, catching each other in the present.”

You shuddered out an exhale. 

It was not as if he was wrong.

Jeonghan was a figure of the past—since your publicised breakup with him, the two of you had never really spoken, an offence you supposed you could not rest at his door. You had seen him everywhere in your time in LA, but you knew he had been erased from your future. 

You never thought you would see him in that gallery room.

Even now, blinking back your booze-induced drowsiness, you wondered if he truly was in the present—here, before you, in all his fantastical, otherworldly glory. He stood, trying to read you like a new screenplay, uncovering the plot, the conflicts of your person, and you wondered whether he would succeed. 

He had always been so wonderfully perceptive. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said to him.

The stare was prevalent when he asked, “Like what?”

When you started pursing your mouth at him, he huffed mirthfully through his nose. “Fine.”

“I am all right, you know,” you muttered. “Always was, always will be.”

“Will you be?”

You did not answer his question.

Of course you will not be all right—but he did not need to know this.

“Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

Turning your back to him, you made to enter the hotel.

“It was good to see you.”

His voice paused your movement. 

“You know…after so long.”

A look over your shoulder—you watched him in his long-hair, bereted, midnight glory. His lapels had drooped, exposing his face much more, but he did not seem to care so much—not as much as you would have, in his place. 

When you deigned him a response, you blamed the remaining alcohol in your system for such candid honesty.

“It was good to see you too.”

With that, you turned, a haste in your step as you slipped inside the hotel.

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 30TH SEPTEMBER, 1954

WORLD STAR YOON JEONGHAN SPOTTED ENTERING THE LOUVRE NEAR MIDNIGHT!

Our favourite actor was seen going inside our landmark museum in the late hours of the night, unaccompanied and hidden. It has only been a week since he has arrived in the city, and although he is here for his movie’s promotion, he clearly sees Paris as more than just a stop in a press tour! 

Our readers must be aware of Jeonghan being an avid art enthusiast. Many a time he has expressed his admiration for the classical masters, as well as the contemporary scene that is growing popular in major cities in Europe. Maybe, once the film is released, he will stay longer with us, and indulge in Parisian culture.

Until then, enjoy the pictures of our star, smiling at the cameras!

YOU WERE STILL UNSURE WHETHER YOU HAD TRULY MET JEONGHAN.

The trek back to your room had been occupied with your thoughts, debating whether you had truly encountered a man of that influence, merely sauntering in a gallery. Of course, you were aware that you had not crossed the point of pure delusion, but you had hallucinated in the past while intoxicated.

You had even woken up in a daze, undisturbed by Seungkwan’s usual calls to trudge into audition houses. This time, it seemed as if he left you alone, which was incredibly fortunate, seeing as you had plans for today.

You considered mentioning your strange, unexpected meeting to him, but then you held back, resorting to pacing in your room. You doubted whether he would believe it, seeing his exasperation with your recent behaviour.

If you told your agent that you were somehow meeting a renowned ex-boyfriend, whose very presence beside you would ruin his reputation and revive yours, then he would have truly had a heart attack. That would not be the most ideal situation, considering he was the very reason you were not completely ruined. 

Satisfied with your decision, you resorted to staying in your hotel room, scouring through the very tabloids that tormented you over information you had not bothered searching for before. Sure enough, it was not difficult finding his name within the texts—if you had columns written about you, then Jeonghan had pages, singing praises of his upcoming film. You hated how bitter you were, seeing his stellar reviews, barely anything negative about his behaviour. You knew that such popularity had to be a double-edged sword, but the man had managed to maintain the perfect balance without harm.

A scowl marred your features. Of course you had to be pricked with the downsides of fame.

Throwing the magazines to the side, you debated ordering a bottle of wine, but then immediately shook your head.

Tonight, you could not be drunk around him. You needed your thoughts to be settled when you saw him again, because you had a feeling that he was very capable of rattling them. Not that you had feelings to evidence this—your ex-lover possessed a rare trait to render you nervous in his presence. 

The rest of the day was spent thinking about the late night encounter, and when night had fallen, you prepared yourself for the next meeting. You settled for soft colours, white button-up shirt and a pink long-skirt, hem caressing your shins. Slipping on your heels, you perched a half-hat upon your hair. Taking hold of a face mask, you slipped it on, hoping it would hide you from the incoming press. 

Satisfied, you took your handbag, leaving the room and locking the door behind you.

Leaving the Ritz, you were relieved to find no one recognising you as you walked out of the entrance, calling a cab on the street. It was only five minutes to the Louvre, so you did not have to wait until you arrived at the destination. Paying the fare, you exited the vehicle, slipping into the museum through its main entrance.

Although you were expecting the grand, ornate hallways of the once-palace-turned-gallery, what you did not prepare yourself for was two guards approaching you. 

Their stern greeting was laced heavily with their accents. “‘Scuse-moi madame, the museum is closed.”

“You cannot be here!”

Instantly, you recoiled from them, irritation spreading as you brought down your mask. “But I came here at the same time yesterday!”

“The museum has closed early today for a private showing,” the other guard explained, reaching out to guide you back out. “We apologise for the inconvenience, but—”

“Who the hell is renting out the Louvre for themselves?” you demanded, waving off the men who tried to escort you out. “All right, all right, I’m leaving, goodness!”

Grumbling, you made to leave, security right behind you to make sure of it.

That was when you heard a familiar, sultry voice.

“Elle est avec moi ce soir.”

The guards turned around, taking you in their direction.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him.

There, just across from you, Jeonghan stood, looking as if he had stolen the night and etched its darkness into his attire. This time, his trench-coat, beret, trousers were all bathed in the black, almost silhouetting against the shadows of the hall. His stretched hand gestured to you as he focused on the men that wished you out.

Then, he glanced at you. “She is with me this evening.”

Security immediately let you go, apologising profusely in French as you dusted at your shirt. You dipped your neck in acceptance, a sheepish expression upon your face because you could not respond to them. Once the actor stepped closer to you, he ordered a few things in his Parisian accent, and you wished then that you had practised the language of a country you were so hell-bent on hiding in.

Security soon returned to their original places, leaving the two of you alone.

You, alone with Jeonghan.

The film noir star regarded you with a peculiar enthusiasm. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t come.”

The first urge was to ask him why, but you supposed he was not unfair for saying such a thing. “I was unsure of whether I dreamt you up or not.”

A slight curl of his lips. “Have I given you certainty now?”

You decided to be honest. “Only a little.”

His mouth curled wider. “Well then…” He raised his hand to the world of art before you. “I have the whole night to convince you.”

You should have returned his smile. 

This time, though, you were sober. 

Apprehensively, you walked up to him. Only then he commenced, leading you into another universe, far away from the press, the people, the world and its restrictions.

The only sound as you both walked were the clicks of your heels, the soft thumps of his boots. You wished he would strike a conversation, ease the nerves that decided to enliven within you. You supposed, though, that releasing you of your anxiety was not the actor’s job. It did not help that Jeonghan had never felt a fraction of your nerves.

Probably. It was only a guess—you did not know this Jeonghan, the man that dominated world cinema.

At least he retained his perceptive behaviour, because a minute later, he said, “You will enjoy the exhibition, _____…very nostalgic.”

“Oh?” You admired the gold arches, the intricate detailing of the ceilings. “How so?”

“You’ll see. I don’t want to spoil anything.”

Not particularly satisfied with his response, you targeted him with another question. “Are we truly the only people here?” When he nodded lightly, as if it was the easiest thing to obtain, you had to gawk. “How did you manage to close off the Louvre?”

He slid his hands in his coat pockets. “I suppose being an actor has its benefits.”

Both taking a left, you countered, “I’m an actor, too, but I would never be granted a private audience here.”

“Let me rephrase,” he said, mouth morphing into a smirk, “Being a famous actor has its benefits.”

A crude scoff escaped your throat, unable to contain itself. “Oh my God!”

Your reaction had the man spluttering into laughter, closing his eyes and dipping his head. That only made you scowl all the more, and when he settled into amusement, he brought his face to yours, slowing his walk. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” he mused, “You know I like to tease you.” His eyes regarded your offence, your features slowly easing. “Or have you forgotten how to have a little fun?”

You waved him off, looking beyond his inquisitive gaze. “I have changed plenty since you last met me.”

“Since yesterday?”

A glare. “You know what I mean.”

The man kept silent, merriment lingering in his features as you both slowed your pacing. Huge banners welcomed you over the grand doorway, reciting the name of the exhibition beyond the hall you stopped in.

Another memory penetrated your mind at the name.

LOVE IS LOST, YET LOVE IS FOUND—DEPICTIONS OF CUPID AND PSYCHE.

“Ah…” Jeonghan walked ahead, reading the title. “We’re here.”

Cupid and Psyche.

You remembered why the subjects were so familiar. 

He looked back at you. “Shall we?”

Your vision stayed on the banners for a moment longer before directing it at him, nodding slowly. “Yes…let’s.”

With an uncertain feeling towards the room before you, and even more uncertain feeling towards the man beside you, you entered the exhibition, expecting nothing.

You were welcomed with everything.

Cupids and Psyches were everywhere in the room, depicted within centuries-old pages and ink, oil upon wood and canvas, carved from ancient marble, bathed in every wall and floor of the room. The winged god and his human lover were unmissable in the works of art dedicated to them, and you glanced at the entry paragraphs, discussing the subjects.

Your amazement had the man beside you chuckling. “Stunning, isn’t it?”

“I…” you could not even finish your words, finding the first glass cabinet, where dozens of drawings of the two lovers were shown. “How did you know about this?”

You felt his presence nearby. “You know I never miss an exhibition in Paris.”

One depiction caught your interest—a quick ink drawing of Cupid holding Psyche in his arms, wings resting behind his shoulders. “Still an avid art enthusiast?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Of course.” You could have sworn you felt his eyes on you. “You may have changed, but I have stayed the same.”

You held in the urge to make a face at him. “Fame changes everyone,” you snarled, “And you have received enough to become a new person.”

A pause. “Do you want me to be different?”

You snuck a glance at him—he was occupied by a large painting, this time a clothed Psyche watching over a slumbering Cupid. As you walked closer, investigating it further, the details became clearer, the god engulfed in pillows and darkness, the only light coming from his lover’s lamp. 

You decided not to answer him. You could not—you had nothing to silence him with.

So you moved on, finding little solace in the artwork around you. “What I want,” you said instead, “Is for you to stop bringing me to these exhibitions. I have never enjoyed them as much as you have.”

Listening to his soft chuckling, you heard him say, “Well, that I wish I had forgotten!” He turned around, casting a glance at you. “But don’t abuse the exhibition just yet.”

“I don’t hate it,” you offered, involving yourself in the sculpture work. There were a couple dozen peppered in the far side of the room, each bearing an inscription, and which part of the mythology it depicts.

You read the first tablet. L’Amour et Psyché. It was the same scene, but this particular Psyche was half-nude, gazing over the sleeping Cupid. The detailing on this sculpture was more precise, more life-like. Leaning closer to inspect the winged creature’s face, the innocence moulded into his features had you fully endeared.

You wondered what their story was.

It was not as if you were unaware of what Cupid represented, but everyone had seen him more as a chubby angel-child, holding his arrows of love, ready to strike up trouble. In fact, you had not known that Cupid, too, had been struck by his own weapon over a mere human.

The train of your thoughts would have kept running in the tracks of your mind had a certain man not stopped it suddenly.

“This isn’t the one you were looking for.”

Perking up, you twisted your head to where Jeonghan was. He tilted his head to the furthest artwork, obscured by his figure. Your confused expression had him beaming.

He stepped away from your line of sight.

The star sculpture of the night was unveiled.

By God. That was the one.

Completely dazed, your feet gravitated towards the work of art, becoming clearer the closer you were pulled to its spell. You could not avert your stare from its allure, drinking in its details. Cupid, with utmost gentleness, held Psyche’s lolling head, as if pulling back from a searing kiss. His saved lover stretched her hands towards his curls, naked body resting on the rocks. His wings were outstretched, flaring back, details of his feathers etched into the off-white marble. 

Your cheeks could have burned at the sight of them.

It was as if you were interrupting them—pushing yourself in a moment that was not open to the rest of the world. You could never comprehend how someone could carve such adoration in stone, but the way they gazed at each other had your heart breaking in a million little pieces.

You could have looked at the two lovers forever.

“Psyche revived by Cupid’s Kiss.”

Snapping out of your daze, you saw the actor step beside you, admiring the work before him. “Exquisite, is it not?”

This time, you could not argue with him. “It truly is.”

His eyes slid to where you stood. “Do you remember when we first saw it?”

Your lips threatened to tug upwards. 

That was a memory you could not forget.

Now that you had seen the sculpture, you could recall the first time you had seen it. Interestingly enough, this very man was with you when you exposed the same awe you had just then, peering at the marble lovers as if you had uncovered a secret revelation in their embrace. You could even remember the faint clicking of his camera as he captured your admiration in that photograph. You wondered whether he kept any pictures of you together on your first trip to this city.

But you did not confess such ramblings to him.

No, you only got out, “I do.”

He was satisfied with your answer. “Do you know their story?” A tick of his head to the subjects. “Of them two?”

You shook your head. “I suppose you’ll enlighten me?”

A glance at you. “Only this once.”

You returned it, turning your back to him. “Go on, then,” you said, making to move. “Educate me.”

When you took your first step around the sculpture, Jeonghan commenced.

“Before Cupid came here, Psyche was stuck in an eternal sleep. She let curiosity take the better of her.”

Another slow stride, you observing the stretch of Cupid’s legs, the perched foot. “What happened to her?”

“She was given a jar, filled with divine beauty by Proserpina—Roman Persephone—to give to Venus. She was warned not to open the contents. Curiosity took over her, though, and she opened the jar, desperate to have some of that famed beauty.” 

He slid his hands in his pocket. “However, there was no divine essence in that jar, but the darkest sleep. It was a sleep no one could escape from.”

Gradually, you inspected the detail of the god’s wings, but you were occupied with the storyteller’s words. “And then?”

“What then? She fell into oblivion. A deep sleep that no one could wake her from.”

Although you were hidden from the mythical bodies, you swore your ex’s stare penetrated through marble. “She was considered unsavable, _____. Doomed forever.”

Your throat constricted, steps faltering. You did not understand why it hurt you so much, knowing it was just a story—hell, her fate was revealed in the sculpture’s title.

Still, you asked him, a speck of fear in your voice, “Then?” 

You heard his footsteps edge closer. “Well…Cupid found her sleeping, and touched the tip of his arrow upon her.” 

Sure enough, you spied the quiver of arrows upon his side, strap slung over his shoulder. “And what did that do?”

His presence was near, so near. “He found that…that his love-tipped arrow healed his beloved.”

When you turned, taking the step into view, you found Jeonghan’s eyes rooted to you. Only the curve of Psyche’s hip, perched on the rock, remained between you two.

When the film noir actor parted his mouth, you held onto his every word.

“He saved her, chérie, from her downfall.”

You hitched your breath, unable to move.

You could not look away from him.

“Did he, now?”

“He did.” And when you gulped, his gaze flickered to the bob of your throat, before imprisoning you with his stare once more. “Because he would have done anything to revive his lover’s soul.”

Oh, God.

His words snatched every atom of oxygen in the hall.

You could not do this sober. You could not do this at all.

“Jeonghan, I—” you backed away a little, feeling your heartbeat fastening with every second. “I must go.”

He sensed your sudden panic. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I just…” you tried to stabilise your breathing. “It’s very late. I should be going back.”

Circling around the sculpture, he removed the obstacle. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded quickly, lungs faltering with each second that passed in his presence. “Yes, I need to just…Seungkwan will be worried.”

Had he not known you for such a long time, he would have questioned you further, freed the real reason out of you.

Tonight, though, he would not pester you.

“All right.”

He ticked his head towards the entrance. “Let’s go.”

The two of you swiftly exited the grand exhibition, the Cupids and Psyches watching you leave—had these statues had even a spark of life, they would have spent it in anticipation, watching the broken couple walk side by side out of the museum.

You dared not speak to him as you left the Louvre, Jeonghan thanking the guards earnestly for their overtime, following after you. Thankfully, the night was still young—the likelihood of any sudden cameras flashing in your face was second to none. 

As you and your companion left the expanse of the Palace, you found a sleek, black Bentley waiting on the large road. Jeonghan hummed out at its recognition, gesturing towards it. “Ah, no need to walk much then.”

Stopping before the luxurious vehicle, you locked your hands behind your back, your gaze upon his face.

His words at the museum came ringing back into your mind.

He saved her, chérie, from her downfall.

Despite the Parisian chill, your face burned. 

“Well…I guess this is it.”

Jeonghan’s face exposed confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

You raised your brows. “I did say I had to go.”

“No, I know that.” His gaze slid to the car door. “But I assumed I’ll be driving you home.”

In other circumstances, you would have jumped at the chance. Tonight, though, he had spoken some flowery truths, and made your heart uneasy. “No, you don’t have to,” you assured him, looking at your journey back home. “My hotel is only ten minutes away. I wouldn’t mind the walk.”

He then pondered for a moment before making another offer. 

“Take my car.”

You were going to object, but he interrupted, “I know what you’re going to say, but I insist. It’s too late to walk alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you then insisted. “At least no one would bother me on the way.” You did not know why, but your voice turned sharp. “If you still live in the Passy apartment, then it’s an hour’s walk from here. These journalists will find you at that time.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think the both of us know that I never cared about the press…whatever they published about me.”

Right. Of course. “I see,” you could only say back, shuffling on your feet.

“_____.”

You paused. 

He stepped forward—careful, as if you would flinch should he come any closer. “Don’t worry about me and take the car.” 

After a hard sigh, you reached out to the car, grabbing the handle. With a tug the backseat door opened. 

You stepped down from the pavement, about to enter the vehicle when you halted.

Turning around, you parted your mouth.

“I didn’t mean to leave so suddenly,” you began, not quite sure where this was heading. “I just…well, thank you, I guess.”

“Thank you?”

“For the ride…” you furrowed your brows, wishing you had kept your mouth shut. “And well, you know…for tonight.”

And for the story of a love lost—and then a love found.

Jeonghan’s smile was infectious—it struck your mouth to curl upwards too.

“You have a good night, _____.”

The response slipped out before you could stop yourself.

“I already have.”

That earned you an outright grin, his nose crinkling near the top. “Have you?”

But now you were flustered, forcing yourself into the car. His soft laughter made you hug your coat tighter around yourself. “Good night,” you muttered, ready to slam the door shut had he not clutched the outside handle. 

Leaning down, he uncovered his face, lopsided as his beaming had you further embarrassed. “At least say it to my face before you close the door on me.”

Your huff was greatly exaggerated. “Have an amazing, fantastic, unforgettable night, Jeonghan,” you hissed.

His eyes danced a waltz that you remembered, all those years ago.

“I already have.”

And before you could say anything more, he closed the door for you, urging the chauffeur to drive on. 

As the man asked you for your destination, you could only mumble out the Ritz’s location, mind in another universe entirely as the Bentley soared to life.

The further you drove from the enigmatic actor, the more you strained your neck, trying to catch a sight of him through the back glass. Settling back down, you bit your bottom lip, clutching at the sash of your coat.

He saved her, chérie, from her downfall.

Because he would have done anything to revive his lover’s soul.

You gripped the sash tighter.

One thing, at least, you had learned for certain.

Yoon Jeonghan was not of your delusions.

He was very, intensely, frighteningly real.

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 4TH OCTOBER, 1954

SUPERSTAR JEONGHAN’S BIRTHDAY BASH PLANNED IN BIG-TIME LOCATION! ALLEGED NAMES TO BE INVITED…

We wish the happiest birthdays to the world’s sweetheart, Yoon Jeonghan! As our dear star celebrates his happy day in a world of press tours and back-to-back interviews, we have a source which tells us that he will be occupied tonight by his co-stars, who plan to throw him a party that Paris talks about for the rest of the month! Unfortunately, dear readers, the event is kept very hushed, but fear not—we will bring details for all you curious fans!

Do be satisfied with exclusive photos of the actor strolling along the Seine banks at 2 o’ clock in the morning! We wonder where he was coming back from…

PERHAPS RUNNING AWAY FROM THE GREATEST LIVING ACTOR WAS NOT THE SMARTEST DECISION YOU HAD EVER MADE. 

It was not as if you had any other options. His words had struck beyond your skin— caught onto the webs of your soul, and refused to escape, no matter how ardently you tried to wrench them out with your self-reassurances. 

He should not have said anything akin to what he confessed that night, four days ago. You knew he was merely narrating a fairytale, but the look in his eyes as he recited the love story haunted you every night since.

You did not understand whether the unease, settling too comfortably in your veins, was a feeling you would rather live without, or a sensation you had come to enjoy as you pondered over his words. You did not leave your hotel room, mess of clothes and room service food piling up with every passing day. 

Even catching the headline for Jeonghan’s imminent birthday celebrations had you delving deeper into the mind abyss, more so when that day arrived.

Your eyes wandered to the telephone, perched upon the small, circular table by the window. 

Perhaps you should call him. 

A harsh laugh escaped you.

Very funny.

Not that you could call him—his apartment phone number was lost on your ears. 

Nevermind. That possibly idiotic option died before it could be seriously considered. 

A continuous, sharp rapping on your hotel door had you rising briskly from your speculations. 

“Seungkwan,” you muttered. 

Walking over your mess, you reached out to the knob, opening the intricate door.

“It’s a wonder I’m not greeted by your corpse every time I come here.”

“Good morning to you too, asshole,” you chirped back, striding back into your room, waiting for your dear agent to close the door. “And just for a heads-up, I am not auditioning for anything today.”

“See, I knew you would say something like this, so I did not even bother.” He sighed out the world’s air from his lungs, as if shouldering a burden greater than any human has experienced. “I have officially, legally given up on you.”

“Oh really?” you hissed, settling yourself on a chair by the telephone table. “Then why bring your oh so valuable self to my door today, when you have officially, legally given up on me?”

Fingers dipping into his inner waistcoat pocket, Seungkwan fished out a red envelope, cursive black ink on the front. “I received a very ominous letter at my doorstep.” He strode over to where you sat, taking the opposite chair. “It was meant for you.”

You waved off the letter. “You open it,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “It’s probably another tabloid scare. God knows how they could find my hotel room number.”

“Lazy,” the man muttered before ripping open the fold, taking out a sleek card of the same colour, bordered with intricate, black lining. Interest piquing, you watched him read the contents, brows furrowing by the second.

When his eyes went completely round, you straightened, confused. “What is it?”

But he only ticked his head to the side, rereading the writings etched onto the red paper. Tossing the envelope on the table, he was rooted to this letter, brows scrunched so close together they could have become one.

“You’re scaring me,” you began, hand reaching out to take the letter, only to fail when he distanced himself. “What the hell is on there?”

After a moment, he closed his eyes, grinning. “It’s all fine. I think someone is playing a very sly trick on us.”

“What?” You got out, but he was only chuckling, as if he had been caught acting like a fool. “Now you’re just making me angry!”

“Well, let me help reverse that anger, my dear!” He brought the card out to you. “Do have a read and laugh!”

Completely baffled, you took it from him, reading the words which had brought Seungkwan to such a state.

Your own eyes nearly burst from their sockets. 

Dear _____,

You have been cordially invited to celebrate the birthday of Yoon Jeonghan. The celebration is planned to be grand, with the entire Moulin Rouge booked out to perform cabarets, drink champagne and dance away the night.

As this event is private, we ask to be discreet when you arrive, and only bring one other person with you, as only the best of the best are to attend.

We hope to see you tonight, 8 o’ clock onwards. A car will be waiting outside your hotel to bring you to the destination.

Signed,

YOON JEONGHAN.

“Oh…my God.”

Your agent snorted, straightening his waistcoat. “Is that not hilarious?!” he started, folding a leg over the other. “I must say, the press is becoming much too creative to get us out of private circles! Yoon Jeonghan, huh!” 

You kept staring at the letter, feeling your heart rise to your throat as he carried on rambling his disbelief. “This must be another way to torment you, _____, but don’t you worry! I will get to the bottom of whoever did this.”

He turned his head to you. “So what if he was your ex? Way to rip out an old flame from the past! You both haven’t spoken in years.”

That comment could have made you flinch.

When he caught the dread in your face, he halted. “Why do you look like you’re about to hurl your guts up?”

Your smile was more of a grimace. “Well, um…you see…”

“Oh my God.” He gripped onto the arms of his chair. “What the hell have you done?”

“Why are you assuming I have done something?” you demanded, but it left your mouth much weaker than you anticipated.

“Because I have cleaned enough of your messes,” he responded sharply. “Why are you looking so guilty?”

“Well…erm…” It was like you were a criminal, confessing to a dozen murders. “You know when, um, you said that Jeonghan and I…haven’t spoken in years?”

His eyebrows must have been exhausted from all the furrowing they had done in the past ten minutes. “What are you trying to tell me?”

You averted your gaze, instead choosing to engrain it on your unmade bed. 

“I…may or may not have…seen Jeonghan…five days ago…”

Mustering your bravado, you snuck a peek at your agent. 

His poor eyes were as wide as saucers. 

You shrunk back. “Twice.”

Looking away again, you waited in agonising silence for him to take in the ground-breaking piece of information. This was not another failed audition, nor was this the sheer astonishment to find you half-dead from the drinking. This was something he did not think you were capable of experiencing. 

After a good while, you heard him speak.

“Yoon Jeonghan…” A pause. “The Yoon Jeonghan…the biggest actor in Hollywood…”

“…yes?”

Seungkwan spewed out curses so colourful they could have painted the entire hotel. 

Even you had to clamp down on your lips to stop yourself from gasping. When he was done, he dipped his whole body down, putting his head in his hands. Only then, you let yourself observe his possible mental breakdown, hugging your legs to your chest. 

It must have been a good twenty minutes, sitting, watching his dejected position, when he heaved himself up, rubbing his face. Sighing, he finally turned to you, exasperation staining his features. 

“How much have you had to drink in the past week?”

You ticked your head back. “What?” 

“You’ve done this before, _____,” he continued, getting up from his seat. “Delusion! I heard you say such crazy things when you hit the papers then. It’s just the drink getting to you. Fucking Yoon Jeonghan…”

“No, Seungkwan, you have to believe me.” You got up from your own chair. “I met him the day I was passed out, when I was rejected from that side-lead role.” 

“Where would you even meet him?”

You looked to the window, to the city beyond. “The Louvre…?”

It was not as if you were lying—the way you said it, though, had the agent doubting you even more. “You? The Louvre? Now I really don’t believe you.”

“Please!” you insisted, watching him pace about in your room. “I may have said some questionable things before, but I’m telling the truth this time!”

He did not answer you, only sparing you withering glimpses with every turn. At some point, he groaned as he halted in the middle.

“I just cannot understand…” Hanging his head low, he propped his hands to his hips. “I cannot get my head around…”

“What?” you asked, desperation clear in your voice. “What else is there to understand?”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were narrowed—accusatory.

“Why was Jeonghan wanting to meet you?”

You paused.

Seungkwan fully faced you, then, cocking his head. “After everything that had happened…” 

His voice involuntarily quietened. “After what you did…”

But you raised your hand, all fingers curling save for your pointer. “Don’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need your speech. Not today.”

Second hand raising, they held onto the man’s shoulders, gripping tight. “Look, I know this is crazy…I-I truly get it…but you have to believe me. 

“I need you to believe in me.”

He inspected your agony, the nails that started to dig into his clothes. Gritting his teeth, he should know better than to go along with your follies, and nurse you out of your despair when it causes ruination every time. He had to recognise your self-destructive tendencies, especially since he was always at the scene of your crimes. 

In that moment, though, with the amount of hope you held in your eyes…

He had a feeling that this time, he could not let you down.

So, with a harsh sigh through his nose, he held your arms, pushing them off. “Fine,” he got out, scowling at how easily you were elated. “But!”

You were already whirling around, running to your wardrobe. “Oh, thank you, Seungkwan, thank you, thank you! God, I must begin preparations at once!”

“_____! I have a condition!”

But you paid him no mind, searching through your more luxurious outfits—the ones that managed the cut when you rush-packed for this spontaneous journey. “Go on, Seungkwan. Throw me something truly horrendous!”

There was a moment’s quiet before he spoke.

“If this night turns out to be a sham, then we are leaving Paris.”

That certainly dampened your spirits.

You turned around. “That truly is horrendous.”

The agent did not smile. “I mean it. You have my interest for now, _____, but if this is another one of your drunken plans then I cannot humour them anymore.”

Had you not beseeched for his faith mere minutes ago, you would have started arguing with him. At least this once, you had to let him keep the condition.

Even if it meant leaving your sanctuary—and the certain people that resided within it.

DESPITE SEUNGKWAN’S SUSPICIONS, THE RIDE TO MOULIN ROUGE ARRIVED AT THE VERY MINUTE IT WAS PROMISED.

You ushered him to introduce yourself to the chauffeur, watching out of your window as he made his way to the entrance, introducing himself in his usual charismatic charm. You could only hear certain words—courtesy of your hotel room being five floors high—but when you saw your agent looking at you down below, signalling your presence, you knew it was time.

Leaving the windowsill, you inspected yourself in the floor-length mirror in your room, checking the final details. Fortunately for you, you had kept your winter Dior gown from several years ago, worn once at a private party back in LA. Although a little out of fashion for this night, it was still as gorgeous as the first time you had worn it; it was a creation of black silk and velvet, sleeveless bodice tightly fitted as the heavy skirt flowed down. The showstopper detail were the two, huge swoops of midnight velvet, creating an appearance of a huge bow, fitted at the edges of your bodice’s hem. You added to the dress by wearing white gloves, reaching till your elbow, and adorning black diamonds, settled around your neck. The matching earrings glimmered in the hotel lights, accentuating your makeup.

For someone who had lost her stylists, artists, designers and the like, you had truly outdone yourself.

You allowed yourself a deep, hard breath.

You were ready.

Once you fished out a fur scarf, you wrapped it around yourself, making sure your face remained at least half-hidden. Deep down, if the journalists caught you travelling to Moulin Rouge, you knew you would not hate it too much.

So what if you were creating anarchy in the Parisian parties? At least you would look exquisite doing so.

Exiting the hotel room, you locked the door shut, making your way down to the entrance. Once you felt the Parisian air you lifted your scarf, making sure no one recognised you as Seungkwan ushered you, his mask covering his nose and mouth.

The closer you hastened to your car, the more you could observe its sheer opulence. Jeonghan certainly paid no mind to expenses, providing a Porsche Limousine for his guests. Once you entered inside the car there was champagne in the foot of the huge seats, and you could have sworn Seungkwan could have kicked his feet in mid-air over the sight.

“Perhaps I should let you carry on with your delusions!” 

“Enough!”

The ride to Moulin Rouge was not far in the slightest, but it felt like forever. You wished it had lasted forever, because the nearer you rode to your destination, the more tangible the idea became that the tabloids had discovered the location for Jeonghan’s private party. Yes, you distinctly remembered, not even an hour ago, that you did not care for the piranha-like press, but now you were out of the comforts of your hotel, and into the great, wide world. 

“_____, snap out of it.”

You winced at your agent’s order, sucking your teeth. He fixed his bow-tie, continuing, “Now that you’ve proved me wrong, you cannot shy away from tonight. If that poor man invited you, then you owe it to him to go.”

Nodding absent-mindedly, you locked your hands upon your lap. Seungkwan was right—Jeonghan had the decency to extend the olive branch, even when you had hastened your departure the last time you had encountered him. Admittedly, he was reciting riddles you had quickly deciphered, but you were too much of a coward to insist what his true intentions were behind his whimsical speech. Your history with him was overwhelming enough; you did not need it to further entangle your present with him.

Still. You could not help feeling a little thrilled at seeing his invitation. You meant what you said to him that night.

You were incredibly pleased to see him—even if you had not expressed it properly to him.

The chauffeur slowed the vehicle at the front of the destination, the signature red lights of the mill flashing excitedly in the black night, wrapped all around the dome. The white lights of MUSIC HALL, plastered at the front of the establishment, flickered as your ride finally stopped. Quickly checking your surroundings, you breathed out in relief, not realising you were holding it in.

There seemed to be no flashing cameras nearby.

Seungkwan opened his door, which was next to the entrance. “Right,” he commenced, one leg out of the car. “Let us go!”

Once he was fully out, he brought out his hand for you. Taking it, you carefully manoeuvred your dress, taking great pains not to crease its silk panels as you heaved out of the car, making certain your face still hid from the rush of guests. When your dress had left the vehicle, your companion shut the door, ushering instructions for the chauffeur to drive wherever the rest of Jeonghan’s employees were stationed.

Offering his arm, you accepted gratefully, turning to look at him, face covered save for his determined eyes.

He tilted his head to the entrance—all he needed was your approval.

You nodded.

With your heart in your throat, you both stepped inside the Moulin Rouge, the first great event you had attended since the night of your downfall.

It was utter chaos.

Although you had been to the Moulin Rouge in the past, you had missed its grand reopening three years prior, when one of the Hollywood actors had renovated the establishments and extended its services to the elite population. You took in the grand, theatre-like atmosphere, engulfed with reds of all shades and textures, the colour of blood and rubies and danger flooding your senses. Dozens of tables, overflowing to the brim with food and drink, were occupied by some of the greatest actors of your time, filling the halls with merry conversation. Chandeliers, dangling off the high ceilings of the theatre, shined the place with sparkly light, reflecting off the diamonds in your necklace, and the thousand other jewels everyone adorned.

The real stars of this show, however, were the ladies in the centre of the stage—the cabaret dancers, their vibrant, peacock-like appearance shocking and wowing their high-class crowd. With their feather headpieces as big as their bodies, they twirled about in their frilly skirts, exposing their stockinged legs, causing either furious blushing or drunken hooting. Most sang in slurred French, while others flirted with their audience, their silent conversations returned with glee.

The entire place was chaos only the rich would indulge in.

This was the chaos you had missed out on, for all these months. 

“What the…” Seungkwan breathed out, unable to finish his shocked cursing. You shared in his sentiments, though, when you could not believe what your vision exposed to you. 

Even so, with everything that raged around you, your eyes scoured for the one man you entered this jungle of fame for. 

It was so strange—so incredibly extraordinary—that when you did find him, in the thick of the jungle, men and women like vines, entangling his figure, he was not focused on his admirers.

No, he did not care for the people around him, because his dark eyes found yours, long before you had found his.

You parted your mouth, the noise of the cabaret tuned out.

There he stood, a dark angel among the demons of Paris, waiting for you in the modern underworld. His usual soft curls had been straightened, along with his fringes, curtaining his face on the sides. Forever the fashion-revolutionary, he had worn a simple white vest underneath his sleek, black blazer, boots tapping softly against the beat of the music. Even with the distance separating the two of you, he had somehow robbed the very oxygen from your throat. 

Then he smiled at you, making a move forward, and all you could do was stay still. 

You could only watch as he muttered soft excuses to his guests, rooted to you as he crept closer. Your agent raised a brow at your changed demeanour, trying to follow your line of sight, but he did not catch the man who was charged with shocking you quiet.

He was about to ask what had gotten into you when the culprit emerged from the crowds.

Seungkwan’s mouth dropped to the floor.

“What the fuck?”

It seemed only Yoon Jeonghan could have finished his curses.

The film noir star eased up the carpeted steps, stopping before the two of you.

“Good evening to you, too, dear Seungkwan,” he said, voice like a balm among the boom of the Rouge.  

But then he slid those haunting eyes to you—all over you, darting on the details of your dress—and you could have melted to the floor. 

You knew instantly that he recognised the outfit.

“I see you have not left everything in LA.”

You shook your head, the corners of your mouth curling upwards. “No, I…I did bring some cherished items with me.”

A soft noise, like the beginnings of a laugh, escaped his nose. “Very good to know.” He peeked at the signature Dior bow. “I have a feeling that you are aware of this, but you look exquisite.”

Your stomach tightened at his words. “You don’t look so awful yourself.”

Now he let himself laugh properly, head tilting to his side. “I would have ridiculed your vanity, chérie, had you not deserved to possess it.”

That had your cheeks burning. His gaze became harder to uphold. “Thank you for your invitation,” you then said, suddenly eager to pass the embarrassment to another poor victim. “Seungkwan here thought it a fraud at first.”

The said-man gasped, glaring daggers at you. Jeonghan raised his brows, casting his dancing eyes to him. “Did you, now?”

“It was nothing like that!” he immediately rebuked, but then he huffed out, realising that was not fully honest. “Well, I mean…you must understand, we haven’t spoken to you in so long, so it didn’t seem real…”

It was your turn to glare at your friend spewing rubbish, but the actor offered a sheepish expression. “You speak the truth, I’m afraid. It had been much too long.”

He watched you, guilt morphing in his smile. “Let’s not be strangers anymore.”

Catching your lower lip with your teeth, you wondered how to respond to him—to these simple words, and the true complexities underneath. Thankfully, you did not have to, when he turned to the crowds, gesturing to the empty table in the centre. “Come,” he said, offering his arm to you. “Let’s settle at my table. We have a good view of the dancers.”

You looked at Seungkwan before accepting, looping your hand upon Jeonghan’s arm. “Your friends…who did you invite?”

“I actually didn’t plan this.” He pointed to the man beside the stage, talking to the staff as he observed the cabaret dancers. “Joshua threw this party in my honour. He owns the Moulin Rouge today.”

You remembered the news—your once co-star turned businessman, buying this dying establishment in efforts to revive the cabaret spirit. It seemed to be working, though, because your agent recalled that Joshua Hong was more successful as an entertainer than an actor. To you, that news was horrendous, because the man was already so successful as a film star.

The piece of information that stung, however, was that this was not your ex’s doing—perhaps you were another name on a long list to throw an invite to, lest they complain.

He patted your hand with his free one. “Your invitation, however, was of my own accord.”

You did not know why that made you smug. “I couldn’t imagine anyone else inviting a ruined actress to their birthday party.”

He matched your mirth. “And an ex at that? I have out-shocked myself this time.”

Chuckling, you swiped at your black dress, bow swaying. “I’m ready.”

“Let us go then.”

Descending the steps, the film noir star led you to the centre of the theatre, the celebrities surrounding the three of you quieting their conversations. Your nerves instantly sparked to life, bubbling within your body, and you tightened your hold on Jeonghan’s arm as he walked through the crowd, unfazed by the shift in atmosphere. Thank the Lord that the music was still deafening, cabaret girls still dancing. 

Seungkwan, plastering professional smiles to anyone he caught sight of, leaned closer as he strode beside you. “I guess you weren’t lying after all.”

Eyes darting to each and every stunned expression, you whispered back, “I haven’t gone insane yet. These people might drive me to it though…”

The empty table came into view, a huge circle clothed in white, possibly every single bottle of alcohol in Paris settled atop its surface. Fine-dined food was served before every chair, the luxurious scent teasing your nose, almost distracting you from the scrutiny of everyone in the hall. 

By this time, the owner of Moulin Rouge had returned to this important table, ordering the waiters as he pulled out a chair, ready to sit. He then saw the three people who had arrived in front of him, and his eyes widened, instantly straightening himself. 

“Oh, wow!” he exclaimed, hands gesturing to the two new guests. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Joshua,” Jeonghan began, looking at you and your agent, “I see my friends need no introduction.”

“Why, of course not!” The strapping young man walked around the table, providing you with a full view of his black tuxedo, matching bow-tie stark against his white shirt. His hair had been sleekly gelled back, but a stray lock curled over his forehead, accentuating his already lush appearance. Reaching over to you, he kissed both of your cheeks—very Parisian of him, you noted—and pulled away, smiling. “My goodness, I can’t believe you’re here in front of me!”

Chuckling a little, you tried, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he countered. “No one has seen you since you left, you know. I was half-worried the press would report your sudden death!”

“Not if I have anything to do with that,” Seungkwan immediately said, crossing his arms. “I have spent too much time and energy on _____ to see her dead in our hotel room.”

Glaring at your agent, you faced the businessman. “As you can see, I am alive and well. Or at least alive and better.”

He picked up a flute of champagne from his seat. “I must admit,” he confessed, “I did not think you would show up.”

You tried not to avert his gaze. “I did not want to miss Jeonghan’s birthday,” you replied, and you swore you could feel the said-man’s lips tug upwards.

A knowing smile caught onto the businessman’s lips. “I see,” he murmured, sipping his drink. “That is good to hear, because Jeonghan was expecting you tonight.”

This time, you whirled to the accused. Had you not been quick, you would have missed the second-long glare he sent his friend before morphing into an impassive daze. But then he caught your slight surprise, and knew you had seen it. His explanation was as swift as his glower. “I knew you would not miss a night of drinking and dancing.”

“I mean…I have missed plenty since the scandal.”

“But you being here is a sign of progress!” Joshua chimed in. “You attending this party is another way of getting back into the industry, and I wish to help every step of the way.” He slapped his hands together. “Your first task should be enjoying this night as much as you can.”

He then turned to the two men. “Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

Seungkwan scoffed, mumbling something akin to how you would rather be scandalised again than have some good fun. Jeonghan, on the other hand, was watching you, picking up his flute of wine. 

Raising his glass, he declared, “To betterment.”

Joshua followed suit, even louder. “To betterment!” He saw yours and Seungkwan’s empty hands as he drank his champagne, letting out a dissatisfied noise. “Oh, do excuse me!” Snapping his fingers, two waiters ushered to each of you, offering flutes of champagne. 

You took from one the tray, raising it slightly. “To betterment,” you muttered, drinking. 

“Now, you must excuse me for the second time,” Joshua began, a hand on your bare shoulder. “I have a few more guests to entertain.” Grabbing onto the chair that you had planned to sit upon, he pulled it out, gesturing for you to carry out your intentions. “In the meantime, do settle down! I will be back very soon.”

Obliging the owner, you gingerly settled yourself onto the ornate seating, careful not to ruin your gown in the process. You held a hand over your diamond necklace, positioning the largest in the middle once more before setting your flute upon the table. As you sat, so did the others, Jeonghan on your left, Seungkwan on your right. 

The three of you watched the anarchy of the cabaret dancers, raising their legs to their sky, earning shocked, drunken laughter as their underskirts were revealed, contrasted by the bright colours of their stockings. Their large feathers shimmied along to their movements, drooping over their shoulders. 

Your agent blinked back at their provocative dancing, downing another flute of alcohol. “Why didn’t anybody show me this whenever we were in Paris?”

You clicked your tongue. “Because you don’t like Paris. I always have to drag you out here.”

Seungkwan began to groan, furrowing his brows. “Because this city is a bore!” He pointed at you with his glass. “Seeing the Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower is only interesting the first three times. Then, they become what they truly are…a metal building and some average-looking woman who ought to smile more.”

Your scoff had a few people from neighbouring tables turning their heads. “That entire comparison is enough for me to fire you.”

“Oh, please!” He raised himself in his seat a little to catch a look at the actor beside you, silent in his seat as he observed the cabaret. “I know Jeonghan here will agree with me!”

The said-man slid his eyes to the tipsy agent. “Think again, Seungkwan,” you rebuked. “Jeonghan loves Paris more than I do. And that is saying something.”

The younger man looked to the elder in pleading, ready to forgo his career to prove you wrong. The film star could not help chuckling.

Usually, he would have played along, if only to tease you—but the subject of discussion was much too serious for him.

“I cannot help you today, dear Seungkwan,” he said, a nostalgic smile staining his lips as he swirled his wine. “Paris is like a home to me.”

“Hmph.” Another flute finished, smacking it upon the table. “You both are beginning to irritate me!” He inspected the room, finding acquaintances to mingle with. “Now, I am going to go and dance with a few friends,” he declared, standing from his chair. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Friends? Since when did you have friends here?”

“Unlike you, dear _____, I choose not to rot in my misery,” your agent chirped, sarcasm amplified from the drink, “I instead interact with other human beings. Works like a charm!”

“Have fun,” you called to him, as if you were not praying he tripped and broke a leg. Unfortunately, he would not be useful to you as a cripple, and so instead hoped he was lying about having friends in this city.

Once he disappeared into a crowd of actors, you sighed—you would have slumped your shoulders had it not been a risk to your dress.

“What’s the sigh for?”

You watched your only companion entertain his alleged friends. “I was hoping Seungkwan only knew me in this event.” A bitter scoff. “I suppose I should mingle too…make more of these friends.”

“You cannot blame an agent for having connections,” Jeonghan said, taking a sip of his wine. 

“I’m not blaming him,” you lied, exasperated with his pragmatism. You knew you were being unreasonable—he did not have to state it out loud. “I just…I don’t know anyone here.”

He caught onto your first dishonesty, but did not deign to comment on it. 

Instead, he voiced out a thought that lingered upon him. “You know me.”

You turned to him. “Yes…I suppose so.”

“Is that not enough?”

You turned over his question. As you observed him finishing his wine, catching the alcohol on his lips with his tongue, you wanted to tell him no.

No, because whatever joy you had received in his attentions, did it replace the heights of attention you gained from millions? He may have been Yoon Jeonghan, but even a single star reached the skies through the help of a mass of rays, retiring along with the sun.

Was a once beloved man’s affections greater than the affections of the world?

It took everything in your power not to answer him, but to your greatest fortunes, you were saved from breaking the man’s heart. Just that second, Joshua sauntered through the crowds, bringing another bottle of extremely expensive wine, setting it upon the empty space before you. 

“What are you two sitting around for?” He pointed to his dear friend, then waved at the chaos around them both. “I didn’t arrange the most glamorous birthday party in Paris for the birthday boy to not partake in it!”

“Ah, Shua…I will drink first,” the actor reassured him, accepting the businessman’s refills of his glass. “I want you to dance!”

“Fine!” Joshua’s eyes darted to you, and he held his hand out. “But only if _____ here will dance with me.”

You laughed awkwardly, waving off his advances. “No, please, I’ve only just arrived!” You tipped your head towards the many more renowned actresses, without any partners. “Go indulge your other co-stars. I will enjoy the cabaret show you and you alone have arranged.”

Grinning at your intelligent evasion, he consented, “I will oblige you this once, but only because you have appreciated my entertainment!” He pointed at the two of you, finger darting with each second. “Don’t think you both have rid of me!”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed back as he left your side, acutely aware that you would cause scandal once more if it meant you did not have to frolic in the crowds tonight. The drink was already messing with your mind, and you had to pause, lest you lost yourself to the smooth jazz of the theatre. 

Soon, with the young night beginning to age, almost everyone shot up from their seats, dancing along to the rhythm of the dancers. Every actor, designer, stylist and people from the industry partnered with each other, whirling to the boisterous music that filled the Moulin Rouge. 

The atmosphere almost made you forget about everything that plagued your spirits, clapping your hands to the beat of the music. Your agent had found himself in the arms of dozens of women, drinking and dabbling in the celebrity gossip. You even found yourself making light-hearted conversation with old acquaintances within neighbouring tables, though you admit you had to thank Jeonghan’s presence for such attraction towards you. Before, the lack of attention upon you would have stung greatly, but the man beside you had a strange talent of making one feel incredibly special in any place, at any hour. 

You feared the questions that were sure to come, especially when you had shown yourself in the film scene for the first time in a while, but the people surrounding you only expressed their contentment in your arrival. It was so strange, when it was people, once of your own station, simply asking about your wellbeing, rather than reporters and cameras, mics rammed down your throat to record your latest scandal. 

Aside from the inquiries, there were also offers to join in the merry waltzing. Many a time the owner of this theatre endeavoured to have you join the others, but you waved off his hands, daring him instead to dance with the cabaret girls. 

“You do Joshua a disservice,” Jeonghan chided light-heartedly, melodic voice louder to avoid being drowned out from the saxophones. “Refusing his hand for the fourth time.”

“I haven’t danced in a while!” you exclaimed over the noise. “I refuse to embarrass myself in front of hundreds.”

“Well, you must,” he insisted, slowly raising from his chair. “Because I wish to dance and you will join me.”

Your chortling was sudden. “Do keep dreaming, Jeonghan!” You waved your finger to the dozens of actresses, eyeing up the birthday boy. “Go offer your hand to a woman who will actually accept.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You refuse to indulge the wishes of a man on his birthday?” 

Scoffing, you downed your drink. “I am certain you will find many more to indulge your wishes beside me.”

You averted his gaze, watching your drunk agent dancing rather spectacularly with Jeonghan’s current co-star. You had to hand it to him—Seungkwan climbed up the social ladder quicker than you expected. 

“All right…”

Jeonghan sat back in his seat. Picking up a teaspoon from the table, he clinked it against his glass, catching the attention of the tables around you.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he declared. “Due to _____’s refusal, I will not be dancing with anyone this evening!”

Your eyes widened. 

Everyone within your radius turned their heads to your table. 

That was when the shouting began.

“What the—!”

“_____, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud!”

“Jeonghan, dance with us instead!”

The agitated exclamations, alternative offers chimed all around you two. Joshua, upon hearing this, squeezed past the growing crowd, hands on his hips at his old friend’s declaration.

“This will simply not do!” He then focused on you, gesturing to the seated man. “_____, you must dance with him.”

This was supported by a few cheers, urging you to accept. Seungkwan, who, too, heard the commotion, paused his dancing, the beautiful co-star right beside him. When he caught onto what everyone was complaining for, he snorted, shaking his head. “Save your voices, dear friends!” he yelled out. “_____ here would rather drop dead than listen to good sense!”

You would have shouted at him, but you could only gape at the man who caused the chaos.

“Come on, it’s just a dance!”

“It will only last a minute!”

“It’s his birthday, for God’s sake!”

His smirk, ghost-like before, sparked to life. 

Son of a bitch. 

“Fine!” you suddenly screeched, brows twisting in irritation. “I’ll dance, damn it!”

Your irritation grew when cheers rang around the theatre, which in turn had the music changing. The instruments jingled out even more livelier melodies, indicating that the birthday-boy was entering the space. Smoothly the actor left his seat, watching you reflect his action, albeit with more frustration. 

When you raised your head, your gaze fell on the outstretched hand.

With a melodramatic sigh, you took it.

Fingers wrapping around your hand, he led you to the emptier spaces, void of the tables as the crowds dispersed, resuming their swinging and waltzing. Once you both found a place, you looked at him, not pleased at all.

“Happy?” you jeered.

But then his hand slithered around your bare back, tugging you closer. With a hitched breath you were pulled in, your free hand instinctively grabbing his shoulder.

His eyes had you blinking back. 

“Exceptionally.”

You could only stare at him as he began to move.

The steps were short, snappy, matching the tune of the jazz which welcomed everyone’s ears. You dared not speak, too close to him, feeling his very breath fan your skin as he swung your enclasped hands along.

The ends of his hair tickled your hand on his shoulder, and you shifted, stumbling slightly into his hold. “Careful,” he whispered, and you felt your skin prickle at every corner. “Your step is a little shaky.”

“You think?” you asked sharply. When he chuckled, you realised that you did not think the sarcasm, but voiced it. 

You must really stop drinking. 

“You’re tipsy, aren’t you?” he inquired, squinting at you in amazement. “Goodness, you still can’t handle your drink?”

“As if you are not,” you countered, noticing the pauses in his step. “You dance better when you’re sober.”

“At least I dance at all.” He swirled you around, careful not to tarnish your dress. “Instead of shying away in a corner…away from everyone else.”

You gave him an irked glance. “You were with me in that corner, too.”

He returned it softly. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone, was I?”

“Hmm.”

He waited, watching your eyes stray to the dancers behind him, when he added a little amusement to his tone. “Plus, when you wear a dress like this…it should be a sin to hide yourself.”

A temporary look. “I thought you would forget.”

Scoffing, he mocked heartbreak as he pressed the enclasped hands to his chest. “You wounded me dearly with that, _____.” 

Turning you about, the music tuned louder as he closed his eyes. “It was 1949…spring time. Ah, yes, It was the after party of my first premier, and my co-stars and I were all dancing, just as we are now…”

His fingers held onto yours tighter. “And then you entered, wearing this…” 

He opened his eyes, gazing down at the details of your gown. “I swear to you, I forgot I had a movie coming out that night when I saw you in this dress.”

If he did not cease his words, then your face would have set alight. “All right, all right!” you exclaimed, tapping his shoulder. “You have proved yourself!” 

“Good. Don’t try and doubt me again.”

When you did not say anything, his lower lip jutted out ever so slightly. “Why did you wear it?” He slowed his movements. “You never wear something without making a statement.”

“It…” You tried to find the words. “It seemed fitting for tonight,” you said, forgetting your footsteps, the rhythm becoming second nature. 

A smile haunted your lips for a mere second. “Because I have not forgotten either.”

Jeonghan’s smile lingered on for you. 

The two of you did not speak much afterwards, basking in each other’s presences as the music progressed on. The cabaret dancers were growing wilder as midnight struck, enough time to become rowdy, furthering the chaos their movements had elicited. What was once whispered conversations, hesitant footsteps had familiarised into old friends as you two swirled and swirled, taking no heed of the people that stopped and stared at the centre. 

The actor’s hushed chuckles had become boisterous laughter in your arms, drumming his fingers against your back. You relished in each touch, heightened by the alcohol thrumming in your veins, yourself swaying your head to the beat. 

You were beginning to fly. 

After an eternity of being imprisoned, a certain someone had opened the locks to your cage, setting you free. You had grown wings of joy, of restlessness, and now you were flying in his hold, floating in the atmosphere of his eyes. Your heart was so light, drifting like the bubbles in your champagne glass, slipping past its rim, almost staining your dress and his suit multiple times. 

You tried to offer compensation for your carelessness, but he refused it outright, lips brushing against your ear. “Stain a thousand suits if it means you will come back…” his words were slow, stained with alcoholic truths. “If you’ll truly come back.”

Your laugh tickled his neck. “No one will have me,” you whispered, ironically sanguine for a fact so bleak. 

His pull had your shoulder touching his, all space near snuffed out. 

His plea had your hand in his turning limp. 

“Don’t say that, chérie…because it’s not true.”

Instinct had you retracting a little, staring at him. The ache in his eyes could have broken your heart. 

It must not have been that long, but it felt like forever and more, looking at him as if he had uttered a revolutionary speech, shared a secret of the universe. Time seemed to have slowed around you—perhaps an effect of the champagne, but you chose to be fantastical—the saxophones muted, the people quietened, and the lights dimmed.

This was a shot—a scene from the past, and at any moment there would be a director shouting action! in the corner, and it would all begin.

The fantasy would live on. Your downfall would become a non-existent event, and everything would be okay again.

It was in that exact, fated moment, when you heard a distant noise which stopped your vision.

A noise which was not of your dreams, but of your nightmares.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Jeonghan saw your eyes freeze over, body stilling under his hold. Frightened whispering spread at the back of the crowds, where the entrance was situated.

A distant actor’s exclamation had the rest scrambling.

“Who let the fucking press in here?!”

In an instant Joshua had made his way to the front, confusion and frustration mixing in his features. “What is going on?!” he demanded, the unforgettable camera flashing on the first layer of guests. “How the hell did they manage to sneak in here?!”

As the owner squeezed his way past, the rest of the guests groaned in agitation, even the cabaret dancers slowing down their enchanting routine. You did notice a damn thing, though, because the click! click! click! was ringing in your mind like the echoes of a gong, your entire body was constricting, your hand was tightening upon your partner’s, your breathing was going ragged—

“_____.”

The reporters were here. 

The media had found themselves a jackpot with Jeonghan’s private party, but the moment they caught you, it would be over. There would be nothing left as they will take your pictures, confirm your attendance in circles, drunk-dancing with your ex-boyfriend at his party, standing too close for comfort, and it would all be fucking over. 

“_____.”

This was something out of your nightmares. 

You could not move, refusing to listen to the voices beside you, unable to hear the commotion that had sprung up at the unexpected intrusion. Your vision had dazed out, mouth parted, tongue dry, and you could do nothing as your legs threatened to buckle. 

Only the voice of one man brought you out of your stupor.

“_____.”

A jolt coursed through you. 

“Come with me.”

He tugged on your enclasped hands, made to move in an opposite direction, but your body was still rooted, still amongst the crowds that went towards the flashing cameras. 

“I…” you could barely bring your voice to the surface—cowering down your throat, refusing to rise. “I-I…they’ll get me…”

“_____.”

His fingers tightened within yours. 

“Do you trust me?”

Again, the fated question.

How could you have answered him, when your tongue had abandoned its practice? How could you provide him with a response when your world was collapsing around you, the clicking of the cameras, the shouting of the reporters taking over your very senses?

But then his hands were upon your face, urging you to look at him. The intensity of his eyes could have brought you to your feet.

“Do you trust me, chérie?”

You parted your mouth.

Perhaps in another lifetime, you would have died underneath his fingertips. The press would have procured pictures of Jeonghan gaping at your decorated corpse, and his birthday would be remembered in the pages of celebrity gossip for the rest of his days.

But Jeonghan did not offer disaster—he did not show you further downfall in his path. What the man before you offered was an opportunity.

A chance to escape your doom.

You would have been the greatest fool in the world not to accept.

Especially when he looked so damned desperate to give it to you.

Your nod was barely a dip of your head.

“Help me, Jeonghan.”

That was all the man needed.

Letting go of you, he instead grabbed onto your hand, enveloping his slender fingers with yours. Looking over to the exits beside the stages, chaos heightening, he knew exactly where to go.

With one determined tug, he snapped you out of your spell.

His hand was your anchor as he led you against the current of actors, singers, all his celebrity friends. Slipping through with the slight-empty gaps, the two of you weaved your way to the furthest doors, the actor snapping it open with his free hand. Quickly he ushered you through thin hallways, a plethora of costumes, make-up kits, accessories spilling on the floor, hooked to the walls, but they were paid little mind. Once you both reached the final door, he resorted to kicking it open with his foot. No one was outside at the back of the huge establishment, only the Parisian sky, lighting the way to wherever your saviour was taking you.

Mumbling under his breath, he suddenly let an ah! escape as you saw his familiar sleek Bentley, camouflaged from the night. Perhaps the driver had seen you both hurrying to the car, because as Jeonghan clutched the door handle, it swiftly opened. You were lucky your gown was unharmed with the way you were ushered inside, gathering your velvet skirts to allow him space to settle beside you.

Clapping his hand against the driver’s seat, he voiced out orders in rapid, breathless French, you too overwhelmed to try and translate. Your heart was beating much too quickly, pounding in your ears from the swift exit. You had to wait a long time to settle, silent as the car revved to life, speeding out of the back entrance of the Moulin Rouge, away from the chaos. 

The roads were largely empty, thanks to the night’s growing age, the better population gone to sleep and forget the events of a rather uneventful evening.

For you, though, there would be no sleep.

For you were wide awake, looking out of the window, rooted in your position as you tried to calm your nerves. The shock had made you sober for those minutes of panic in the establishment, but as the ride kept driving to an unknown destination, you began to calm down, breathing deeply with every turn of the vehicle.

Perhaps it helped much that there was no conversation in the car, no questions about whether you were all right, whether you needed anything. 

The sole help you needed—which you received—was his hand, still entwined with your gloved one. 

You wondered whether his fingers were still warm, like how they were, ghosting along your back. 

You dared not glance at him, in case your question would show on your face. 

The roads began to look more familiar, you recognising where he was taking you. The statue of the general towered over your vision once more, and the car slowed to a stop.

Without the sounds of the engine, the silence had become much louder. 

The actor decided to break it first.

“We’re here.”

Right.

You nodded, albeit absent-mindedly.

He turned his head to the hotel, opposite his side, and opened the door.

Your hand and his were still intertwined. 

With a soft tug, he brought you out of the car, taking great care of your dress as it fell out in swaying folds from the seat. Snapping the door shut behind you, he bid his chauffeur to wait.

Taking a second-long glimpse at the Ritz, he then caught your unsettled gaze. “I will go back to the party…apologise to Shua for my hasty exit, and let Seungkwan know that you’re safe.”

He made to turn.

Your hand refused to let him go.

Feeling the tug of your fingers stopping his return, he faced you again, an inquisitive look upon his features.

You slipped out a request.

“Stay.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened.

Swallowing hard, you looked down at your hands, continuing because the silence was unbearable. “I know this is a bit sudden…I understand that, but I hate how the night turned out and…I don’t know, I…” 

Your free hand gestured towards the hotel. “I have wine in my room. It’s not much, but…” You glanced up at him, trying to muster a little earnestness. “I would hate that your birthday ended with you running away…helping me run away.”

You watched him raise his brows, and you fought the urge to avoid his scrutiny. You could tell he was uncertain, with the way he pressed his lips together, deep in thought. His hair swayed gently in the late night breeze, the sides of his fringe half-covering his vision, and you could only wait as he weighed in the cons of your invitation.

Because now you realised it was a bad idea, and maybe you were still drunk—you had never made a good decision in your life when your mind was disarrayed with alcohol.

But then he answered you, and your decision proved to be perfect.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind some more wine.”

Sober you would not have smiled so quickly at his answer.

Sober Jeonghan just might have—but he, too, was in a state much like yours.

Turning, he updated his chauffeur with new instructions, and this time you listened; the latter was urged to drive back to Moulin Rouge, where he would inform Joshua and Seungkwan of his and your whereabouts. Both of you watched the sleek black Bentley drive away, fading away into the Parisian roads.

The film noir star turned to you. He raised your hand in his. 

“Lead the way, then.”

With your spirits higher than they had been the entire night, you obliged him, walking to the entrance. Pushing the doors open, the both of you tried to avoid showing your faces, but it was fortunate enough that no one was around to catch you both.

The journey to your room was a short one, but you still took your time, making sure your gown did not make you stumble. Your company’s hand was much needed, because you were a little unsteady, gloved hands grabbing onto walls, clutching your doorknob tighter than usual. 

Unlocking the door with your free hand, you pushed it open, entering first. You pulled him inside, and he regarded his surroundings. The mess in your room did not clean itself up in your absence, and you had to toss some clothes closer to your wardrobe with your heel, where they had made a pile next to your bed. “I was in a hurry,” you reasoned, but you could tell he did not believe you in the slightest. 

“Here,” you said, pointing to the chairs beside the window. “Sit over there.”

Obeying you, he crossed the distance, only to be stopped once more by your grasp. This time, he had to object. “Your hand,” he voiced out, tugging on the hold. “You’re going to have to let go of me.”

It was then you noticed truly how long you had been holding onto him. 

Slowly, you unravelled your fingers from him, he settling into one of the chairs. You did not like how empty your hand became, despite the gloves masking any real touches. 

“Missing my touch already?” you heard his feline question, and you realised you had been staring at your hand, flexing and unflexing. 

Cheeks heating, you got out, “Never!” before turning your back on him. Searching for your secret bottles, you reached down next to the bed, underneath the side-table. They were well-hidden in the past, when your agent would scour your surroundings to take them from you. Grabbing one of the four, you read the label, satisfied with the quality. 

Screwing open the cap, you looked around for any fresh glasses. “Let me phone up room service.” Walking over to the dainty, circular table in front of him, you brought the bottle down. “There’s nothing to pour this in.”

“No, don’t fret yourself. We can drink from the bottle.”

“Oh.” You looked down at your dress, suddenly feeling much too formal. “I’ll be with you in a minute, then,” you began, gesturing to the bathroom. “I need to get out of this—”

“_____.”

You paused.

He jerked his head towards the empty chair. “Don’t take that dress off. Not while I’m here.”

Your hands at your sides went limp. All you could say again was, “Oh.”

A raised brow. “What are you ohing for? Did you not wear it for me?” He flicked the bottle cap off the bottle, watching your fluster. “At least let me enjoy the sight till I leave.”

You would have hoped he would not see your unease, reflexively touching the back of your neck. Quickly you settled in your chair, waiting for him to take the first sip. 

When he was done, he stretched his arm, enough for the bottle to reach your fingers. Receiving it, you decided to take a hearty chug. “My goodness,” he commented, ushering you to return the bottle. “Perhaps we should return to the party. At least we won’t run out of wine there.”

You smacked your lips together, sticking slightly from the alcohol. “I feel awful about that, by the way.” You locked your hands together upon your lap. “Making you run away from your own birthday.” 

“Don’t worry yourself,” he assured you, “The moment those journalists crashed the place, I was going to leave.” A second swig of the bottle. “I wager the party’s dispersed by now.”

“The fucking press,” you cursed low, “Ruining a perfectly good evening.”

That had the actor cocking his head. “Perfectly good evening, you say?” he repeated. “The _____, enjoying herself out of her hotel room? Interacting with others, and relishing the attention?”

“That is not true!” you protested, snatching the bottle from him. “It was not as if I made any proper conversation with anyone there.”

“Well that was because you spent all your precious conversation on me.”

“Don’t make me regret leaving this hotel,” you warned, earning a chuckle from him. “Besides…I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.”

This time, you enjoyed the thrum the wine brought to your senses. “You know something funny?” He lifted his brows, urging you to go on. “I didn’t even give you a birthday present.” You brought the bottle upon the table, frowning. “Well, I suppose that is not funny, more rude, but…”

Jeonghan took a longer swig of the wine than usual. He took his lower lip between his teeth, taking in the cherry-coloured residue. “Your company was what I wished for…not your gifts.”

Your breath paused at that comment.

“I…I see.”

He decided to take another turn, gulping down the alcohol. He smacked it down on the table’s surface, groaning through his nose. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

“Jeonghan.”

Sliding the bottle to you once more, he hummed. “Yes?”

You wondered whether you should ask the question that lingered on your tongue. 

Glancing down at your hands, you knitted your brows. “Um…how did you manage…you know…when you were struggling back then?”

An uneasy pause. “In what sense?”

“Well…” Smoothing out the fabric of your gloves, you tried to continue. “I mean, you went through this once, right? You know…during our….”

A harsh hum. “Yes, I remember.” 

A harsher intake of breath, which had you grabbing the wine bottle. His voice entertained your ears as you drank. “I won’t lie to you, it was difficult…not everyone tasted success as quickly as you did.”

Was that meant to sting? Perhaps it was not his intention, but you still felt the bite. “I suppose what helped was that once you’re at rock bottom…there is no other way but up.” He folded his leg over the other, crossing his arms. “The one thing that kept me going was that I knew it would get better…thankfully, it did.”

“But what did you do?” you pressed. “What did you do which changed everything?”

He pretended to ponder, but his answer came to him as instant as the million clicks of the Moulin Rouge cameras.

“I stopped hiding, _____.”

You could not avoid him any longer.

“Not that I ever really went anywhere, but…” He shook his head slowly, as if acknowledging the events of the past. “Yes, I…never left. I stayed, and I fought for a place in the industry. I went to hundreds of auditions, knowing what the papers were saying about me.”

The word slipped out before you could stop.

“Why?”

He held you captive in his stare for a minute, releasing his folded arms. Sensing his next moves, you gave him the bottle. This time was the longest swig before he held it to his chest. 

“Because I deserved it. Because I knew I deserved better than what I was given. Nobody should dictate my fate.”

The grave earnestness of his gaze made you unable to respond. “And nobody should dictate yours either.”

Maybe if you were sound of mind, you would have accepted defeat. Listened to the ends of his declaration, and basked in the late-night silence.

However, something in you had to confess your true feelings.

“I want everything back to normal.”

Your vision blurred slightly. “I just want to act again…I didn’t realise how much I missed it…” You took the bottle, the contents less than half. “You say that I cannot let people dictate my fate. Acting is what I want. But these people are stopping me.”

You gulped down the alcohol, helping little to soothe your nerves. “I want to be in front of the cameras, and become another person entirely. Is that even normal?” A scoff. “I mean, I am an actress, but…recently the urge to be someone I’m not is so tempting.” Another swig. “Maybe if I could just become my character in some long-ago comedy, some flighty heroine out of my previous romance…maybe then I will not be so hated. Maybe then I can live someone else’s destiny.”

Your hands swirled the wine which was left, fingers tightening around the neck. “People don’t fall in love with the actor. They fall in love with the character. People never truly loved me, Jeonghan, they loved what I created for them. Call me sick and twisted, but I want to be loved like that again.”

The man listened, feeling his chest tighten at your confession. He dared not say a word, though, lest you stopped—lest you hid yourself from him.

“I want to be loved again, Jeonghan. So what if it isn’t real? It was real to me.” A ragged sigh escaped your lips. “Alas, these people do not want me anymore…and this is what I have to accept. That is my fate.”

As you made your tongue rest from your rambling, you did not notice Jeonghan furrow his delicate brows, frowning at the words which rested within the room. 

He could not have this be your resolution.

“_____.”

You did not respond, drinking. 

“You can be loved again…if you just accept it.”

Smacking your lips together, you brought the bottle his way. “Hmm.” 

You were tired—the wine had furthered your daze, and you knew if you took in another drop you would lose your senses. That could not happen; not when your ex-lover was seated opposite you, as drunk as you were, looking at you just as he used to all those years ago. That alone was amplifying your nerves. 

His voice was akin to the jazz that played at Moulin Rouge. “You want to know something?”

A lift of your chin. “What?”

Unfolding his leg, he leaned in, spreading his legs apart. “I didn’t love you for who you were on television…all those years back.”

You could not look away from his heavy-lidded eyes. “I fell for who you truly were. None of those roles that you played so well, none of those scripted interviews…nothing of that superficial nonsense. 

“I loved you. Only you.”

You felt the city go silent.

The cars that may have rushed past distantly had been quietened, the music from other rooms ceasing to play. Even the stars paused their twinkling, deathly still as they watched through your window the scene that awaited the two of you.

Your mouth parted.

It was all too much.

Suddenly, it was too much, too quickly—this man, seated before you, drinking wine with you, listening to you ramble as drunkards do. It was all too much. Too good, too beautiful, too precious. 

“Fuck.”

You shot up from your seat, chest rising up and down, needing to breathe in the room’s oxygen before you collapsed. “I must…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I must get more wine.”

He watched you stumble to your bedside again, he, too, standing. “Wait—”

“No!” you exclaimed, too instantly as you looked over your shoulder. “Just…wait. Stay where you are.”

You felt him stay put behind you—his eyes never left your back, though, as you continued your shaky way to the side table. Once again you knelt down, taking hold of the second bottle. 

All you had to do now was get up. 

Stand on your two feet, and face the history residing in your ex’s eyes.

I loved you. Only you.

Brows drawing together, you took a deep breath. Trying to calm your nerves.

It did not work in the slightest. 

Especially when your vision was blurring, and when you realised there were tears forming, there was no chance in the world that you could face him.

His voice slipped into your head.

“_____.”

You could not take it.

There was no leash to your tongue anymore. The words that had been bubbling to the surface could have no restraint—not when he said your name with a tenderness that you had been aching for years. 

So, as you slumped to the floor, bottle in hand—your back to the man who you owed too much—you blamed the alcohol in your veins as you exposed yourself.

“I missed you, Jeonghan.”

There.

There it was.

Out in the open, with nothing to undo it.

The actor, on the other hand, would have rather died than have you reverse such a declaration.

I missed you, Jeonghan.

His name on your lips set something alight in him.

He wondered whether he had dreamt up your confession.

You were both so drunk—he had seen you delude yourself, create stories in a booze-inflicted daze, and he would play along, because he could not be the person to shatter your illusion.

But now the roles were reversed. He must be dreaming, conjuring this fantasy.

It was his doubts that fuelled his question.

“What…what did you just say?”

He waited.

Waited for you as you gathered every atom of strength in rising, velvet skirts unfolding as you stood, unopened bottle in your gloved hand.

He waited as you gulped down the last of your bravado, slowly turning to face him—the shock which smacked his beautiful features had you spluttering your words again.

“I-I…I really missed you.” 

Jeonghan still had trouble believing.

Perhaps he finally understood the extent of your alcoholic troubles. Perhaps delirium was a symptom, but his fantasies were being extra cruel to him tonight.

So he took a hesitant step—two, three steps towards you. Each foot closer was hesitant, gentle, as if he was stepping on glass, terrified the world beneath him would shatter. You dared not move, fearful of your senses, as unpredictable as the emotions behind the man’s face.

When his shoes caressed the ends of your gown, he stopped himself. One more step, and he could be a hair’s length from you, 

He cocked his head, chest tightening. “Really?” he got out, quiet as the city beyond you.

You could barely breathe, but you made yourself speak—it was now or never. 

“So much.”

The actor’s curse was low—grating against his teeth.

This time, he allowed his gaze to dart over your features—the glazed, frantic eyes, the taut brows, anticipating his response. He wandered down to your lips, and could not help settling there for a moment. If he stepped a little closer he could taste the wine-stained confessions that settled on your mouth. The very thought had his insides singing. 

His heavy stare had your stomach surging. “Jeonghan,” you whispered. 

His hands flexed and unflexed, aching to reach out—more so when you said his name.

“I really want to kiss you, chérie.”

Your brows twitched upward. Instinctively, your eyes rooted to his lips, his tongue running across the bottom. You had half a mind to follow the trail with your own mouth.

“What’s stopping you?”

And as he took in your words, the true implications behind them—as his eyes locked with yours for a second, you knew then and there the answer to your question.

The answer, which Jeonghan bestowed as he closed the final distance. 

Your ex-lover wasted no time as he held your face in his shaking hands and enveloped his lips with yours. 

It was as if the entire universe sighed in relief. 

Although your lips had not touched his for years, the way they moved harmoniously with his would have made it impossible to prove such a claim. It was as if you were welcoming back a long lost friend from the wilderness, greeting an ancient connection, strayed from the threads of time. It was second nature to kiss him back, holding onto the lapels of his blazer as you pulled him closer. 

It was like the beginning of the decade once more, on similar, half-drunk nights like this when this exact dream of a man swooped you into midnight corners and stole the breath from your lungs. These memories began to unravel the more his mouth encircled yours, teasing you open, aching to explore you.

He repeated his antics of years ago, rendering you breathless. You did not pull away, holding onto his mouth as if he would leave you forever. His hands travelled down, resting upon the sides of your neck, caressing your skin, as he pulled away to your utter misfortune.

You gasped for air, only able to stand due to the iron grip on his blazer. “…missed you, Jeonghan,” you said once more, the soft confession fanning his lips, but you did not realise it. Everything was becoming a little blurred—a haze of events linking and unlinking, with the sole connection being the man you missed. 

Even though he heard you before, his gaze still softened. His thumb ran slowly along the wet seam of your lips, and your patience began to run thin. “I am…so glad you said that, chérie.”

And once more he was upon you, this time leading you further back until your velvet dress bunched at the side of the bed. His mouth never ceased its labour as he sat you upon the tousled sheets, as disarrayed as you as your hands travelled to his hair—your gloves robbed you of the feeling of his locks, as soft as the fabric covering your fingers. 

When he felt the silk of your gloves, he broke away from you, stunning to you a dumbfounded silence. He held your wrists, gently pulling you away from his raven hair, stroking the silk of your covering. “I want…” he was slowing his words, as if tasting each request that throbbed within his soul. “Off…I want this off…”

His words had you obliging him instantly. With your shaking hand—a trait he had noticed, and relished in—you slowly pinched the tips of the fingers, tugging back the silk till the glove was off. You flexed your now-naked fingers, almost embarrassed to see the man regard them as if you had stripped yourself bare before him. You would have done the second had his own aching hands not gotten your covered arm.

Jeonghan’s fingers were gentle, albeit a little clumsy, even as he tried to razor in his clouded focus upon the white silk. Slowly, but surely, he pulled on the fabric, and his eyes savoured the glove, smoothly sliding off your arm. 

Your skin was revealed underneath the moonlight, and you felt the actor’s tremble of his fingers as they enveloped one of your hands, raising it to his lips. His mouth was warm as he kissed your palm, finally able to revel in the warmth of your touch. The action was so intimate you had to say something, anything, but before you could even open your mouth, his heavy stare raised to yours, and had you falling completely silent.

His eyes darted upon your Dior gown, completely without shame as he drank in the details of the dress, the diamonds, and how you carried the entire look—the moment you had stepped into Moulin Rouge, and now, in front of him, tousled with your stained lipstick, and a frantic stare rooted to him.

His gaze could have set you on fire as he held both of your hands, fingers never stopping their climb upward. 

“You look…truly divine in that dress.”

This time, you blamed the alcohol for the truth that escaped you as his hands held your face, urging you closer to him once more. 

“I wore it just for you.”

That was enough for him to curve the corners of his lip upward—even the devil could not feign the drunk pride that exuded from his smile. 

“I know, chérie…I know.”

And he dove straight back in.

This time, in the midst of his heated, smug kisses, you felt his tongue teasing along your lips, and your soul nearly abandoned ship. You could not open up fast enough, letting him slide inside, taste the wine that stained your own tongue. Your groans were broken as he swirled his tongue with yours, sucking slightly on it with his mouth, a dull throbbing inside of you which had not felt such pleasure in such a long time. They did not stop as he continued, smiling against your mouth.  

You were so wrapped up in him, enveloping him in your arms, even more desirable since you truly felt his hair underneath your fingertips. His locks were silkier than your gloves, softer than the velvet of your dress. There was no room for space between you two, you half in his lap with every inch closer you had crept in between heated touches. You wanted him all over you, more so when, with a carnal desperation, he pushed you further into the sheets. Breaking away from your mouth, he planted open-mouthed kisses upon your jaw, trailing slowly down. 

His fingers crept upon your waist, trying to feel you under this dress, trying so ardently to break you out of it. You could not believe that you would have damned your precious Dior to bare yourself before him, broken your diamond necklace to allow him better access upon your neck. The delirium caused by the alcohol morphed into delirium caused by his hands, his mouth, his incoherent mumblings, praising you, relishing you. 

At this point, even you could not contain the voices of pleasure that slipped out of you, sighing softly at every touch of his lips upon your skin. “Jeonghan…” you whispered out, feeling an ache around your core. “Jeonghan, please—”

The said actor let out a soft moan at your pleading. “Please what?” Another kiss planted upon your neck. “What do you want?”

“I…” 

You! 

You! you wanted to say, because it was the absolute, unadulterated truth. You wanted him near you, on you, fuck, inside you. You wanted him desperately, more than all the riches you had craved for in your youth—perhaps, deep inside, you would have forgiven the loss of your fame if it meant you could be wrapped around your ex-lover forever. 

Yet the alcohol had your words all jumbled, mind all dishevelled. Your eyes could not even decipher the full clarity of his beauty before you, and you blinked back, trying to focus on his face. In the corner of your mind, fatigue began to appear.

But you remained stubborn. Held onto whatever part of his you could latch on to and whimpered, “I want you, Jeonghan.”

You took in the wildfire of lust that set ablaze in his eyes.

You could have jumped with joy.

Colliding against each other once more, you damned your concerns as you revelled in the actor’s hands, swiping up the heavy folds of your gown till your legs were exposed, the velvet bunching at your waist. He offered rest to your love-bitten throat, taking a peak at the black lingerie that was revealed, and his jaw going slack had you trying to close your legs in sheer embarrassment.

His hand upon your thigh stopped you. “Come on, mon ange,” he began, spreading your legs further apart. “Why be shy with me now?”

When you tried to avert his penetrating stare, his two fingers fell to your chin, turning you to him. “You said you wanted me, no?”

God. You decided to go limp underneath his touch, and he let out a rasping chuckle, settling between your legs. He leaned into you, his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Then have me,” he whispered. 

Fuck.

You were never refusing his order.

Jeonghan was about to slip past your slick underthings, take your lips with his own, ruin and salvage you upon the bed with no one but the stars watching.

That was when the loudest knocking you had ever heard thundered on the hotel door.

“_____! PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE INSIDE!”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your sockets, the actor’s head whipping to the entrance. 

“JESUS, _____, YOU BETTER NOT BE PASSED OUT ON SOME RANDOM STREET—!”

“Son of a bitch,” you got out, your fingers sagging down to the blazer. 

“Is that…” Jeonghan’s brows knitted in thought. “Seungkwan?”

The deafening knocking continued, pounding your head into aching. “Maybe if we stay quiet he will leave,” you mumbled. You, however, were well aware of the foolishness of such a suggestion.

The agent’s rapping only increased in tempo. 

“I HAVE A FEELING YOU ARE IN THERE! IGNORING ME!”

A dire shame that your friend knew you so well.

“Perhaps we should let him in.” You were met with a defeated stare, slight amusement staining his vision. “I fear he will kick the door down, and the Ritz staff will finally have a reason to throw you out.”

You groaned. “Jeonghan!” 

“JEONGHAN?! DO I SOUND LIKE FUCKING JEONGHAN TO YOU…In retrospect, that should be taken as a compliment…”

“Damn it,” you hissed, “Bastard heard me.”

When the beautiful, half-drunk man began to ease himself off you, his hands furthering from your lingerie, all the drowsiness that you had pent up completely vanished.

You were going to murder Seungkwan.

Heaving off of the bed, head pounding harder than the knocks on the door, you grabbed your skirts, thundering to the entrance of your hotel room.

Twisting the knob, you thrust open the door, finding your agent’s raised fist, ready to tear down the wood. 

He caught sight of your dishevelled appearance, and twisted his lips in a frown.

“What the hell took you so long!” he began shouting already, stepping past you and going inside. “I was beginning to think you had died—!”

He stopped—stared at your guest, who was as dishevelled as you were—noticed the lipstick stains on his usual coral mouth, glistening. Then, he whipped his head to you, noticing how your mouth was more swollen—as if it had been softly bitten. 

Seungkwan slapped his hands to his mouth.

“Oh, stop it!” you exclaimed, suddenly wishing the roof would fall on your head. 

The film noir star walked closer to the two, fixing his blazer. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he said, raking his slender fingers through his hair. “We became a little…distracted.”

Your face burned hotter than the summer sun. “No, no! I need no apologies!” the agent immediately countered, raising his hands in surrender. “In fact, let me apologise for, um…stopping you both!”

“Oh, Jesus!” You pointed at the door. “Leave us already!”

“No, _____, it is alright,” Jeonghan assured you, glancing at the clock. “I fear I must leave anyway. If Seungkwan has just arrived back, then Joshua is probably still at Moulin Rouge, taking care of the press. I must let him know that you and I are fine.”

But you were glaring so violently at your friend that he could have squirmed. “No, no, Jeonghan, do not leave on my behalf! I will return to my room this instant!” 

He hurried to the doorway, turning back only to you. The implications of his scrutiny were clear. 

We will be talking about this.

“I must apologise again, Jeonghan, truly!” he called out once more, the tips of his ears turning crimson. “You both…carry on with whatever you were doing!”

Before you could cuss him out for such a suggestion, he was out of the room, cursing under his breath loud enough for the two of you to hear. 

At least it was not just yourself, experiencing those exact feelings. 

The room was much quieter—too quiet for you, now that you felt his presence near you, undisturbed by any more nosy agents. 

You bid yourself to speak. “So…”

His stare was upon you. “So.”

“You, um…are you really going back to see Joshua?”

He nodded, albeit more hesitantly. “Yes, I…I suppose I must show my face to the press or they will tear Joshua’s party to bits.”

“I see.”

You were exhausted. Even at that moment, when you finally turned your head to return his gaze, you knew that you were minutes away from collapsing to the floor. You had barely any strength left, the alcohol settled and refusing to leave your system. You could tell Jeonghan felt the same—with the way his cheeks flushed, his eyes darting to every feature of your face, your tousled dress. 

Even with the barrier of your slowly dying consciousness, you tried one last time to make him stay.

“Will you not finish what you started?”

The actor, instead of his usual, composed smile, grinned at you, a little more lopsided than he usually exposed. Even in his fatigued stupor, he could catch your incorrect taunt. 

He stepped closer to you. Close enough to reach out and take you in his arms should he wish it.

“Was it really me who started this, chérie?”

No—of course he was not.

“Besides…”

His hands reached out, holding your face in utmost tenderness.

“I cannot have you when we’re both like this.”

Your confusion had him explaining. “Look at us…we’re both so tired, and drunk, and…I tend to forget things if I take a glass too much at a party.” His thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I fear I might forget moments of tonight, too.”

You could not believe how that did not bother you. “So?” you asked quietly, holding onto his wrists. 

“So…I cannot accept it.”

“Why?”

There, at that moment, your ex-lover’s eyes darkened, ever so slightly. 

“Because I want you and I to be sober when I have you…I want you to remember my hands on your body, my tongue all over your skin.” His thumb inched closer to the corner of your mouth. “I want you to remember my fingers slipping between your thighs, one by one till you’ll beg me to replace them with my cock.”

Jeonghan’s finger ran along your spit-slick lips. “God, chérie, I need you to remember the exact moment when I’ll slide inside you, and make you beg for release.”

The words alone had a small whimper escaping your mouth. 

“Right now, we are both drunk beyond relief.” A small sigh left him, fanning your lips. “You will not even recall this conversation, let alone how much I want to fuck you.” 

He delighted at your reaction, your legs like soft jelly. “I cannot have that at all.”

If he was expecting you to respond, he was sorely mistaken.

All you could do was gape at him, drinking in the words that have left his mouth.

Your silence allowed him to pull away, slowly making his way to the door. 

He was nearly out of your room when you finally found your voice. 

“When will I see you again?”

He looked over his shoulder.

You hoped with all your heart that you would remember the promise in his smile. “Sooner than you think…if you will allow it.”

You returned his mirth. “Good.”

And that was all you needed—he, too, sensed it, and bid you a sweet, slurred adieu before leaving the premises. 

As you closed the door after him, trudging back to your bed, you caught sight of your silk gloves, settled on the sheets. 

Instinctively, you bit your lip. 

The actor was mistaken.

Because no matter how drunk you would have been, even more so than you were now, you would not be able to forget it had he crossed the final boundaries.

You would have remembered every detail he said you would not.

And although, in any normal circumstance, your memory had never served you well, at least it excelled in one matter.

You knew that, at the end of the day, Yoon Jeonghan could never be forgotten.

Especially by you.

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 11TH OCTOBER,1954

YOON JEONGHAN ONCE AGAIN DOMINATES ALL THE PRESS TOURS FOR NEW MOVIE!

You know it, readers! Our favourite superstar, Yoon Jeonghan, once again vows viewers and fans from all around the world with an exclusive new radio interview with French talk-show host Jean d’Arcy. He exposes a few details about his upcoming movie, his budding friendships with his co-stars, and charms the listeners with his witty answers! 

Many from the audience noticed how happy he has been ever since he stepped foot in Paris. He was all-smiles at the press shoot, and as well as lighting up the radio station during the interview with his joyous attitude. We at France-Soir are delighted to know that our city has brought such elation to the actor, but there is speculation that a romance may be in the works.

That’s right, readers! 

What we only need to find out is who managed to snag the most eligible celebrity in the world?

THE WEEK THAT WENT AFTER THAT FATED NIGHT WAS INDESCRIBABLE.

If there truly was a Lord that rested beyond the clouds of this atmosphere, then you would have very well fell to your knees and thanked Him for your reversal of fortune. It was as if the deities that controlled your life decided to cease their prejudices against you, and finally give you a taste of joy.

Never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would be fooling around with your ex-lover in your favourite place. Hell, if you got told that you would speak to Jeonghan again a month back, then you would have laughed at the messenger of such news and wished them the same misery you went through in your first weeks here. 

It was just so fun—away from prying eyes, hidden from the cameras. The two of you conducted secret meetings between his press tours, sneaking away from dinners to conjoin in moonlit corners, simply because the thrill of secrecy ignited the desire the two of you shared. What helped such stealthy rendezvous were the hours of your meetings—always after midnight, always leaving before the sun caught you both red-handed in each other’s arms.

Jeonghan did question the strange timings at the beginning, already certain of your answer. You tried to wave away his questions, but the beautiful bastard was persuasive. In the end, you confided your fear of being captured by the press, which confused him even further.

“Why are you so scared of the reporters catching you with me?” he had asked you one night, as the two of you shared a cigarette underneath the Arc de Triomphe. “If anything, won’t it help you if you’re seen with me?”

Your harsh chortling had him handing the cigarette to you instantly. You took a long drag, puffing out the smoke. “You may be untouchable, but I most certainly am not.” Tipping the ashes upon the pavement, you presented it. “My reputation is infectious, Jeonghan. The press would drag you down to my level.”

The man clicked his tongue, inhaling the tobacco. “Stop speaking about yourself like that,” he chided, “One scandal does not cause ruination.”

“I am right here,” you countered, your hands waving to your figure. “Ruined because of one scandal.”

“Well…” The corner of his lips quirked upward. “You haven’t had just one scandal.”

Your withering glare had him chuckling, smoke curling from his mouth. “No need to rub it in,” you muttered, taking the cigarette from him. 

“I’m only thinking of solutions here, darling.” He watched you lean against the stone monument. “You said you missed acting, no?”

You nodded, taking a drag. “Then have you responded to any casting calls recently?” he asked you.

Your smile was weak—weaker when the actor tutted. “I am trying, I promise!”

“Are you?” He received the cigarette once more. “I cannot say for the day calls, but I can confirm you haven’t attended any night auditions.”

“I have you to blame for that,” you mumbled, “Wasting my nights.”

The quirked brow that welcomed you had your stomach fluttering. “Wasting your nights, am I?” he repeated, the sultry baritone furthering your nerves. “Perhaps I should inform those journalists of my location…”

“You wouldn’t dare!” you immediately snapped, which had the man grinning “You know what, maybe it is time to put an end to these meetings!”

Jeonghan’s malicious stare only enhanced his amusement. “As you wish, mon ange,” he purred, taking a last drag before dropping the butt of the cigarette to the pavement, snuffing it out with his boot. “I will find some other disgraced actress to entertain at this hour.”

The scoff that escaped your mouth had him unable to contain his laughter. “Fine! But you won’t find a better disgraced actress than me, I can tell you that!”

You were so caught up in your petty temper that you did not notice your ex stepping closer, arms reaching out. When his hands slithered about your sides, pulling you closer, you blinked back to find him gazing down at you, his smirk softening. 

His locks nearly caressed your cheeks. “You know I want no other, right?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the battle of restraining a smile was bound for defeat. “Of course,” you said, sarcasm clear in your voice. 

“Plus,” he added, drumming his fingers upon your clothes, smirk morphing once more, “After fooling around with the most disgraced actress in Hollywood, how could I seek scandal somewhere else?”

Your smile then became a flash of teeth. His laughter resonated around the Arc as you pushed him from you, crossing your arms as you seethed at him. “Ass,” you could only say, because everything else merely accentuated his delight.

Even that night ended on a sweeter note, despite Jeonghan’s attempts to get you to audition more frequently. At first, you thought that your greatest nightmare—another Seungkwan—had come alive, but at least he still retained the incessant pestering that only your agent had mastered so irritatingly well.

The rest of the week had managed to sail smoothly enough. 

Although you had still not seen Jeonghan as much as you would have liked, a part of you was delighted that he had not changed at all. With every conversation, every taunt, you were reminded of the glory days—when you two had first entered the relationship in your late teens, both novices in the acting field, and one look at him confirmed your suspicions of his genuinity. Of course he had matured—five years does tend to shift one’s youth—but even with that time between you two, his youth had not disappeared. It was almost masked beneath his charismatic demeanour, the image he conveyed to the public.

At least, with you, he shared a bit of himself.

With his premiere creeping closer upon him, he had to prepare, so spent a few less evenings with you than you had anticipated. You could not blame him, obviously, for investing that time in his upcoming movie, but a part of you wished that you could have been involved. Not that you needed to participate in his project, but hearing him excitedly recite the future events always had you biting the inside of your cheek, swallowing down the slight tinge of jealousy that stains your tongue.

It made you want to invest in yourself.

Was it not Jeonghan’s words, that you should not let others dictate your destiny? 

Yes, you were still doubtful of such a powerful declaration, but being in his presence made you want to try.

And trying, at this stage, was more than enough.

So, carrying out your ex’s suggestion, you let Seungkwan know of your new dedications, and urged him to find more auditions in the city. The man could not believe your changed attitude, but when he began to poke fun at it, you sent him a glare so withering he shivered out of your hotel room.

Despite your agent being the greatest son of a bitch known to man, he was damned good at his job—within the week, he disclosed to you information that had your jaw falling to the floor.

“A Choi Seungcheol film?!”

Seungkwan lifted his chin in pride, smirking in self-satisfaction. “Let’s say your agent has not lost his lustre yet. I still have my connections.”

“I must say, I’m impressed.” You waved your hands at him, sizing him up. “All this time, I wondered whether I had wasted my money on you.”

His expressive vanity faltered. “That better be a bad joke, _____,” he jeered, handing you the documents relating to the role. “The script has not been fully finalised, but Seungcheol’s assistant informed me that it’s very hush-hush at the moment.”

Taking the papers, you gave them a skim-over. “Why are they doing the auditions in Paris?”

“They said something about wanting to film the first locations in the city. I think the movie is set here.”

That had your excitement increasing. “Even better.” You looked at him, smiling. “Thank you for this.”

Seungkwan shrugged, but he returned your mirth. “Just doing my job.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “Now, I must leave you. I have a sweet little date in an hour.”

If you thought landing a prestigious audition in your state was shocking, then that piece of information rocked you to your core. “You? On a date?”

A sour look. “Why did you say it like that?”

You raised your hands in surrender. “No, you’re right, I’m just…” You grinned, watching him inspect himself in your mirror. 

“What? Shocked that I don’t dedicate my entire life to your failing career?” Your agent scoffed. “If I’m sinking with your ship, let me at least indulge in my last moments.”

“Oh, please!” you mocked, joining him in the mirror. “I let you have fun!”

“For the sake of decorum, I will keep quiet,” he muttered. “And anyway, why berate me? Don’t you have a date with Jeonghan tonight?”

That you could not argue against. “I wonder where he’ll take me,” you thought out loud. 

“As long as I don’t see you both,” he said, fixing his waistcoat, “I will be satisfied.”

An incredulous look. “I hope your date doesn’t show up.”

“I hope the press ruins your night.”

“That was too far!”

“Do not expect rosy praises from me.” He turned around, tucking his blazer closer. “I am not your ex-boyfriend.”

“Thank the heavens for it!” you proclaimed, walking to the door. “Now will you get out already? I have to prepare.”

“Fine, fine!” Seungkwan strolled to where you stood, the hotel door wide open. “Don’t forget to read over the details, all right?”

“Yes, yes, I know!” you rushed, almost pushing him out. “You have a good evening!”

“Don’t forget!” he only exclaimed back before exiting the room, leaving you to your newfound knowledge. 

A chance to work in a Seungcheol production.

This could change your life.

Although you never had the chance to work with him in your career, the director had gained unimaginable fame for his movies. He had always been in demand in the industry before you became an actress, but after one blockbuster after another, every actor, even outside of Hollywood, wished for a chance to work in his films. 

The thought stayed in your mind throughout the day, comforting you through the evening, capturing your attention even when Jeonghan arrived to pick you up in the middle of the night. It was almost four in the morning, the usual time of your meetings, a time you had insisted on.

Sneaking out of the hotel, you instantly rushed into the familiar Bentley, car-door already open for you. Seeing the film noir star seated had you instantly lighting up. His hair was tied back in a small ponytail, flyaways framing his face as he released his hands from his leather jacket, a simple white shirt peeking out from the black exterior. He unfolded his legs at the sight of you, a dazzling smile morphing his coral lips. 

Leaning in, he held your chin and kissed you softly, humming against your mouth. Although it only lasted a few seconds, your head still spun as he broke away, licking his bottom lip. 

“Evening,” you got out in your daze. 

His effect on you had him incredibly smug. “Good evening,” he responded, stroking your chin with his thumb. “Are you ready to go?”

When you nodded eagerly, he pressed his lips upon yours, smiling against you. Breaking away, he straightened in his seat, ushering the driver to begin driving. Obliging instantly, the sleek vehicle drove out of the Ritz’s circle, reaching the main roads.

“Where are you taking me tonight?” you asked him as you observed the Seine, lapping against the banks. 

“Guess.”

Your mouth pressed in a line. “You know that I am terrible at guesses.”

“This, actually, is a very easy guess.”

You glanced at him, the city around you turning greener with the excess of trees, more and more appearing the closer you drove to your destination. “I will wait till we reach this mysterious place.”

Turning from the great gardens, the car crossed a great bridge, the Seine residing underneath the stone. Once crossed over, the ride began to slow, stopping just before the huge stretch of lawn, cut off from the car window. You would have looked out from your own window, but your view only offered the river, the real destination at Jeonghan’s side. 

The man stepped out from the vehicle, circling around to open your door. You eased yourself out, about to thank him when you turned to where he brought you.

Your head tilted up to take in the full sight of the Eiffel Tower.

It surprised you how tall it really was—you should not have been, considering you had seen it countless times in the past, but for some reason, you had forgotten how overwhelming the landmark was. A rush of breath escaped you, staring and staring at it as if it had just graced its presence this moment, and not over sixty years ago. 

Your ears caught Jeonghan’s French, muttering orders to the chauffeur to stay put, nearing you once again. “Let’s go,” he said, sliding his hand into yours. 

He led you away from the quay you both stood upon, boots touching the freshly-cut lawn of the Eiffel gardens. The only sound around you two was the autumn whistles of the wind, and the soft crunch of the grass beneath your feet. 

As you both walked closer, you turned to him, asking, “You’re not taking me up there, are you?”

Jeonghan’s eyes were rooted to one of the entrances, situated at either footing of the Tower. “So you’re good with guesses, after all.”

“But it’s closed.” You looked around, spotting some people working around the east pillar. “Aside from the workers there’s no one else around here.”

The actor tutted in a melodramatic fashion, tugging you to walk to the others. “Poor, sweet fool,” he began, swaying your enclasped hands, “Have you still not understood the benefits of being with the most famous man in the world?”

You could only shake your head at him. “Rubbing your advantages in again, I see.”

“Not rubbing them in,” he clarified, “But allowing you to exploit them.”

“Of course,” you said, fighting back your mirth. “Well, let’s see how this is going to work.”

The people that were overlooking the entrances perked up at the two of you, one of the women walking up. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Jeonghan!” she greeted.

“Bonsoir.” He eyed the tower looming right above them. “I made a special request to be taken up tonight.”

“Oui, oui, I remember…on the phone!” Excitement spilled from her features. “Pardon me, but I’m your biggest fan!” 

The man gave her a smile, thanking her profusely. She then turned to you, eyes widening. “Mon dieu…_____?”

You don’t know why that unnerved you. “The very same.”

Her gaze darted between you two—down to your entwined fingers. “Oh…” The shock that spread her face had you almost repelling your hand from his. “Certainement pas! You are back with her? After so long?” 

Her heightened questions attracted the attention of her colleagues, who were all surprised to see the two of you side-by-side. “It must be what? Trois? Quatre? Non, five years!”

You shifted on your feet, hand involuntarily tightening against his. When he sensed your growing discomfort, he opened his mouth, raising his hand to stop the incoming questions. “You must excuse us, but we don’t want to discuss these topics.” He then gestured to the Tower entrance. “We would appreciate it if you could take us up.”

The workers did not look like they were done with their inquiries, but of course, they had to comply with the actor’s wishes. “Bien sur…of course,” the first woman assured him, ushering the two of you forward. “Please, follow me.”

The Tower employees helped you through the security railings, slipping into the iron pillars. You were entered into a silver lift, lightbulbs sparking to life as you all went up. You stayed close to Jeonghan as the grating noise of the elevator continued, the guide watching you both intently.

You knew that the Eiffel Tower had two floors, but when you went past the second, you asked the woman. 

Jeonghan answered for you. “We’re going to the very top.”

Once you reached the final level, the lift door opened, leading you to a tightly-spaced, curved hallway, the views from below peeking beyond small holes of the container. A set of stairs greeted you, and as your foot landed on the first step, your date thanked the woman, letting her know that she may stay on deck. 

“Non, non, I understand! You need privacy with your…amourette, non?”

Amourette. A fling. 

He smiled, but this time it did not reach his eyes. “Oui…you may come back in a couple of hours.”

Nodding in acceptance, the guide went back into the lift. Once he saw her descend, he joined you as you both went up the stairs. 

You noticed his slight frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” He shook his head absent-mindedly. “Oh, nothing.” He reached the top of the stairs, you following suit.

You were going to pester him further when the view hit you.

It was as if the entire world lay beneath your feet.

Beyond the thin, criss-cross railings, keeping you back, you beheld the entirety of Paris underneath you. Familiar landmarks, the loops of the Seine, entire buildings packed within ordered streets, etched a story before you. It was as if some great, god-like painter had outlined languid brushstrokes to depict the soft current of the river, carved out marble to erect the tall buildings in each square, brought out the finest tools to detail each and every tree, gallery, monument that your vision could create. Dazed, you walked along, fingers touching the railing as you spotted the Louvre, nestled in the walls of its Palace, the Moulin Rouge, all the places that acknowledged your presence, tasted your enjoyment, relished your memories. 

You did not realise how much you fixated on the view till Jeonghan’s voice made you jolt. You whirled around, and found him holding two champagne glasses. “Where did you get those?” you asked him. 

He jerked his head to the right—a small bar greeted you, about a dozen unopened bottles stacked neatly along the bar surface. “I had them bring the drinks out for us.”

“You really know the way to my heart!” you exclaimed, grabbing one glass from him. 

“I should hope so,” he murmured, walking over to the bar, taking out a bottle of champagne. He set the glass down, grabbing a corkscrew. Popping open the cork, a fizz of alcohol sputtered from the top, you inching back from its trail as it stained the iron deck. Once it fizzled out, filled your glass, topping his own before putting the bottle back on the bar. 

Taking a sip, you turned back to the glorious view. “Paris truly is beautiful,” you said, gazing over the horizons of the ageing night. “I think I forget sometimes, but tonight…”

“Hmm…truly sensational.”

But you knew he was not looking over at the city’s horizon.

Cheeks heating, you avoided his stare, looking at your treasured place. 

The two of you spent the next hour sipping your champagne, walking the full circle to take in every inch of Paris and her slowly waking citizens. Soon, bored with your current drink, you tried several bottles from the collection—from the rarest red wines to spirits, careful not to indulge in too much alcohol lest you ruin your night with your drunken stupor. 

It must have been a while before you informed Jeonghan of your recent good news.

He was over the moon.

“This is amazing news!” he proclaimed, raising his glass. “To you and the revival of your fame!”

“I don’t know about that,” you said, sipping your wine. “I mean, it’s just the audition. It’s not as if I’ve been offered the part.”

“Well, I know you’re going to get it,” he insisted. “You are the best actress I have seen in cinema.”

You kissed your lips, finishing your drink. “Now you’re just saying things.”

“You know I don’t just say things.”

That you did.

“Oh well,” you started, walking over to the bar. “I hope I do get the role, if only to shut everyone up.” You topped up your glass. “God, did you hear what that woman said of me? You are back with her?” you parrotted, amplifying the venom in your words. 

Jeonghan heard much more from that guide’s lips, too, but he did not share them with you—you did not need another comment to torment you. 

“The nerve,” you muttered, drinking your wine. “I will never forgive the press for the stories they made about our relationship.”

That comment had the actor pausing. He looked down at his rosé, swirling it in his glass. 

He wished he could say something about your declaration—in truth, the blame could not have been brought at the media’s door for the ending of his relationship with you, all that time ago.

But you were with him here—basking in his presence, drinking his alcohol, laughing at his jokes. Maybe another time, he will resort to difficult conversation.

So he only waved you off. “Don’t mind them, _____. What matters is that you and I are here now.”

“Yes, but…” You regarded the view. “This was the first time you and I were seen properly together and something was said about me.” You could help the sharp exhale. “It’s just…what would happen if we went out in daylight? When the whole world is watching us, judging us?”

He listened to you, taking in your concerns. He stepped closer to you, standing side-by-side, shoulders grazing against each other. 

As he watched the entire world—the world that only the two of you could see—he sipped his drink, letting his heart speak for him.

“Then we’ll damn the whole world together.”

You turned to him—but he was staring at the horizon, a sliver of sunshine peeking from its lining. 

You could not breathe. 

“Jeonghan…”

“Do you know why I brought you here today?”

Your hands interlocked with each other, holding the flute. “Was there a specific reason?”

He clamped his lips together, dipping his head. His hand reached out to the railing, pointing at the sun, shy, hesitant in its rise. The rays slipped out from the horizon, peeking out from the thousands of buildings that tried to hide it. “You see the sun?” We haven’t seen it together since we’ve reunited.”

Watching the day endeavour to begin, your confusion had you questioning him. “So?”

A moment had to pass before he continued. “Don’t you ever want to see me in the daytime?”

“Of course I do, but…” you pressed your lips in a thin line, swirling your drink. “I couldn’t take what they’d say about you and me.”

“I could take it for you,” he murmured. “If you would let me.”

Your next intake of breath was hitched—sharp. “They already say too much about me, Jeonghan. I cannot let you be a victim to it too.”

His nod was hesitant.

If only you would understand that he did not care.

He did not care a single a bit should the cameras caught him with you. Hell, he would have pressed his aching lips to yours, give them something to really talk about. 

He had to confess his growing desperation.

Sneaking around with you gave him great joy, but watching the sun’s light shine on your face, illuminating your skin…the sight brought him happiness the likes he had not felt in a long, long time. Perhaps you were not aware of it, but in his eyes, you were too talented, too brilliant to be hidden away in the shadows—be it the darkness of his favourite city.

You were always meant to be admired.

Swallowing the lump of cowardice, lodged within his throat, he reached out, holding onto your hand. 

Perking up, you gaped at his fingers enveloping around yours before focusing on him. 

“Whatever the tabloids write about us, whichever reporter takes pictures of us…it’ll all be in vain.”

His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand. “I lost you once before, chérie,” he muttered, voice lowering.  

“I cannot lose you again.”

Your heartbeat paused.

Halted for a few moments, dazed at the words that left the actor’s lips. As if time had mellowed twice over, you blinked back at him, each caress of his thumb sparking you alive. 

His gentle, melancholy gaze locked with yours. 

In that second, atop the highest peak in Paris, you witnessed the sun, now rising with more confidence, spill its light upon its subjects. The most special of those subjects, right before you, received its brilliance, lighting the dark irises of his eyes, making his skin glitter. In these moments, you let yourself forget that you were a disgraced, unwanted actress, harbouring feelings for a man who was supposed to be unattainable. In that singular moment, stretching to a thousand years, you believed in him.

In a world filled with lies, rumours and deception, you clung onto the one figure of truth.

Never had believing in a person been so easy.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, gravitating closer to him. His name fanned his lips, and he broke the seam, gazing down at your mouth.

“_____,” he said right back, tenderly—desperately. 

You closed the fine distance.

Enveloping his lips with your own, his elated hums escaped him as he melted onto you, letting go of your hand and encircling his own around your waist. The kisses he had shared with you were ravenous, always aching to fill the absence of years between you, but this time, the burning fires had been soothed, mitigated by the movements of your mouth, slotting perfectly against him. His stray curls caressed your cheeks as he angled his head, delving deeper into you, savouring the way you tasted.

Perhaps you both would have stayed forever in this position, high above the prying eyes, but now the sun had left its sanctuary, shining brightly upon you two. You made yourself pull away, empty glass in hand as you clutched onto his leather jacket. 

You allowed yourself to confide in him as you said, “I liked it, you know.”

A teasing quirk of his brow. “The kiss? I sure well hope so.”

“That too, but…” You ticked your head at the view of Paris, and the sun shining upon it. “Doing this at dawn. I missed how you looked in the daylight.”

Jeonghan wished there was a way to capture such a precious comment and store it in his heart forever. 

He was about to say something when he heard rustling from beyond the stairs of the entrance. Gaze straying beyond yours, you, too, turned around, finding the guide at the foot of the steps.

“Ah, oh!” She exclaimed, witnessing your affectionate moment. “Désolé, sorry, sorry! I just wanted to let you know that the Tower will be opening to the public in a couple of hours.”

“Right,” the actor responded, his hold on you steady. “We’ll be with you shortly.”

As the guide scurried away to the lift entrance, a short huff of breath escaped you. “I wish we could have spent the day here as well.”

Slowly, as if it hurt to do so, he retracted his hands from your waist. “I know,” he agreed, taking your empty glass from you, setting them both atop the bar.

“Are you not important enough to rent out the Eiffel Tower for the whole day?” you drawled, earning scoffed laughter from him.

His fingers grazed your back as he led you down the stairs. “Next time, you can be responsible for our destinations.”

“I hope you will be satisfied with my hotel room, then,” you countered, smile never leaving your lips as the two of you entered the cramped deck, finding your way into the lifts once more.

The woman was there, closing the railed doors as the elevator began to go down. Her indecipherable gaze was upon you both, never quite leaving. “Monsieur, did you enjoy the views? She asked, hands locking in front of her.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful,” you thought out loud, already missing the skyline vision of the city. “I’ll be sure to return.”

All you received from your review was a hesitant smile. When Jeonghan agreed with you, her face lit up, as if Christmas had been announced a month early.

You furrowed your brows.

The way she acted around you was incredibly strange. Whenever you caught her looking at you, she would instantly avert your eyes, but you could not mistake the traces—hell, dollops of dislike that filled her gaze. You held onto Jeonghan’s hand a little tighter, scowling at the obvious favour for the actor before you. 

So you had your disapprovers beyond the media here. 

The lift down took another fifteen uncomfortable minutes, the only distractions being your date’s comments on the Tower, or his questions to the guide. Once you all arrived at the ground floor, the elevator doors opened, entering the welcome halls. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day!” the woman chirped at the man. She offered you a smile which did not reach her eyes. “Toi, aussi.”

Hmph. “Thank you,” you mumbled, Jeonghan dipping his head as the two of you made your way through the halls. 

As you heard a slight commotion from outside, you furrowed your brows. “Why is it so loud outside?” you asked. “Isn’t there still an hour till the Tower opens?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he said, unable to check the windows too for the shutters were down. “Ah, well, it’s still early. I don’t think anyone will see us.”

Spotting the doors of the entrance, the two of you pushed them together, ready to return to your lives. 

That was when the worst possible drawback welcomed you at the foot of the pillar.

“Oh my fucking God—”

“There they are!”

“Finally!”

The mass of journalists scurried for their cameras, all their faces revealing the same shock as you and your ex-lover.

The cameras were raised, like zombies from the ground. 

You were offered one millisecond to blink back at the hundred black lenses, shutters snapping open. 

That was when chaos began.

Chaos, pure, tyrannical anarchy as a hundred click! click! clicks! of the cameras attacked you, accompanied by the saturated, white flashes. The flashes were the worst, making you cry out in surprise as you hunched over, like a criminal caught red-handed at the scene of the crime, like a cheat caught in bed with another. 

The lights were blinding, hurting your eyes, but the clicking had frozen you completely. This was the sound of your nightmares, and they had caught up to you—there you were, with the man who had not seen your worst, hounded by the press and reducing you to a creature unworthy of having a date up the Eiffel Tower. Your hands, reflexively, slapped to your ears, trying to drown the sound out, but to no avail; the media was a relentless entity, and it had found you with the one man they never even dreamt would be beside you.

You were destined for ruination.

Suddenly, your breaths were being snatched away, and what was an action so natural became impossible to overcome. Each shuddered inhale became shorter, harder, and the journalists even gasped at the way your mouth slackened, trying to engulf the oxygen that simply was not there.

You were going to die—this was the end, and a spectacular end one at that, worthy of an actress as volatile as you had become. You would crumble and collapse before the most famous man in the world, and he would watch in horror as a hundred journalists captured every moment of your suffering.

Among the hysteria of a thousand snappings of the shutter, and a million flashes of the lights, you felt a tug of strong arms around your shoulders.

A booming voice soared over the sea of cameras.

“Out of the fucking way!”

You did not have a moment to comprehend what was happening before the familiar hands on your arms propelled you forward—the wall of journalists split in half, making way for the seething actor, making your legs thunder down the pavement. You were not in control of your own limbs anymore. Completely at the will of another, your hands tightened against your ears as you heard orders to follow you. You did not listen to the murmurs of the man beside you, pressed against you as he led you out of the swarm of journalists. His eyes were razor-focused at the Bentley, stuck between the dozens of cars that had lined up against the quay. The trek was much slower, owing to the complete life-sucking shock you were experiencing, but if you and him could just get in the damn car—

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan, _____, just a few questions?”

“When did this romance revive?”

“Did _____ ask you out first?”

“Did _____ approach you?”

“Did _____ start this shocking relationship?!”

With every hateful question, Jeonghan’s rage grew.

For your sake, he kept his anger restricted in his gritted teeth and determined gaze, the car close enough to reach.

Wrenching open the car door, he nearly ripped it off its hinges, making his chauffeur jump at the start. “Get in, chérie,” he muttered to you, helping you inside, settling your curling mess beside him as he snapped the door shut. He turned to the man in the driver’s seat, voice booming louder. “We need to leave now!”

He did not have to repeat his order again.

Slamming his foot on the brakes, the chauffeur just managed to escape the horde of reporters, about to surround the vehicle. Instantly, you felt yourself jolt at the force of the car, undoubtedly breaking the speed limit as you were whisked out of the Eiffel Tower’s domain.

You, on the other hand, could not unhear the clicking.

The bright flashes tormented you in the car, not realising that your hands were still pressed upon your ears. Your breathing was still uneven, rasping out your mouth in hitched intervals, and if you curled anymore into yourself, you would have disappeared.

Perhaps that would have been best.

Jeonghan, endeavouring to calm himself from the reporters, took one look at your retreating figure.

His heart shattered in pieces.

Instantly his hands reached out, holding your wrists in his fingers, prying them away from your head. He tried to sit you up straighter, never letting go of you as he scanned your face, the lack of life prevalent in your features.

“_____….”

Your eyes darted to him. 

Jeonghan’s gaze began to twitch.

He turned to his chauffeur, already crossed the bridge over the Seine. “Take us to the apartment. We’ll be safe there—”

“No.”

He whirled his head to you.

Your stare had widened—slowly, you were shaking your head, gripping onto the bottom of the seat. “No.”

“_____, they are chasing after us.” He held your hand in both of his, trying to convince you. “They will not find us where I live—”

His speech was cut off when you repelled your hand from his hold.

“Take me back to the hotel.”

His brows knitted in confusion. “_____, they’ll know you’re there—”

“I don’t care.”

Your head still shook—your breathing was slowly normalising, but the complete lack of emotions in your eyes chilled the actor to the bone. 

“Take me back…now.”

He could only gape at you, his hands void of your presence.

Absentmindedly he carried the message to the driver, who then took the rigid turn into the Champs-Élysées, heading for the new destination.

The man endeavoured to gain a response from you, his own nerves rising from your heavy silence, not even deigning him a glance. The familiar, grand hotel was in view as the Bentley closened to the entrance, and your hand was already on the handle, anticipating the stop.

Jeonghan noticed instantly. “_____, wait—”

You did not wait for him to finish. The moment the car stopped, you hurled out of your seat. Slamming the door shut, you made to run into the entrances, biting down the urge to hold your face in your hands with every guest that watched your dishevelled appearance.

They were further shocked to find the film noir star getting out of the car, too, following after the likes of you.

His step was hasty, almost catching up with you when you whirled around, hand raised to stop him.

The look in your eyes made the man shiver.

“Don’t follow me in.”

With that, you turned your back to him, running past the grand doors of the Ritz. 

And even though every muscle in his slender body screamed at him to follow you inside, to the ends of the world, he could only stand still—mouth parted in shock, and eyes heavy with a loss.

The loss of a fantasy, and the possible loss of you and your faith in him.

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 12TH NOVEMBER, 1954

BREAKING NEWS: _____ _____ AND YOON JEONGHAN SPOTTED AFTER FIVE YEARS!

Who would have thought that you all would be seeing her name again? Not us! Well, we are about to rock your worlds when we give you this breaking news: once-superstar turned disgraced escapee _____ has finally come into view again, and with none other than her ex-lover Yoon Jeonghan!

That’s right—THE Yoon Jeonghan! 

The two lovebirds were spotted outside the Eiffel Tower, no doubt on a secret date, but their shocking relationship cannot be hidden any longer. Who would have thought, after nearly half a decade of zero contact, the two are tangled up in each other more than ______ was when she fist-fought her co-star! 

We are certain you all are wondering what has caused this absolute shocker of a reunion! Here at France-Soir, we have speculated that _____, unable to get out from her acting slump and continuous scandals, has come crawling back to our famed hero. Think about it—_____ on the fall, and Jeonghan on the rise—who would not wish their ex-boyfriend back in these conditions?

Readers have also expressed disappointment in Jeonghan for interacting with his infamous ex after so long. We assume that you are all concerned for his career, especially with the premiere of his upcoming movie just around the corner. 

Well, Yoon Jeonghan, if you are reading this (one can only dream!) then heed our advice—dump the phoney! Her scandalous reputation will only harm you. You would not want that again, would you?

This may be all we have for today, but not to worry, everyone. We will return with updates very soon. We have a feeling these two are only just starting.

YOU READ THE LAST WORDS OF THE COLUMN OF FRANCE-SOIR, CRUMPLING THE PAGES IN YOUR FINGERS.

With an uncontrollable rage, you ripped out the page, scrunching the page and throwing it across your room.

But that was not enough. 

Because the entire fucking magazine was riddled with no other news, pictures of yours and Jeonghan’s pure shock printed on every single side of the pages. 

You dropped the paper book upon the pile of dozens others.

Every single magazine in Paris had your picture upon it.

The disaster was upon you within two days. You knew you would not be able to escape it, but the exposition of you and the film noir star had rocked the world by storm. Every radio station, every television channel, every newspaper panel had written of you two being caught within the Eiffel Tower, all smiles and embraces. The public could not believe their eyes when they took hold of their preferred form of media, gazing or hearing the news. 

You and Jeonghan. The young lovers of Hollywood, doomed from the first time they ended their relationship, now continuing it once more. 

Although you anticipated the negative reaction, you were still shocked at the outpour of disapproval that came from the people.

Seungkwan, firstly, did not even wish to show you what others were writing of it, but he could not hide the truth from you for long enough. The outcries against you and your scandalous image, the lamentations against Jeonghan’s terrible decision to go along with the relationship you had somehow insisted on…that was not even half of the headlines. 

What surprised you the most was the protests against your ex-lover.

You had expected comments against you, but the complaints against your ex was something that threw you off. The negative reactions against his decision making, commenting on his poor choices, even going so far as to call him selfish for pursuing a relationship with you, especially with one of the biggest movies this year about to be released. You did not understand the responses that he received, since he was supposed to be untouchable. Even though you had predicted this would happen, it still did not lessen your shock. 

There was one element in common with all the complaints against him.

They still, in the end, placed the blame at your door.

Jeonghan should have known better than to become involved with _____.

Undoubtedly _____ was responsible for this relationship.

Why would someone like Yoon Jeonghan wish to reunite with someone like _____?

The last one stung for much longer than you wished.

Safe to say, in the days after your conflict with the press, you had not left your hotel room. 

When you first told Seungkwan of what had happened, you distinctly remembered the colour leaving his face. When he resorted to putting his head in his hands, you knew that things were about to take a turn for the worst.

It was bad enough to be caught in the busiest destination in Paris, but somehow the bastards in the media found out where you were residing at this moment—as of the past few days, the Ritz was hounded by the press everyday, waiting for you to come out, hand yourself to them like a sacrificial lamb. 

You were not going to let them win.

Whilst you were cooped into your hotel room, empty bottles plastered around you, you pondered on your situation. Paris as your sanctuary had been discovered, and was now being sacked. 

The evening had passed in the city, and you thought that the reporters were about to leave for the day when you saw the familiar Bentley driving in front of the entrance. Instantly you perked up, leaning into the window. 

With horror you watched as your film noir star left his car, snapping the door shut. 

His wavy hair was out, eyes hidden by the black shades perched on his delicate nose, a large trench coat hiding his slender figure as he strolled into the hotel, ignoring the million camera flashes upon him. His mouth was set in a hard line, his presence snuffed out as he faded from your view.

Fuck.

He was coming to see you. 

Suddenly, you whirled around to your room, in an even worse state than you last remembered. My God, he could not see you like this, visibly worsened since the last time he had laid his melancholy eyes on you.

Perhaps you could pretend you were not in the hotel.

The five minute wait from the entrance to your room was spent in such heart-wrenching anxiety that when the hard knocks on the door finally arrived, you jumped out of your skin, yelping out. 

There goes your original plan.

Taking a deep breath, hand resting on your stomach, you braved the steps to your door, shaking hand upon the knob.

You opened the door, facing the one entity you had been dreading.

One look at Jeonghan’s face, and you almost forgot everything that had happened.

His shades were off, revealing the shivering black pupils of his doe-like eyes, exposing such a panicked concern you could not help but part your mouth. He stood there before you, like a soul on its last threads of hope. 

He was going to say something when you heard the faint clicking of the cameras.

And then you remembered.

You remembered why you did not try to see him in the past days of this chaos; why you had resorted to surround yourself in these thick, 5-star walls, away from the world—away from him.

You steeled your gaze. “Why are you here?”

It was as if you had shot him. “Why…why am I here?”

But you turned your back to him, walking further into your domain. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His confusion had him absent-mindedly closing the door, following after you on instinct. “What are you talking about? I had to come, seeing as you won’t return my phone calls!”

Ah, yes. The constant ringing of your telephone in the past couple of days that you had dutifully ignored. You knew that it was no nosey journalists tormenting you, but the man you had feared to meet the moment the world realised where you truly hid.

You decided to evade his claims. “Those damned reporters have seen you now,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “Just you see what they’re going to write about in the papers tomorrow.”

Jeonghan’s voice had you near-flinching. 

“You think I give a fuck about the papers?”

On another evening you would have adored this comment—in another lifetime, where your every thought did not revolve around the flashing of the lights, the snapping of the shutters, and other people’s opinions.

“Of course you would say that!” you snarled, turning around. “Not that they’ve said anything about you!”

“Oh, they have said plenty about me,” he muttered. 

A scoff. “So you do give a fuck about the papers, then?”

The man’s coral lips pressed in a hard line. “I do not give a fuck when I have greater problems at hand.”

“What problems do you have, Jeonghan?” you demanded, taking a step closer. 

He matched your vigour. “I have this huge damned problem of why you are ignoring me.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Don’t…” he paused, taking a breath to steady his speech. “Don’t lie to me.”

You gritted your teeth. 

So it cannot be avoided. 

“Why did you take me in the daytime?”

He narrowed his brows. 

“What?”

“You knew this would happen,” you continued, agitation rising with each word that left your mouth. “You knew of my reputation, yet you still risked taking me out at dawn. Why did you decide the day and not the night?”

Your words left a horrible feeling in his stomach. “Don’t you find it strange? Meeting each other in secret like…like thieves?”

Your brows furrowed at that. “I don’t see it like that.”

“No?” He stared you down. “Then how do you see it?”

“We were being careful! So we do not get caught like we have now!”

“We have to act as if we have done something wrong…sneaking, creeping around, not even letting the day catch us.”

His groan was low. “What have we done? Choose to be with each other?”

“You know as well as I do that it is never as easy as that.” Your scowl was harsh, spoiling your features. “I told you the risks, Jeonghan, kept going on and on about what would happen should they catch us. Why did you do that to me?”

Jeonghan cocked his head, taking in your accusations against him. The furrow of his brow deepened, not quite believing what you held against him. “You…you thought I was trying to ruin your image? On purpose?”

“Well, no, but—” You clamped down on your lips, remembering memories from long ago, which were best kept far inside you. 

With his claim, though, you had to mention them—even if it hurt you. “I can see why you would wish to.”

“Why? Why would I wish to?”

“Because of what happened between us!”

Silence.

There—the first hints of the past.

You could have creased at his reaction.

“What the fuck?”

He was breathing out of his mouth now, narrowing his eyes. “How can you think that of me?” 

“Jeonghan, that’s not what I mean!” You pressed your hands to your hips, looking down at your feet. “I just—” Another sigh broke free, the truth aching in your throat the more it tried to escape. “I can understand if you did wish to expose me—”

The man’s scoff cut you off instantly. “I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing,” he snarled. “How can you bring such horrors from the past into this conversation?”

“Because this is the past repeating itself!” you exclaimed, your hands digging deeper at your sides. “Because we had this exact same conversation five years ago, and it did not end well!” 

“Oh my God!” His hand raked through his hair, trying to release his frustration into the poor, innocent locks. “Why are you still stuck to the ghosts of the past? I thought we had moved on from everything!”

“You might have moved on fine!” you corrected him, voice raising with each counter. “I have stayed in the same damned spot in LA, rotting when my movies didn’t do well, when the press would harass me, while you had everyone worshipping you!”

He blinked back at your exclamation. 

For the first time that evening, he felt unadulterated rage within his bones. 

“You know damned well I did not move on.”

You knew—of course you knew, but you were too fired up, thinking of the slander in the papers, the comments in the columns that haunted your every waking moment. You knew you were being unreasonable, but at that moment in time, you did not care one bit.

So you refused to restrict your cruelty. 

“You seemed very moved on to me!” you crowed, taking another step towards him. “Why, was it not mere weeks after our breakup that you shot to stardom, everyone in the world singing your praises?! You did not seem depressed at all!”

His voice was colder than the Alps. “Don’t talk as if you saw me in those months.”

“Of course I couldn’t! I was battling the same goddamn press that haunts me today!” You pointed your accusing finger at him. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like, to have your name slandered in every magazine, every television screen!”

“I wouldn’t know?! I wouldn’t know?!” Now he was walking up to you, a mere two feet from where you stood, shaking with anger. “You think I’ve forgotten how these fucking journalists came for me? Whose fault was that, huh?!”

You could not take this—he was ripping out the bandages of old wounds, and you knew that they had not healed. 

“Oh, so it was my fault?!” you screamed, slapping a hand to your chest. “I sent those reporters to your door?!”

“It was your fucking ex-manager who reported the news at that time! Or have you forgotten the details that don’t concern you?”

Your glare was laced with venom. “Now who’s clinging to ghosts?”

The harsh knit of his brows disappeared, face relaxing as he stared at you, almost as if seeing you for the first time. His head was quivering to the sides, almost shaking in disbelief. 

He had never looked so defeated in his life.

“Please don’t break my heart again, chérie.”

You blinked back.

Kept looking at him, listening to the plea that escaped his beautiful, drooping mouth. 

That alone could have broken your heart. 

“Wh-what…” your voice was barely a whisper. “What do you expect me to do? Pretend I am okay with…with all this?”

The shouting of the journalists was still prevalent in your ears, as well the encircling of the cars—waiting for the two of you to come out. 

You continued, void of life. “I cannot go through it again…you may have risen from the press five years ago but…I am still reaping LA’s consequences.”

A sharp tick appeared in the actor’s jaw. “So you punish me.”

Your eyes squinted, as if he sprayed you with acid. “I…” you gulped. “I have sacrificed too much, Jeonghan. You don’t understand.”

But he watched you, comprehending you perfectly. “No…no I do.” A smile morphed onto his face, a haunting quirk of his mouth that did not reach his eyes at all. 

“I was one of the sacrifices, no?”

You tried to snap back, rebuke him for such a claim.

Nothing came out.

Your breath hitched in your throat, refusing to let your white lie escape. You watched in horror as Jeonghan scoffed softly. 

“I—” you cursed, closing your eyes, trying to formulate your words, trying so ardently to not shatter his willpower. “You have to realise…back then…I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t l-love you…” A hard, shivering sigh. “My team that time, they said it was better for us to—”

“And what’s your excuse now?”

His interruption was barely a whisper.

“Who’s holding you back this time?”

You stared at him. Your hands tried to gesture to the torn up magazines, littered across your floor. “The world.”

“The world, huh? The people who torment you, this very minute?” He pointed to the window, where they could still be heard. “You choose them over me? Again?”

You had no answer to offer him. 

That was all he needed from you. 

He was nodding slowly, ever so slowly, and if you were not nervous before, you were riddled with anxiety now. Hesitantly, he turned, making heavy steps towards the door. 

You did not know why you tried to pursue him. “Wait, Jeonghan—”

His hands paused at the doorknob. You were going to reach for him, but he stepped past your hand.

He faced you one last time, his aching, sublime features now sombre. “I really thought, _____, that this time…it would be different.” 

His gaze darted over your features, as if he was never going to see you again. “Perhaps you were right…perhaps I was the one clinging to the ghosts of the past. I have learned my lesson.”

You could have burst into tears. 

But you only gaped at him as he opened the door. 

He looked over his shoulder. “I hope you find peace in your choice, chérie.”

With that, he left you, closing the door shut should you follow. 

And, five minutes later, as the snapping of the cameras grew louder, you whirled, running to your window. You watched your film noir star—your once actor thunder past the press, completely silent to the thousands of questions thrown his way about you as he swiftly dove into his car. 

Your glassy vision showed you his Bentley driving away from the Ritz entrance.

If only the reporters knew just where your hotel room was—then they could have captured a golden story for their papers. 

A perfect update to their awful story, because if they only looked up and saw you, then your tears would have been enough to deduce what had become of you and your ex-lover. 

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 26TH NOVEMBER, 1954

YOON JEONGHAN SPOTTED ALONE LEAVING MICHELIN STAR RESTAURANT!

Alone, we say! Was it not two weeks ago when the most shocking news of the year had been dropped upon you readers, and here he was on the streets of Paris, as dejected as a heartbroken fool? Ever since he left the Ritz, no doubt to talk to his heartbreaker, he has not been seen with _____ since. Perhaps he has finally caught onto his fans’ disappointment, and is expressing his apologies to you all!

As for _____, she has not been spotted outside. She has found her sanctuary somewhere else, but not to fret, everyone! We have our people outside of the hotel, and we will make sure to publish the pictures of her heartbreak too should she show herself to us!

NOTHING COULD SAVE YOU ANYMORE.

Whatever you thought you had with your once lover had seemed to cease completely. The infinite calls you had left him were ignored, and even showing up to where he was supposed to visit on press tours was not enough.

Once again, you had managed to land yourself in a ceremonious screw up.

You supposed that you should have been used to it by now. You were in this very city because of your infamous fuck ups, and your latest damage was almost irreversible. 

Seungkwan’s words fell on deaf ears.

Every morsel of food, every pint of alcohol could not fill the empty, hollow vessel in your heart, growing with each day without Jeonghan’s sultry murmurs entertaining your late nights. Almost comically, like the first few weeks in the city, you hid yourself away, the press a completely secondary thought to what plagued your every waking—dreaming moment. 

So you carried on with what you did best.

Shut yourself away in your hotel room, slowly withering yourself away in your mistakes. 

Why did you care so much about these fucking papers?

With every glass came another memory.

Please don’t break my heart again, chérie.

Yoon Jeonghan. The Yoon Jeonghan, the film noir superstar, bared his soul out to you, and you crushed it with no mercy.

Every single night you spent with this man, every single fleeting moment, you knew that perhaps you had felt the same. Of course, your self-destructing nature prevented you from ever achieving happiness, but even common sense begged you to reciprocate.

This time, your heart knew. 

But you had completely, fully, without a shadow of a doubt, fucked everything up.

The days of wallowing dragged on, and soon the only time you heard Jeonghan’s name was on the news, reporting of his last few nights in Paris before the end of his film promotions. Quickly you turned the television off, lethargically stumbling back into your bed before pulling the sheets over yourself, hoping the darkness would engulf you whole and eat you alive.

Of course, since the universe despised you more so than you thought, harsh rapping on your hotel door meant that you could never find peace, even within your pain. “Oh, fuck off!” you screamed in your broken rasp, hurting your head with the shrill volume.

“I’m not leaving this time, ____, open up!” a familiar voice drilled through, and you genuinely prayed for whatever entity torturing you to torture your dear friend too.

“I’m not opening the door, Seungkwan!” 

“You better, or I’m smashing it down!”

You merely scoffed, closing your eyes in hopes of sleep.

THUD!

Your eyes flew open.

THUD!

“I mean it!”

Groaning, you crawled out of the sheets, walking to the ramming door. You opened it much too quickly, nearly being kicked in the face. 

“Watch it, idiot!” you hissed, immediately retreating.

“I should kick you,” he greeted coldly, closing the door behind him as he fixed the strap of his satchel. Upon observing the worsening state of your room, he grumbled further, tossing aside the dirty dresses with his shoes. “God, I know you ruined your life, but could you not ruin this room? We still have to pay for this month.”

You knifed him with a look. “Cleanliness is the last thing on my mind.”

He looked as if he was biting back a remark, but thankfully reined it in. “Look, I would have gladly let you wither away in self-pity, but I came here today because of something important.”

Your eyes stilled on his face. “Has he reached out to you?” you asked, feeling incredibly foolish for the hope in your voice.

The sad turn of his mouth was enough of an answer. “I did try, ____. I hope you know that.”

A moment of silence. “I do.” You cleared your throat, hoping a lump won’t form and break your tone. “What was the important thing?”

“Oh, yes.” He sat himself down, glancing at the half-dozen empty wine bottles on your desk. “Right, so I know with everything going on, this is not the best time, but…”

He reached down to his satchel, opening the latch and fishing a collection of papers from the inside. “I got the script for the Seungcheol production.”

That immediately darkened your spirits. “I don’t feel like doing an audition at the moment.”

“Last time I remembered, you were a failing actress. Doing auditions should be your only concern.”

You hated how much that stung you. “I’m afraid I cannot be enthusiastic enough for you,” you snarled, sitting in the opposite chair. “Should I…oh, I don’t know, pretend I didn’t make the worst decision of my life and carry on as if nothing has happened?”

Seungkwan frowned. “_____, you know I am here for you, right? I understand that this fight with Jeonghan…I get it.” He sighed, bringing the papers on the table. “But I cannot see you wasting yourself away. You may not give a single shit about yourself, but there are others who do.”

A glance towards him. He was looking at you with a serious earnestness. “Look, this audition…it’s very important. I’ve already told you about the logistics, but should you get it…it could turn your life back around.”

You knew that—of course you were aware of the rewards of starring in Seungcheol’s films. Many young actors flocked to his auditions in hopes for a part, regardless of how important their presence might be in the movie. It was why Jeonghan shot to stardom, months after you ended your relationship. 

It was why you slumped further in your seat, hugging yourself tightly. “I don’t know…I feel like they won’t accept me.”

The man could see right through you. “If you’re worried about what’s being said in the papers, forget about it.” A roll of eyes. “Seungcheol is a moody, tight bastard, I can’t lie…but one thing I can say for certain. He is incredibly fair.”

He patted the documents. “If you truly impress him, he won’t care about the press. He will give you the part.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, still a little unsure. 

“So?” 

Seungkwan stood up, sliding his hands in his pockets. “What do you say?”

You stared at him, shuffling from side to side. 

You wanted to say no.

Outright refuse, and continue your indefinite journey to a slow, agonising death. What was the point in doing an audition that high-profile anyway? With A-list names involved, you doubted that the producers would take you on, considering your crippled reputation. 

But deep down, you knew you could not live like this forever. 

Observing your hotel room, the mess you resided in, you had an inclination that your funds were running dry. You did not realise the strain your agent was in, the hours he must have invested in trying to change your situation around. Admittedly, you had spent such a substantial amount of time being around, thinking about, crying over your ex-lover that you had forgotten why you were truly in Paris. 

If you could not act for your own sake, then you had to trudge on for Seungkwan’s—the poor man was already certain you planned a theatrical show of murdering yourself in the name of woe.

Your stare was unshaken as you pinned it on the papers.

Undoubtedly the lines for the role.

“I’ll do it.”

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 2ND DECEMBER, 1954

YOON JEONGHAN ABSENT FROM LAST NIGHT’S BIG PREMIERE!

Two-time Academy winning actor, heart-throb and biggest star to date Yoon Jeonghan has brought us yet another shocker since his sighting with his scandalous past-amour, _____. As his upcoming movie premiered spectacularly in the central city, spectators were greatly disappointed to find that the main attraction was not there to greet them with his signature, enigmatic smiles. When asked why his fellow co-star is absent, Vernon Chwe talked of a sudden illness, and asked his fans to send him well-wishes. 

We wonder, just like our readers, whether this illness is a true, unfortunate circumstance for our poor star, or whether it is a coverup to continue his shocking meetings with his ex. Not to worry, everyone, because we will find out soon enough!

YOU WERE SURPRISED THAT YOU HAD NOT THROWN UP ON THE WAY TO YOUR DESTINATION.

Palais Garnier was not as far as you had imagined—only a ten minute walk, but because of recent events, you decided to take a cab there. It was already frightful enough that journalists camped out at the Ritz, waiting for you to come out at any point in the day. Fortunately for you, the auditions were being done hours before dawn, so most of the city was already asleep—even the people with cameras that pestered you to no end. 

It did seem bizarre to hold the calls at such late an hour, but Seungkwan had warned you of the infamous director’s customs. The late hours did not bother you, though, when you had become accustomed to staying awake when the sun was long gone.

Even with the security of a car, you covered yourself from head to toe—your face was half-masked, hair wrapped in a scarf. Your collared shirt shrouded you to your wrists, black trousers donned as your skirts had become too troublesome. Anxious in your minutes-long ride to the destination, you clutched the papers, reading your lines over and over. It was not too useful at this point, when you had memorised not only yours, but of the love interest as well, but repeating the dialogues in your mind was the only action that stopped you from losing your mind. 

When the driver stopped before the grand building, you paid your fare, getting out of the vehicle. No one recognised your mysterious figure, so you allowed yourself to look at where specifically the auditions were being held. The Palais Garnier was a truly spectacular sight—the classical opera house towered over you, every inch akin to a palace as the off-white columns sat atop thinner, circular columns. The European masters of the art and music had their figures sculpted in between the first floor, minor gods of instruments and melodies at eye-level with you. Gold statues of Harmony and Poetry, accompanied by Pegasus, watching over your tiny figure in comparison to their hind, glorious bodies, high above atop the roof. The light teal dome settled in the middle, Apollo settled at the top of the point, holding out his golden lyre, stone-cold eyes watching over your nervous steps.

You had half a mind to cower away, but you reminded yourself that they were just statues—lifeless, unjudging. What resided inside was much worse.

Cursing low, you entered the opera house. 

The interior was just as magical as the outside, you navigating the intricate, red-velveted halls. You were aware that the auditions were being carried out in the grand auditorium—again, courtesy of your obsession with Parisian landmarks, you had been inside the opera house before. 

The only difference was that you had never been here alone.

You supposed that you should become used to the absence. 

Once you found the grand doors of the auditorium, you opened one, taking in the scene. The huge, singular chandelier lit the vast theatre, golden bordered stalls looking over the couple dozen crew, walking and rushing in and out backstage, few seated in the plush red chairs. The most important people, however, stood before the stage, watching the very performances that you were expecting to do. A sole actress atop the stage read out the lines that you had ingrained in your mind, you spying a few others behind the curtains, anxiously waiting their turn. 

Trying to control your breathing, you began the descent downstairs, passing each lush row of seats, the producers, casting directors, and the big man himself closer and closer. Once you were three rows from the crew, you heard a harsh voice radiating throughout the room. 

“Oh, for goodness sake! Can we wrap this up already?!” 

You suppressed your shudder—the aspiring actress atop the stage, however, could not, flinching at the order. 

The scoff that left the man’s lips would have made you cry many years ago. “Jesus…sweetheart, do us all a favour, and stop wasting our time. Next!” 

The poor auditioner, with crushed hopes, trudged backstage, you catching the tears lining her eyes. You could not restrain a soft gasp.

That had the man turning back.

Oh, God.

Choi Seungcheol’s eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“My, my,” he drawled, sliding his hands to his hips, blazer rising to show his shirt, suspenders attached to his trousers. “What do we have here?”

Dear Lord and His Seven Heavens—if He truly existed, He would spare you this torture, and take away your life this instant. 

You cleared your throat, matching his stare. “I’m here for the casting call.”

The director snickered at your response. “So Seungkwan wasn’t bullshitting at all,” he began, bringing out a cigar from his coat pockets, sparking it to life with his lighter. “What spurred you to take acting seriously again after your spectacular fuck-ups in LA?”

Straight to the point. “I read the parts of the script, and wanted to be involved,” you said simply. It was the truth—it was a perfect project—or perfect, from what you could gather from the limited information.

“Ah…about that.” Seungcheol took a long drag of his cigar. “I’ve decided that the next people auditioning will read something else.”

Your mouth could have dropped to the floor. “What?”

“You see, I have watched about a hundred girls drone out these perfect dialogues.” He puffed out the smoke, almost ambushing your face. “And they were all so god-awful that I now hate the scene altogether.” Snapping his fingers, a running boy brought him a new set of papers. “The rest will read from this. Including you.”

You gaped at the new script. “I haven’t prepared at all for this.”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes on you. “You have a couple of hours to remember the lines. If you cannot complete such a simple task, then I have no need for you on my set.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you took the papers from him, scanning the lines. The iron director pointed backstage. “You can look at the lines from over there.”

You tried your best not to snap at him. Offering a tight-lipped smile, you followed the direction of his finger, going up the stairs and into the backstage area, where the rest of the aspiring actresses were situated. Each and every one of them looked as if they had received news of a personal death, with the way they paced back and forth, tears in their eyes as they read the scripts. You could not help eavesdropping, and sure enough, Seungcheol’s new decision had everyone a million times more nervous than usual.

You did not miss the last-minute changes in auditions.

Sighing, you found a spot, away from the rush of the actors, settling upon a chair next to the dozen others stacked. With a turn of the front, you decided to look at the page numbers. Hmm…page 90, 91…this meant that the scene was near the end of the movie. The scene you had practised to perfection was in the middle—the character was having an argument with her parents about seeking opportunities, and ended with them offering her one chance to discover herself outside of their abode. 

When you began to read this script, though, your blood curdled beneath your skin.

Your eyes could not stray from the words that were typed onto the paper, your fingers roughly swiping each page, disbelief growing with each dialogue that passed. You were cursing inwardly, sometimes slipping past your lips, and when you were done reading you could not help laughing uncontrollably at your luck. 

This was either the best performance you would ever carry out, or this audition would be the end of your career. 

So, with the two hours you were provided, you endeavoured to engage with the script, reading the lines you were supposed to act out over and over in your head. You tried to forget the previous script, erase it from your mind to create space for this dire piece of work, and you were mostly successful, remembering the new script’s most important bits. You scanned the scene repeatedly, saying the dialogues out loud to taste them with your tongue, trying to enact the emotion that Seungcheol had intended for his characters. 

The hours that you were offered seem to slip by much too quickly, and the director’s barking at the auditioners did not help your nerves, which were threatening to ruin your efforts. You made to steel yourself—this was not the time for panic. Do your audition, and go insane afterwards.

With the last of the actresses done, your name was called out. You got up from your chair, legs turning to jelly under you, and you made to walk out onto the stage, the huge, white tungsten lamps making your eyes water from the sheer flash. 

The director’s voice boomed beyond the stage, his face scrutinising you beneath the lights. “Last, and possibly the least!” he exclaimed, the same papers in hand which you held. When he saw you gritting your teeth, he only snickered, puffing out smoke from his cigar. “God, do scandals make you lose your sense of humour?”

“Just get the dialogue rolling,” you quipped, earning a hearty laugh from him. If you did not get this role, you will make sure to make this man’s life a living hell.

As if you have not done that for every man in your life—especially for the man that mattered.

“Right! Let me reiterate the details.” Seungcheol read out from a summary, not in your script. “The scene starts with your character, Ilsa, ending up at Richard’s door, and is going to make amends. Richard is tired of his ex’s excuses, and well…the argument is going to cement the end of their love story.” He held up his script. “I will read from Richard’s lines, and you read yours. Got it?”

When you nodded, he gave you a minute to look over the starting lines one last time. You instead dropped the papers to the floor. You closed your eyes, breathing in, breathing out, clearing your head. 

The man in your dreams was still there, greeting you with his signature smile.

You wished he was there before you. 

You imagined he would be at the far end of the theatre, seated beside the entryway stairs. He would wear his burgundy jacket, slip a beret upon his black locks, and he would watch you without saying a single word, merely admire you from the back of the room. It would have made you nervous once, but you would give anything to see him in front of you now—be it at the far end of a theatre. 

“You ready?” 

No, you said to the man in your mind.

“Yes,” you said to the man in front. 

The director called for lights, shifting slightly before focusing on you. 

“I’ll be starting in three, two, one…”

You opened your eyes.

There. 

There he was, exactly how you imagined him. His phantom gaze watched you, unsettled on the stage, and he crossed his arms, beret-ed head cocking slightly. The burgundy coat that he adorned nearly covered his face, but you could recognise him anywhere. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” you began, trying to find the words, even though you had them memorised. “I had to come back.” 

“To what? What do we have anymore to come back to?” 

Had you not been in a daze, you would have despised the monotone in Seungcheol’s delivery. He was doing it on purpose, you knew—throw the actor off.

You, however, did not need to be thrown off. 

“You’re being hasty with me, Richard,” you reasoned, eyes rooted to the back of the theatre. “You haven’t even given me the chance to speak—”

“I have given you every opportunity…or have you forgotten the last time we spoke?” A pause, meant to be a scoff—the man you stared at scoffed for the director, which went unnoticed. “Well, we didn’t speak much…not with all the shouting.”

Your hand went to your chest. “And I will take the blame if you wish so.” 

“Why thank you for your unending, sacrificial kindness.”

It was almost as if you could hear his voice instead—the very prospect made you shiver at the response. 

“Is that not what you want?” you then asked. 

“God, you still don’t get it, do you?” another baritone demanded, and it was hard, deciphering who spoke from the script, and who spoke from the heart. “It’s not about what I want, it’s about what’s right.”

“Of course you say something like that,” you sneered. “I’m only trying to make you happy.”

“Happy?” The hazy figure on the back seats shifted, almost in agitation. “Why do you care about my happiness now?”

“I’ve never not cared, Jeo—” you stopped, eyes widening. You tried to evade, “Just, just…I was so caught up with everything, and—”

“And forgot about me?”

The dialogue began to hurt—these words, residing within the script, began to tear at the seams of your soul. “I could never forget about you,” you murmured. “Even if I tried.”

There was a pause. Seungcheol, watching you stare at a specific point in the distance, turned around, seeing only the empty seats at the back. He continued the recitation, brows raised in surprise at your performance. “You were successful this time.”

“Don’t say that!” you exclaimed, taking a step forward, raising your hand out to him—you were only met with air. “Please, you have to believe me, this will be the last time—”

“How can I believe you?!” The seated illusion almost jumped from his chair. “Your words are not even a month old and suddenly you want to change them? What do you take me for?!”

“I know, I know, but I was angry, scared about what was happening!”

“So you decide to take it out on me?! And you expect me to then take it?!”

“No, no!” You began to pace back and forth, shaking your head. What was the love interest’s name, shit, if not Jeonghan, then—”My love!” you then tried, the name of the character lost to your lips. “I admit that I made a mistake. I know that I screwed it all up, and that I do not deserve you…I know that.”

You turned your head towards him again. “But I’m here now. I have let everything else go…my work, my colleagues that talked about me, still talk about me…my family who did not think you were good enough…I have left them all.”

Without quite realising, the words that slipped from your tongue began to stray from your dialogue. “I had many great things that held me back. But for you…only for you, I have come back. I am here.”

There was another beat in the script, and you watched as the actor watched you, his beautiful, haunted mouth parting. 

It was as if Jeonghan himself whispered what came next. 

“And what divine revelation brought you to me now?”

Your gaze did not go down on the man that recited the line. For all you could see, the vision you had created mouthed that question. The glimmer in his hazy eyes, waiting for you to answer him.

What divine revelation brought you to me now?

For the first time in your life, you were certain of a difficult question.

There were no revelations—no grand epiphanies, no extravagant fireworks the moment you cracked your dilemma concerning him.

No, perhaps it was the underlying truth. A fact as ancient as your relation with him, as long as the distance between the ground and the tip of the Eiffel Tower. A precious piece of evidence, always rumoured by the thousands of papers that wrote of you and him. This information, that had preyed on your mind for as long as you had known him, something that had scared you.

The truth, which had never left the crevices of your heart, even when you broke his heart five years ago, 

The script was forgotten—your heart, instead, spoke its lines. 

“I love you.”

Murmurs spread beyond the stage. 

The dream-like figure that you confessed to shifted. 

Seungcheol held his hand up to his colleagues, requesting quiet. His stare on you was inquisitive, calculating. 

“You love me?” The question was cautious—a chance to let you play out your improv. You, however, did not realise the director’s mindset. You were too lost in your own pandemonium to notice your change of script. 

“I love you,” you repeated, more desperate this time, because Yoon Jeonghan had to know. The Yoon Jeonghan, real or not real before you, had to be aware, or else all would be lost. “I never stopped, I-I don’t think I ever will stop, because I can’t love anyone else—” you halted, your throat lumping, stopping your string of speech. 

Trying to contain yourself, you cast one last stare at the man you had conjured up—who, too, was unable to tear his gaze from you—perhaps because you would not let him.

You pleaded as if it was Judgement Day. 

“Please understand. I love you.”

You snapped your eyes shut, a tear escaping as it trailed down your cheek. 

There it was—the confession that you had harboured for too long.

Your breathing was the only thing prevalent in the huge theatre, all eyes upon your crumbling figure, the legs which had not failed you before threatening to do so that very moment. But you refused to give up, not when you needed to hear his answer. 

“Maybe in the past, my dear, that would have been enough.”

Seungcheol’s final line had your heart stopping.

“Not anymore…not for me.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

The actor you had dreamt up had vanished. 

“And scene!”

Your frantic gaze darted to the director, who swiped the last page, cherry lips curling upward. “And then he closes the door on her, but we don’t need to see you act that out.” He set the script upon the table he leaned against, crossing his arms. “I must say, _____, for someone who’s been too busy ruining her career, you sure have the talent to salvage—”

“Was there someone at the back?” You pointed to the seats, precisely where your ex-lover had been—or at least you thought.

“No…you were the last person to audition with us.” He raised a brow. “I was wondering why you were looking so intently at the empty chairs, and not the man you were supposed to read your lines with.”

But you were not particularly listening to him, because you had poured out your heart only for it to fall on deaf ears. You looked to the grand doors of the exit, mind sprinting ideas, rushed plans on what to do next, what to do with these feelings—

“Now, I am certain you are aware of the procedure, but I’ll contact Seungkwan about your audition, as well as your performance this morning,” he continued, snapping his fingers to have his assistant immediately carry out the task. “Based on me not shouting you to tears, you can guess that—”

“I need to go,” you cut the greatest director in Hollywood off, your frenzied sight catching the stairs. “Thank you, um, for—” you cursed, shaking your head, trying to say something that did not revolve around him—“Seungkwan will reach out, I’ll be sure of it.” 

The man watched your behaviour, visibly shocked. “Do you understand what I am proposing right now?” 

Your rushed steps flew past him, looking at him over the shoulder. “Perfectly, so perfectly, but…”

You could not contain your smile. “I need to tend to a more important matter.”

And you left him there, aghast as you glided up the grand stairs of the theatre. You heard him mumble complaints against you, cursing the ‘young actors and their recklessness’, but this time, you could only laugh, because maybe he was right, maybe you were being reckless and wild and stupid, but you did not care.

For once in your life, you did not care.

It only took a few minutes to navigate the exit of the opera house, the light at the end of the grand tunnel glowing brighter and brighter. Bursting out of the Palais, you hissed when you saw the sun out in full swing, glaring down at you with great offence—almost as if it knew that you blamed its enlightening rays for the separation between you and Jeonghan, and reminded you of who was truly at fault.

You admitted your wrongdoings—you admitted them wholeheartedly, and now you must make amends.

Scanning the road before you, you realised there were no cabs nearby. Fuck, you instantly thought, breaking into a hurried walk as you scoured your surroundings, any car for hire that might turn up. 

At this point, the morning population was gathering. Because you were the unluckiest woman in the world, anyone who looked in your direction a little too closely recognised you at once.

“Oh my God, is that—”

“What is _____ doing around here?”

At one point, you would have died hearing their comments, but you had greater concerns in your mind—those concerns first began with how to get to your destination.

That was when a large, box-like bus rushed past you, slowing to rest beside the Palais Garnier stop.

Your eyes squinted at the back for its details.

041095 — GARE DE L’EST. 

By God. Jeonghan’s apartment was on the way to the East Station.

You did not know whether this was a blessing or a curse.

“Here goes,” you murmured.

After garnering every atom of strength you could find in your body, you devoured it in one moment as you burst into a sprint.

Gasps were heard around you as you ran towards the bus,which was accepting the last of the passengers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you kept cursing out, your feet beginning to hurt by the sheer force of your flight. 

You were already aware that you were a failing actress—you did not need to be a failing athlete along with it.

With pure horror you watched as the last couple entered the bus, gathering at the open deck of its back. There were people within that open deck looking at you in shock, certain that you would not reach the standing area in time.

But you were on a mission to prove people wrong. After all this time, you were not going to let them win—even if it may be over something as menial as running for the bus.

As soon as the carriage began to move, you reached your hand out, fingers aching to touch the railing.

Just before it could drive away into the city, you grabbed onto the pole. 

With a groan you hoisted yourself upon the deck, stumbling across the fragile floors. The onlookers stepped away from you as you gathered yourself, gulping down a world’s worth of oxygen. You held onto the railings, fearing that if you let go you would be ripped away from the bus, although it was an irrational thought.

The surprised looks were still upon you.

You tilted your head up at one of them. “Quoi?” you demanded. “What?”

Instantly, the rest seemed to avert their gazes, finding the scenery of central Paris much more alluring than a walking Hollywood scandal.

At least they were not going to bother you now.

You were thankful to be at the back, avoiding the calls for showing tickets in the interior of the bus. Your hands gripped the poles, attached to the extended roof as you passed the Champs-Élysées, each stop making you more restless. If his apartment was not an hour away on foot, then you would have ran there yourself. 

Soon enough, you oversaw the distant view of the Eiffel Tower, watching your journey over the Seine. You were close—you remembered that Jeonghan lived across the great river, just so he could catch a glimpse of the famed landmark from his apartment balcony.

Once the bus stopped outside the Passy underground, you quickly stepped off the deck, eyes darting to the signs that directed you to the nearby park. You followed it blindly, the route to the destination coming together, like lost pieces of an old puzzle, finally being solved. You had become restless, almost savage in your trail to find him; the more civilians that recognised you, the more shocked they were at your appearance, wondering out loud at how someone like you could run around Paris in such a manner.

You were laughing at them all. You did not care.

Finding the residential park, you sprinted through the orderly trees, catching the giggles of children in your ears as your eyes spotted the apartment building, right in front of you. So close, you were so fucking close—

Exiting the confines of the garden, you burst through the apartment complex. It was simple, almost rundown, a shocking residential for someone who had tasted the luxury of seven-star hotels. The once painted walls were crackling on your present floor, distant arguments in French muffled beyond the doors. 

You knew instantly that this was not the floor.

Taking the stairs beside you, you immediately took two in one heap, almost flying to the top till you reached the second floor. However, you remember distinctly how much you used to complain whenever you would come here, how you would tire of this horrid journey, and you knew that the second floor had arrived too quickly.

A part of you resented the beautiful asshole for renting a place so high-up the complex.

After what felt like a million flights of stairs later, you reached the top floor, your clothes sticking to your skin, sweating through the fabric. Your tired gaze fell on the multiple identical doors, trying to recall which one had your ex-lover behind them. 

Your hands settled on the back of your hips, closing your eyes. Think, think! you tried to remember, the reminiscences of his living room, the walls decked with paintings and memorabilia, the bedroom where he ended and you began.

Ten minutes in, pacing back and forth the hallway, ready to collapse on the floor. 

That was when you heard the distant music.

“That’s why…darling…it’s incredible…”

More importantly, the distant voice.

“That someone…so unforgettable…” 

The voice was not of the original singer—no, it was a voice that had stayed with you forever, a voice that sounded much more melancholy than the song let on.

“Thought that I was…unforgettable…too…”

You parted your mouth.

You knew exactly which door the sweet song came from.

Your feet dashed towards the distant humming, right at the end of the long hallway. The door on the far right was the one, and your hand could not fly up quickly enough.

The knocks on the door could have had the entire complex shaking in its foundations.

“Jeonghan!” 

The song softened to an end. 

The other side of the door was silenced.

“Jeonghan!” you tried again, fists rocking on the wood. “Please open the door! I need to speak to you!”

As you shouted, pleaded, your ears picked up soft footsteps from the other side. You latched onto this. “I can hear you from there, please! Please Jeonghan, just hear me out!”

You waited anxiously, as if you were in hospital expecting tragic news, or a convict awaiting sentence. He may have been silent now, because you could hear a single shuffle on the opposite end. 

Of course he did not want to speak to you. 

And although he had every right to be silent, you knew that your right to be a bystander had long disappeared. So you began, in hopes he had not secluded further into his apartment.

“Look, I know what I said last time we had spoken—well, argued, really, I know that I said some horrible things, and it’s selfish of me to even bring it up again, but…they have haunted me ever since I made the mistake of hurting you that day.”

You were not quite sure of the exact words, but you had to have faith in your feelings. “I was cruel to you that day, Jeonghan. I said things to purposefully harm you, and expected you to be fine with me the very next day. I became scared, you know, when the press exposed us, because all I was doing was thinking about myself.” Your scoff cut off your speech. “I realise I do that a lot…think only of myself.

“And I know this is no excuse, but I had been abandoned so many times that I had to prioritise myself for so long. I was not used to your selflessness, your unending kindness…perhaps because I did not deserve it, but you offered it to me, and I happily took it.”

A hard sigh. “Truth is, it’s me who has not moved on.”

Something shifted on the other side. 

“You were right. I destroyed this relationship five years ago, and the worst thing is, I did it for the people who did not care for me. For my career, my fans…my fame.” 

“I thought I was fine…I thought, well, all this bitterness, this frustration I have felt for so long in my life…I thought this entire time that it was because I lost my glory.” Your head shook slightly. “But I was wrong. My life took a turn for the worse the moment I lost you.” 

You paused, hoping he would have something to say.

Nothing.

“You may be thinking why I have had this sudden revelation, considering it has arrived so late, but I think the night I saw you at the Louvre…you know, with those sculptures and that talk about love and loss…something came alive in me that day. Even when you were in my room, when we were drinking too much, my confession was still honest. I did miss you…fuck, I do miss you, a-and it only made everything so much more difficult.”

Still not a word.

Spirits slowly sinking, you leaned your forehead against the door, closing your eyes. “I have been a coward, though, this entire time. My fear of the press overshadowed my feelings, and in turn I hurt you in false hope to save myself…for the second time, I have hurt you, and I don’t even know how I can ever make it up to you…but I can say this.”

This time, with both hands flat beside you, you pressed your forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry.”

A pause. 

“I’m sorry for everything I have done. ‘I’m sorry for five years ago, and for these past few weeks. I’m sorry for toying with your feelings, Jeonghan, even though you were so dear to me, and I’m sorry for allowing my securities to reign over your affections.”

You closed your eyes. 

“Please forgive me.”

You stopped yourself, lest the lump in your throat robbed you of your voice. If Jeonghan was still listening, he would realise the waver in your speech. You could not cry at him—that would not be fair.

You did not know how long you stood there, almost sagged against the creaking wood, praying to every entity imaginable to hear a single reply of your confessions. As more time passed, the more you revisited your words, taking them apart, finding faults in them. You became half-mad that you should not have said anything at all, and made the greatest mistake of your life in running back to him.

But what else could you have done? Continued in your self-destructive, self-sabotaging ways till they cemented an early demise? How could you have lived with yourself, knowing that you let the great love of your life slip through your sin-stained fingers, and survived? Even now, you were anxious beyond repair, waiting hopelessly for an answer that might not arrive, but you knew as well as anyone that if you had simply gone back to the hotel after your audition, then everything you had ever lived for would amount to nothing.

And so, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You were almost unable to withhold your tears when you heard the door creaking—as if a presence straightened themselves from the other side.

Then, the hesitant unlocking of the knob. 

Your instincts bid you step away as the door opened, and you could not restrain the haggard sigh that escaped you as you set your sight upon him.

Jeonghan looked every bit as frenzied as you were.

The mystical elegance that he exuded so naturally had almost disappeared when you caught the ghostly hue of his skin, the slight bags under his eyes. Even his mouth lost a little colour, his hair in a wild, unruly frizz. It was frightening, seeing him look so different to how he always presented himself.

Another consequence of your actions.

You could barely get his name out of your lips.

“J-Jeonghan…”

He was staring and staring, not quite believing what he was seeing—nor what he heard.

I’m sorry.

He had never heard an apology from you. 

In his entire time of knowing you, admiring you, loving you, mourning you, his ears were never graced with apologies or requests of forgiveness from you. Perhaps because you were not used to someone confronting your behaviour—or simply because of your own, unintentional arrogance—but you had never been forced to recognise your behaviour, and so had grown immune to the morally ambiguous actions of your past. 

So to hear you utter the words…he thought at first that you were not there in front of him, near tears in your eyes, admitting to what you had done to him.

“What caused this?”

He had to ask you the origins of such a declaration.

“Why are you here now?”

You could have shuddered—how similar he sounded to the words on the script you had just memorised.

You told him yourself, albeit with caution. “I…I was auditioning, actually…you know, the Seungcheol movie I talked about before…” Before the press—the fight. Before the separation. “There was a scene and…I was screaming, begging for the man to come back, but he strayed, despite my best efforts…”

The actor’s voice turned harsh. “So I reminded you of a scene? A story of fiction, a fantasy?”

“No!” you began, almost reaching out to hold his hand, but you stopped yourself—you did not have the right. “No, Jeonghan, it was so similar, I just…I saw you in the theatre as I said my lines! I saw you, heard your voice recite the responses. I thought I was going mad, and then I did when I stopped following the script, and confessed to you!” The memory made you a little sheepish. “Then I realised you were not there, and so here I am…”

But he was turning on his heel, walking back into the room as he shook his head. “Wait, Jeonghan!” you exclaimed, following after him, not realising your surroundings, the nostalgia of entering the private sphere of the most public man in the world. “Wait, it wasn’t a fantasy!” He was walking further, into another room. “Damn it, I left the audition before Seungcheol could even provide any feedback!” 

He looked back. “You did what?”

“I ran away from the theatre before anyone could say anything! I swear to you, I ran after a bus to the station, a bus that led me here.” You were frantic again, desperate. “I am sure I have fucked up this audition, the entire city saw me running to you, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if Seungcheol spreads the word of my terrible improv, I will laugh when the press writes about my crazy episode of coming here…” Anxiously, you kept shaking your head, trying to steady your voice. “I don’t care anymore, Jeonghan. Not about them…”

The film noir star could only take in the confession, more shocking than everything you had said before. 

You left the sanctuary of your privacy for him.

You had abandoned possibly the only chance for a revival of your fame to seek him out.

You, who would have rather died than show yourself to the public in these dark times, had faced its scrutiny for him.

He did not know whether to fall to his knees or laugh in disbelief. 

“I know you’re shocked,” you murmured, hugging yourself tightly. “You have every right to be, especially that I’m dumping this on you all of a sudden…but, it’s for you. I did it all for you.”

Falling silent, you watched the anarchy on his haunted features, his head dipping, curls falling along his movements. It was within this tensioned quiet that you finally allowed yourself to scour your environment; Jeonghan’s apartment remained the same as you had last seen it—you did not realise you had followed him into his bedroom, a myriad of dark blues, greys and blacks coating the walls, carpeting the floor, the only light being the lamplights, brighter with the setting of the sun. 

Upon the large, night-cloaked bed, was a newspaper stark against the black sheets. As you read the France-Soir headline, you heard him speak.

“Did you think I wanted to hide away too?”

Your eyes stayed on the newspaper. 

“Ignore your calls, wave Seungkwan off when he mentioned you, watch you suffer? Do you think I wanted it to come to this?”

You allowed yourself a quick glance at him. He continued, “I’m sure you’ve read about the absence by now. You know me well enough to know that I never miss a single press tour, let alone the premiere.”

“Then why did you not go?”

His stare upon you was grave. “I was not the only one suffering in this separation.”

Oh.

Right.

Quickly you averted your eyes from the dreaded papers, instead focusing on the memorabilia surrounding his private sphere. The walls were plastered with posters of various movies, his promotional shots, as well the fan letters many had sent him in his career. Another board beside his bed was littered with a hundred photos, memories of his friends, his co-stars, and his family. 

“I don’t want to hurt like that…like this anymore. The years when we were apart…” he could not even finish his musings, turning away to put his hand on the study. 

You could not say another word, hoping he would keep speaking—because if he stopped speaking, then there was nothing left between you and him.

And that was too terrifying a thought.

“I missed the premiere, _____, because for the first time in my life, I could not face the public.” 

Jeonghan forced down the nerves bubbling in his throat. “What you said that day…although I had heard it before, all that time ago, I still did not know how to handle myself. Funny, is it not, that I was able to survive the cruelty of the media five years back, but one fight with you, and I completely broke down…”

Once again, you felt his words knife your soul. “I…” He licked his lips, so at loss with himself. “I don’t want to relive those moments again…I can’t relive it.”

You were such a coward, unable to look at the anguish in his face. You kept staring at the wall of memories, scouring the faces the actor held dear enough to keep them in his room forever. 

It was in that particular moment, when he closed his eyes, that your own found something extraordinary.

“Oh my God.”

The actor looked up. 

With a hesitance in his step, he walked over to where you were rooted to the ground, gawking at a specific picture.

When his line of sight found the photo, he too, widened his eyes.

Before you, right in the middle of Jeonghan’s pictured-memories, was a photograph of you.

It was you, face glowing with awe as you admired your favourite sculpture, cut away from the picture’s borders. You knew precisely when this moment was captured—your first ever Paris trip, taken mere weeks after beginning your romance with the man in this room. You had chastised him for taking the picture, demanding he rip it from his camera, but he had teased you so relentlessly for your innocent admiration, that he vowed never to destroy it.

Your question from the exhibition, at least, had been answered. 

This was enough to make your vision blurry again.

You were so caught up in the picture that when he spoke again, you almost jumped. 

“Why are you surprised to see it there?”

Blinking back the tears, you tried to voice your shock. “I can’t…I can’t believe you didn’t throw it away.”

He kept looking at the photograph. “I keep my promises, _____.”

This time, you glanced at him.“Sometimes I pretend that we are back in the Louvre,” he said, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his mouth, the more he inspected the photo. “Seeing Psyche and Cupid for the first time…back when we didn’t care about anything. Back when things like the press or the public didn’t stop us.”

You damned the cowardice. “It can be like that again.”

He faced you. “Could it?” His eyes were laced with uncertainty. “Last time I remembered, you were ready to give everything up for the public.”

“I know…I know what I said, and believe me when I say I regret it.”

You willed your hands at your sides, setting your gaze at the man who was losing faith. “Jeonghan, when I was running away from the audition, seeing everyone’s shock and judgement as I rushed to you, I did not feel anxious. Honestly, I was relieved. I did not care, because all I was anxious for was seeing you, and begging for your forgiveness.

“I thought I could sacrifice everything to have my popularity back…yes, the first weeks in Paris were not perfect…day and night I ached for the affections of the press, the people, but…” You recalled the fated nights. “By some fortune, you came back into my life.”

A small step forward—an effort to close the imminent distance between you both—a distance you had created. “You said before, didn’t you? That you had lost me once, and could not lose me again?” 

This time, you could not control the waver in your voice. “It was never you who lost me…it was I who was foolish enough to lose you. I spent so long listening to the people who did not know me, that I forgot about the man who knows me more than I know myself.”

He was shell-shocked, unable to stop, and did not want to stop your shaking hands, which raised to hold his face. 

“I am done living by the opinions of others. I love you, and I will always be sorry for never showing it enough…never again will I make the same mistake.”

Only when you quietened, bearing your heart to him, that you finally noticed his ragged breathing, the hard rise and fall of his chest—the tears that spilled from his stunned eyes. He could hardly speak, perfect brows knitting, a million thoughts running through his head in the seconds that he stared. 

You watched the anarchy on his face, anticipating the worst. 

“Jeonghan?”

His name upon your lips was the last straw. 

The greatest film star in the world grabbed your waist with both hands and pulled you in. 

The kiss that welcomed you freed you of every worry you had ever harboured.

You almost moaned in relief, instantly wrapping yourself around him as you reciprocated. Your mouth moved along with his, an age-old rhythm that you had mastered only with him, because he was the only one who could render you putty in his hold. You could taste the salt of his tears, which had travelled down to his mouth, and your fingers upon his cheeks tightened—tightening because you were the reason for these tears, and never again would you let this dear man weep silently over you. 

Jeonghan’s desperation, in the way he tugged your hips so close that it snuffed out the remaining distance, tied to his own hips, was much too obvious. You had never even realised how much he had waited for you, yearned for you as the entire world watched his every movement.

He had never tasted chaos as bitter as when he was apart from you. 

You broke his heart that day in your hotel room—he knew, deep down, that you were regressing into your ancient fears, but that time, he did not think he could wait for you again. Five long, hard, aching years, he could only watch you from a distance, lest the papers tear you apart as they did him. Five years he witnessed firsthand your steady destruction, the alliances turning against your image as you ruined yourself to the industry; all that time, he stood and did nothing, because he knew that you had sealed your fate the moment you abided by the rules of Hollywood.

But he was lying if he said he had not languished over you. 

When he found you in the dark hallways of the Louvre, looking for Psyche and Cupid reuniting all those weeks ago, he first believed himself following a whimsical script, written by the subconscious, aching wisps of his heart. He could not help indulging in you, wanting you so desperately it was as if he had never aged in your separation. He could not even expose how many times he had relived the first stages of your relationship—how many times he had captured the same photo you had stared mere minutes ago. 

So when you came knocking on your door as if your life depended on it, admitting to your mistakes…how could he not accept—no, delight in your changed behaviour? Of course, nothing could have described his devastation in the past weeks, but your promises to him was all he wished for—all he ever needed in his life. 

So as Jeonghan pushed you back, drinking the desire that spilled from your mouth, clumsy in his steps, he needed you to realise that he would never leave—even if you hurt him a thousand times over. 

Your back hit the wall, the impact breaking away from his mouth—your momentary gasps gave him enough incentive to latch onto your neck, his s every soft kiss planted making you whimper. Perhaps any other rendezvous would have been so much more hectic—full of rage and excitement, but this was so different. What used to be broken curses on heated skin, promises of ruination had become soft murmurs, half-voiced questions of going further, prayers of thanks to whatever you two believed in which brought the two of you back together. 

Slowly, with every love bite softly carved by his teeth, his hands were also working slyly, sliding to the buttons of your black trousers. Your own hands sought refuge in his curls, the frenzied frizz of his black locks which felt like home underneath your fingers. Only when he successfully unbuttoned the front, feeling his mouth leave your neck and make a trail down your chest did you falter. Dipping your head to see him kiss your clothed abdomen, he descended on his knees, facing the unbuttoned glory of the trousers. 

Fingers hooking to the waistband, he tugged your trousers down, all the way to your ankles where you shed them from your feet, legs now bare before him. His changing expression had you gulping down at his image.

With trembling fingers he skimmed your skin till they found the waistband on your sides. Slowly, too slowly for you, he tugged them down, savouring the sight till your cunt was on show, and you could have been snuffed out from the look in his eyes as they sparked to life. 

You had almost forgotten how extraordinary he looked in this position. 

His curls barely touched your thighs, shifting closer as he blew a gush of air towards your core, relishing the shiver that he felt through your body. 

“Jeonghan…” You were so on edge, holding the wall. “What are you stalling for?”

His words fanned your cunt—fluttering you alive. “You said…did you not? That you had been selfish?” 

His head tilted upwards, catching your daze. “Is it not my turn to indulge?” 

You could have collapsed to the floor. 

“May I?” he asked you, a mere breath.

Because you could not say a word, you could only nod, a little too enthusiastically. 

Jeonghan’s tongue sliding past your slit had you closing your eyes.

He collected the arousal that glistened, languid in his process—he dared not quicken too quickly, fearing a rushed ending, terrified he would ruin something he had recreated in his dreams. Your taste, your hypnotic taste was even finer than the arousal he had lapped up in his mind, separating your legs even further to fully capture you in his mouth. His tongue had struck liquid treasure, journeying up your folds, and your breathing turned even, harsher with every stroke.

Your breaths then hitched entirely when he stumbled upon your clit. 

His tongue and your clit could have been soulmates, the way he latched onto the bud, circling like an enthusiastic dog around its owner. He was a broken record, singing the same lamentations of how long he had been waiting to devour you, but he could not stop himself. He hummed at the reactions that elicited from your own tongue. Every little sound that escaped from you was further motivation, a confirmation that you had not moved on from his touches.

And how could you have done?

The memories were flooding in the hazy gates of your mind, flashbacks of him kneeling in all corners of the world—sucking on your clit in the darkness of the London bars, stuffing his face in the districts of Bangkok, unravelling you in the gardens of Marrakech. Which continent had he not travelled to delve within you, both of you always drunk out of your minds, but never quite forgetting the passions that still remained rampant to this day.

Now, in this small, Parisian apartment, with no one to dare spy on the two of you—no one but the posters on the walls, or the pictures on the board—the film noir star could rest easy, stone cold sober, as he glided his tongue on your bundle of nerves. He gripped your thighs, his jaw opening wider, and your legs threatened to buckle from under you. 

He was giving his all, his ministrations laced with a helplessness you had never sensed before. As if you were going to slip away from him, he held onto you with a certain determination, almost as if in any second, you would run away again, break his heart for the last time.

That could have broken your own soul.

Your hands went to his hair, carding through the mess of curls, ruining them even more. You held onto him because you needed him to understand that you were not going anywhere, not anymore. Your fingers, threading into his locks, making him feel your presence—he had to get through his head that your screw ups ended at this moment. 

When he began to quicken at your touches, you would have abandoned every bad decision you thought of ever making. 

You stole a glance down, blinking heavily back at the sight. 

It was like the image of a holy man, kneeling at the altar of his god; perhaps more would have resorted to religion if they saw the way Jeonghan worshipped you with his mouth, over and over again like a neverending mass. 

Seeing him speeding up his rhythm firsthand had your whimpers gaining a voice, the small of your back tensing up. You were constricting, fidgeting much harder in his grasp. 

If his tongue was not enough, then the man let one of your sides free from his grip. Those fingers then crept closer, his mouth never stopping as he slipped one inside. The surprise of the digit entering had you gasping, the hold on his hair unsteady as it nearly filled you up. 

You delighted in its presence, even more so when you felt the pleasure of it leaving you. Your walls began to pulsate when the finger came back, a steady pattern Jeonghan knew was your favourite. You suppose it should not have been such a surprise, but he knew you too damn well. He knew which little things would make you lose your very senses, follow his trail till the end of time.

He was faster now, leading you closer and closer to your release, which felt so imminent. You could almost taste its remnants, the dull ache threatening to course through your body.

“J-Jeonghan—!” you got out, shaking in his hold, even in your speech. “I’m so—fuck, I’m so close—”

But you did not have to say a single word, because he could sense your incoming release, controlled by his fingers, his tongue. To know he held the power of your undoing thrilled him.

Even after all this time, you followed the melody of his music, and no one else’s.

Your ex-lover softly teethed your clit, his finger diving into you to the knuckle.

You could not restrain yourself any longer. 

With a final gasp you let yourself go, your orgasm singing your body to life, freeing you from the dull throbbing caused by his truly. The constriction snapped, and your legs could not take you anymore—you would have collapsed on the ground had his hand on your hip not stopped the fall.

Quickly sliding his finger out, you felt hollow with his tongue leaving too. As he pulled away, holding you on both sides, he let you slide down till you were at level with him. 

You stole a peek at his slick finger, then his slicker lips. You parted yours when he licked his mouth, savouring the taste of you. 

“You have no idea,” he began, voice much raspier, “How long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

But you could not respond to him, legs still numb, mouth still slightly agape by the frenzied sight of him. You thought you were done, but then he confided this to you, and all the desire that you thought had been released was churning once again. 

How manic you had become, how insatiable your hunger had transformed for him—exactly how he had prayed at your altar, you could have clasped your hands in devotion before him, begging him to never stop.

So you tried to muster this urgency when you asked him, quietly, but not softly, “Then why have you stopped here?” 

You brought your hands to his face, relishing in the warmth of his cheeks. “Have we not…not waited far too long to come to this?”

He leaned in further, nodding absentmindedly as he stared at your lips. “Too fucking long, mon ange.” 

And he swooped in once more, enveloping your lips with his, because it was not enough, and he needed more. Thank God his thirst had not satiated, because you did not think you would have retained your sanity had he been done then and there. You were still reeling over from your release, only just finding feeling in your legs. Even so, perhaps you did not even need feeling, because, as he was sliding his tongue through the seam of your lips, his hands found refuge under your knees, your back. 

His mouth drowned out your gasp as you were lifted in his arms, you instinctively wrapping your arms around him as he led you to his midnight-clouded bed. Gently he settled upon the soft sheets, laying you down as he broke away for a fleeting moment. 

He was making to take his shirt off, fingers resting on the hem when you stopped him, hands on his.

“Let me,” you whispered. “Let me do at least one thing for you.”

Jeonghan blinked back, catching the gentle request in your eyes. He could not have accepted fast enough, pressing kisses to the corners of your lips, your jaw as your wavering hands raised the shirt off him, tossing it to the side. You caught the sight of his slender frame, and could not stop yourself as your fingers skimmed the soft skin of his abdomen. To think no one had seen the sliver of his shoulders, let alone the waist-up nakedness—no television screen, no secret reporter had captured him the way he was over you, watching you admire him shamelessly. He could only raise his groomed brows at you, tugging at your own shirt, which was buttoned to the top. 

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, unbuttoning the layers one by one. “Or I couldn’t…I could never leave.”

As your shirt accompanied his, you asked him, voice barely out as he drank in the lace of your bra, “Do you want to?” 

But his finger was trailing the hem of your strap, urging you to lift yourself only a little as he unclipped it with one hand, all the while watching the hesitance of your own fingers as you pulled his trousers down. His eyes may have darted all over your bare figure, your shifting demeanour, but he did not waver. Even as the last of his layers were being uncovered, peeling away his trousers, his boxer briefs, no one tried to shy away, even when there was nothing left to hide away in for the two of you.

You supposed seeing Yoon Jeonghan naked should have burst you into cinders. 

Sure, you were heating up at the mere sight of him, but an overwhelming nostalgia washed over your mind—it was as if your heart, too, was moving strangely along with the thrums of your desire. It had been so long, and you did not—could not—even comprehend finding yourself at this stage. Even your ex-lover’s stare had faltered, turning heavy-lidded. 

Finally…finally he was experiencing the events of his dreams.

As he towered over you, guiding his cock that you could not stop looking at, his other hand found a home at your hips. He could hardly focus, the memories of your first time with him, and so many times afterwards, rushing with his one move. The tip teased your entrance, staining it with your returning arousal, and you hitched in a sharp breath.

No—you should not look at Jeonghan like he was the last piece of the puzzle of your happiness, as if he held the power to salvage the destruction you had caused. You asked him, in that sweet hushed whisper that raised his temperature, whether you would ever leave him, and it could have pained him that you had to ask in the first place. 

“Never,” he rasped out, curls moving along his face as he drifted closer. “Leave you…?” He shook his head slowly, his nose brushing yours with every shake. “Never again.”

With that, he indulged in his greatest fantasy, one he harboured the moment he declared his love for you.

His cock slid further inside, and you gripped his shoulder, a whimper prying out of your mouth without any restraint. God, he was filling you up, more so than you imagined. Maybe you had not made love to anyone in such a while, and had forgotten the feeling.

But you had not forgotten sex with Jeonghan—or at least you thought, because nothing could have braced you for the feeling of him inside you.

“There,” he said softly, a phantom smile appearing as he bottomed out in you, ragged breathing exposing. “Just like that, mon ange.” He raised his fingers to your mouth, thumb playing with your lip. “Need you to…ah, moan just like that.”

“Jeonghan…” you murmured, too bewildered by the feeling of your walls clenching around him to respond to his broken whispers. “So good…feels so good.”

His smile could have cured all your heartache. “Good,” he said, the soft plush of his mouth caressing yours. Even with all the distance snuffed out, he completely engulfed you with his presence, his locks tickling your cheeks. You could not breathe any oxygen, but the man above you, labouring inside of you…could oxygen not be replaced by his presence? Could you not have inhaled his very scent into your bones, lived off the desire sparking in his wild eyes?

Then, he began to pull out, tilting his back head slightly to watch your pupils dilating, brows drawing together, gasping slightly at the feeling. He wished he could bottle the moment, necklace the image and perch it on his heart forever. You were so in sync to his movements, reacting so well to his cock, that he wondered whether you were made just for him. A selfish pondering, of course, but Jeonghan’s newfound greed seemed to overwhelm him. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered to you, voice lowering an octave as he kept moving, creating a rhythm so spellbinding you could not help following along. “You look so…so beautiful under me, I—”

He thrust inside you again once he was barely teasing your folds, and you swore he hit a spot that had you seeing stars. Perhaps you could have transcended into another world, another galaxy which was made just for the two of you—no one would watch over you and him, and you could bask in each other forever, without the prying eyes of the world you were in. His knitted brows, his heavy-lidded eyes, dazing over—his slick, parted mouth, his unruly hair, matting with sweat. Everything you scrutinised, painting him in your mind so you could never forget, putting this Jeonghan on the pedestal of your memories. 

Too long—too long you had simply lived in the past.

It was time for you to live in the present.

Wrapping your legs around him, you took him in even deeper, hands sliding up from his shoulder to his face, caressing his raven locks on the way. “Look at you,” he kept saying, because he still could not believe you were here, taking him so well, eliciting sounds that could have had the dead flustered in their graves. “So pretty while you take my cock—ah!” He could not even finish properly, his mind clouding. His own interruption stirred something dark, something delicious inside you.

He was moving a little quicker, gliding the two of you upon midnight sheets. “Faster, mon ange?” he asked you between kisses. You nodded enthusiastically, without even realising, and he chuckled slightly, fanning your face. “No, darling, I…words, I need your words.”

You did not think you could even muster a single thing to oblige him, but the familiar feeling, pulsating at the small of your back, returned. “Faster, please,” you got out, and he obliged you, fastening his pace—the moment your whimpers morphed into pants, he knew he was doing something right. Once he quickened, the dull thrum slowly returned, barely even noticeable at first. Because the man inside you knew you more than you knew yourself, he was aware just how to bring you to that moment.

But he was going to cherish this first.

Even while he picked up the pace, a part of him was too terrified to let these moments end. 

Already you could barely form full sentences, and he knew that soon, he would sense your very release impending. You were so good to him, so exceptional, better than all the dreams he had experienced in dark nights from years ago. You were quite possibly everything he had secretly hoped, and to think he had only glimpses in these years…he would make sure to never have you doubt him again.

“Close,” you began, losing a slight grip on your senses with his pattern, his cock that you had not realised you missed. “I-I’m close—”

But he could tell from impeding moans, drowning out his own breathless grunts, slowly losing his own control over his movements. He nodded hurriedly, fastening some more.

This time, his thrusts became erratic, all of his praises incoherent as he teethed love-bites onto your skin, burying his face in your shoulder. He whispered sweet praises in your ear as he pounded into you, and you were certain that you would never regain sanity again after all of this was over. If his cock was not enough, then he brought his fingers into the midst, prodding at your clit to entice even more pleasure. You were whining onto his skin, his mouth, needing him to undo you before you burst under his hold.

“F-fuck, angel,” he breathed out, all his strength being used in pleasuring you fully. “Even more beautiful than my dreams—!” 

It was not as if you were making it any easier for him.

No, the film noir star was breaking, tearing at the seams, because you were moaning sweet nothings to him, words he could not make out, until you chanted his name. Jeonghan! Jeonghan! Jeonghan! you kept begging, and it dawned on him that all his devotion was finally reaping its reward. You, a star who had never bowed to anyone, were thrashing and shaking from his touches, pleading for release only he could bestow, and now, he was the altar you prayed to with a sinner’s desperation. 

Because the two of you had finally found each other after fate had tried to pull you apart, he would listen. Because, after years of separation, a plethora of misunderstandings, untold feelings, and an infinite amount of silences gone far too long, he would finally break these horrid curses.

Because the man was utterly in love with you, he would never dismiss your pleas.

So, with one final collision of his lips against yours, he worked overtime as his cock plunged into you one last time, your bundle of nerves never resting from the circling of his fingers. 

You cried onto his shoulder as your orgasm crashed through, electric as it pulsed through your body, legs shaking under his hands. Blinking hurriedly, you felt him slither out of you, just in time for his own orgasm. He stained his midnight sheets of his release, collapsing right next to you with a soft, low curse. 

As the two of you tried to recover from your ministrations, both chests unevenly rising, falling, arms touching, you stared up at the ceiling, your heart pumping in your ears.

Oh my God.

You could not believe it. 

After what felt like twenty lifetimes, you had finally found Jeonghan—found him, and managed to keep him, despite everything.

Your old habits would have you doubting this whole event happened, but even you knew you should allow yourself this happy certainty. 

You gazed at the black walls, the small lights in the middle. As the blood pumping in your ears began to simmer down, you heard more clearly his broken huffs—the beginnings of a laugh that barely bubbled out of his mouth.

Catching onto it, you turned on your side, looking at his closed eyes, and the corner of his lips which curved upwards. “What’s the laugh for?” 

Although he swayed his head, as if waving off your question, he spoke up after a moment. “I just…I can’t believe you ran after a bus for me.”

When he caught the exasperation on your face, he almost glowed with amusement. “I nearly fell off the back of it, too,” you grated out, almost creasing from the memory. “Everybody just gawked as I got on.”

He shifted, facing you. “I suppose it is not everyday you see a famous actress running after public transport.”

“Infamous, more like,” you corrected. “Well…it is pointless now…” you paused, biting your lip. “I suppose I shall have to get used to it…”

A slight tick of his head. “How so?”

“Seungcheol will never give me the part,” you explained in dejection. When you looked at him, though, you tried to smile. “But truly, it doesn’t matter anymore. I would give it up for you again.”

The man twisted his mouth, but not particularly in a smile. “My dear, I don’t want you to give up your livelihood for me.”

He propped his head in his hand, elbow resting on his pillows. “All I want is for you to realise that you can have everything should you wish it. You do not need to discard the people you love to continue to watch you enjoy.”

You took in his comments. “But Jeonghan,” you said, a little nervous, “What if…” Sighing, you mustered some strength. “Jeonghan, what if you do not like this version of me? The one who might always be a little scared of facing everyone?”

When you saw an untamed grin morphing his beautiful mouth, you had the nerve to be slightly irritated. “What?”

Reaching out, he held your chin between his fingers, “Do you really have to ask me of my feelings after what we have just done?”

He felt the warmth spreading to your face beneath his tongue, furthering his delight. “_____,” he said, “You travelled half of Paris to find me, despite your fears. You braved the daylight for me, angel, when all you found safety was in the darkness of midnight.”

His eyes were wild and free and intense and alive. “I love you, chérie. I loved you the moment I set my eyes on you in that afterparty, and I will never stop…I don’t think I could stop.”

You parted your mouth.

But then you had to close it again, because your heartbeat fluttered out of your skin, your vision going blurry.

This time, it was not the alcohol ruining it, but the blasted tears returning.

“Jeonghan,” you rasped out, resting a shaking hand over his collarbone, “I-I love you so much—”

Before the waterworks completely took over you, the film noir star leaned in, tilting his head as he enveloped his lips with yours, cherishing the hums that left you. 

Jeonghan was not leaving.

He saw the worst, and had decided to stay.

You were so scared—terrified that today would mark the worst moments of your life, but of course, this enigmatic man had saved you once again. You were sure that you would never be able to repay the debts of his kindness, but you finally realised that this came naturally when you were the object of one’s affections.

You did not realise that you were the sole receiver.

You felt yourself smiling against his mouth.

Jeonghan did not ever have to worry again—that was for sure.

Because, after the waiting, the anguish, this bubbling of anticipation, the storm had passed in the end. You were here, right next to the man you had never quite stopped feeling for.

And you knew that, despite whatever the press, the public, anyone threw at the two of you now, you and Jeonghan would survive it.

It was like you confessed—you could sacrifice the universe.

You could not sacrifice Jeonghan.

Yoon Jeonghan—the greatest film star alive, the most beloved object of the world’s affections, your once ex-lover.

Well.

Not an ex anymore.

LE FRANCE-SOIR, 14TH JANUARY, 1955

THE PRINCESS OF HOLLYWOOD’S SURPRISING RETURN IN SEUNGCHEOL FILM!

Yes, you read it right—our very own infamous star, _____, is back in our papers, but this time, she has saved herself! Our sources tell us that she has landed herself the lead role in a Choi Productions film, and is set to be the biggest release of this year! Who would have thought that with everything she had done, and experienced the consequences of, she would be back to dominate our screens! 

As well as her films, she seems to have excelled in her romantic liaisons! Here are some exclusive pictures of her and her old flame Jeonghan, hand-in-hand as they wander the streets of Paris together. It has been a couple of months since they were first seen together after five years. Many of our readers believe it will not last, just as they did not the first time.

But who knows anymore? We could not predict our Princess being disgraced, nor could we imagine her climbing back up. Perhaps this new adventure with the greatest star in the world is more than a five-year fancy.

We will keep all our readers updated on their journey together! We believe that this will not be the last time we see them together.

Perhaps they are, after all, meant to be.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL’S PERFECT EYEBROWS RAISED TO THE ANCIENT CEILING AS HE REGARDED YOU.

You shifted under his gaze, tightening your jacket around yourself. It was not particularly cold, considering it was the beginning of the year, but the way he looked at you with a strange sense of surprise had your discomfort growing. 

Seungkwan, watching the bizarre scene, tapped his foot impatiently against the marble floors of the Louvre. “What’s with the ogling, old man? Don’t you have a film to look over?”

The director slid his withering stare to the agent. “First of all, why are you here? Last time I remembered, you were _____’s little servant, not an actor.” The accused was ready to start shouting at the comment, but he continued. “Second,” he said, looking at you again, “You are early. I was not expecting you for another half-hour.”

“Do you frown upon punctuality?” you asked him, ignoring Seungkwan’s hushed protests. 

“No, actually…I’m rather shocked when someone exudes it.” Seungcheol cocked his head. “Especially since you are known for being late.”

Biting your lip in embarrassment, you willed your hands to your sides. “I’m aware of my…behaviour…” Distant memories flashed in your mind—memories of yourself you would rather forget. “Take this as me making amends.”

“Amends?” He clicked his tongue. “We will see how quickly you will resort to your old habits.”

Your dear agent crossed his arms. “All this attitude, yet you still gave _____ the leading role.”

“Well…” he turned on his heel. “Take this as me believing your amends.” He began to walk forward, expecting you both to follow. “But you better not expect any special treatment.”

You could only sigh, looking behind you at the museum entrance, where a mass of people were gathered outside, stopped only by a dozen security guards. With one momentary glance at Seungkwan, who only rolled his eyes, the two of you trailed after the director’s steps, further into the fine hallways of the Louvre.

It was all true—Seungcheol had offered you the role that you had auditioned for, nearly two weeks ago.

You could not believe the news at first—your agent could not either, although he was the messenger. He bothered the director with numerous phone calls, making sure that he was not being fooled, but when the elder threatened to kick you off the role, the younger screamed and ended the call, confirming your suspicions.

The greatest filmmaker in Hollywood decided to place his trust in you. It felt unbelievable, considering people were still whispering about your months-old scandal. However, when the papers began to circulate news of your contract with Choi productions, the malicious gossip had begun to alleviate.

It was as Seungkwan had predicted—you only needed one big film to turn your life around.

So here you were, following the man who decided to give you a chance in the industry into a palace-turned-museum you had visited one too many times during your visit. 

What was once a quiet sanctuary in the middle of the night had become a bustling palace filled with the film crew—the hallways were decked with cameramen, makeup artists, costume designers, running around and hurrying to their tasks. Some of the film crew spoke to the extra security guards that Seungcheol had stationed, in case a manic fan managed to sneak past the entrances. There were orders being shouted at every corner, half of the requests being lost in rapid French.

“Is Seokmin back yet?” Seungcheol demanded from his head cameraman, who had rushed over to him, providing details of the scene you were beginning with. When the man informed him of why your co-star was so indisposed, the director made sure everyone heard his irritated sigh. “Jesus, just tell him to hurry up!”

As you kept sneaking glances behind you, Seungkwan followed your vision, patting you on the shoulder. “Stop fretting, _____. He said he could not come today.”

“I know…” But you could not help your slight dejection. “I hope I can see him in the evening, at least.”

“My goodness!” A scoff. “Perhaps you should save the melodrama for when the cameras start rolling.”

You shot him a glower. “Maybe Seungcheol is right in wanting to throw you out.”

As the director led you into the exhibitions’ wing, you began to take in the familiar artwork, the dozens of Psyches and Cupids now separated. Although you missed all the interpretations you had seen that night, all those months ago, you wondered where the star attraction might be. 

“_____.”

You turned to the director, who skimmed over a few details on his clipboard, provided by his assistant. “You are on makeup. Now, what I wanted was a professional working on you, but I received a special request about two days prior from a friend to work on the set cosmetics.”

“Oh,” you got out, slightly confused. “Where do I need to go?”

Seungcheol pointed at the end of the hall, down to the next room, where the costume crew was located. “Do whatever you wish, but you better not be in front of the cameras caked like a clown.” 

“Of course,” you reassured him, but the confusion had not disappeared. “Who was the friend?”

The director twisted his lips. “Enough asking, more following!” 

“All right, all right!” you rushed out, shaking your head as you followed the path he explained. The artworks still revolved around your favourite subjects as you walked closer to the grand doorways, but you did not see your most prized sculpture.

You did not see Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss until you stepped into the costume crew’s domain. 

Hundreds of outfits had been hung in racks, creating an easier way to transport all the clothing from set to set. The hall was bustling too, men and women either fixing a dress or a skirt, checking the products were up to standard, or being distracted as they admired the classical masterpieces around them.

What distracted you, though, for a single second, was your favourite sculpture, out on display in the middle of the chaos. 

What held your distraction for a lifetime was the man before it.

“Jeonghan?”

The said-actor looked up from his papers, catching sight of you.

When his smile lit up his entire face, you could have floated in the clouds of the Louvre’s ceilings, among the godly figures that were painted, watching the reunion.

Immediately you ran over to him, taking little care for the people around you as you jumped into his arms. His laughter vibrated through your body as he held you tightly, resting his head in the space of your shoulder. 

When you finally pulled away, holding him at arms’ length, you bombarded him with questions. “Why are you here? I mean, I’m delighted you are here, but you said you couldn’t come! What happened?”

“I couldn’t miss your first day of work!” His fingers locked behind your back. “I asked Cheol to let me stay on set. Since he’s a pain in everyone’s ass, he said I couldn’t be here unless I made myself useful.”

He looked around, jerking his head to everyone’s stations. “So that’s why I suggested I help with makeup and the like.”

“Ah, so you’re the friend he was complaining about,” you figured. “I trust you since your own makeup has been done quite well.”

“Quite well?” He narrowed his eyes in excessive pride. “Darling, I was expecting never ending praises of my work.”

You raised your chin. “I will sing your praises when you don’t ruin my face after we’re done.”

“I cannot promise you that.”

Glancing at the exit, you mused, “Perhaps it’s not too late to run out of here…”

Chuckling, he turned you around, gesturing for you to sit in the two free chairs beside your favourite sculpture. “Here, sit,” he said, grabbing a small bag on the makeshift tables, right next to the racks of clothing. After settling himself down, he opened the zipper, looking through the contents given by the head artist in the crew. “Right…onto the makeup…”

You watched him inspect each cosmetic, checking too intently at the bottles of foundation, circles of powder, or small tubes of lipstick that he opened and twisted. When he pulled out an eyebrow pencil, his own furrowed, puzzlement clear in his features.

“Jeonghan…” you could barely contain your smile. “Do you know what half of these products are used for?”

“Of course!” He looked intently at the pencil. “This pencil…well, obviously it is used for…hmm…” 

He then looked at you, cocking his head. “Right…” He put the pencil back in the bag. “You know what? You do not need makeup! No need to add to perfection, as I always say.”

“Are you complimenting me because you don’t know what a brow pencil is used for?”

“Brow pencil?” He gawked at the bag. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Seungcheol would have your head if he heard us,” you warned, taking the bag from the actor. “Here, I will add the makeup myself. You sit here and look pretty.”

“That,” he announced, smirking, “I can do without a problem.”

You only shook your head, bringing out the different products, starting with the powder. You made Jeonghan hold up a small mirror as you began, slowly adding the layers of makeup that you had grown accustomed to. As you continued your progress, your dear actor watched, admiring how smoothly you applied each puff of the powder, each thin coat of foundation. 

When you opened the tiny container of block mascara, you leaned into the mirror, gently stroking your lashes against the open end of the stick. It was when you were applying your mascara when you were asked a question.

“How are you feeling about today?”

You inspected your lashes—they needed more work. “Nervous,” you replied honestly, adding a little more tint. “I mean, I am excited too, but…it’s been so long.” 

“No, of course.” He shifted the mirror to your other eye. “Your last project was a couple of years back, right?”

Humming in confirmation, you added the mascara to the next set. “I know I’m a good actress, Jeonghan, but…I just…I don’t want to go back to how I was.” You closed the stick back, tossing it in the bag. “The drinking, the fighting…I can’t let it happen again.”

You then brought out the eyeliner, trying to create a perfect wing on your left eye. “If I screw this up, then…it truly would be over for me. I wouldn’t deserve anything in the future…” You paused, realising you drew the line crooked. “Damn it.”

Your dear beau smiled at your mistake. “Wait, hold this.” Taking the mirror from him, he then took the eyeliner from you. Fingers reaching out, he held your jaw, pulling you closer to him. “Let me.”

Although your heart fluttered at the action, you still got out, “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

He slid his gaze to you. “I doubt I can ruin it any more than you have.”

“Get your hands off me this instant.”

“Wait, wait!” he said between huffs of laughter. “Just close your eyes. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” you mumbled out, obliging him.

Jeonghan looked at you for a moment, eyes closed, waiting for him to begin.

He thought about what you had said to him just now. 

Bringing the point of the liner to the inner corner of your eye, he knew he could not shy away from the truth—what you experienced after the end of your relationship with him was possibly the roughest downfall Hollywood had seen during that decade. He may not have spoken to you during those five years, but he had certainly witnessed and heard what everyone had written and said of you. Of course, he was aware that the press had exaggerated in every article or talk show to gain a reaction, but at the end of the day, your erratic behaviour was the beginning of all the negative exposure.

But you were in front of him now—readying yourself for a Seungcheol production, as patient as a parent with a child, as peaceful as the Parisian night. You had owned your mistakes, apologised to the people you had hurt.

With a slow, yet steady pace, he carefully lined your eyelid, finishing off with a perfect wing.

You had admitted to your faults, and endeavoured to amend them. That alone can take an immense amount of strength.

“Change does not occur overnight, mon ange,” he said to you, turning to the other, naked eyelid. “I fear people will always bring up the past and make you relive it, even if your future may be secure. It is always disheartening, when they compare you to the ghost of what you were.”

With the same, tender pace, he drew the second line, comparing the original to make sure they were identical. All the while, he continued. “But you must remember that you are trying. The press can talk whatever nonsense they conjure to gain attention, but the people who care for you see that you want to change, are trying to change.”

When he was done, he admired his work—then, he admired you, your lips twisting at his words. “If we as people are not allowed to change, then the world will become a little dull, don’t you think?” 

“Besides…” he put the eyeliner back in the bag. “Even with all this change, one thing will remain stagnant.”

You felt his eyes on you, his fingers sliding to your face. 

“Always remember that my love for you will never falter.”

You opened your eyes. 

There he was, looking at you as if he held the universe in his hands.

And as you finally felt Psyche and Cupid’s presence beside the two of you, in their pose of eternal yearning, you smiled at him, confiding in an intimate truth.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Jeonghan’s smile faltered.

He was quite sure that if he said anything to you, then you would catch on to the tremble of his voice.

So he did not say anything, only closing the distance, enveloping his lips with yours. You happily complied to the sweet kiss, as if absorbing the longing of the two deities and taking it for yourselves. 

It would have gone a little further when you were interrupted by a guttural groan at the doorway. You broke away from your actor’s lips, whirling your head to see Seungcheol glaring at you two.

“Just when I thought I could trust Jeonghan,” he began, crossing his arms, “He goes and plays tonsil tennis with my lead actress.”

Your beloved grinned as you hid your head in embarrassment. “It was your fault for trusting me, Cheol. You should know better after knowing me so long.”

“My mistake, you bastard,” seethed the elder. “And as for you, _____! Tell me your makeup is done or I am firing you this second.”

Instantly you shot up from your seat. “Jesus, Seungcheol, I’m ready!” you exclaimed, dusting at your dress. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Hurry up,” was his next order before thundering out of the room.

Jeonghan waved him off as you sighed heavily. “Don’t fret too much over him. He won’t do anything, really.”

“That’s because he actually likes you,” you countered, touching your lips. “Damn! We forgot the lipstick.”

“No, no, the look is better without it.” A glimmer appeared in his gaze. “Even better that we didn’t add it before, or else it would have stained.”

“How resourceful of you,” you monotoned, as if your cheeks did not burn. “Now, let’s go before he has both our heads. I refuse to die after I have just landed a good role.”

Both of you exited the costume hall, entering back to the main set. The bustling of the camera crew instantly began the moment Seungcheol began voicing orders, humming in approval at his lighting crew, who offered him suggestions. He then addressed everyone as you came into view. “All right, all right, everybody, let’s get into positions!”

He pointed his pen at you. “_____, I want you at the first doorway. This is the scene where she’s waiting for Richard to arrive, and admires the artwork around her.” 

“Perfect,” you said, walking to your position. 

He shot his assistant a withering look. “And for God’s sake, get Seokmin out of the goddamn lavatory this instant! We’ll be finished with the whole movie at this rate!” The poor man only nodded hurriedly before running out of the hall. “Where’s the slate?”

But the camera assistant who held the slate was already before you, waiting for the director’s orders as you prepared yourself, going over the lines one last time. 

Seungkwan and Jeonghan were right behind the cameras, watching you practise. The former raised his fist, a signal of his belief in you. You sent him a quick nod, letting yourself smile at him because if there was one person you had to thank for this opportunity, then it was your dear agent, and even dearer friend.

The latter only had his hands in his trench coat pockets, eyes never straying from you.

“Right!” Seungcheol clapped his hands, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Let us do _____’s solo scene first.” He settled in the seat behind the main camera, held up by a huge tripod. 

Signalling the camera assistant, she commenced, “Scene 4, Take 1!” With the click of the slate, she hurried out of view.

This was it.

The final call was going to begin.

You locked your hands behind your back, allowing yourself one last look at your ex-lover. 

No, not ex-lover—never ex. 

He smiled at you. An action so little had every nerve in your body easing.

You could do this.

“Lights!”

You could not believe you were finally here. 

If you had told yourself that you would be in this position the moment you entered this mystical city, you would have never had faith in such a prediction. Your chances had vanished, your fortune had run dry. You truly thought that it was over for you when you landed in this fated city,  thinking that you were begging to an absent god, relying on the empty promises of strangers. 

But you were okay. You were going to be all right.

Because you deserved this. 

“Camera!”

And as your film noir star had rightfully told you, it was not going to be easy, changing from your old, hard habits. It would be a long path, perhaps filled with the same old adversaries. The press was still there, perhaps it always will be. Now, you would not have to fight it alone.

You would have Yoon Jeonghan by your side—and he was not going anywhere anytime soon.

This time, you would never let him go.

You slipped him one last smile before your eyes slid to the camera.

You were ready.

“ACTION!”

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e : hello everyone i can’t believe y’all have reached the end!! it means so much to me especially for this fic because i never thought paris would ever be finished :’) i have so many people to thank for bringing this work to life—chia, your paris! chan fanart and drawings have been on my mind for the past two years, and all your gushing encouraged me to keep writing (even tho i floored chan im so sorry). Secondly, this is for the Lysol GC! The way you bitches bullied me everytime I scrapped paris since 2020…. HORRENDOUS…but from the bullying to reading over my drafts and encouraging me everytime i hit a block, i would never have finished this fic if it wasn’t for you three <33 and lastly, thank you YSL Jeonghan—you did what my previous ult biases could not inspire me to write !! thank you once again, everyone, for reading, and let me know if y’all enjoyed <3

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld​ @dalkyeom​ @sysymei​ @alaypsy23​ @belladaisies​ @jjeongddol​@sparklyshuji @forcoups​ @ilovesungjun​ @wonwoo24​ @scandal-in-bohemia​ @hopefulchick​ @superbbananananana​ @onedumbho3​ @fragmentof-indifference​ @cuntycheol​ @rubywonu​ @if-i-like-i-reblog​ @yoonzinoooo​ @jungwoos-luvr​ @crookedwolfruins​ @leclercloverbot​ @alexai 

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan smut #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan angst #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan

[sonamytrash]

Distraction

AN: Based after the female titan arc where Levi injures his leg. Cute lil nurse reader and Levi come to terms with their mutual feelings after the scouts suffer such heavy losses. Smutty smut smut galore, enjoy! Divider by @cafekitsune

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader, Levi x Nurse reader

Warnings: Sex, little bit of angst, mostly smut, handjob, fingering, sex, vaginal sex, female anatomy described, mutual pining, orgasm, creampie, dirty talk, Levi's office chair is humanities strongest chair, not proof read.

Levi sat at his desk, one hand propped up under his chin as he stared out the window, watching the rain patter against the glass. Levi ackerman's office was as austere as he was. It was a space that invited solitude, a retreat from the chaos of the world outside. And yet, even in this sterile environment, there was a certain air of... anticipation. A spark of life that Levi had not felt in a long time. He could feel it crackling in the air, dancing on the tips of his fingers, and whispering his name. It was not the wind, nor was it the rain that had been pounding against his window for hours. It was you. You were coming.

You were a welcome distraction from the current stres and grief he was plagued with these past few weeks. The gorgeous nurse with the sweet voice, gorgeous figure, and big doe eyes. He found himself looking forward to your visits amongst the chaos.

Levi couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been admiring you for. It seemed like every time you had to patch up any injuries or wounds, his gaze would unconsciously gravitate towards you. You were a beautiful woman with an alluring personality. He settled on the thought that he had been drawn to you for as long as he could remember.

Over the years, your relationship has evolved from one of a patient and nurse, to something more complicated. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it went beyond professional.

His thoughts drifted back to the last mission. His entire squad had been wiped out, amongst hundreds of others, and he was lucky to have made it back with just an injured leg. The memories of that day replaying themselves in a macabre loop in his mind.

He couldn't help but wonder how you would feel if he didn't make it back alive. Would you mourn his loss? Would you remember him as more than just another injured soldier you had tended to? The thought both terrified and thrilled him.

Levi leaned back in his chair and surveyed his office once more. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway outside. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, and straightened his posture. This was Levi ackerman, after all. He wasn't the type to get flustered or nervous. But he couldn't deny the butterflies in his stomach or the heat that had spread to his cheeks.

The footsteps grew louder, and then there was a gentle knock on his door. His heart leapt into his throat. "Come in," he croaked, his voice sounding strange and distant even to his own ears. The door opened, revealing a vision of loveliness that took his breath away.

"Good afternoon, Levi," you said, "I'm here to check up on that leg of yours." Your voice was as alluring as ever, like honey dripping from the tongue of an angel. You glanced briefly at his injured limb before looking back up at him. Even that simple action made him feel a strange fluttering in his chest.

As you walked over to him, your movements were fluid and graceful. Levi tore his gaze away from your curves and back to your face, not wanting to seem rude. You knelt down beside his chair, your eyes meeting his once more. "How's the pain been?" You asked, your voice low and soothing.

Levi swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "It's... bearable," he managed to say. "Better than it was, at least." You nodded, studying him carefully. He felt self-conscious under your scrutiny, as if you could see right through him, as if you could read his mind that was plagued with desire and by thoughts of you.

You reached out your hand, your slender fingers gracefully curving over his knee. The contact sent a jolt of awareness through him, making his breath hitch in his throat. "I'll just take a look," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. Your touch was gentle but firm as you began to probe at his leg, feeling along the muscles and bones.

Levi closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation of your hands on his skin rather than the way your body brushed against his chair. It had been so long since he'd felt anything like this, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have you in the way he desired most.

"And how have you been, Captain?" You ask him, trying to initiate conversation sensing his tense body language.

He shrugged, looking away momentarily. "Oh, you know. Bored out of my mind. Nothing new." You giggle at his comment, and he felt the heat in his cheeks growing more intense at the adorable sound, his expression softening. "Is there anything I can tell you about the state of my leg that you don't already know?" He asks teasingly.

"It's healing nicely. You're making excellent progress." Your voice was soft and reassuring, "but I do want you to take it easy for a little while longer. No strenuous activity, alright? Or else." Your fingers danced over his knee again to examine the proximal area of his leg, sending shivers up his spine. He chuckles. "Or else what?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. You smirk playfully in response, "or else I'll come for you, I don't care if you're humanities strongest soldier." You pout playfully, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, thoughts of how he only narrowly returned from the recent scouting mission. "I'll come and find you and drag you back here myself." You said sternly. "Understood?." You ask, meeting his gaze, his lips curve almost into a smile, that answers his earlier question. Your face was etched with concern, concern for his wellbeing. Because if one day he didn’t come back, your heart would break.

You continued your examination, your fingers moving higher up his thigh. Levi's heart raced, and he could feel himself growing harder beneath his uniform. He tried to focus on something else, but it was impossible not to notice the way your breasts pressed against your uniform whenever you leaned forward.

"Though I do think you're ready for some light exercise," you said, your voice still soft. "Just to keep the blood flowing and help with the healing process." You paused, looking up at him with those eyes, those fucking eyes. "And," you added with a mischievous grin, "to make sure you don't get too bored sitting around all day."

"Well," he said, his voice slightly unsteady, "What did you have in mind?" He forced himself to meet your gaze, hoping his expression conveyed the interest and attraction he was feeling.

You paused your examination, hands resting gently on his thigh. Levi felt your eyes flicker down to where his uniform was straining, and he couldn't help but blush hotter, you had noticed. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't bring himself to break eye contact with you. There was something in your gaze that made him feel both vulnerable and strangely aroused.

"I see you're feeling a little warmer over here," you murmured, your voice low and teasing. Your thumbs slowly brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, sending a shiver of pleasure through him. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and his breath came faster as you continued to touch him.

"That's understandable, considering the circumstances." Your thumbs traced light circles over his hardness, and Levi gasped, arching into your touch. You smiled at his reaction, your eyes glinting with mischief.

"But you shouldn't feel embarrassed." You continued, your hand palmed harder along his length, and Levi bit back a moan.

You smiled, eyes never leaving his as you lifted yourself to his level. You leaned closer, your breath warm against his ear. "I could help you feel better," you whispered. "If you'd like." Your hand slipped around to cup his groin, your thumb pressing against the tip of his erection.

"Fuck," Levi moaned, unable to contain the sound as pleasure coursed through him. He arched his back, pressing further into your touch. "Yes," he managed to croak. "Please."

With practised ease, you undid the buttons of his uniform, revealing his chest. Your touch was gentle but firm as you guided his shirt off, tossing it aside. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your fingers, and you revelled in the feel of him beneath your touch.

"You've been such a good patient," you continued, your voice a husky whisper. "I think it's only fair that I reward you."

Levi arched into your touch, a hiss escaping his mouth. He wanted more. He needed more. He reached up, threading his fingers through your hair and pulling you closer still, their lips mere inches apart.

"And you've been such a patient girl, waiting for me to come back in one piece all those times, patching me up each and every time. I'm sorry I've made you worry. It only seems fair that I return the favour...." He says, mimicking your words seductively with a tenderness you had never heard from him before.

You smile as you lean in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was tentative at first, a mere flutter of your lips against each other. But as your tongues met and explored the depths of each other's mouths, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest as you reached down to unfasten his pants. With practiced efficiency, you slid them off, taking his boxer briefs with them. Levi was left bare before you, his erection standing proudly, leaking pre-cum. You couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of his body, the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin. His gorgeous cock that had just the right amount of length and girth.

You watched him with a mixture of lust and tenderness, your eyes tracing the lines of his face and body. The way he responded to your touch made your heart race, the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips and the sound of his pleasure echoing in the quiet room.

You fingers tracing a circle around the head of his cock before wrapping your hand around him, stroking him slowly and gently. He arched his back, pressing into your hand, moaning softly. His hips began to move of their own accord, seeking release. Your expert touch sending waves of pleasure through him. Your fingers tightened around him as you began to stroke him faster. Levi groaned into the kiss, his hips bucking upward. "Y/n" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I want you." He breathed. You smirked at his words as you straddled him in his seat, careful not to put too much of your weight on his injured leg.

"You have me, you've always had me, Levi." you whispered, your lips finding his neck. Your tongue darted out, tracing a line along his pulse point.

Levi growled in response, arching his back further into your touch. He wrapped his arms around you tightly as he kissed you again, your tongues tangling in a desperate dance. He felt your other hand against his chest, your nails digging into his skin, leaving little trails of pleasure and pain. The sensation only served to heighten his arousal, making him harder and hotter than ever.

You moaned into the kiss, your body moving in perfect synchronicity with his. Your hips now rocked against his, grinding against the thick ridge of his erection. You felt the warmth of him, the need in every thrust of his hips.

Levi's hands were everywhere, tracing lines of desire over your skin, his fingers leaving trails of heat in their wake. He nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, and then soothed the sting with a tender kiss. You arched your back, pressing your chest flush against his, your breasts crushed against his muscled chest.

"Take off your clothes," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "Show me everything." There he was. The assertive, forward and absolutely fucking irresistible Captain Levi.

You felt your heart race as you gazed into his lustful eyes, your cheeks flushed, biting your bottom lip. Slowly, you reached up to undo the buttons of your blouse, revealing the underwear you wore beneath. You pulled the fabric off, letting it fall to the floor before he reached behind you and unclipped your bra. Your breasts, rosy and firm, were now on display, "Fuck." He groaned.

Levi's eyes never left your body as you continue to undress, his gaze traveling up and down, drinking in every inch of you. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached out to brush a thumb over your nipple, and you arched into the touch, a moan escaping your lips.

You began to undo the button of your pants, your hearts racing in anticipation. You pushed them down over your hips with your underwear, revealing all of your body. Levi's eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he reached out to touch you again, tracing a line down your stomach, over your mound, and finally to the center, where you were dripping wet for him.

Your breath hitched as his fingers made contact, and you arched your back. You whimpered his name, pressing yourself against his touch. His other hand moved to cup your bottom, lifting you up so that you were positioned over him.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his voice low and husky. "I can't wait to feel you around my cock." He spread your wetness with his fingers, teasing your entrance, before finally slipping one inside.

As his fingers found their way inside you, you gasped, he cupped you, his thumb brushing against your clit,

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, your hips moving in time with his hand. The sensation of being filled by his fingers was overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You felt yourself growing wetter, hotter, as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them to hit just the right spot.

"You're so fucking tight," Levi groaned, his voice thick with desire. His fingers found your entrance again, slipping and sliding as they prepared your body for him. "L-levi," you moaned. He smiled against your skin, his free hand pinching and tracing lazy circles around your nipple. "That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you." His other hand continued to work on your pussy, his fingers finding a rhythm that made you writhe and cry out.

He moved his fingers faster, harder, as he watched your face contort with pleasure. Your breasts heaved with each ragged breath, your nipples hard and begging for his attention. He took one between his lips, sucking gently before biting down softly, causing you to cry out his name again.

"Oh God, Levi," you moaned, your voice strained. Your inner walls clenched tight around his fingers, milking his touch, and he could feel your orgasm coursing through you. He increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing it in circles, his fingers still working you, slowly easing the intensity of the sensations.

He gently parted you r legs with his fingers, revealing your wetness to his gaze. "You're so beautiful," he murmured again, his voice low and husky. "So hot and ready for me."

You shuddered, your body still quivering from the intensity of your orgasm. You looked into Levi's eyes, your faces mere inches apart, "More," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smirked at your words, "What was that? I couldn't hear you." He said teasingly.

You felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable with Levi looking at you like that, but it was also the most arousing thing you had ever experienced. His words sent a shiver of desire through you. "Please," you whispered, your hips moving in time with his hand. "I need you inside me, Levi."

Levi smiled, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you respond to his touch. He withdrew his fingers from between your legs, only to grip your hips and pull you closer. His erection pressed against you, hot and hard.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice gruff with lust. You nodded, eyes locked on his, your fingers digging into his shoulders. With a groan, he positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed his length inside. You met his movements and lowered yourself onto him. Your body tightened around him, greedy for his cock and he let out a shuddering breath as he felt your heat engulf him.

"Fuck, you're greedy little pussy is sucking me right in." He says through gritted teeth. Trying not to cum there and then. You whimper at his words as he stretches you "I can't help it Levi," You say breathlessly "It feels so good."

He began to move, slowly at first, his hips meeting yours in a steady rhythm as you adjusted to each other. You arched your back, as you felt him filling you, stretching you in ways you hadn't even known were possible. You moaned his name, nails gripping his shoulders.

Levi's movements grew more assured, his body aligned with yours in perfect harmony. The sounds of your skin slapping together filled the room, a primal symphony of desire. You were so wet, so tight, it was almost painful for him to hold back any longer.

Your face was flushed with desire, as you surrendered to the sensation of being taken by him. Your breasts bounced against his chest, hips meeting his thrusts with a desperation that threatened to unravel him. You moved against him with a ferocity that both aroused and terrified him. He was lost in the feel and the taste of you, the sound of your moans filling the air. He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh in an attempt to steady you as he felt the familiar tugging deep in his core.

He gripped your waist tighter, feeling the muscles in your abdomen tensing and releasing as you rode him. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you tried to find purchase, to draw him deeper inside of you.

Your lips parted in a smile of pure pleasure, the way you moved against him, the sounds you made, the way you arched your back and cried out his name—it was all driving him closer to the edge.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, leaving tiny half-moons of red in their wake. He could feel you tightening around him, youer muscles tensing and releasing, your body moving in perfect harmony with his.

He could feel the heat emanating from you, the wetness that coated his fingers as he reached down and stroked your clit and your hips bucked harder against him in response to the stimulation.

"You're so fucking wet," he groaned, his voice raw with need. "I can feel you dripping onto my cock. You're killing me, baby." He thrust upwards harder, deeper, feeling you inner muscles clench and release around him in perfect rhythm. Your hips bucked wildly against him, urging him to continue.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice rough with need. "Your tight little cunt... It's like you were made for me." He thrust harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of your wetness. Your breasts bounced with each movement, your nipples hard and aching for his touch.

"You're so big, Levi," you moaned, your voice low and throaty. "Your cock is making me loose my mind." You mewled. His cock throbbed within you at your words, filling every inch of your tight, wet warmth.

"You feel so good," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. "I can't believe how much I love your cock."

"God, you're so filthy," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "I love how much you want this." Your dirty little moans sent a shiver down his spine. Your hips began to move faster, your body undulating in a rhythm that was both primal and irresistible.

"Oh god, yes!" You cried out, your voice breaking. "Don't stop!" You begged him, he bucked his hips up, thrusting deeper inside of you, kissing your cervix with his cock. Your movements growing more urgent. He knew you were close.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his hips thrusting harder as he continued to play with your clit. Your body trembled above him, your pleasure building to a fever pitch. He watched your face contort in ecstasy, eyes rolling back into your head as you came undone.

"Yes," you moaned. "Levi, I'm going to... I'm going to..." Your voice trailed off as your body gave in to the sensations washing over you. With a force that took him by surprise, your muscles contracting powerfully around him, your juices pudling where your bodies were connected, cries of pleasure filled the room as you came.

Levi felt your body tense, the muscles of your core grip him tightly, and with a final, powerful thrust, he cried out your name as he came, his hips bucking wildly, his cock pulsing deep inside you. You arched your back as you met his thrusts, your body shuddering with the force of your own orgasm.

Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other. His cock twitched inside you as he emptied himself into your cunt. You leaned forward, your forehead resting against his, your chests rising and falling in unison as you both fought to catch your breath. Your eyes were wide and glassy with desire, lips parted in a soft, satisfied smile.

He traced a finger along your jawline, tracing the outline of your lips before cupping your face in his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, I'll stay alive." he said, looking into your eyes. "I promise, even if I'm not in one piece, I'll come back to you, always."

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x y/n #levi smut #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #aot smut #fanfiction smut #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #fluff #aot fluff #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman x you

[joelscruff]

don't think we could help it (joel miller x reader) 18+

here it is!!! the much anticipated sequel to "you know i don't mean it" aka the soft!dom joel fic that somehow hit 1k in like 3 days???? truly wild. i listened to what you guys had to say and decided to turn this into a little series/collection. the timeline won't necessarily always be linear but i'd really like to explore these two a bit more. i hope you enjoy! btw, i now have a tag list so if you'd like to be notified when i update this series/post fic in general, interact with that post! summary: joel has a new idea he'd like to share with you (and you're more than willing to try it out). rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink galore, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), fingering, lap sitting, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, comeplay, come eating, clothed male and unclothed female, uhhh if i forgot something pls lmk word count: 4.1k | ao3

This is new. Beyond new, it's insane. He's got you laid completely bare on his lap, legs wide, the palms of his hands pressed flush against your inner thighs as he holds you open. The cold air is a relief against the heat, not only for your core but for your mind as you try to keep your thoughts clear despite them becoming more and more muddled the longer he holds you like this.

Since your outburst the last time you'd decided you wouldn't bring it up again, not until he brought it up himself. You'd decided you could deal with it; you didn't really need him to fuck you, it was just one of the many desires you'd have to push away and forget about. Clearly his boundaries went deeper than you'd thought, but he'd said he wanted you and that was enough. Whatever the reason for holding back, for not allowing himself to actually touch you, you could deal with not knowing.

But then tonight happened.

It's been one week since your last patrol with him, the patrol where he confirmed his desire for you, and you'd been expecting the usual routine as you situated yourself on the couch. He'd slowly approached you, expression unreadable.

"I wanna try something different," he'd said quietly.

You'd scrambled to sit up, eyes shining with interest as you perched yourself on the arm of the couch, "Yeah?"

He took one more step and then he was directly in front of you, standing tall and broad while you sat there feeling small and vulnerable, unsure what he was thinking. Slowly, carefully, he brought one of his hands up and traced your jawline with his fingertips, making you tremble. It was the first time he'd actually touched your face, the first time he'd allowed his skin to brush against yours apart from when his fingers had slid inside your mouth last time. It was heaven.

You'd closed your eyes involuntarily and leaned into his touch, practically purring at the feeling. You heard his breath hitch, the back of his fingers stroking your cheek as his thumb found a place at your mouth, tracing the shape of your lips. Without much thought you'd opened it, inviting him to slip his thumb inside. He'd exhaled deeply and you'd opened your eyes again to watch the cogs turn in his head, watch him decide what you deserved and what you didn't.

To your disappointment he didn't slide his thumb inside your mouth; instead, he pulled his hand completely away from you. You whined at the loss, shoulders falling as you peered up at him pathetically.

"Joel," you whispered, but your words ended there; you didn't know what to say, didn't know if any sort of protest would end whatever he'd decided would be different tonight altogether.

He just shook his head and stepped away from you, sitting on his end of the couch. He didn't put his feet up or lean back like usual, he sat on the edge of the third cushion and began to palm himself through his jeans. You watched with aroused interest, biting your lip as you gazed at the long shape of his cock, hard and firm.

You still weren't sure what he was thinking but you stayed frozen where you were, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"I was thinking," he finally broke the silence, not looking at you as he thumbed the wet head through the denim, a small dark spot appearing in the fabric, "That you could sit in my lap tonight."

The rules are as follows:

touch yourself the way he tells you to.

stop touching yourself when he tells you to stop.

come only when he tells you that you can.

he will not be touching you.

You shiver in his lap now, looking at yourself leaking down your legs and soaking his jeans. God, you'd had no idea you were this touch starved; just the feeling of him beneath you, his fingers splayed firmly against your thighs, you think you could come without even touching yourself. But those aren't the rules.

"One finger," he breathes, tickling the side of your neck where he's resting his head, watching, "Nice and deep, lemme see."

You obey, bringing your shaky hand to your centre and pushing your middle finger inside to the hilt, exhaling deeply and trying your hardest to avoid even brushing against your clit for fear you might start to come already.

He hums in approval, breath hot against your skin, "Now pull it out," he murmurs, "Real slow, show me."

You slowly remove your finger, biting down on your lip. It comes out drenched and shiny, slick with your wetness.

"And back in," his voice is like honey, slow and sweet. You push your finger back inside, "And out again, just like that. Good girl."

You moan at your pet name; it's the first time he's used it tonight and you've been waiting to hear him say it. It's hard to believe how easy it is for some simple words to make you completely submit to him, hard to believe how badly you want to be good for him, to do exactly what he tells you. Earlier today you'd given him shit for forgetting to put the safety on your gun when he'd handed it to you. That version of yourself doesn't exist here.

"In and out," he whispers, sending waves of tingles up and down your spine, "Count to ten for me."

"One," you begin to count your slow thrusts, voice shaky and breathless, "T-two."

He flexes his hands on your thighs, curling his fingers into the flesh. For someone who's never actually touched you before up until this point, he's sure getting his fill now; you'll have marks tomorrow, impressions of hand prints where he held you open. The thought makes you throb.

"Nine," you whimper, fucking yourself once more, "Ten."

"Good girl," he praises again, nosing your shoulder gently.

The room feels stuffy despite being so large and open, and your whole body feels like it's on fire. You can feel the tension building in your lower belly; how the fuck are you so close already? You've never been able to get off this easily and now you feel like you could break at any second, directly contradicting one of the rules.

"Can I take my shirt off?" you ask quietly, hoping you're not crossing a line, "I'm really warm."

He chuckles, "You just wanna be naked on my lap."

"...Maybe."

"Add your second finger and I'll think about it," he murmurs against your neck, "Show me you can be good."

You swallow, nodding and slowly slipping another finger inside.

"You're so wet," he says, a genuinely awestruck air in his voice, "All this from just sittin' in my lap?"

They're not just words, he means them. He's questioning himself, questioning whether he's really capable of making you fall apart like this. And he is; you can't believe he doesn't see what you see, doesn't see how sexy and alluring he is, how he doesn't even have to touch you to give you an orgasm.

"Yes," you moan softly, leaning your head back and feeling his nose against your throat, "Feels so good, Joel, you have no idea," you plunge your fingers in and out, closing your eyes and shivering at the way his cock throbs beneath you, "I love feeling you."

"I know you do," he whispers, "Been thinkin' about it all week, wanted to give you somethin' more, you deserve it."

"I do?" the thought makes you smile; it pleases you that he thinks you deserve this, that he thought about it and wanted to do it for you.

God, you really are fucked.

"You do," his fingers stroke your inner thighs gently, tickling your skin, the tips of his thumbs brushing lightly against your outer lips. "Plus, I wanted to see this pretty little pussy a bit closer," his breath is so hot and wet against your skin, making your whole body shake as you continue to fuck yourself, "And now you can feel my cock, can't you? Just like you wanted, but without breakin' the rules."

You make the rules, you want to say, squeezing your eyes shut tighter, you can change them. You could fuck me right now if you wanted to. But you don't say anything, knowing deep down that asking for it again won't get you anywhere. This is a part of it now, a new factor in this thing between the two of you, and you know he'll hold it over you to keep the control on his side. You have to admit, he knows what he's doing.

"Third finger, pretty girl," he whispers and you do as you're told, adding your third and clenching tightly around all three digits, "Look at that, so full for me."

His cock throbs again, heavy and thick against your ass, and you keen at the fact that this is just as hot for him as it is for you. He's not doing this for your benefit, he genuinely enjoys it. He wants you.

"Thumb on your clit," he breathes, and your eyes open again, wide and unsure.

"I'll come," you whimper, feeling slightly ashamed at your admission, "If I touch my clit I already know I'm gonna come."

He smiles against your skin, "Really? From just a little touch?"

"Y-yes."

"So if I..." he trails off and suddenly removes his right hand from your thigh, moving it closer to where you're open and full.

"Oh my God," you breathe, voice barely a squeak, "Yes, yes, please touch it, please."

"Where? Where do you need me to touch?"

"Joel," you groan, shutting your eyes again and trembling in his lap.

"Use your words, pretty girl, tell me where you need me to touch you."

"My clit," you practically hiss, "Touch my clit, please."

You've stopped moving your fingers entirely, laying still inside of you, keeping you wide. He doesn't admonish you, just twirls his index finger teasingly near your pussy and smiles against your neck.

"But that's against the rules," he murmurs.

"Fuck the rules," you practically growl.

You regret it instantly, watching as his hand returns to your thigh and you hear him laugh lightly in your ear. Scowling, you let out a long groan of contempt and pull your fingers out, leaning back against his chest pitifully. The buttons on his shirt dig into your flesh, reminding you that he's still fully clothed. It somehow makes you wetter.

"For someone who claims to be my good girl, you're not being very good tonight, are you?"

"I am," you pout, "I told you, I'm just really oveheated."

"Poor baby," he whispers, and you watch his hands lift from your thighs to tug at the hem of your shirt, "Let's take this off, then. Arms up."

You oblige, lifting up your arms and allowing him to pull your shirt over your head. He freezes for a moment, the material bunching in his hand as he makes a fist.

"You didn't wear a bra?" it's barely audible and you smirk.

"No, I don't wear one when I'm on patrol with you."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"Christ," he tosses the shirt to the floor and places his hands back on your inner thighs, pulling your legs apart more than they already are and pressing the thick length of his cock deeper against you. "You know, good girls don't do shit like that."

"Then maybe you need to punish me," you challenge, half joking but also not, wondering if maybe he'll finally give you what you want.

"Maybe I do," he mutters, "Fingers. Back in. Now."

You obey, pushing your fingers back inside and waiting for his next order, the tension of your orgasm still building in your belly. What is he gonna do? For a moment you're fearful that he'll stop touching you, leave you there to get yourself off without a second glance. You start to fuck yourself again, biting down on your lip and doing everything you can not to stimulate your clit.

His hands move again and you gasp in shock as he brings them to your bare breasts, cupping them in his palms. You lean back further into his touch, basking in the way his strong and wide torso envelops yours, holds you firm as you shove your fingers in and out.

"Well, aren't these pretty?" he croons in your ear, thumbing your nipples lightly, "Knew they would be."

The fact that he's thought about what your breasts look like makes your skin flush even warmer as you squirm in his lap, feeling small and breakable in his embrace. He rotates your nipples with his fingers, humming softly to himself in satisfaction. You continue to fuck yourself as you await your potential punishment...whatever it might be.

"You wanna come, don't you, baby?" he asks you softly, and you nod frantically, pathetically, "But do you think you deserve to come?"

You hesitate, brow furrowing, "P-probably not."

He laughs again, genuine and warm, "At least you're honest."

He lets go of your breasts and palms your stomach, the width of his hands giving you butterflies. He gently traces your belly button, your pubic bone, watching goosebumps rise on your flesh as he trails his fingertips along your skin.

"So pretty," he murmurs, hand dipping to your mound, the tips of his fingers only inches away from your clit, "Jesus, you're swollen."

You bite down on your lip, trying not to make any embarrassingly pathetic sounds; you can practically feel his eyes on your cunt and it makes you want to scream.

"Take your fingers out," he whispers, and you obey, hand shaking.

"You're gonna punish me, aren't you?" you finally whisper.

You feel him shake his head, "Not tonight, pretty girl," he inhales deeply, nosing your hair and gently stroking the skin just above your pussy with his thumb. "I think it's time I finally broke a rule."

Your heart races at his words, eyes widening. You're about to ask him what he means when he suddenly takes both your hands in his and brings them to your thighs, placing them gently down on your warm flesh. He keeps his left hand over yours, enveloping it as his right hand moves downward. Your eyes widen even more, watching as his big hand stills right in front of where you're wet and aching.

"You say it'll just take one touch, did you mean that?" he asks quietly.

"Y-yeah," you whimper, and you're not lying.

You watch with bated breath as he extends his fingers and gently prods your clit with the pad of his index. Just as you knew you would, you tense in his arms and let out a ridiculously loud moan, clenching around nothing as you start to come, body twitching wildly atop his lap. You feel his gaze on your face, watching as the smallest possible touch from him sends you into an absolute frenzy.

"Oh fuck," you cry, tilting your head back against his shoulder, feeling his beard scratch roughly against your cheek, "Joel, Joel, Joel," you repeat his name over and over until it's done, leaving you laying there motionless in his lap, limbs heavy and loose, his finger still sitting tenderly on your clit without movement. You feel your eyes close, head still firm on his shoulder as you breathe deeply in and out.

You lay there in his lap, legs still wide as your belly rises and falls from exertion. His finger rubs your clit once, just once, a soothing gesture that makes your hips buck lightly. He pulls it back and gently trails it to your entrance, hesitating for only a moment before he slowly slips it inside of you. You barely register it, still completely undone from your orgasm, body still processing the aftershocks. He doesn't say anything, just pushes his finger further inside until it's fully sheathed in your heat.

"You feel that?" he finally whispers to you, and you nod languidly, humming in affirmation. He keeps his finger inside of you, thick and long, filling you up, "Feel good?"

You hum again, still catching your breath. You swear you feel him smile against your cheek. Slowly, he pushes a second finger inside, and your lips part at the stretch, eyes opening only slightly as both of his fingers still inside you.

"And that? You feel that?"

"Yes," you whisper, slowly bringing yourself to move forward again, looking down to see where you're connected. You watch as he carefully pushes a third finger alongside the other two, your opening burning in the best possible way at the intrusion. His fingers are so thick, so wide, it's almost like you've got five of your own somehow crammed in there. You clench around him, your hand coming up to hold his wrist, small and fragile compared to his.

"Doesn't hurt, does it?" he murmurs when all three fingers are completely enveloped, his beard brushing your cheek again.

"N-no, feels good," you reply immediately, squeezing his wrist lightly, "Feels full."

"I just want to see how much you can take," he says softly, "I need to know your limits."

"I don't have limits with you," you whisper like it's a secret, and you mean it. He could do anything, say anything, and you wouldn't care. You should probably be ashamed of it, but you're not.

"You should," he replies, voice strained, "You know I have my own limits with you." He carefully adjusts you in his lap, turning you slightly to face him, "Look at me," he murmurs.

You turn around, finally seeing his face for the first time since you'd seated yourself in his lap. He's looking at you carefully, brow furrowed, gauging your expression like he's worried you're lying to him. He must be content with whatever he sees there, because you notice the ghost of a smile tug at his lips.

He slowly pulls his fingers from your core and brings them to your lips. "Suck," he orders softly.

You do as you're told, leaning forward and taking all three fingers in your mouth without hesitation, lapping yourself up as he watches. When you've gotten everything, he removes each finger one by one, then thumbs the corner of your mouth.

"Good girl," he breathes, and you smile in response, enjoying his praise. He smiles back and you feel him tap your thigh gently, "Get up for me now, okay?"

"'Kay," you whisper, shakily moving from his lap and bringing yourself to stand up. You turn around then, standing over him completely bare while he leans back on the couch, shuffling his legs open. You look at his crotch, see the outline of his cock, still hard and thick. Your cheeks turn bright red when you see the large wet stain you've left on his jeans.

He follows your gaze, smirking, "Yeah, you made quite the mess, didn't you?"

"Sorry," you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"Don't be sorry, pretty girl," he reaches for his zipper and tugs it down, pulling his cock out of the confines of his underwear and slipping it through the denim. You swallow, remembering the feeling of his come on your tongue, the hot salty taste in the back of your throat as you'd swallowed all he had to give you.

"Where do you want me?" you ask quietly, hoping against reason that he'll ask you to get on your knees.

He doesn't, as you'd expected, "Just stand right there," he says, stroking himself firmly and quickly, "Stay still, just like that."

You obey, staying very still and watching him jack himself off, his eyes trailing up and down your body hungrily. After only a moment, he shuffles himself forward and points the head of his cock upward, toward your belly. With one final stroke he grunts, deep and masculine, and you watch as his come paints your bare stomach, thick, white, and warm. You shiver, crossing your legs as your cunt begins to throb again, just like last time.

He finishes and releases himself, falling back on the couch and breathing heavily. He looks up at you from under his lashes, completely wrecked.

"Did I do good?" you ask softly, and you feel yourself grin as he shuts his eyes and tosses his head back with a groan.

"Yes, beyond good," he replies, looking back up at you and wincing slightly, "You're gonna kill me."

You giggle proudly and reach down to drag your fingers through his spend on your stomach, reveling in his eyes on you as you bring it to your mouth and push it against your tongue, swallowing it greedily. He groans shakily, carefully stuffing his dick back into his jeans and zipping himself back up. You scoop another finger of his come into your mouth and he stares at you, eyes dark.

"Might as well come directly in your mouth next time," he mutters, and you nod immediately.

"Yes, please."

His expression changes then, no longer playful or aroused. He stands up and walks over to your discarded clothes, picking them up and handing them to you without saying anything. You take them from him with a frown, watching as he picks up his gun from the chair near the fireplace and slips it back inside its holster.

"Are you mad?" you ask softly, unsure if you've said or done something something to upset him.

"No, I'm not mad," he replies, but the roughness of his voice betrays him, "Get dressed, okay? We've still got a few hours left."

You wordlessly slip back into your underwear and jeans, wiping the rest of his come off your stomach with the back of your hand before you pull your t-shirt back on. You look over to see him shrugging his coat on, facing away from you.

"Did I do something?" you ask, and you hate how weak you sound, how shaky your voice is. In any other circumstance you wouldn't hesitate to challenge him, but somehow after being so exposed to him only moments ago, so open and vulnerable, it's difficult to bring the real you back.

"No, you didn't do anything," he says gruffly, "It's me, I already told you we shouldn't be doing this. Should've ended it last week."

His words hurt, but somehow they don't cut you like he probably means them to. You walk toward him, still frowning, "What's the problem? I thought you liked it."

He doesn't say anything and you reach out to touch his shoulder, making him flinch and turn around to look at you again. Your eyes widen when you see that his are suddenly shiny with tears. Your lips part in surprise and you reach for his arm again, gripping his bicep tightly.

"Joel, what's wrong?" you whisper, "You're crying."

"Leave it," he says quickly, yanking himself from your touch, "I told you, we shouldn't be doing this. We can't do it anymore, this was the last time."

"Where is this coming from?" you're so confused, feeling helpless as he backs away from you, "Five minutes ago you were calling me your good girl and now-"

"You gotta stop letting me call you that," he grimaces, "I need to get ahold of myself, I can't keep letting this happen."

"Letting this happen?" you repeat, feeling anger begin to bubble in your throat as the real you finally begins to surface, "You're the one who asked me to sit in your lap, Joel. You're the one who started this whole thing to begin with."

"And I never shoulda been so weak," he spits, shaking his head, "You're a fucking kid, this is messed up."

You stare at him in disbelief, mouth agape, "I'm a grown ass woman, Joel. You know that better than anyone."

"I'm almost thirty years older than you, I should know better."

"Why are you being like this?" your anger betrays you as you feel tears begin to well up in your eyes, "Why are you being so mean? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Exactly, you didn't. It's me," he repeats, turning away from you again, "I'm gonna tell Tommy not to assign us together anymore, this is over."

"No it's not," you stomp forward and try to grab him again but he's already halfway out the front door of the ski lodge.

"Stay inside," he says firmly, still looking away from you, "Leave me alone." The door slams and you stand there in shock, staring after him through the glass as he walks away from you.

What the fuck.

if you have any requests/ideas you'd like to share for this series or any fic in general, feel free to send me a message! i also have a kofi if you'd like to tip me (entirely optional of course but much appreciated).

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tlou fic #pedro pascal fic #* #fic: soft!dom joel

[jarofstyles]

In The Woods- Scarred

Hello my loves! I know it took a while but here is the second part to scarred. I'm unsure if I'm going to do a lot more with them besides some blurbs but that could change :)

Read the first part Here

Check out our Patreon for over 100+ exclusives and early access

WC- 7k

warnings- mention of anxiety, scarring, bullying, halloween, exhibitionism, mask/makeup kink, unprotected sex, degradation, slight fear play(??)

Enjoy xoxoxo

---------

Harry was shy. 

Y/n hadn't expected that stunning revelation in the time that she knew him, but without the layer of makeup? The man was cute. Fucking adorable, even, because he was a blushy mess.

It was apparent how Harry did have some issues with doubting himself and that just wasn’t going to cut it with Y/N. She knew that his anxiety was valid, that he had gone through things that made him think the way he did, but it only gave her a challenge she was more than up for. Flirting with him, making it apparent how absolutely gorgeous he was to her, and making him blush. 

His trust had been one of the most precious things she had ever been handed and she wasn’t going to do anything to put that into jeopardy. When she arrived back at work when people saw them arrive together, she had been bombarded with questions about him. What he looked like, how he was outside of work, but they got no answer other than ‘handsome’. When asked if she had any images, she blankly stared at the group. Of course she didn’t take any photos, because why would she betray his trust like that? 

‘He doesn’t want to share and he’s a private person. We’re dating and I got to see a part of him he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing here, and I’m not going to betray his trust for some gossip.’ 

Y/N’s mom-like scolding had them backing off, but she could see Harry lingering off to the side with a smirk on his face as he adjusted his costume. Droplets of fake blood crackled a little when he met her eyes in the mirror. He was pleased with her.

She didn’t even know how much it meant to him. To have a safe person. She sung his praises without giving anything away and to be honest? He had been shocked at how well she’d handled constant prodding from overly curious and downright nosy coworkers. They’d all quiet down or walk away when he came over but Y/N would remain there, standing pretty and smiling at him as he approached. 

“Got eaten alive?” He murmured, helping fluff her purposely messy hair. “Poor thing. Nosy fuckers they are, hm?” The tone of voice was low, just for the two of them to hear. She could see his dimple under the makeup, making her want to poke at it but she refrained. It wasn’t the time. 

“Yeah. S’a shame. Eating me is your job.” A coy glance made him stiffen for a second before he clicked his tongue, shaking his head at his girl’s antics. She’s been shameless this whole time. Their established relationship had gone on 2 weeks now but they’d kept it under wraps, all the while she would follow him home or vice versa. Their sex wasn’t stuck to one place anymore, and Harry took full advantage of the positions he could get her in a proper bed or bent over a kitchen counter. Adventurous sex had been a new one for him, and he was taking full advantage. 

“It is, isn’t it?” He sighed. “Shame I couldn’t do it before we came. M’starved.” Painted fingers pulled her in by the corseted waist, letting her lean back to peer at him. “I expect a three course meal after we leave. Maybe four, but I know we’ve been working on getting you there. Maybe tonight will be the night, hm?” 

Another new revelation in their blooming relationship was how utterly obsessed her new boyfriend was with giving her pleasure. Orgasms galore, so much so that she felt a near constant state of sensitivity- but she couldn’t complain. Not when she reaped the benefits of his generous nature. She found his mouth or hands in her more often than not, and if there would be no repercussions there was no doubt in her mind that Harry would crawl on the floor and under her skirt to give her an orgasm before they went out to the attraction- but alas, consequences would be fierce. 

“Let’s keep it calm, big boy.” Her hand smoothed over his chest, patting the warmth of it. “Three is more than enough, but it depends on how good you scare the people tonight.” 

Harry with his chainsaw, it was some sort of foreplay. How he got into a mindset and plotted scares, she could watch form across the way as he revved up the machine and made people sprint. He’d choose the victim of a scare and follow them around for a bit, making them uneasy, all while cornering them closer to Y/N’s section- letting them in for a double haunt that would leave people screeching. 

Realistically, Y/N it was the adrenaline and endorphins, but seeing her boyfriend- yes, she still did a little squeak in her head every time she thought the word- be so good at the job, seeing mid shift when his hair fell slightly in his face and that one curl went over his forehead, she was ready to jump him by the end of the night. He’d find his way over to her a few times a night, brush her dress with his fingers and give her a wink whenever she caught his view, wordlessly promising whatever the hell he wanted afterwards. It was hard to keep her cool when there was something so sexy about seeing him in this sort of element. Confident and hot, she loved watching him know people were both attracted and in fear of him. 

“You know I love a challenge.” He purred, already finding his groove. “Maybe it will be my most terrifying night yet. If you’re the prize at the end of the line, I’m going to give it my all.” Of course he was turning on the charm now, making her flush under her own makeup. He was suave when he did it here, but she knew when they left and the makeup was off he would be a little less smooth with it. A bit more clumsy, and she adored both sides of him. 

“I’ll hold it to you, sir.” She replied, leaning up to leave a little peck on his lips before brushing past him. It was time to see just how bad he wanted it.

—---------

Harry had a point to prove. That much was obvious, watching the glint in his eyes as he stalked past her after his current scare. She was doing her own haunt, which was a lot more different than Harry’s stalk and follow approach. Y/N was more of a jump scare sort of thing, waiting for them to get closer and act just a bit off before deciding to scream and lunge at them. 

His chainsaw hung by his side as he brushed past her, pinning her with his glare. It was full of promise. He was doing incredible tonight, a bit ruthless with his scares and getting people screaming and running. Y/N stayed in her assigned area whereas he had more room to move around, so he was moving them towards her. The guests were shaking, some in particular crying, and she knew that she was most definitely going to be breaking personal scare records tonight. 

It was incredible to watch. With the challenge being given of making it a scarier night and the reward being access to her, he took it seriously. Showing off for her, sending more guests her way for a second half of his scare. He’d loved to watch her get into it, screeching in their faces and going back to acting like nothing happened right afterwards. Y/N was his little devil, his vampire queen, and little did the people know that the bruises underneath the fake blood were all too real, from him. The adrenaline from the scares, the promise of what was to come and the heated glances between the two had him half hard his entire shift, eager to get back to his place to take her- if he could last that long. 

Harry did his best to behave as they went backstage. Keeping his hands to himself, he changed privately and came back out with his leather jacket hanging on his shoulder, a predatory gaze on her while she socialized. He knew she was stalling, teasing as she slowly wiped away the show makeup and fake blood on her skin and neck. Taking her grand old time to hang up her costume and gossip about a group of particularly obnoxious guests they’d had tonight, a school group that had been the worst kind. Teenage boys who tried to ‘scare’ the scare actors. Harry had been the one to scare the shit out of them, following them around and popping out randomly to make them scream. It’d been a good night.

She just needed to stop stalling. His cock was thickening as he watched her cotton pad wipe away the pale makeup, exposing her natural skin and the marks he left remaining on her throat. Her tank top clung to her and the shorts she had worn in were a temptation even before now, his neediness showing when he’d whined when she walked out of his bathroom with them on. It was torture. Y/N had the upper hand here, but she would lose it as soon as they were alone.

As people filtered out and Y/N threw her bag over her shoulder, Harry emerged from the shadowy hall he was hiding in to wrap his arm around her shoulder. His girl jumped before scoffing, nudging him as she let him know how she felt. “You know, I should probably be concerned about how you like to watch me like a stalker after our shifts, but it arouses me instead.” She sighed, admitting the unfortunate truth. She liked feeling his eyes on her, knowing he was thinking about what was to come. 

His makeup was still on, his green eyes exposed instead of the contacts he wore during his scares. It was also probably concerning how much she enjoyed it, but she figured it was akin to having a bit of a mask kink. Roleplay in a sense. Prior to getting to see his natural face, she had only seen the makeup get slightly smudged from the sweat and her mouth, but it was applied there with a firmness most women must be envious of. He had to have gotten the best shit there was. Sometimes she watched from the counter as he applied it with practiced ease, watching the skeletal makeup engulf and change his face. It was like watching him get into character. When the makeup was off, he was a bit more of a shyer boy with her. A little needy and clingy, soft spoken and tender touches. Sweet like honey, gooey and easy to break. With the makeup on? His disguise gave him a filthy amount of confidence, one that had him falling into that dominant, cocky nature she also adored. 

“Eh. You like to be chased and thrown around a bit.” He shrugged, his hand swinging with hers as he made his way to his car. “Don’t think there's anything necessarily wrong with enjoying how your boyfriend admires and follows you around. Especially when you know what lies ahead for you.” There it was. The cockiness that made him smirk, the moonlight hitting him just right so she could see the imprint of his dimple.  

“Mmm.” She hummed, following him slightly from behind. The parking lot was basically empty, but it wasn’t empty enough for his plans. Plus, he didn’t know what sort of security lay in hiding- so he was thinking about his options. He wanted to play tonight. Play a bit more than usual. They only had another week left of this job before they settled into normal life again, the season ending relatively soon. 

Harry helped her into the car, taking her duffle and his own bag to throw in the backseat before fishing his keys from his pocket and sliding into the driver's seat. Turning it into the ignition, he kept his eyes on the road as he began to drive off in the opposite direction of his house. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

—----

Y/N hadn’t known what the surprise was, but she sure as fuck got nervous when the car turned onto a wooded path. She trusted Harry, but she was unsure what the fuck could possibly be up this path that only seemed to wind upwards on an incline. He ignored her questioning, squeezing her thigh and told her it was fine as he smirked. She wasn’t truly distressed but her heart was beating harder as they made it up to an empty gravel parking lot at the top of the hill. 

Her nerves died down as her eyes widened, looking at the view. It was a perfect view of the lake and town below them. She’d never heard of this spot, but she definitely was a fan. He parked somewhat in the middle, letting them look out at the twinkling stars and the town below them, the boats bobbing on the water. The night was cool and he left the windows up to preserve some of the heat when he turned the car off and backed his chair up the most it could go. 

“Never got to fool around the way most people did in school. Know this is a local spot where people come to play… and I know about your exhibition streak.” His hand stroked her bare skin, turned to look at her. “So I figured… Why not now?”

That’s how she ended up on his lap, hands in his hair as he held both sides of her ass. Squeezing, kneading, playing with her like his own personal toy, Harry was enjoying it thoroughly as she gently rocked on top of him. His mouth was greedy for her own, surely smudging some of the black and white makeup onto her skin but she didn’t care. Sitting on his thicker thighs, letting him touch her as he pleased, she was only focused on how good it felt to kiss him. 

“Such a pretty girl.” He mumbled as his lips went down her neck. “D’you know how happy it makes me to know they all know you’re mine?” It more than pleased him. Harry had never been as proud of having a girlfriend as he was with Y/N. She genuinely liked him, she saw both sides and didn’t prefer either one. Instead, she embraced him and went with his sometimes erratic flow, never seeming to mind. 

“They’re jealous.” She replied, leaning her head back as his mouth worked over the sensitive skin. His teeth nipped, of course, lips attaching to suck another mark she could hide with her hair as she continued. “Jealous I’ve got you. Some act happy but… they ask how I managed to get to know you. Said you never hooked up with anyone before me… And that makes me very happy.” Y/N had a possessive streak of her own, something that Harry fucking loved. He loved watching her pride when she walked with him, both in and out of makeup, and watching the slight irritation she had when people dug a little too deep into wanting to know about them. They never knew Harry was watching from the shadows, almost always following his girl around from a distance. She knew, though. She would shoot him looks to where she thought he was hiding, making him like her even more. 

“Know it does, my possessive girl. You don’t like t’share, hm?” He purred as he pulled back from the fresh mark. “Pretend to complain about the marks I leave on you but you leave ‘em out so they can see. You like them knowing you’re satisfied. Love that they know I’m the one fucking you.” It sent tingles up his spine knowing that. He’d been so used to people being ashamed of him that seeing her be so protective of him was just as arousing as it was heartwarming. 

His fingers strayed from her ass to find the waistband of those pesky little shorts, sliding them down so he had full access to her. He didn’t see her usual pantie line when she’d emerged from the changing booth and he was proven correct as she gasped. “Look at you. Naughty thing, walking around without panties… Why’s that? Thought you loved it when I stuffed them in that pretty mouth to shut you up.” He cooed, sliding one hand down to her cunt, cupping it to make her gasp. 

“I-I wanted it to be easier for you. You were teasing me all night and they were ruined anyway.” It wasn’t something she’d admit to anyone else, but the scaring with Harry aroused her. She loved making people scream, loved watching her boyfriend do the same with no fear in his eyes. Loved even more so when he moved them into her scare zone and helped her out with one. Then he had been following her around with that glint in his eye, always fucking watching her. Y/N loved it, loved that he was always there. There was probably a psychological reason, but all she knew was that her poor underwear had been soaked through. 

“Oh?” He chuckled under his breath. “Should’ve known. You do tend to be a mess when we scare together. Even more than when I just follow you around. Something’s wrong with us, hm? But we don’t care.” He pressed his lips to hers as his thumb found her clit, humming as she gasped against his mouth. She was slippery and wet, his favorite way for her to be as he played with her, rubbing circles over the little swollen button. “No, you like when things are wrong. Like to be watched and followed by me until I bend you over in that dressing room and shove my hand down these slutty little shorts. You taunt and tease and then act surprised when I fuckin’ ruin you.” 

Y/N keened, rubbing herself against him as he moved his thumb on her. Everything he said was the truth so all she could do was nod. She’d been so worked up during the night that even this felt good enough to orgasm from, his rough circles and deep voice getting deep into her head and igniting the flames in her belly. 

“Yeah? Just nodding, can’t even deny it. Knew you wore those to spite me. You just love the idea of someone catching us. Filthy girl, I know you. Know what your body likes.” He rubbed a bit harder, feeling her lean further into him as he did so. “What part has you humping my hand like you’re in heat? Was it feeling my eyes on you all day? Having people be jealous of us? Scaring people?” Y/N couldn’t speak, just whining as she nodded. All of the above.  

Y/N would have been ashamed of how quickly she was about to cum if he hadn’t been tormenting her all night. Like he didn’t know how much those things got to her. Her nails dug into the man’s shoulders, breathing heavy as her mouth opened. “I’m gonna cum.” She warned, albeit in a whimpery tone. Harry loved when she talked like that. His thumb was strong and kept up the movements as they were, his hand holding the back of her neck to keep her forehead pressed to his. 

“Go ahead. Make a mess of my lap, sweetheart. Can’t believe how worked up you are.” He cooed. He could, actually. Considering he was just as wound up, he was throbbing inside of his pants but preferred her pleasure over his own. “C’mon, baby. Can feel it.” 

He could tell as she began to fall over the edge, her body moving to hold onto his harder and her head falling into his own as his thumb continued the movements to work her through it. She let out a desperate moan, shivering in his arms. Harry loved making her cum, it was one of his favorite things to do- and getting to see each thing, hear each moan, he was only feeding into the addiction. 

“There we go, my sweet girl.” He praised. “Just ride it out.” Harry soothed her as the orgasm began to die down, pulling his thumb away as soon as she needed a second to be sensitive and pulling it into his mouth with a hum. His whole hand was wet with her, but tasting her on his skin was another level of hot. 

Y/N knew he wasn’t done. Not in the slightest. Her hand found his jaw and pulled him back for a kiss, drooping on his lap as she kissed him hungrily. The taste of her was still slight on his tongue, making her search for more. Her hands went to his belt, Harry allowing her to undo it and slide it off- but stopped her when she got to the zipper.

“Want t’try something new with you.” He started, suddenly opening the car door and standing up with her in his grip. Her shorts fell off onto the ground but that was the least of her worries as he rounded the front, gently bending her over the hood of his car. The cold metal of the vehicle made her wince momentarily, but his warm palms ran over her immediately to try and make it up to her. The night was chilly but her body was hot from the arousal she felt, his body in between her thighs as she moved for him. 

“Want to take you just like this.” He explained, taking her wrists one by one and placing them to lay behind her back. “And I want you to scream for me. No one’s out here… No one can hear us- or maybe they can.” His hand gave a gentle smack to her ass as he teased. “Just let me take you out in the open. Would’ve done it in the parking lot at work but… Cameras.” He didn’t want anyone else seeing her on video. No, nothing except his own one day. He wanted to have a private folder of the filthy views he got to see, her creaming on his cock, her ass jiggling against his hips, her glossy eyes as he slipped as much as he could down her throat. He wanted to document the pleasure to look at as his own time.  He’d never had someone he liked so much, someone’s body he was so addicted to. 

“Okay, just fuck me.” She panted, wiggling her ass against him. “Just do it, please. Been waiting all night and I need you.” All of this was hotter than most things she dreamt of. Harry taking her out to a wooded clearing, ready to fuck her in his scary makeup over the hood of his car? It sounded like something out of a horror movie about to turn wrong, but she knew he liked her too much. He worshiped her in ways she didn't know possible. It was a fantasy come true. 

“Relax, baby.” He cooed. “Don’t think you should be making too many demands. Y’know I like to be in charge.” She stiffened for a moment as she felt the tip of his cock brush through her folds before arching herself back, whining coming from her throat as he moved back and forth over her clit. “I know you’re achy, know your cunt’s a greedy little thing. M’gonna give it to you but… I just wanted to see this.” He held her by the small of her back keeping her still as he finally began to push in. 

Y/N’s eyes watered as she felt the stretch of him. Relief. She’d been taunted and teased and Harry was finally giving her what they both wanted. He was slow as he did it, his eyes locked at the puffy lips of her cunt as it swallowed him up. Pushing in and taking his time despite a bit of squirming. The wet, spongy walls engulfed him and squeezed tight, spoiling him in the sensation. There was nothing quite like this- quite like her. It didn’t feel this good with anyone else, nor had he ever done it at a place like this. He wouldn’t want to feel it, no other pussy or hole would be as good for him as this one was. Part of it was their emotional connection, he was positive about that, but he swore they had been made for each other physically. Her cunt was made specifically for him to cum in, and his cock to pleasure her. 

Her mouth opened and she let out a moan as he pulled out a little to thrust back in. He could feel his hunger for her growing as he continued, his eyes locked on where they were joined. The light was dim but there was enough moonlight to see her arousal coating him, glistening as he pulled out and pushed back in. It was their warm up, going easy and teasing just a little bit more. 

“Harder, please.” Y/N bleated, trying to wriggle around but to no avail. Harry had her pinned, and she was at his mercy. It would be embarrassing how wet she was getting if she didn’t know how much he loved it. No doubt he was staring at it now, as he always seemed to be mesmerized at how good they looked together. “Please give me more. You’re bein’ mean.” 

Harry stopped, chuckling under his breath as he buried himself to the hilt, prick snug and warm inside of her. Caressing her back, he slid his hand up and down until he got to her ass, squeezing over it. “You think this is being mean to you, darling?” He murmured, grinding himself into her and smirking as he felt her gasp as his cock hit that sweet spot. “I think I’ve been quite nice. Gave you a chance to adjust, didn’t split you open and wreck you. But I should have known better… m’dealing with a needy slut.” His words hissed against her ear as he bent over the car with her, pressing his body into her. “That’s what I get for bein’ a nice boyfriend. What did you want, hm? Wanted that scary man back from work? Gets you wet, we both know. Watching me make people scream, but it's you who wants that. Nasty little whore wants to be ruined.” He pulled up, hand wrapping around the nape of her neck and pinning her back to the car after she tried to follow. “No. I was nice, but you want something else. Want me to show you mean, princess?” His opposite hand came down rough on her ass, making her yelp. “I’ll show you mean.” 

It was gloves off. Y/N should have known she was playing with fire, but she’d been desperate. Harry began to fuck her. Well and truly, fuck her. Hand on the back of her neck pressing her into the car as she cried out into the chilly night air, owning her as her whimpers echoed off the trees. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck- yes.” Her mouth fell open, hard to speak the words she really wanted to. It made her wet, wetter than usual to have her boyfriend take her out and fuck her where they could potentially get caught. He had said this was a makeout spot, a sightseeing destination, but here he was. Pounding her cunt for all it was worth and making it weep. “S’good, s’good, H-Harry…” 

“Yeah? It’s good?” He sneered. “Finally good enough for the little cockslut? Wasn’t enough that I took you out here… bent you over my car and spread your legs like a bitch in heat… mm, no.” His thrusts were deep and hard, making her move and yelp a little bit as he fucked inside. “Been so nice to you lately, been so fucking sweet… Almost forgot about how much of a nasty bitch you can be.” Harry smacked her ass again, the stinging pain making her cunt quiver around him- because this was perfect. Filthy, a little bit wrong, and a little dangerous. 

“Sopping pussy, so fucking needy. Never seen such a dirty girl in my life, but s’why your mine, isn’t it?” He cooed, acting as if he wasn’t pummeling her. Y/N could barely breathe, his rough thrusts making her cheek press harder into the warming metal. She could hear it, hear how messy she was making the both of them and it only made it worse. She was bare and vulnerable to the world and Harr was just taking it, taking care of her and using what she was offering. Ruining her like he had been meant to do. 

“Uh huh.” She gasped, feeling the tears return to her eyes. “I-I’m yours, I’m yours, my body is yours, I want to m-make you happy.” The words were a hiccuped plea, the warm tears growing cold against her skin as the beginnings of her orgasm were starting to take over. Neither of them would last long like this, not after the foreplay and the new situation. She hadn’t expected to be bent over a car in the middle of the forest and fucked into oblivion in the moonlight, no, but this was quickly becoming a favorite. “Face- I wanna see your face, please.” 

Harry paused, smiling to himself as she asked to look at him. He was still in his makeup, albeit smeared, but he knew how much she loved it. He obliged, carefully pulling out and turning her over so her back laid against the hood. “There’s my pretty girl.” His mean persona melted away for a moment as he bent down to kiss her hard, pushing the hair away from her sweaty face. “Adore you. You okay?” He wasn’t a stranger to her crying during sex from the pleasure, but he wanted to double check.

“Mhm.” She was dazed, but so fucking good. He had surprised her for sure, but she loved every part of this. “Perfect. Keep making me cry, Sir.”

His eyes darkened once more at the honorific. Y/N knew how to push buttons, and she did it successfully with him. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment, but she didn’t care. Seeing his face turn like that, even hidden beneath the layers, it made her clench around nothing. “Inside me, please.”

“At least the slut’s got manners.” He scoffed, angling himself as he thrust back in. It was a different view here. Instead of watching her ass bounce against him, he got to see her tits moving under her tank top as he began his thrusting yet again. They were covered in the thin excuse of a top and that simply wouldn’t do. “Why are you hiding from me? Let me see your tits.” He grunted, thumb finding her clit as he stared down at her. Y/N stared at him with a dazed expression for a moment before he snarled, smacking his fingers over her clit. “Know you get dumb on my cock, but fucking listen to me.”

And oh- Oh, Y/N loved that. Maybe there was something severely wrong with her, but she loved when he talked like that. It sent her into a frenzy, her poor abused pussy gushing slightly around him as he smacked her clit again. A keening whine left her throat as she scrambled to lift her shirt up, baring herself to him. It was a little humiliating in the best way. Being basically naked while getting fucked out in the open, her body flushed in heat now so the cold didn’t bother her and sounds leaving her body without her permission. Harry was playing into a fantasy, one she was all too aware of wanting to happen again. Anyone could drive up and see him wrecking her, anyone could watch how good she got fucked. 

“There you go. Not that hard, was it? My pretty, dumb little slut.” The man cooed, fingers finding her nipples, pinching them as he railed her.  “God, you’re making such a fucking mess on me. Gonna put me away wet, hm? Or should I make you suck me on the way back? Bet you would.” He babbled, watching as her breasts bounced at the force of his thrusts and her face pinched in pleasure. The sound of their fucking was audible, the smack of skin hot and heavy as it echoed off the trees. Y/N wasn’t being quiet, much to his delight. Moaning for him, for more, little crystalline tears dribbling out of the corners of her eyes and looking so pretty as they trailed down her cheeks. She was rambling about how good it felt, how much she needed him, and it fueled that evergrowing ego. 

Outside of their sex, he was the sweetest thing. He liked to dote on her and cuddle her, learning her skincare routine and braiding her hair when she was too tired after work. He took her to the park and made their own lunches, trying to expand outside his slightly agoraphobic bubble because she was giving him the affection and confidence he needed. Y/N wasn’t at all ashamed to be seen holding his hand or kissing his cheek, she had changed his life and ways she had no clue of- and giving her the best sex possible was the least he could do. 

During sex she liked him a little mean, which he loved to lean into. But this was a lot, and she was responding so fucking well- he knew from their limits discussion that he was okay to do it, but seeing it actually pan out positively gave him a confidence kick yet again.  

Her babbling continued but got higher in pitch, her eyes continuing to cry as she sniffled and whimpered his name as she held on to one of his forearms with force. “Yes, anything y-you want. Wanna make you happy, Sir. Please, I just…” She let out a little sob. “M’gonna cum. Can I? Please?” The beg was cute, his smirk growing on his face as he looked at the desperation on hers. There was something so erotic about this vision in front of him. Her lips still stained from her lipstick and puffy from their kisses and biting, the tiniest bit of mascara still on her lashes smearing under her eyes, his prior love bites in different stages on her tits- this was fucking heaven and he wished he could photograph it- but that was for later. 

“May I.” He scolded, smacking over her clit again to make her jolt. “Ask properly, and you can.” 

Y/N scrambled to answer as he felt the beginnings of it on his cock. He knew how perfect it felt when she came wrapped around him, but it was even better that she wanted his approval.  “May I cum, please Sir? Please- I can’t hold it, I really can’t, wanna be good, I need to-” Her panicked voice broke as his thumb brushed repeatedly over her swollen clit. There was no way she could hold it. Not when he was looking down at her with that glint in his eye. 

“Do it. Make a mess.” He ordered. “Cum for me, now.” He continued his thrusts as he felt the rapid clenching take over, her back arching and tits thrust in the air as she let go. Creaming around him, shivering as she let out a broken sob yet again, louder this time as she writhed under him. Her hot walls pulsed around him, as if begging for his cum- and he was going to give it to her. 

“Fuck, there’s my girl. Look so fucking gorgeous when you cum f’me, shit.” He grit through his teeth as his thrusts grew sloppy. “Where do you want it? Where does my pretty little whore want that cum?” He didn’t have much time left for her to answer, but her body did it for him. Lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling him into her as she finally found the words.

“In, inside, inside me, Harry. Cum in me, give it to me, I want it.” She rambled, begging for it. How could he ever say no to that? The desperation, the true yearning for him to bust his load inside of her hot, perfect cunt and paint it white, he couldn’t resist it. His eyes took in the scene in front of him, how her puffy cunt was clinging to him as he pushed her open. The mess of slick and cream forming a filthy ring around the base of his cock as he fucked into her, smeared over the sides. Her trembling thighs and hard nipples moved along with his movement. Her swollen clit that was sensitive to the touch, how he fucking stretched her to the brim. There was nothing hotter than this. 

He cursed loudly as he began to climax, his balls throbbing as he began to spurt his load inside of her. Mouth open and eyes hooded in pure rapture, he watched as his sloppy thrusts inside of her and his cum began to coat him, making even more of a mess between them. It was nasty and hot and perfect for this scenario, a scary man taking a pretty, innocent little thing for all she was worth over the hood of his car in the dark woods. The strength of said orgasm surprised him, making him lean further over and pull her into him. His face found hers, kissing her mouth again as he worked them through the aftershocks of their pleasure, pulling her up so he could hold her against him. 

“My perfect girl. Did so good, always so fuckin’ good for me.” He mumbled against her mouth, giving her the praise he knew she needed. He hadn’t been that mean before and while she enjoyed it, she needed to have no doubts whatsoever about his affections for her. “M’so proud of you. Took it so well, make me so happy, my little angel. Obsessed with you.” He pecked her between sentences, pausing his thrusts to a halt. Staying inside of her for now, he knew it would hurt when he pulled out. There was no rush, only to make sure she was warm. Based off of both of their sweaty bodies, the chill of the autumn night was more than welcome. 

Pulling back from her lips, he stroked the tears that still fell- albeit at a much slower pace- and cleaned her up the best he could. There was no way to feel clean after sex like that and he knew it would be a nice shower when they got back to his place, but he was still going to do a bit of aftercare here and now. “My baby.” He whispered, voice a little hoarse. “Y’alright? Went a bit more intense than normal.” It was a bit of an understatement, really. Her nod in reply wasn’t good enough for him. “None of that. You know I want your words, precious.” 

“M’good.” She whispered, sounding just as tired and fucked as she looked. “So good, but so tired. Loved that a lot.” She clung to him, her achy arms wrapping around his shoulders as he picked her up off of the hood and carried her to the still open backseat. He apologized profusely, cooing at her as he pulled out, but he needed to clean her up.

“As sexy as it is seeing me dripping from you, can’t have my girl uncomfortable.” his lips pressed against her thigh as he gently wiped her clean with the tissues that were conveniently in the car. “Gonna take you home and we can hop in the shower, hm? Grab some food on the way home?” He grabbed her discarded shorts and slowly began to pull them up her legs. “Know I’m not into fast food but you deserve a treat.” 

Y/N perked up, a sleepy smile on her face as Harry’s nimble fingers adjusted her tank top and grabbed his hoodie from the other side of the backseat to pull over her head. He’d seen the goosebumps on her legs. His thoughtfulness aways did astound her. No one would ever guess he just called her a pretty, dumb little slut. He encased her in a soft bubble of affection as soon as the sex was over and she’d never known anything like it before. Hopefully she wouldn’t have any other partners. As early on as it was, as the days passed she began to become sure that the meeting between them was no coincidence. Her finding this job, applying, and catching the one man’s eye who never hooked up with anyone whilst also not in the market to do so, giving into his flirtations, all of it was fate. There was no other option. Something had pulled her in. 

For something meant to be so scary, it sure ended up being sugary sweet. 

“Sounds good.” She sighed, pulling him closer to kiss his puffy lips again. “Can you just hold me for a minute, though?” That vulnerable feeling was different now, in the shadows of their intense lust. It was floaty and soft and Harry was the anchor that made sure she didn’t fly too far away. 

“Course. M’never going to say no to holding you.” In all honesty, if he could do his work all day with her snuggled in his lap, he would. He never felt the need for personal space around her, and as scary as that had felt at first, he knew now that it was just the feeling of a pairing being right. It was early, some may say too early to tell, but he was pretty sure he’d found the one. 

Someone who saw him as more than Scarred.

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[junggunz]

not just you and me | 🔞

cw: fem bodied reader | threesomes galore | oral (m receiving, f receiving) | overstimulation | fingering | squirting | double penetration (two pps in one hole for gun and goo's part)| spit roasting | i use she/her pronouns like twice eek | all characters featured are 18+ wc: each throuple is ~800 words each. 2.4k total

just straight up filth. proceed with caution and don't say i didn't warn you.

──★ ˙ ̟JAKE AND SAMUEL

The one sided competition between Samuel and Jake was no secret. It was one of the things that Samuel had a hard time hiding. So, naturally, you can’t help but push his buttons and wonder aloud if Jake was better than him in the bedroom. The latter had never paid any mind to the imaginary feud between them but once the teasing words leave your mouth, he’s intrigued.

Not because he has anything to prove, but solely due to the fact Jake has been waiting for you to give him a chance. Jake had already heard from Samuel about the few drunk slip ups where he got lucky, and ever since then Jake had been waiting for his turn. Even if he had to share you with Samuel this time, it would have to suffice for the time being. 

Your legs are spread, with Jake settled between them; your back in an impossible arch as he holds your hips firmly, pulling you onto his mouth. The first time you cum on his tongue, all you can think about is how quick it happens. The second time he makes you orgasm, you start to feel a little bit dizzy—by the third one, you’re delirious and can barely focus on using your own mouth to suck off Samuel.

“You think he’s better than me, don’t you?” He chuckles bitterly, stroking your hair as he looks down at your trembling body that was still being pleased with Jake’s lips and tongue, but this time with the addition of his long fingers. So selfishly lost in your own bliss, you can’t even formulate a response to Samuel as your moans pour freely from your mouth when you pull away from Samuel once again, your hand quickly jerking off his slick cock; coated in the most obscene amount of your saliva.

“Fuuck—” You gasp out, feeling the pad of Jake’s thumb circling your clit while he eases his fingers into you. Samuel watches—totally just to see the way your body responds, not because he wants to see Jake’s methodology for getting you so delirious— an amused smirk tugs at his lips seeing how much of a mess you’ve made. You’re pathetically writhing against the sheets, rolling your hips against Jake’s fingers as they press into your sweet spot; deliberately pushing yourself to overstimulation because there was just something about Jake’s tender touch that had you fiending for more. 

Samuel lets you have the pleasure of cumming on Jake’s fingers one more time before he’s moving around; the latter looking just as confused as you but still following Samuel’s lead anyway. The two of them exchange a couple hushed words between each other while you lay lithe against the bed. So fucked out and your throat sore from a combination of moaning so much and having Samuel ramming into your esophagus, you can’t find it in you to make any sort of noise of surprise when Jake suddenly lifts you up off the bed. Biceps flexing as he hooks his arms under your knees, you immediately cling on to him for support, your eyes reflecting a mix of excitement and curiosity.

“Just focus on me.” Jake tells you gently, leaning to capture your lips in a languid lip lock that has your body going slack in his hold. For a split second, you feel his hard length grazing your inner thigh right before it slips right into the sopping wet hole he just stretched out with his fingers. Moaning into his mouth, your once slack limbs are tensing up as you hold on to him tighter. With Jake kissing you so heatedly and the slick warmth of your walls wrapped around his cock, your senses are too overwhelmed to even think about what’s happening behind you.

You don’t hear the plastic lid of the lube bottle flip open. You don’t hear the loud squelch of the bottle being squeezed as Samuel smears the viscous liquid all over his fingers. And you barely even notice him easing his now lubed up fingers into the puckered rim of your ass. Jake had managed to get you so wet, your arousal seeped out of your pussy and thoroughly coated your other hole. 

As much as the little green monster of jealous whispers nasty thoughts into Samuel’s ear, he does a good job ignoring it. The fact that Jake was getting his sloppy seconds coupled along with the fact you were finally letting him have your other hole was enough to keep his ego comfortably inflated. Taking his spot behind you with his chest pressed up against your back, Samuel retracts his fingers from your ass only to slip his cock inside; a rush of pride coursing through him when you break your kiss with Jake to toss your head back with a breathy moan when he breaches the extremely tight opening. 

The feeling of your ass being stretched open by Samuel’s fat cock should have hurt. Even through your lust riddled mind, you knew that. But when he’s fully embedded inside the cavity, all you feel is a slight discomfort from being filled with not one but two very impressive dicks. Your cheeks flush as you realize that the only way this was able to be a pleasant experience was because of how wet you were.

Now, all that was left for you to figure out was if it was the flair of sensuality Jake approached you with or if it was Samuel’s rough hands that knew exactly how to work your body that had gotten you the most excited. Perhaps you would need a couple more sessions to come to a decisive conclusion.

──★ ˙ ̟GUN AND GOO

At the hands of two sadists with very different attitudes yet share the commonality of finding pleasure in the sight of you totally wrecked beneath them, you should have expected this. 

“Do you really think both of us will fit in here?” Gun asks, his hands spreading apart the globes of your ass to get a better look at your sopping pussy that was greedily slurping up his length with every thrust. Your hole was stretched out around his cock like an elastic band; gripping him tightly and looking like it would snap if anything else tried to overextend it.

“I don’t see why not, she seems nice and tenderized.” Goo responds cheekily as he looks down at your body, on all fours while he occupies your mouth and his raven haired counterpart is rutting into you from behind. “Have you been keeping track of how many times you’ve came already?” He directs his question to you as he momentarily slips his length out of your mouth and awaits your answer.

“Lost count after the fourth time.” You murmur shyly, avoiding Goo’s gaze; already knowing he was gonna make fun of you for it. 

“See? Already so cockdrunk she couldn’t get past the number four! I say we do it.” He laughs, speaking to Gun as if you weren’t even there before slapping the head of his cock against your lips and encouraging you to take him back inside your warm cavern. Swollen lips glossed over with drool encase his length once again, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him off; moans rumbling in your throat from the way Gun was simultaneously ramming into you from behind. Mind fogged over, you don’t know how much longer things continue on like this until you feel your walls squeeze around the cock inside you, 

From behind you can hear Gun scoff in amusement before he slips out of you and Goo follows suit, leaving you feeling empty. The emptiness was short lived—much to the contradictory feelings of relief and dismay that muddle your brain. With a bit of repositioning, you find yourself on Gun’s lap, his dick deep in your guts once more as you look down at him with a dazed expression and still trying to make sense of what was happening. He slowly bucks into you as if he was trying to test the waters before you feel another set of hands on your torso, realizing that Goo was now behind you. For someone who didn’t have a serious bone in his body, you didn’t think he would follow through with the dirty idea he suggested to his comrade. 

Gun feels your body tense up the moment Goo taps the head of his cock against your butt and sighs softly, his hands going to cup your cheeks and force you to focus on his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Relax or it’s gonna hurt.” He tells you. It’s meant to be comforting but you perceive an underlying sense of threat. It was hard to tell whether you imagined it or not because you knew both of them definitely got off to you crying. But either way, you still try your hardest to release the tension in your body. 

Slick with lube, Goo’s slippery cock squeezes in against Gun who was already comfortably nestled within you. The fit is tighter than usual and has both of them groaning, fighting the urge to start moving within you immediately. However they weren’t that mean.  They give you as much time as you need to adjust to being totally stuffed like this.  

Once you give them the green light, Gun and Goo move in tandem, the timing of their thrusts perfectly synced with each other as they stuff your pussy with both of their cocks. With both of them inside you at the same time, sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed within your walls are being stimulated at once make the experience more pleasurable than you could have imagined. You’re making a mess on both of them as you lascivious sounds pour from your pretty lips. 

Though Goo isn’t able to see the dumb smile of pure bliss plastered on your face as you’re getting wrecked, he’s convinced that he has the best spot. From the way your ass bounces every time he snaps into you, how your pussy leaves a sticky trail of your juices on him and the way your hole can barely contain the two cocks filling you.

This was truly one of the best ideas he’s had in a while; and Gun would agree.

──★ ˙ ̟WARREN AND ELI

“Why are you using those fingers?” Eli asks critically, his brows furrowing and the hand stroking his length losing speed as he watched Warren ease his middle and index fingers into your pussy. 

“What?” The latter responds, attention currently being held by the way your walls eagerly sucked in the digits; a small purr of content falling from you when he starts to leisurely thrust them in and out of you. Eli sighs softly and moves to kneel between your legs beside Warren, grabbing his wrist before rather aggressively yanking his fingers out. Eli is quick to fill you back up with his own fingers— using the middle and ring— then curling them inside you, immediately pressing into your g-spot and causing a drawn out moan to pour from you. 

“If you do it like this— ” Eli instructs, thrusting his fingers into you with precise yet strong movements that make your thighs quiver and your moans come more frequently and more shrill. Warren watches each flick of Eli’s expert wrist, making mental notes of how easily you become a wreck beneath him but it doesn’t deter him from wrapping his hand around his needy length; idly pumping it as he listens to the wet slapping noises created by Eli’s palm smacking against your sticky snatch. 

“— She cums just like that.” Eli finishes as your back arches off the bed while the most debauched sound of pleasure leaves you. He pulls away from you just as suddenly as he approaches you and once again, Warren is placed in charge of making you cum. 

Utilizing what was just demonstrated before him, Warren dips his fingers back into your still sensitive hole and causes a small mewl to fall from your swollen lips. He repeats the same exact motions Eli had just shown and you feel yourself nearing your second orgasm impossibly quick. What catches you by surprise is when Warren places his free hand on your tummy right below your navel, pressing down firmly as his fingers jackhammer in and out of your cunt. A series of whines and squeals escape you as you thrash about but Warren does a good job of keeping you in place until a clear stream of fluid is avulsed from your loins as you squirt all over his fingers; your wetness dripping down his forearms.  

You’re trembling and gasping after the intense finish, your vision blurred by the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“Have you done that?” Warren asks Eli with a smug grin, slowly withdrawing his fingers from you.

“With my fingers? No. With my dick? Plenty of times. Let’s see if you can do the same.” The latter chuckles with a loose shrug, settling beside you and guiding your hand to his cock. Slick with a combination of his spit, your spit, and probably some precum, you waste no time stroking Eli as you try to even out your breathing from the back to back orgasms you were gifted with. 

While you’re busy with that, Warren grabs you by the hips, lifting you up slightly so your butt is flush with his thighs before easing his length into you. The stretch makes you whimper, but your pace doesn’t falter as you continue to pump Eli in your hand. Not too long after, Warren is snapping his hips into yours; each one of your moans fueling him to venture deeper and faster into you. His thick cock reaches even deeper than his fingers could and it has tears of pure elation streaking your face. Throbbing inside of your gushing walls, Warren’s head falls back with a low moan while his fingertips surely leave behind bruises on your hips. The sight of you so selfishly lost in your own euphoria has Eli pulsing in your palm, more of his precum spilling from his tip and allowing you to stroke him faster. But even as the both of you were aware of your impending climaxes looming on the horizon, the look of dark lust clouding Eli’s usually gentle eyes let you know that he was going to get his turn with you very soon.

an: oh my god???

#lookism smut #lookism x reader #lookism fanfic #lookism imagines #lookism gun x reader #gun x reader #lookism goo x reader #goo x reader #park jonggun x reader #park jonggun smut #kim joongoo x reader #kim joongoo smut #samuel seo x reader #jake kim x reader #samuel seo smut #eli jang x reader #warren chae x reader #junggunz.txt

[kithtaehyung]

and f*ck you, too (m) (teaser) | pjm

title: and f*ck you, too (m) (teaser) pairing: fuckboy assassin!jimin x assassin!reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; work rivals!au, assassins!au, enemies with benefits  summary: you despise each other. and yet, you can’t seem to stay away. which is fine, since both of you are completely fine walking the line where it’s drawn. fic warnings: (smut warnings under the cut) language, violence, angst, blood/wounds (reader’s, jimin’s, and others’), cocky!jimin, cold!jimin, baddie!reader >:)), weapons: knives/guns, alcohol/drug mentions, reader has fast cars :))), ties to chairs, chains but who is shocked??, jimin has fast motorcycles🙄, angst, yoongi as a weapons specialist gets his own warning a ha ha, jimin looks too good in tanks, and without a shirt at all, this jimin is a warning in itself, did i mention angst? note: lmfaooooooo this is just assassins getting in each others’ ways with a generous splash of filth and a side of angst :)) WE ARE GETTING A PROPER JIMIN FIC, Y'ALL!! est. word count: 15-20k | teaser wc: 908 est. drop date: oct 2023 18+ taglist: sign up here (i check all blogs)

smut warnings: explicit scenes, biting, bondage (ropes, pillowcase), scratching, angst, slapping, hickies, body worship, piercing play, spit play, orgasm denial, pussy spanking, voyeurism, exhibitionism, face riding, slut/whore mentions, edging, oral (m/f rec), thigh riding, possessive but they won’t admit it</3, choking, angry sex, angst lol, hair/head pulling, protected/unprotected sex, praise kinks galore, easy access, cowgirl, hitting from the back, rough sex, spanking, teasing, creampie, chains (stay on!!!!), multiple orgasms, aftercare when it’s least expected👀 

Glass. 

Bullet casings.

So much broken glass.

As you listen in the scattered silence, you’re careful to skirt around the tiny shards making an ocean out of your villa.

Well. It’s now more of a wreckage than a beautiful seaside vacation home, but nuances mean nothing when you’ve only used it to store an eighth of your arsenal.

And your fucking pink McLaren that’s now face down in the nearest reef.

You are going to end this man. 

“Come out, my love…” 

Fuck him for double-crossing right when you were getting along.

At least, you felt like you were.

Maybe it was just a lapse in judgment, and the last goddamn mistake you’ll ever make around Park Jimin—assassin, playboy, sole occupant of the top of your hit list.

“Your target’s on the run, you know.”

Of course you’re fucking aware. But he won’t trick you a second time.

As soon as he gets a clear shot, he’s taking it.

And despite rivulets of sweat and blood running down your arm and a fresh gash on your upper chest, you are poised to do the exact same.

“Shouldn’t you be following them? Awhh, wait, your ride… What a shame.”

The gritting of your teeth almost gives you away. 

Think.

Based on where you hear Jimin and the layout of your place, he’s somewhere around the foyer. 

And hiding in an open hall next to your kitchen, there’s no way you can get him from where you’re poised.

So wait.

“What to do… Ah! I can call a taxi to pick you up! How does that sound?”

Wait, goddamn it. 

Don’t fall for his shit.

Watch for any dark waves in the debris-riddled floor. Hold off until he’s in a good sight line. 

Fuck, your wounds hurt. 

Hot exhaustion warms your mouth as you wince, blood starting to harden along your slick skin.

“Or you can just let them get away. This would be Chance Zero, though, so. You’d end up getting a geo-bounty on your file… but it’s your decision!”

Breathe.

Geo-bounties aren’t too bad if they’re low. 

Only when they evolve into Global status should you be worried. And that only happens if the Council deems it. 

You’ve stayed on their good side… other than screwing up the missions Park Jimin has ruined. 

“Come on, love.”

He sounds closer.

“Be a good girl.”

A lot closer.

Now you just have to wait until he… rounds the… corner.

…What happened?

Where the fuck did he—

Your body reacts before your mind does, ducking to avoid a strike into hard spackle. 

Twisting, your forearm prevents the next swipe of Jimin’s blade as you retrieve your side dagger, and four boots trample the glass below in a violent dance of combat.

Above below swipe left dodge right parry parry lunge parry.

When you aim at his chest, your gun is quickly shoved, bullet firing into one of the last kitchen cabinets left standing.

And your opponent has the nerve to look appalled.

“You were gonna shoot me?”

All you do is tsk.

Clashes ring out again as you dart forward, and you go for a opening while mapping out how the hell you’re gonna catch up to your target before—

Fucking hell! 

Chilling pain sears across your shoulder from the cut Jimin makes, and you half-stumble, half-crouch to avoid his killing blow. 

Taking the risk and rolling across your favorite broken vase, you slide and fire again, the kickback hurting your arms like a bastard. 

“Fuck!”

Finally.

Through slitted eyes, you can tell you just grazed Jimin’s thigh, and he collapses to a knee while you struggle to stand upright. 

Crinkles of glass echo throughout the hall as you both haphazardly collect yourselves, with him breathing hard and you grunting through stinging pain.

Shit, he’s cursing like you’ve never heard before. 

But you can’t let that distract you from your goal. 

Up first, you aim your weapon just in time to face his expression.

Those wide eyes.

You have the perfect shot.

And yet…

You hesitate.

Time bends as you vascillate between decisions, your moral compass going haywire and refusing to align with any direction. Electricity fizzes and pops while another patch of your ceiling falls, but neither of you move.

Spare him. End it. Kiss him. Finish the kill.

Your heart squeezes the trigger.

And you fire at the light fixture above him before fast limping out to your garage. 

Curses ring in the falling shards while you make your getaway, fingerpainting the walls with swift red strokes.

Get there get there get there. 

Jimin won’t be far behind.

Ripping open the back door, you grit through the pain while swinging a heavy hand onto a glowing pad. 

After the blooming beeps, you swipe in a password before hitting Floor, and find ponderous support on the door while you wait.

Breathe. Breathe. Holy shit, everything hurts. Breathe.

At your feet, the solid garage foundation slides open to reveal a car rising on a platform. 

The other McLaren that Jimin didn’t launch off the nearest cliff.

Lamenting the leather interior already, you drag yourself to the drivers side with a series of groans, swiping a roll of wrappings and a couple gun magazines from a counter along the way. 

Run run run.

He’s probably right behind.

In seconds, you’re zooming out of the driveway.  

And with a bruised as fuck heart, you blast holes in Jimin’s motorcycle wheels for good measure.

-

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tbc. :)

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what do we think bc i already wanna fight this man lol | join the taglist!

a/n: thank you all for reading! if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, and messages are super super appreciated :D see you at the droppppp hehehe ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ writing updates board

#here we gooo! #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #jimin fic #jimin x you #jimin x reader #pjm fic #in which both parties are stupid and attractive and despise one another lol #bts smut #bts angst #jimin angst #jimin smut #ryenwrites #*latest #*ryenfictalk #*teasers

[negans-lucille-tblr]

The Fan | Jensen x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: Y/N has an unhealthy obsession with a man with a filthy mouth and an oral fixation he’s hell bent on ruining her life with. 

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Tags: audio porn, porn AU, dirty talking, daddy kink, praise kink, slight degradation, oral fixation, oral sex galore, use of sex toy, masturbation, public masturbation, Jensen has a filthy filthy mouth in this one, it might make you feral be warned…

WC: ± 4K

A/Ns: I shouldn’t be trusted to write porn when I’m feeling feral because this is absolute filth and I just wanna thank Laura for commissioning it and sending me further down my crazed rabbit hole. <3

Want your own commission? Find out more here!

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

“Oh fuck, baby girl, you take Daddy’s cock so fucking well in that tight little cunt, don’t you?” he coos as your whole body starts to break out into a light sweat. “Best damn pussy I’ve ever fucking had, sweetheart.” 

You whine, your back arching off the bed, your head fuzzy with your impending orgasm as your eyes flutter closed and you try to stave it off just a little while longer. 

“Look at you, so fucking perfect, you were made for me, made for my cock inside you. Daddy’s perfect little slut,” he growls, gasping for breath at the end of his sentence, moaning deep from his chest. “Tell me what you are, I wanna hear you say it.” 

“I’m your perfect little whore, Daddy,” you whine out, your fingers working your clit to the very edge of sweet release.

“That’s fucking right you are, baby, feel so fucking good on my cock, fuck, making Daddy wanna fucking cum. Do you want that? Hm? Do you want Daddy’s cum deep in that pussy? Maybe I should put your panties back on you and send you out. Let you walk around the store with my cum dripping down your thighs. Oh you like the fucking sound of that, don’t you?” he chuckles darkly, and you gasp for air, the feeling of the cock pistoning in and out of you almost too much to bear anymore. 

“You’re not going to cum again are you?” he asks. “You know how I feel about you cumming when my mouth isn’t down there to taste it. Do you need my tongue in that cunt again, baby girl? Or are you still craving Daddy’s cock? Look at you, so fucking desperate you don’t even know what you want anymore, you just want to be used, don’t you? You just want Daddy to use that fucking cunt over and over until I’m through with it. I’ve fucking got you, baby girl, you’re mine and everyone fucking knows it. I’ve marked you up good, you wanna see your skin, fucking covered in my claim.” 

You can’t take anymore, and you cum hard, screaming out in pure ecstasy as your climax washes over every inch of you, and you’re left gasping for air, squirming on the edge of over-stimulation as the cock continues to piston in and out of you at the steady pace you’d set it at. 

Your eyes flutter open and you’re brought back to the room, your earbud falling out, letting the natural ambience of your bedroom fill your eyes, the very faint sound of the actor’s voice still bleeding through the forgotten earpiece. Your body is still trembling, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you as you finally reach for the dial beside you and slow the machine down until it’s come to a stop, and you carefully remove the toy from inside you and whimper at the loss of contact, even if you are thoroughly done. You reach for your phone to pause the audio, realising there’s still ten minutes left. You never can make it to the end of one of his audios. That man is far too good at what he does, and it’s a crying shame he doesn’t do videos, though you realise that audio gets you off far better than visual does nowadays. You don’t even think you’d care what the guy looks like, if he can make you cum that hard and that many times with just his words, he could look however he wants and you’d still fuck him. 

Somehow, the guy seems to be all your biggest fantasies wrapped up in one dirty mouthed human, and you’re actually starting to worry about your real dating life, given you’re never going to find a guy that will ever come close to your favourite audio actor, you’re sure of it. Still, it doesn’t stop you from trying, even if your nights do end like tonight; alone and getting yourself off with your best investments yet; your fuck machine and Patreon subscription to ‘Dean Winchester’.  You hadn’t even needed a machine before Dean, and you actually had more real life sex with real life men, but over time you ended up settling for mediocre one night stands less and less, rathering going home to Dean, instead. You know your obsession is borderline unhealthy at this stage, but if the guy would stop putting out the best audios you’ve ever heard, then maybe you’d stand a chance. 

*

Work is so mind-numbingly boring, you find yourself watching the clock on the wall and praying that the last twenty minutes would hurry up, so you can get out of the office for the weekend. With the weekend upcoming, you don’t have time to start a new project, but you finished your last one two hours ago, and have been desperately trying to seem busy for your boss’s sake since then. You sigh and twist yourself left to right in your office chair, and practically leap at your phone the second it goes off next to you. Finally, something to do. 

You’re quick to glance around you when you realise that the notification is from Patreon, and you open it cautiously to see Dean has posted a new audio. It’s rare for him to post something mid afternoon on a Friday, and you read the title and the audio information, eager to find out what your Friday night is going to entail. 

Daddy can’t get enough of eating that sweet pussy (with toys)

Contains: Excessive oral sex, daddy kink, use of toys, praise, degradation, slight humiliation, mocking for multiple orgasms, soft dom, aftercare 

You look around the office, feeling your pussy getting uncomfortably wet already, and rub your thighs together, reaching into your purse and grabbing your headphones, before quickly making your way towards the bathroom. You would normally at least try to wait the extra hour, and for  the comfort of your own home, but this one sounds too good to wait. You just want a little glimpse; at least that’s what you tell yourself as you lock yourself into a bathroom stall and eagerly put an earbud in, making sure your phone is definitely connected to it before you turn the volume up a little. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Dean hums through the headphone, and instantly the wetness doubles.

You shift uncomfortably in your heels, and take a seat on the closed toilet lid, hitching your dress up enough to get to your soaked panties. You can just have a little play, it’s not like you’re busy, and no one will know what you’re doing in here. 

“Have you missed me? Aw, I can tell,” he coos, “have you been waiting for me all day? I’ve had a long week, and I was thinking I could use some stress relief,” he explains. “I’ve been thinking about you since I left you naked in bed this morning, been thinking about that sweet little pussy, about how good you taste. My cock has been hard all fucking day just thinking about tasting you when I got home.” 

You try your best not to moan out loud, your fingers now pulling the ruined material of your panties to one side as you take a shuddered breath in and start to tease your swollen clit. 

“You don’t mind if I help myself, do you?” he asks, and then a low hum rumbles through him. “Fuck, let me take those panties off, wanna see that dripping little pussy properly. It’s gonna taste so fucking good, you always taste so fucking good, you’ve got Daddy addicted, d’y’know that?” 

You rush to remove your panties over your heels, wanting to keep up with the fantasy now playing in your mind’s eye, and you quickly stuff them into your blazer pocket. 

“Don’t worry about making dinner, I’ve got enough to feast on right here,” he chuckles lowly, and then the sound of his lips smacking over something fills the quiet, and he moans under his breath. “Tastes fucking good, baby girl,” he praises. “That pussy was made to be eaten, and look at it, practically dripping for me, such a naughty little slut, hm? You want a finger inside you?” 

Instantly you slide one finger inside your warm, wet cunt, and your eyes roll as you throw your head back. 

“So fucking tight, baby girl, you like having something inside you when I eat that pussy, don’t you?” he laughs, “then why don’t you use the dildo I got you? It’s right here, I’ve got it, let me see if I can make it fit.” The sound of vibrations accompany Dean’s hums of approval, and you wish with everything in you that you were home right now, where you could reach for your own vibrator and slide it inside you like Dean’s doing in your fantasy right now. “Fuck, baby girl, you take it so well, does that feel good? It’ll feel better when my tongue is back on that clit.” 

“Jesus,” you whisper under your breath, pushing a second finger inside you in a desperate attempt to mimic the toy you’re imagining. 

“Don’t worry about me, baby, I’ve had a cockring wrapped around my cock all day, I’m gonna be fucking you for hours yet. Now you just lie back and let me take care of that sweet little cunt.”

The bathroom door opens outside of the stall, and you jump to remove your fingers, even though whoever has entered won’t see what you’re doing, you still don’t want to get caught out somehow.  The obscene noises of Dean ‘eating you out’ are still playing into your ear, and you rush to pause the audio in an attempt to calm yourself down a little, hearing the clicking of heels on tile as someone enters the stall next to you.

“Y/N?” you hear Amber call out. 

“Yeah?” you call back, your voice shaky and not trustworthy, right now.

“You coming to the bar with us?” Amber asks. 

You stand up and flush the toilet to complete your facade, heading out of the stall and quickly beginning to wash your own juices off of your fingers before Amber somehow notices. 

“Not tonight,” you insist, your mind very much on the remaining twenty three minutes of Dean’s new audio, and the date with your machine you’ve found yourself with suddenly. 

“C’mon, you’ve not been out in forever, plus, Sascha insists that this new bar has the hottest guys,” Amber explains as she also exits her stall and stands at the sink beside you, washing her own hands. 

“I gave up on men a long time ago,” you remind Amber with a chuckle. 

“Oh c’mon, I’m all for silicone friends, but you’ve gotta get a real dick at least once in a while, and girl for you, it’s been a while.” You laugh at her bluntness and shake your head. “You’re coming, even if I have to pay for your drinks all night,” Amber insists. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, before nodding reluctantly, guessing one drink won’t hurt if it gets Amber off your back. 

“Great,” Amber beams, reaching forward to undo the top button of your dress so your cleavage is far more on show than it was before. “There, let’s go.”

*

One drink has somehow turned into three, because every time you say you might leave, Amber is quick to buy you another cocktail, and you feel bad wasting her money by not drinking it first. You’re hyper aware of the fact your panties are still stuffed into your blazer pocket, and your pussy is completely bare and exposed under your dress, and the only thing you can fully focus on is the remainder of Dean’s audio you want to listen to. You really do have a problem, apparently. 

By the fourth drink, you offer to pay, feeling bad that Amber is footing your bill all night, and you guess you owe her one drink before you finally go home to your machine. You stand at the bar and shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as you wait to be served, your mind running wild with all the ways Dean is going to fuck you tonight, and when the barman finally stands in front of you, you realise you’ve forgotten what Amber wanted. You guess your way through a list of a few different cocktails, figuring one of the girls will drink them even if Amber doesn’t, and as the barman moves away to make your long order, you hear a scoff beside you. 

You turn your head to look at the man, and are kind of taken for a moment because he’s pretty attractive. Sascha was right, the men at this place really are better looking than the rest of the bars around town. Maybe they have some weird lighting, or something. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he laughs easily, and his voice shoots straight to your core. Jesus, has it really been that long since a hot guy has talked directly to you? “It’s just I’ve been stood here for over five minutes, and that bar man is only serving the hot girls,” he explains. 

Your brain takes a second to process what he’s saying, and then you scoff and shake your head. 

“Clearly not, he just served me,” you counter. 

“I stand by what I said,” the stranger insists, after his green eyes have raked up and down your body a couple of times. Is this guy actually flirting with you? You find yourself staring for a moment. There’s something very familiar about him, but you’re fairly sure you’d remember ever meeting a guy this attractive. 

“Do I know you?” you ask him, frowning. 

His green eyes light up and he laughs softly, shaking his head. 

“Urm… don’t think so,” he finally offers, shaking his head. But his hesitance only confuses you more. 

“Are you sure? I swear I know you somehow,” you insist. 

The guy begins to blush, and he clears his throat before looking around himself. 

“Well, what if I said my name is… Dean,” he slowly offers. 

Your eyes widen immediately, and you’re not sure if you want the ground to swallow you whole or if you want to kiss the man. His voice that’s what you know, that’s what’s so familiar, and that’s why you’re having this kind of reaction to just talking to some guy. So you’re not that desperate, after all… or maybe you are, depending how you look at it. You would’ve never placed him as Dean Winchester, no matter how intimately you know his voice, because you never would’ve actually expected him to be more attractive than the picture you’d painted in your head. And you never would’ve expected to bump into him at a bar in town of all places. 

But then the realisation hits you fully. If this guy is Dean Winchester then he knows that you listen to his stuff, and he knows that you listen enough to recoginise him. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your cheeks burning. “Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed, I’m so sorry,” you fumble to apologise, but Dean just laughs and shakes his head. 

“Why are you sorry? I love meeting fans.” 

The word fan only makes your skin crawl more, he’s going to think you’re some psycho, some desperate woman that needs audio porn to get her kicks. 

“Oh god,” you groan, now feeling your skin crawling in shame. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, really,” he reassures you, reaching out to grab your shoulder. “Honestly, I’m flattered a girl like you listens to me.” 

“Oh sure,” you scoff, not believing him for one second. You want to tell him you don’t really listen to his stuff that much, but then you realise that might be insulting, and you don’t want to tell him you’re as big a fan as you are, or you’ll just look even more pathetic to him. “Listen, I’ll leave you alone,” you conclude. 

“Oh,” he replies simply, before licking his lips and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, if that’s what you want.” 

You can’t help but feel like you’ve insulted him somehow, and you swallow hard, rushing to explain. “I don’t wanna seem like some creepy fan,” you excuse. 

“Sweetheart, I’m the one that hit on you,” he laughs. 

Your eyes only widen further, “you were hitting on me?” 

“Yeah, well… I thought I was… I did call you hot, didn’t I?” 

“I guess,” you agree, now feeling embarrassed for a whole new reason. The guy that has given you more orgasms than all the other men in your sexual history put together has hit on you. “I’m sorry, I just always assumed that a guy like you would be married, or at least dating someone.” 

“Nah, my work is just as much for my benefit as it is yours, trust me,” he laughs softly. “So, can I at least buy you a drink, even if it’s just to thank you for liking my work?” 

*

“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this,” you confess, already drunkenly laughing behind your hand as you look over at him. 

Dean – or Jensen, you’ve now been told his real name is – seems to wait patiently for your confession, and in the two or so hours you’ve been sitting together drinking and getting to know each other, you somehow feel like you’ve known him for years. Maybe that’s because of the porn, but either way, you’re actually about to say this out loud. 

“The audio that you released today?” you prompt, and a smirk grows over Jensen’s plump lips.

“Yeah…” he prompts. 

“Well, I didn’t get to finish it, but let’s just say I started it in work… in a bathroom stall… and I’m still a mess. I was dying to get home to finish it.” Your confession doesn’t leave you as embarrassed as you thought it would, not when Jensen only smirks harder, and then bites his bottom lip as his green eyes look around the bar. 

“Well… why don’t I just… show you what the rest was like?” he asks, blinking at you. 

“What?” you ask, feeling yourself beginning to sober up at just the very thought of what Jensen’s implying. 

“What if we… y’know, re-enacted it?” 

*

“So how far did you get?” Jensen asks, breathing against your neck.

You crane it, pushing your head back further into your pillow as you moan softly, dragging your nails through the soft hair on the nape of his neck. 

“Not very, you’d just pulled out a vibrator,” you explain breathlessly, your heart thudding in your chest. If this man is this good at kissing, you’re not sure you’ll survive the rest of it. And you already know what a filthy mouth he’s got from the dirty talking. And from talking to him tonight, you were more than excited to find out that his audios are a true reflection of his own kinks.

“Do you have one?” Jensen prompts, and you blindly reach under your bed for the box that holds your toys, throwing the lid off carelessly and wrapping your hand around your favourite vibrating silicone friend. 

You produce it in front of you, stopping Jensen in his tracks as he smirks, taking it from you and throwing it to the bed next to you both. 

“I don’t have a cock ring though,” you add with your own smirk, and Jensen chuckles lowly. 

“Don’t worry, I’m covered,” he tells you smugly, taking your hand and pushing it under his boxers. Your hand meets soft, warm velvety skin, and as it gets a little lower, you feel the rubber ring at the very base of his swollen cock. 

“Do you always go to bars wearing one of those?” you sass, wrapping your fingers around his erection and growing pleasantly surprised at the thickness. 

“I had it on for the audio this morning, y’know, for authenticity, and figured I’d leave it on because I was so horny. Meeting you was just the bonus,” he explains. 

“What else do you do for authenticity?” you tease, gasping when Jensen’s teeth sink into the delicate skin on your neck. “Do you…” you struggle to regain your composure, grinding your core up against his bare thigh, your slick coating his skin. “Do you actually eat pussy?” you finally manage to ask. 

“Unfortunately not. It’s been a while since I got to eat a pussy… don’t mind if I fill up on you, do you, baby girl?” 

“No, Daddy,” you whimper, not even ashamed at how quickly you submit to him. 

“Oh, someone’s been listening to my work… such a good little whore, f’me, aren’t you? Bet you taste fucking delicious.” 

Suddenly, Jensen’s face is gone, and you feel his hands grab the backs of your thighs and push your legs backwards, spreading you open. He doesn’t waste any time dining on your pussy, making sounds far more obscene then the audios could ever capture, and just when you thought this man couldn’t get you off any harder, you’ve finally felt his tongue for real, the stubble on his face rub along your delicate skin, you’ve finally felt exactly what this man can do to you. 

Your fingers comb through the hair on the top of his head, and Jensen only ever pauses to bite and suck on the flesh at the insides of your thighs, before returning to licking and sucking your pussy like a starved man. Your back arches into his touch, and you nearly lose your mind when you see him blindly reach for the dildo you’d given him, turning it on to a low rumble as he presses the tip to your entrance. 

“So fucking tight, baby girl, you like having something inside you when I eat that pussy, don’t you?” he growls, his voice slightly deeper and far more reminiscent of his “Dean” persona. 

You moan loudly, bucking your hips desperately as he begins to fuck you with your vibrator, and you find yourself torn between wanting his mouth back on your pussy, and wanting his cock replacing your toy. Amber’s right, sometimes you just need the real thing. Especially when the real thing is as tempting as Jensen’s. 

“Fuck, Daddy, feels so good, please don’t stop,” you beg, feeling his mouth back on your cunt in an instant, and he laps at your arousal and moans loudly around your clit when he sucks it between his lips. “Holy fuck,” you shout, staring up at the ceiling, not sure you’re even going to survive this. 

Jensen’s rutting against your mattress, but seems to be in no rush to finish eating you out any time soon, and your thighs tremble either side of his head as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface. 

“That’s it baby,” Jensen pauses for a brief second to say. “Cum f’me,” he growls. “Cum on Daddy’s tongue, c’mon, perfect little cunt, tastes so sweet, you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he chuckles, looking up grinning at you like the devil. 

“Yes,” you whine, encouraging his mouth back on your clit as he now fucks your vibrator in and out of you so much better than the machine has ever managed to. 

Jensen doesn’t stop to talk again, he just hums and moans against your skin until you’re cumming hard and fast on the toy, and he’s quickly removing it to lap at your juices that are practically flooding out of you. 

As always when you listen to his work, your first orgasm does little to stave off the arousal he’s elicited from you, but luckily, it seems Jensen’s not done with you, because he licks his lips clean and hums, rising back to his knees between your legs. He begins stroking his cock in his hand, his eyes several shades darker as he looks down at you. 

“So,” he smirks, guiding the tip of his cock towards your soppy entrance, only teasing it with his tip before tapping the heavy length on your sensitive clit, making you squirm. “Which of my audios should we re-enact next?” he asks. 

“Any one that requires that inside me,” you reply, watching Jensen chuckle under his breath. 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Want your own commission? Find out more here!

#the fan #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #smut #fluff #oneshot #commission #negans-lucille-tblr #fanfic

[silentium-symphony]

Spoiled Rotten (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) needed a break from now watch me whip, so here's some smut :) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

i didn’t really mean to make a sequel for Starved, it just kinda happened 💀 can def stand alone tho! i don't typically write a dominant reader, but i had a lot of fun trying smth new :) i hope you enjoy ♡

cw: afab!reader, mentioned somnophilia (like one line), swearing, nice and fluffy in the beginning, ya'll being absolute BRATS to each other oml, taking turns dominating the other :), link once again having the dirtiest mouth in the world, spreading you on all fours, riding link like the gorgeous stallion he is

wc: 5.8k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Passerine warbles teased your consciousness from the lands of slumber to the realm of morning. A curtain of colors whisped behind your eyelids and you felt the warmth of the sunbeam conveniently placed on your eyes; cracking them open a smidgen spelled the death of your pupils as you were immediately blinded by its solar glory.

Your head lulled to the side, still very much weighted by sleep, and came face-to-face with your lightly snoring husband. His golden brows were pulled into a relaxed arch, no longer featuring a drawn, terse look. His cheeks, smushed into the pillow, slotted perfectly in your hand and you stroked them fondly. A soft moan left him and you could feel the little bits of tension in his jaw disappear completely. Looking further down, you saw his neck and chest littered with hickeys galore; your lips tingled hotly.

You lifted the arm that was dangled loosely over your waist with great care, gauging his expression for any hint of discomfort or arousal. You were genuinely shocked he didn't slug his arm over you and hug you tighter as he normally would. While setting his arm down in front of you, you saw bright red scratch marks running up and down his arms. Highlights of last night pervaded your mind and it took a considerable amount of mental fortitude to not start grinding against his bare member. Additionally, thinking about how he abused your cunt with his incessant pounding started to fill you up with post-orgasm sleepiness--not what you wanted when you were trying to get out of bed.

And he did all that right after he got back. Y'know... It makes sense why he'd be knocked out.

Your lips ghosted atop his twitching eyelids while you slinked out of bed and oNTO THE FLOOR OH SWEET HYLIA

A hand flew to the corner of your bedstand and you somehow managed to catch yourself before you ate shit. Link really diddly darn fucked you 'til your legs gave out, huh? Can't say you were complaining--

You hauled yourself up, your knees shivering and buckling from the arduous task of existing in an upright position. You scooted closer to your shared dresser, the smooth walls acting as support, and you slipped on one of Link's shirts. His scent wrapped around you comfortingly and was reminiscent of one of his hugs. There was also the added benefit of Link really liking you in his clothes--a fact you very much took advantage of.

With the wall still acting as your cane, you made the trepidatious trip to the kitchen.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

You balanced two plates of fried eggs and rice on a small wooden tray, complete with silverware, water, and two mug cakes! You managed to find the recipe haphazardly scribbled down on a random piece of parchment. You thought it looked delectable and hoped he thought the same.

You limped ambled your way to the bedroom and opened the old door as gingerly as possible.

Unluckily for you (and him, now that you thought about it), the wakeful tendencies stemming from the extreme sport of sleeping alone in the wilderness kicked in and his ears visibly twitched, disturbed by the softest sounds from across the room. He shuffled quickly and turned to you, his eyes still drooped with sleep.

"Mm... g'morn..." His nose quivered. "What smells so good...?"

"Breakfast!"

:O

:D

"Breakfast? In bed?" He could barely contain his excitement.

"Breakfast in bed!"

He sat up, propping and fluffing the pillows as you made your way over to him. He clapped and rubbed his hands in glee.

"Oh! Are those...?" The gears in Link's head buffered and churned.

"Mug cakes!" You set the tray down on his lap and saddled next to him.

"Mug cakes!!!" He returned your gleeful energy. "They look delicious, darling."

"Thank you, dear." You shoveled a fluffy mound of rice topped with an equally fluffy piece of egg in your mouth and sighed contently. He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before dipping to your ear.

"Not as delicious as you though." He breathed, eyeing the plain white shirt hanging from your frame. You gasped at the sensation of heat tickling your neck and your palm connected with the backside of his head.

"Ow!" He pouted. "Unnecessary."

"J-Just eat the damn food!" Clearly flustered, you scraped more food into your mouth and promptly turned away from him. He laughed while smoothing out your bedhead before chowing down on the simple spread before him.

"How're you feeling? I'm sorry for being a bit... rough last night."

Good sir you almost broke my back and yours "a bit?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. "Okay, fine, but my question still stands--how're you feeling?"

"I'm all right! My... Legs were pretty weak this morning." You shrunk, feeling Link's ego swell. You could practically feel the smirk on his face.

"Were you okay climbing out of bed this morning? You didn't fall, did you?"

You were so thankful he couldn't see the imaginary sweat beading down your brow.

"Nope! All good!"

"Glad to hear it."

Your conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence as you both relished in each other's company and the food. While you finished up the main dish, Link dipped his spoon into the gooey mug cake and almost kicked his feet in childlike joy.

"This is amazing! It tastes just like your hugs!"

Your heart simultaneously fluttered and melted into one big goop.

"Heheh... And what, good sir, do my hugs taste like?"

"Hm..." He leaned in and glomped onto you. "Warm... Soft... Sweet..."

While you were basking in his warm embrace, you didn't notice the sly hand sneaking for the hem of your shirt. Warm digits traced up your torso and cusped your breasts; a pleasurable chill shuddered through you.

"Tantalizing..." He husked, lowering you onto your back. "Enchanting..."

He showered your neck with gentle pecks and retraced the bruises and nips he planted on your skin the night before. Your arms wrapped loosely around him, pulling him closer. You could feel his dick begin to throb with heat.

"Mm... Link..."

Guuuurgle...

Oh.

He pulled away from you, light, innocent giggles bouncing between the two of you.

"Let's take our time today, okay?"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

After clearing breakfast and cuddling for an hour or so, you both finally got up and started your day. Link volunteered to wash the dirty dishes while you put away the... scattered clothes from last night. Tidying the room to your liking, you came down to meet your husband.

Whose got his lean, toned, battle-scarred back turned to you.

Your love marks from last night were due to join his never-ending collection of scars--at least for the coming weeks. A wicked smile crossed your lips and you stalked toward him, tiptoes feeling around the squeaky floorboards.

He soaped up the water some more and smiled at the bubbles that floated to his nose, humming a happy lil' tune, completely oblivious to your sinful intentions. As he dipped a plate into the soapy basin, arms wrapped around his torso and he felt something warm and soft trace his back and sides.

His next exhale caught in his throat and he sputtered... some type of exclamation. As quickly as it tensed, his sinewy muscles grew lax in your embrace, melting into your touch. He adored the way your mouth hungrily suctioned to his old scars and how divine it felt for your hands to caress him, rubbing soothing patterns into sore spots he never knew he had.

You worked your way up and brushed your lips along the still-fresh scratches on his shoulders. You painted them with tender, loving kisses as your hand drifted lower and lower...

"You're marked up so nicely for me..." Your fingers coasted the prominent bulge in his pants and he bit back a whine. "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

Hands spun his waist around and his eyes flew shut, fully expecting to feel your lips slam into his as you took him right then and there.

...?

Except... You didn't...?

His eyes cracked open to his beloved's absence, confounded. A bright, chirpy whistle had him swiveling his head for a double take and he saw you happily drying the dishes he washed. Like nothing happened.

"You okay, love?" You looked at him through your lashes. "You've got stars in your eyes."

Said eyes twitched.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The sun was still high up in the sky when you finished torturing the poor man with your household chores. The door swung open; Link went out first, bucket and brush in hand, while you stayed at the door for just a moment longer. The open windows couldn't quite demonstrate the soul-cleansing power of the fresh winds and you relished the wind tugging through your hair. Your lungs expanded as much as they could, filling themselves with the scent of home-tinged wilderness, before breathing out.

Epona's happy nickers tickled your ears and you drew closer to the duo. Link was going through her sleek coat, brushing it of dirt and grime while you filled her troughs with fresh hay and clean water. You threw yourself onto Epona and gave her fluttering kisses on her snout and neck, singing praises into the ears of your equestrian friend and thanking her repeatedly for bringing Link back home safely.

Link, smiling, grabbed the bucket and left her stall.

"I'm gonna grab some more water."

You acknowledged him with a bright "mm" and turned your attention to Epona, who was lovingly nuzzling your neck. Your husband rounded the corner and disappeared behind your house--you waited a few moments.

Now was your chance.

You flew out of her stall and veered into your house, cramming as many apples as you could hold in your arms, and practically teleported back to her stall. The sweet mare let out the happiest whinny you've ever heard and pawed the ground with anticipation. You peered over your shoulder as you presented her her favorite treats and prayed to Hylia Link's bucket broke or something. Just... Please Goddess, stall him for a bit.

Link loves hates it when you tease him with the 'nonsense' of Epona liking you more. You remembered the first time you brought up such a notion and Link was quick to scoff at your claims, assuring you that he and Epona share a bond like no other. The sweet, sweet look on his face when Epona responded to your voice and not his that one time never left your mind. To add insult to injury, not only did she straight up ignore the blonde--she clopped away from Link and over to you, leaving her beloved rider in the literal and metaphorical dust. Link reverted back to silence for the rest of the day.

Besides! She works just as hard as Link in keeping Hyrule safe. She deserves all the treats in the world.

Epona made quick work of the bushel and pressed her snout to you for more. You laughed and gently pushed her away, kissing her nose as you did. You turned around, half-expecting to see your husband with a silly exasperated look on his face; no one. You rocked on your heels, keeping a steady stream of pats on Epona's neck as you craned yours to find your beloved. Where was he?

The familiar knot of worry pitted your stomach and, pressing one final nuzzle into Epona, left her stall. You followed the trail your love had taken several minutes ago, careening your neck around the corner. The well sat unattended and the bucket your husband carried laid on its side. You approached the scene carefully, your lips forming into a 'Link?'

A pair of hands dug into your waist; your vision whizzed into a blend of colors, the back of your house bleeding into the scene of a little alcove. You barely had time to think let alone scream before something hot and wet muffled your lips. Your assailant pressed you further into the wall, pinning your arms above your head and coasting his digits up your thigh. Link's handsome features flooded your view and you moaned into the kiss, feeling your core grow hot with need.

He moved himself between your legs and gyrated his clothed tip against your engorged and sensitive bud. Your lips pulled away with a pop and he busied himself tarnishing your neck once again, reinforcing the lighter bruises already beginning to fade and making new ones in previously unexplored spots. His pants grew uncomfortably tight as he listened to the pathetic whimpers dripping out of you.

"Shh..." A playful kiss lapped your collarbone. "Not so loud hun, someone might hear..."

You fussed and squirmed under his treatment, his mischievous, nippy kisses along your skin sending your thoughts into overdrive. You hadn't even noticed your hips rolling faster, sloppier against him as your heat craved that sweet friction. Link felt your juices seep through the thin fabric of his pants and moisten the head of his cock.

"Look at you, making a mess all over me..." He sang, nibbling the lobe of your ear.

His hands left your wrist to find solace at the back of your thighs. With a grunt, he hoisted you into a seated position and pressed his full weight against yours, nullifying any chance for escape. Your legs hung uselessly at his hips as he continued moving against you in both body and lip.

His mouth moved to capture the beginnings of your breasts, suckling the curve of your mound until your chest glistened with his spit. He looked up at you through trembling lashes, committing your hooded gaze, gaping mouth, and flushed cheeks to memory.

The tips of your toes grazed the ground as Link lowered you delicately before he not so delicately spun you round and slammed your front against the wall. The sudden impact knocked what was left of precious air out of your lungs and your brain roared, the organ already doubling over from a pleasure-kissed lightheadedness.

Calloused hands connected with the soft of your inner thighs, flowing it open and dragging a finger, slow and deliberate, across your clothed folds. You all but screamed his name, his previous warnings to keep it quiet muddling with lusty bliss. Wet, hot breaths on bits of your exposed back sent your eyes rolling into your head and you balled your fists at the thought of him taking you here and now.

You felt his weight leave your form and you waited with growing impatience for him to be rid of his clothes. Your eyes were still squinted shut as you whined, trying to push your rear against his tented crotch hungrily.

He's... further away than you expected. How big is this alcove...?

You looked over your shoulder, confusion meddling with your arousal, and caught a glimpse of blonde swaggering away from you as if nothing had happened.

Heart thundering, legs quivering, blood rushing, your bent frame crumbled in on itself as your knees gave out from under you.

"LINK!!!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Safe to say by the time dinner rolled around, the two of you could hardly look at each other and any attempts at making small talk felt like Ganon shooting his piss into your eyes. Any semblance of Link in your brain always ended up with him either railing you or you fucking him until collapse.

You looked up from your plate to grab the water pitcher before you and you could feel the darkness glimmering in his eyes, heavy with lust and frustration. Your thighs grinded against each other, hoping to satiate the growing need to stimulate yourself even if only a little.

You were one look away from pinning him onto the dining table and fucking him until he was a babbling, crying mess under you. Unbeknownst to you (not really), Link happened to share those same sentiments.

Hylia, you were so horny for each other and your skin felt aflamed by his absence. But... you'd be lying if you said you didn't find a sick pleasure in watching you and him squirm under each other's heavy gaze, seeing how long either of you could last before one of you bites the arrow and takes the other.

"(F/N)."

You jolted at the sound of your own name and looked up into Link's blown-out pupils and barely parted lips, moistened with spit. Not a word was spoken between the two bodies; a velvety darkness took hold of your chest and you absently felt your feet march over to your husband before locking lips with his in messy desperation. Your hands explored the warmth of his skin, rubbing the back of his shoulders, his face, his chest. With a small tug on your wrist, you fell into his lap and he steadied you with level hands. You rolled your hips against his aching cock, teasing his stiffness with every sultry sway.

His lips latched onto your shoulder and his teeth sunk into the soft flesh, feeling your body shiver against his. He moved in time with your motions, rocking you faster against his dick that sweltered with desire. His chair skitted back and his hands flew to your ass, squeezing the soft, plump flesh as he carried you to the bedroom. Your legs hugged his torso to keep yourself up as he blindly fumbled with the doorknob, impatience ticking both your features.

He swung the door open, the shockwave from the sudden slam knocking down whatever trinket or picture was hanging on the wall. You paid little mind to the clamor of knick-knacks as Link tripped onto the bed, his back sinking into the soft mattress and you adding to his weight. You braced your hands on the sides of his head while his found your hips, fondling and diveting the soft flesh.

Languid lips moved with his before traveling towards his jawline and down to the soft skin of his neck, lapping it with butterfly kisses. A shaky breath all but stopped at the base of his throat as he saw you trail red, hot pecks along the dip of his shoulder and down to his chest, assaulting his lust-stricken senses with a campaign of pleasure. You looked up at him teasingly, swirling the tip of your tongue about his perked nipple.

Link's eyes fluttered close as a breathy sigh left him, his hips bucking wildly against your own. He tried so hard to catch his breath, but every roll, every graze, everything flared a white flame throughout his core. His mind was slipping, he could feel it, but by the gods did he do his damnest to savor every little sensation he would feel tonight.

Your hands quickly discarded your undergarments and flew to the hem of your shirt, tossing it aside like you've done hundreds of times before. Link followed suit, doing the extra step of lifting his hips (you still on top) to shimmy his pants off. He kicked the offending fabric off the bed and you both sighed, enjoying the pleasurable tingles the cool night air brought to your hottest spots. You lifted yourself and slowly rubbed your folds all over him, drinking in his dirty mewls like it would be the last thing you tasted. Something dark snapped into your husband's eyes as a hand left your hip to cruelly flick your sensitive bundle of nerves.

A whine lapsed out of your mouth and you bobbed your dripping cunt up and down his tip. A growl countered your moans while his thumb rubbed long, teasing circles about your clit. Nails dug into the swordsman's thighs as tears clouded your vision.

"You want to play this game?" His eyes read. "Fine. Let's see who wins."

You're unceremoniously pushed forward by his limbs and your chest lands squarely atop his face. Link's muffled moans hummed between your mounds and you sighed, head lolling forward. You scooted your hole closer towards his propped thighs, dipping just past his angry head and taking a little bit more of him in your cunt. You whorled your hips slothfully, savoring the way he rubbed every corner of your entrance. Teeth dug punishingly into your nipples and worked the small buds until they were raw and red from abuse. A hot, sloppy tongue swirled around the aching buds, matching the pace with your hips.

It took everything in you to not let out the sweet cry bubbling in your chest as you pulled and twisted his soft golden locks, determined to break this man before he broke you. Without any warning, you rammed your cheeks against his thigh, taking all of him in one go; you both choked as you stretched to accommodate his length and girth while your caving walls sent him to cloud nine.

Link was the first to cry out, with you following shortly after. Still remembering the game you were playing, you slid off him almost completely before slamming yourself down again with a force that got him seeing stars. Knuckles tightened around your waist and nails dug into your supple softness as the man beneath you writhed with untold pleasures. Your throbbing heat begged you to wait, to adjust to his size, but you were so focused on getting him whimpering under you that you brushed the sensual shock off.

Link adjusted himself slightly to naturally hasten your rolls; you also adjusted yourself in a bid to level the control you had over him. You decided your gait, not him. Soft hands went to pry the battle-worn digits off your side but were promptly met with a sharp slap over your wrists, gluing them to one spot. As he positioned you slightly angled above his pelvis, his smirk countered your falling expression as you began to realize the compromising position you were in.

Not wasting any time, Link roughly entered your hole, keeping you right where he wanted you for maximum pleasure. His sudden entrance elicited the sweetest calls for his name and you threw your head back, barely keeping yourself together. Try as you might, you couldn't wriggle free from his grip (though he loved watching your futile attempts, your countenance contorting into the prettiest, sluttiest faces). Your hands twitched and convulsed, wrists writhing uselessly against your side as he hastened his thrusts.

"Nngh! Link! S-Slow--please!"

"Hm? What was that?" He asked coolly, exertion inapparent in his voice.

"T-Too fast--Link, I c-can’t--"

"Oh, but you took me so well last night. Besides, I'm having fun watching you struggle like this." He snickered, watching the rebellious glint in your eyes dull into something lustful. You were trying so hard to pry from his grasp. You thought you could break him first? How cute.

Link's head rolled into the bed as he felt you stretch and expand with every thrust, locking his cock in a vice grip. Gods, you were so tight. And warm. And wet. He cursed under his breath as he watched your juices pool at the base of his cock. His clasp unknowingly began to loosen.

Slackening just enough for you to wiggle free. He gasped, no longer feeling your convulsing hands under his and before he knew it, those same hands that got you under his control were pinned above him. You laughed something wicked as you sat promptly on his dick, stilling his wild pistoning. He felt small under your piercing gaze, like some prey item looking up at its predator. You leaned down and nipped his ear lobe, a soft whine escaping him.

"My turn." You purred, rolling against him painfully slow and giving your abused cunt a much-needed break. A groan rumbled out of him the instant he stopped pounding your insides at unimaginable speeds. You fought the wrists that tried to pull away from you and locked his lips with yours, tongue and teeth mashing sloppily against the other. Frustrated at your own slow pace, you took your rolls up a notch--fast enough to keep his mind from imploding but not enough to give it the release he craved.

"Please, just a bit faster..." He sputtered, pleading.

"Do you really think you're in a position to be giving orders?" You cooed. "Don't rush me."

Your hips lulled into a steady rhythm that was a step faster than what you were previously going. Link turned into a fumbling mess under you, filling your bedroom with his begging whines and gasps for more. With one hand still pinning him down, the other grazed the various scars that littered his abdomen. Your tongue swiped your bottom lip while you watched the outline of his abs convulse with each pleasure-stricken breath. Every one of your touches, every one of your kisses, every sloppy squelch your wet hole made as it took him whole fogged his mind with ecstasy.

"Mm! You've been so good... Letting me use your cock..." You whipped your hips forward, grip tightening around his wrists. The Hero of Hyrule's pathetic little whimpers traveled to your ears and you looked down at the whining man squirming underneath you, tears prodding his eyes.

"You like that? Hm? You like it when I bounce on your hard, hard cock?" You accentuated each word with a snap of your hips. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let out a cry of pleasure.

"Please... Please, let me touch you--feel you... I need it, please..."

"Not yet darling," you kissed his tears away, giggling as more came to replace what was lost. You felt him swell inside you and you moaned. "Fuck, Link..."

You leaned back, resting on his thighs for support, and gyrated your hips in a circular motion. Link was practically screaming, begging, imploring you to grab you, hold you, anything just please--

"Nuh uh uh," your sing-song voice dripped with a lusty venom. "The moment you lay your hands on me, I stop. Got it?"

"No!" Blue eyes shot up to meet yours, mortified. "Don't stop! Whatever you do, just don't... Ah... Don't stop..."

You fucked and fucked this man until your thighs clung to his with sweat. Link pressed his face into his bicep and his hands balled into pale fists, shaking as he fought the urge to overpower your teasing self and ram his throbbing cock against your sweetest spots.

"You look so pretty, Link... Gods, absolutely gorgeous." You gingerly pulled his face to look at you. "Don't hide from me, I want to see you..."

You sunk your chest into his as your hips lifted and snapped down with a lewd squelch. He let out a noise between a gasp and a yelp and he bucked his hips up to meet your cunt. You hovered in the air, low enough for Link to slip in and out of you but high enough where he couldn't immerse himself wholly. A race of obscenities slurred out of his mouth.

"P-Please (F/N)... Can you come down a little lower for me? I need you... Need you wrapped around me..."

"Mm... I'll think about it." You laughed darkly as Link strained harder to fill you up with his cock. Eventually, his breathing became haggard and you felt his heart thunder in his chest. He threw his head back and chanted your name like something holy. Your lips left bluish welts all over his alabaster skin and you pulled away, admiring your masterpiece.

"So pretty... All right, I'll give you what you want..." You began lowering your hips--barely at first--while Link sang your praises, feeling the lower half of his dick be squeezed by your tight, wet walls.

"You fill me up so well, baby..." You rolled your hips faster, faster, faster. "Fuck, you're so big...!"

Link's abs suddenly crunched up and you yelped, slipping into his lap. Rough hands pulled you off him and spun your body round, faceplanting you into the soft sheets. He scuttled you closer and poised your ass in the air, taking a moment or two to appreciate your hole pulsating with want. His torso dipped into the arch of your back, sending hot breaths up your spine and into your ear.

"It's been fun, but..." He licked the sensitive spot under your ear, melting into your moans. "I'm gonna make you mine now, okay?"

Two fingers curled into your needy hole and thrusted at mind-numbing speeds. You screamed into the fabric bunched at the foot of your bed, fists balling uselessly in response to his merciless onslaught. As if your mind wasn't wrecked with enough pleasure, another hand snaked around your waist and dipped down your pelvis, kneading your swollen clit. The simple motion almost got you coming undone by his fingers.

"I'm gonna make you regret teasing me for so long." He hissed, his sexual frustrations turning into something sadistic.

As quickly as they entered you, his fingers pulled out and rubbed your slick all over his throbbing cock. He pained to feel your tightness vice around him, but Link was a patient man.

"You're such a tease, you know that? Gods, look at you... You're making a mess of our sheets." He hummed, rubbing his twitching head along your folds. "Whatever will you do to make up for this?"

"A-Anything!" The word flew out of your mouth before you could catch yourself. "Just please--please fuck me already!"

He chuckled evilly, prodding your entrance deeper. A whine wrenched from your throat and you tried pushing your cunt against him, but you were kept firmly in place with his hands.

"Begging's a good look on you, darling," He sang sweetly. "(F/N), you're gorgeous... Spread out so beautifully for me..."

Whispers laced with obscene praises overtook your senses as you felt your husband slowly fill you up, making sure you felt every sweet inch seep into your core. No words could explain the unholy heat that spread from your core to your fingers, tingling them with mind-rocking sensations. You felt his pelvis against your ass and you both let out a pent-up sigh.

Not a moment later, his hips snapped to life and you were completely at the mercy of the Hero's thrusts. Your breasts spilled into his hands, a wave of soft flesh lapping the other side of his palm with every forceful thrust. The other hand reached for your abused folds and rubbed your clit, each swirl more feral than the last.

"So good... So good for me... Your body was made for me..."

You were sobbing at this point. Shaking. Screaming. All for your beloved Link. He fucked every sense of coherency from your mind, filling your brain and cunt with nothing but him. He straightened his back and burrowed his fingers into your hips, admiring the little crescents his nails left behind. The air behind you stirred and the burn of a slap seared into your bouncing cheeks, lodging a pained whine in your throat. He rubbed the swollen handmark, loving the red that grew to settle on your skin and traced your relatively unmarked back that was practically begging to be marked by him.

He started with gentle kisses and tonguing here and there, gauging your expression (or moans) for discomfort. A high-pitched mewl acted as permission for him to continue. He followed the natural curve of your spine, teething the soft flesh and suckling so contently. He initially took his sweet time marking you, but the thought of his bruises painting your skin spurred him faster, rougher.

He bit the back of your shoulder and dragged teeth and tongue to your neck, his home. You felt him breath deeply, no doubt getting drunk off your scent and the smell of sex that clung to the air. You suddenly felt a hand burrow into your disheveled, sweaty hair and he pulled you up, pressing your body flush against his. The modified position allowed him to reach even deeper and at speeds he hadn't gone before.

Digits wrapped about your chin and neck, prying them sideways to make way for even more hickeys. Each mark still wrought your skin with a heat you could never get used to, no matter how many times he claimed you. Moist lips covered the shell of your ear as a husky whisper wormed through your thoughts.

"My cute lil' wife... You're taking me so well. Making me feel so good... Do you feel good too? Are you drunk off my cock yet?"

Some messy confirmation stammered out of you as lidded (E/C) met hooded cerulean. The imperceptible knot in your gut began tangling itself into tight ribbons. You were getting close.

He pulled you into a messy kiss raptured with delight, losing any form of standard structure as tongues met and coiled around the other in an intoxicating dance. You were no longer yourself, turned into a mere plaything by your loving, adoring husband. He chuckled at the dazed look in your eyes, nuzzling into your cheek.

"I love you so, so much..." His hand on your clit moved faster and faster. "Come for me, okay? Can you do that for me, my queen?"

The all-too-familiar tension grew and grew in your lower abdomen; your head lolled downward, bopping your nose clumsily against Link's. Your hand wandered to the top of his sopping-wet fingers while the other snaked around his neck. He balanced your forehead against his and locked adoring eyes with you.

"Don't look away... Look at me. I want to see your slutty face as you come..."

His velvety purr was the last push you needed to fall the over edge and into the sweet, white abyss. A scream you didn't recognize sang into his ears as you poured your juices all over his hand, your cunt shaking from the magnitude of release. The delightful twitches shot him over the edge and his eyes fluttered shut, pure unfiltered bliss kissing his features as he brimmed you with his seed.

All the strength in the Hero's legs sapped, you both fell backwards into the plush sheets, sweat and slick binding your limbs into a messy pile. Spent exhales intermitted with each other and neither of you moved, locked in warm, satisfied catatonia.

"I've never..." He breathed out with much effort, "Came so hard... In my life..."

"I think I... saw the gods." Exhausted laughs spilled from the both of you and you felt his loving gaze. You looked over at him as he tucked your sweaty locks behind your ear.

"Makes sense. You're absolutely divine, after all."

A weak slap to his bicep and a chortle.

"Must you tease me?"

"It's not teasing if it's the truth." He rubbed into your neck and sighed, feeling the post-orgasm sleepiness weigh his eyelids; your consciousness was already waist-deep into slumber. In the moments leading up to what would undoubtedly be the best sleep of your lives, he drew you closer and treated your ear with a low, tired whisper.

"I love you, (F/N)... Thank you for being mine."

#link #link x you #link x reader #link x reader smut #loz link #loz link smut #loz link x reader #link legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #loz smut #legend of zelda smut

[brownskinlemon]

Adore (D.F.)

summary: REQUEST (could u possibly do a story of dom calming y/n down after some like degrading disgusting sex bc he can tell it was a lot for her and have him be all soft and sweet. thank u gorl i love u)

warnings: dom! dominic fike x fem! reader, degrading, daddy kink, overstimulation, angst, fluff

word count: 907

authors note: thank you hun, muah! Thank you guys for your patience and kind words, such a great community. Here's one on the shorter side for my lovely requester <3

It had been a rougher week for you and your boyfriend Dominic. It seemed like at a moment’s notice you two were once again bickering over something small and insignificant. 

The dishes not being done: argument. 

A lost sock in the house: argument.  

Dinner being late: argument.

By the end of the week, you had been exhausted and worried that this bickering would truly never end. It reached its peak when he breathed “too loudly” for your comfort while getting ready for bed, causing you the most explosive argument yet.

Now, here you were, pinned between him and the edge of the bed, no urge in you to argue, your brain trying to form thoughts and failing miserably. Dom had milked 3 orgasms out of you driven by pure spite. Time blended together as his hips grinded into the second hour, knees hoisted up near your ears as he drove into you over and over, hitting the deepest spots inside of you. 

His hand gripped around your throat firmly, the other hand circling your bundle of nerves that was far beyond the point of overstimulation. Hickies galore decorated your body, along with some markings around your thighs from how he gripped onto you earlier while devouring you until you were a pitiful, begging mess. You both were covered in a sheen of sweat, bodies grappling onto each other like your lives depended on it.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Hm?” His thrusted not faltering as he began to tease you, eyes not leaving your flushed face. “You had so much to say all fucking week.” He hissed at you. 

He suddenly grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes that had rolled back to meet his. “Say it or I pull out right now.” The threat of him leaving you empty was all too real and too terrifying. 

“Dom I-” You stammered, being interrupted by your own whines. “Please I need-please-”

“Please who?” He taunted.

“Please daddy. I’m sorry.” Your voice betrayed you as it shook with every thrust deep within you. “ Please please-” 

“Be a good girl and let it go for me. Give it all to me.” He continued to talk you through the waves of pleasure wracking your whole body for the fourth time that night. He relished in the way you became a babbling mess of his name and pitiful pleads leaving your mouth. Your nails dug into his tanned biceps as he soon became undone with you, unable to hold off as you clenched desperately around him. 

He gently pulled out of you, careful not to throw your body into more sensitivity shock than it already was. Dominic’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in your shaking frame, watching how hard your chest heaved with small whines and your body shook. He leaned over you, gently trying to get your lulling eyes to look at him.

“Hey angel, look at me.” He cooed gently, cupping your face with his palm. You tried to find your grounding, forcing your eyes that wanted to close so badly to peer up at his brown puppy eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Concern laced his voice. You nodded gently, causing him to release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stalked off quietly to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” 

As he spread your legs to gently clean you off, you whined at the sensitivity. “Sorry baby. I know how sensitive you are right now. But you did such a good job for me, took it so well. ” He cooed, eyes switching between cleaning you up and your fucked out face. After throwing the towel in the hamper, he crawled back into bed with you covering you both in the blanket, silence blanketing the dark room. 

“Dom.” You finally broke your silence gently, causing his head to snap to yours.

“Yes angel.” 

“I thought…” You began to get teary eyed.

“Woah woah, did I hurt you? I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to, where does it-” He shot up, eyes scanning over your body and eyes blown wide from fear.

“Dom. You didn’t, I’m okay, great actually. I was just…scared this week. Scared that we were doomed or something.” He settled back down, biting down on his bottom lip as he took in your words.

“I was too. We’ve never been the bickering type and I just- I don’t know. You know I’m not good with emotions, but I do wanna say I’m sorry. My attention has been on work and I didn't mean to make you feel abandoned.” He confessed.

You didn’t notice the tear falling down your cheek till his tattooed hand gently reached out to wipe it for you. His eyes were filled with adoration as he brought you in closer to him, kissing your forehead gently.

“I love you Dom.”

‘I love you more angel. Get some rest now okay? We can always talk more in the morning. I think I accidentally turned your body and brain to mush.” He kissed your nose, causing you to giggle. 

“Mush is the perfect word I’d use.” You replied, falling asleep in his arms.

He looked down at your sleeping frame, smiling to himself at how the furrow in your brow from overthinking and stress had finally settled as you were fully relaxed. His eyes trailed across your features, soaking up the way you couldn’t shy away from his gaze in this moment, free for him to adore you as he always had.

#dominic fike #dominic fike smut #dominic fike x reader #dom fike #y/n

[amourcheol]

angel (or devil)

❝Because the devil, too, was once an angel.❞

one night stand! au | smut | 4.2k words

s u m m a r y : when your friends drag you to a nightclub, all you want to do is run away. that is when a boy with light, silvery curls and a hypnotic smile offers an escape, and you think you have found your angel in disguise. his intentions with you, though, are anything but saintly.

c o n t e n t : this is literally just filth nothing else, seungcheol has silver hair, he is in that exact fuck ass white outfit from that concert (you know which one), too many angel and devil references, seungcheol is an arrogant ass, reader is low-key a brat, dirty talk galore, fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid like these mfs), lowkey choking kink, eventual orgasming, cheol has a big cock (everybody act surprised)

p l a y l i s t : angel by the weeknd || acquainted by the weeknd

a u t h o r ‘ s  n o t e : i wrote this in one sitting my god this is so unedited.... thank u to alice for believing i could write pwp thank u to the weeknd for his horny ass songs and fuck you 230709 cheol this is what you’ve made me... i literally have no words.... so sleep deprived... anyway pls do enjoy the horny musings and thank u for reading </3

YOU HAD NEVER BELIEVED IN THE EXISTENCE OF ANGELS.

You had always considered it religious fanatics, glorified myths to lure the naive populations to believe in things that would harm them in the future. The idea of angels to you was sweet, but unsatisfactory, a religious relic that should have stayed in history. 

Angels were a myth long dismissed until you saw the boy with the silver curls.

It was meant to be a forgettable night. You were dragged by your friends to some downtown club, urging you to get out of your apartment for once in your life. Never did you think you would find anything worth entertaining you as you scanned your surroundings, your friends already occupying themselves with the bar, leaving you at the seats next to all the dancing.

You distinctly remember trying to plan your escape route when you saw him.

Leaning along the bar surface, club lights flashing all over him and his friends’ bodies—but you did not care about his friends, because he was there, solitary in your eyes, as if he appeared out of the pages of a religious text. The darkness of the vast room could not devour the white attire he had donned; a simple white shirt was tucked into trousers of the same colour, the fabric tightening upon his chest with every shift of his shoulders. His cream-coloured boots tapped against the thundering beat of the music, chuckling at some distant joke his friends were reciting. 

You blinked back, not quite sure whether what you were witnessing was fatal attraction or the consequences of too much drink. Because you only had one cocktail, you knew your eyes were not deceiving you.

But then his gaze slid to you, catching you red-handed.

His lips morphed into a smirk, and maybe you were dreaming. 

Your dream was confirmed to be a full truth when he whispered something to his friends, and began walking over to you, a bottle in hand.

Had the club not been so loud, you were certain he would have heard your heart beating out of your chest. “You really need to work on your checking out skills,” was the first thing he ever said to you, and you blamed the heat of too many people when your cheeks burned.

You could not help it—angels were meant to be too beautiful not to stare.

“Are you gonna tell me your name, or are you only gonna acknowledge me when I’m halfway across the club?”

The angel seemed to have a mouth on him. Just your luck. “How about you tell me yours first?” you asked, sipping your cocktail.

A click of his tongue. “You’re the one who stared.”

A narrow of your eyes. “You’re the one who came.”

The boy snorted, running his hands through his hair—you wondered what they would feel like underneath your fingertips. “Seungcheol,” he then said, settling down next to you. 

“Seungcheol,” you repeated, trying out the syllables on your tongue. So the angel had a pretty name.

He raised a groomed brow at you. “This is when you tell me yours.”

Another sip of your cocktail. “Never said I would.”

This time he chuckled, a sound that resided nicely in your ears. “I guess I’ll have to be happy enough with you ogling at me from afar.”

“I was not!” you lied shamelessly.

“You were.”

“I wasn’t!”

But he knew you were lying because he pinned an incredulous stare upon you, laced with something undecipherable. “You were, sweetheart.”

Fuck. As you took the last sip of your drink, you said, “_____.”

The victorious grin he offered you had your stomach fluttering. “There we go.”

It was at that particular moment, when you both stared at each other a little too long, that this smart-ass, angel-like boy would be your escape. 

Of course, he did not possess wings, but he replaced the skill of flight with the skill of flirtation, which was working too well on you. By the next hour the two of you were joined at the hip, your friends forgotten as the two of you took your conversations to the dance floor. 

If his art of conversation was not already exquisite, the way his body moved along to the music was something else entirely. The people around you noticed the clear attraction, simpering off the two of you, more so when this Seungcheol’s hands skirted along your figure, resting upon your hips as he led you to the heavy beat. You found yourself welcoming his touches, a notion you found absolutely shocking, seeing as this was the first time you had seen him. 

As the night began to age, the two of you became all the more courageous with your casual touches. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. You wondered whether he felt the same when he confirmed your suspicions with whispers in your ear. 

“You’re too beautiful to keep you in the club lights,” he said to you that night, a hand on your back as he walked with you to the entrance. “Let me take you somewhere else.”

“And where would that somewhere be?” you asked him, hoping he would answer what you had in mind.

“How does my apartment sound?” 

He truly was an angel—just a horny one at that.

How fortunate that you shared his sentiments.

“That sounds perfect.”

The smile that morphed his cherry lips had your insides singing, as he took your hand in his and led you out of the club.

The journey to his car was only a few minutes, but the way back to his place felt like forever—there was an unspoken arrangement now, the two of you acutely aware of what was going to happen. It made you lock and unlock your hands in your lap; for Seungcheol, it had him drumming his fingers against the car wheel, bouncing his leg in anticipation.

But then his complex was in view, and you could barely keep your head from spiralling as he parked his car, almost flying out of his seat. The tension had been built up to an uncomfortable extent, neither one making the first move until his home was in reach.

The moment he spotted his apartment, though, his greed took the reins of his entire body.

Grabbing hold of your waist, he pushed you against the door, relishing the way your eyes widened at the sudden impact. 

When you noticed his fingers begin to wander, you got out, heart in your throat, “What happened to going inside?”

He leaned in, and his lips brushed against your cheeks, finding solace in your ear. “Do you want to wait that long, sweetheart?” 

His breath on your skin could have set you on fire. You tried to speak, but your delays only had him insisting, “Answer me.”

One more graze of his mouth against your jaw, and you had had enough. 

“I can’t wait anymore.”

Pulling away, but only enough to look you in the eye, the curve of his mouth had your nerves in a frenzy.

“Didn’t think so.”

And with that, he swooped in, colliding his lips against yours. 

Instantly, like second nature you melted into him, wrapping your arms around him as he kissed you like a boy parched, your lips being his only source of sustenance. Harmoniously your lips moved together, no doubt aching to be connected the moment you both saw each other at that nightclub. His one hand like iron upon your waist, the other travelled to your jaw, holding your face in his fingers. 

Angling your face, he deepened the kiss, boosting the pleasure for you, and he revelled in your hums against him, desire radiating off your urgent hands gripping onto his tight white shirt. You were so compliant, so good for him, even as he broke the seam of your lips with his tongue, an invitation for more. 

How could you refuse an angel when he offered gifts?

You opened your mouth, and his tongue slithered inside, warm against your own. You swirled it with his, and his panting had you becoming more urgent, fisting the fabric of his shirt, snuffing out any distance that should keep you from him.

You needed him here—you needed him now.

“Seungche—” you tried, breaking away from his mouth, a sacrifice you had to make to reap a greater reward, but then his mouth planted on the corner of your lips. He trailed down, pressing open-mouthed kisses upon your throat, and a soft whine escaped you—at this rate, your fists were going to rip his shirt off.

The very thought had your insides chanting in excitement.

“Seungcheol—!” you rasped out when he took a liking to a particular spot between your neck and shoulder. “Wait, we need to go inside—!”

He mumbled against your skin, teeth grazing upon your collarbone. With great strength he released you from his hold, but only for a minute as his hands scrambled in his back pocket for the keys. 

Fishing them out, the dolt nearly dropped them, but how could he help himself? Could he be stable now, when all his thoughts were rooted around you—your spit-slick lips, your fingers on his shirt, your eyes darting between his shaking hands, and his ravenous gaze?

He jabbed the keys inside the lock, twisting and turning till the door unlocked, and he thanked every deity in the universe when the door flipped open. Wasting no more time, his hands caged you again, and this moment, when he swooped down to capture your lips again, he was having no more distractions. 

You stumbled back against him, his boot kicking the door shut as he pinned you against the wall of the hallway, the lights automatically sparking to life in your presence. His mouth was upon you once more, snatching the very breath from you as his hands crept to the buttons of your skirt. 

As his mouth distracted you, eliciting the sweetest whimpers from your throat, he unravelled each button—one soft tug, and the useless garment fell to the floor. He broke away from you, catching the sight of your black underwear, laced at the edges, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind. 

A shuddered fuck escaped his glistening mouth as his palm slid down the lace, your eyes widening when he found the fabric wet beneath his fingertips. His curse was louder this time.

You watched him ogle at your soaked panties, heartbeat pumping in your ears from the sheer sensation.

You wondered whether the angel you had met in the club was truly as saintly as you had imagined.

When Seungcheol began to move his fingers upon the dripping fabric, you knew you had made up your mind. 

A string of groans slipped out from you as he sensed your clit underneath, a phantom smile parting his mouth. “You like that?” he asked you, sweet as an angel, sweet as heaven when his fingers were doing the devil’s work. When you nodded hurriedly at him, shuddering out your breathing, he tutted at you, fingers slowing. “No, no, baby, I need you to say it.”

“Y-yeah, yes,” you could only get out, the only words in the English language that you could comprehend because then his pace increased, and you shut yourself up completely, hanging onto his shoulders. “Feels s-so good.”

“Hmm…” He circled your bundle of nerves, you tensing with each perfect movement—your hips constricted against his touch, feeling your release on its way should he continue. He fastened his slender fingers, and your legs nearly buckled as that impending feeling crept closer, threatening to crumble around him.

He could feel it coming, you supposed, with the way your eyes dazed out, mouth going slack. “You’re close, are you?” he got out, his free hand pinning your enthusiastic hips to the wall. “God, so excited to cum on my fingers?”

You tried to answer him with good, sane, words, because that’s how you reply to a boy when he asks you a question—but this was no man, and these were not good, sane words he offered you. From his baritone you could tell he was taunting you, something you should have known the moment you had your first conversation with him.

His torment only brought you closer to your ruination.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he whispered to you, voice grating. “Do you want to cum or not?”

But your mind was a fog, and the only clear thing in sight was his fingers, moving so fast, so perfectly around your clothed clit that you could not respond to his fated question. You could only whimper out unintelligible words, voice heightening to the clouds. 

That did not suit him at all.

“Is that how you wanna play this?” he muttered as he leaned into you, his harsh, uneven breath fanning your ear. “Just wanna do whatever you want?”

God, you were so fucking close. You could almost taste it, sense the mind-fuck that was about to crash—

You could have screamed the lights off when you felt him repel his fingers. 

Your mouth gaped open, legs shaking as it awaited your orgasm, only for the feeling to slowly fade, as if the boy had never even touched you. “Wh-what the…” Now, with your senses enlivening, you could deign to speak—or rather curse his existence. “What the fuck?!”

“Oh, so you can talk now?” He rubbed his fingers with his thumb, eyeing the wetness that glistened.

You would have glared at him if the sight of him playing with your arousal did not send a bonfire alight in your core. So you only watched him and the pads of his fingers, rasping out, “You can shut me up again…if that’s what you want.”

The way Seungcheol’s gaze burned could have had you collapsing to the floor. “Fuck,” he could only say to that, his hands upon your sides again. They played at the hem of your shirt, tugging it upwards. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“Why?” you asked him, barely a whisper, slowly raising your hands.

When he began to pull your shirt upwards, you let him take it off, sending it on the floor. The matching bra, laced to perfection, had him almost speechless. His hands found solace at your sides, just underneath the strap. “Because I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Instinctively your tongue slid along your bottom lip, feeling the slight swell, courtesy of his truly. “Did I…did I tell you to stop?”

He parted his mouth. 

Oh, he was going to ruin you tonight. 

If you had any clinging ideas of his angelic qualities, they were completely snuffed out from this point onwards. 

He kissed you with a bone-crushing intensity, hands trailing down your thighs as he lifted you up. He did not give you a moment of surprise, drowning out your yelps with the harsh movements of his lips as he led you to the bedroom, a journey he had memorised with his eyes closed. 

He kicked his boots off as he laid you down on the bed, you watching as he took his shirt off, his silver chain resting along his collarbone. You were shameless as you admired his physique, muscles rippling off his tight abdomen, trailing down to the real treasure, cut off from the band of his white jeans. His silver hair glittered in the lamplight of his room, you not caring about the details when the boy who inhabited it had his eyes on you.

His stare had goosebumps rippling all over your skin. When he noticed, a smirk rose upon his dark, cherry mouth. That smirk remained as, with his stare pinned on you, he unbuttoned his trousers, peeling it off his legs, and the thighs that were exposed could have struck you dumb. You had half a mind to merely focus on them alone, but when your gaze short-circuited on his Calvins, the package that welcomed you had your mouth watering.

Your blatant staring had a low chuckle brushing from his lips. “Done checking me out?” he teased, stepping closer as he entered the bed, climbing atop you. His chain dangled just above you, his fingers finding their familiar dwelling along your hips. “Looking at my cock would be enough, wouldn’t it?”

You decided to be brave. “Not anymore,” you said, your hand reaching the waistband of his underwear. “I need…need your cock inside me.”

“God,” he voiced out, finger hooking upon the straps of your panties. “Such a pretty face, but such a dirty mouth.” He brought the strap down, you then easing them off. The sight of your cunt in front of him had his eyes going heavy-lidded. “And such a…fuck.”

“Your turn,” you murmured, tugging down at his boxers. His cock sprang free in result, and your eyes nearly bugged out of your sockets. 

His laugh was a seductive melody in your ears. “Don’t hate me later when I turn cocky.”

“Let’s see if you know how to use it,” you bit back, hips aching to lift themselves up.

The carnal look on his face could have made you cum right there and then. With ease he spread your legs apart, one hand on his cock as he directed the head between your folds. He was the biggest fucking asshole, teasing you as he carressed the edges of your cunt, panted breaths leaving you with every phantom touch.

“Hurry up,” you seethed out, aching to buck your hips upward had his other hand not pinned you down. 

“So needy for me, already?” he jeered, sliding his cock ever so slightly within you. The seam of your lips broke open at the sensation, barely in but already beginning to stretch you out. “What’re you gonna do when I’m fully inside you?”

“P-probably nothing,” you gasped out, needing to push him to the limit—a comment like this, and he was sure to pound you into the bed. 

You thanked the deity that made Seungcheol when his eyes darkened.

“Nothing, huh?”

With one last tease of his head, he decided to prove you wrong.

He slid his cock past your folds, and you had to dig your nails into his shoulders to not shatter beneath him. Fuck, he was so big, it should have been impossible for you to accept a challenge as substantial as he possessed. Thankfully, he was still languid in his journey, slowly easing it in to help you adjust. He seethed through his teeth at the semblance of your cunt, pulsating around him, delighting at the way your brows knitted together at the sensation.

Once he bottomed out in you, he looked at you, waiting for your approval to continue. 

You nodded, but decided to vocalise it. “I-I’m good,” you whispered, holding onto him. “Just…don’t stop, okay?”

The devilish quirk of his lips, silver hair curling over his beautiful features, had you unable to breathe.

“Great minds, sweetheart.”

With that, glancing at where he connected into you, he began to pull out. 

Although he was slow, languid, gentle in the beginning, the mere action of his cock sliding out brought unspeakable amounts of pleasure radiating off your skin. There were many you had spent nights with, who, even when they were finishing off within you, could not bring you even an atom of satisfaction. This boy before you, over you, with one simple action, had driven you to the barriers of your sanity. 

One more push, and you would be thrown into the abyss of madness. 

The ring on his pinky was warmer against your skin, skimming past your hips as his head welcomed back the edges of your cunt, Seungcheol razor-focused on his movements. With every glance towards you, though, he seemed to lose his sharp edge, jaw slacking at the way your whines tumbled off your tongue, unable to restrain them. To bring you to that state, where you could not even control yourself…

The man, too, indulged himself when he slipped his cock back into you again.

He was a little faster this time, but you could have praised him till eternity for the change of pace as you arched your back against him. His hands began to wander, fingers sliding beneath your arch to unclip your bra, tossing it to the floor. He hummed in ecstasy at the sight of your breasts, and he wasted no time pressing his lips against your nipple. The swirl of his tongue along the peak had you mewling, carding your hands through his silver locks, pulling every so slightly with every sloppy touch of his mouth.

Soon, though, he quickened his pace, feeling his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, his throat as he relished the sounds that came from your mouth, louder with his every thrust into you. God, he did not know what specifically it was about you, but never before had he tasted the lust that resided in the room, satisfied himself in the heightened moans that elicited from you.

He watched you, desire curling in his hands as they slithered up your chest, fingers resting on your neck. “So loud, now, huh?” he taunted, his chain rocking back and forth with his movements. “Said you were gonna do nothing…look at you now.”

You could have whined out your tears with his torment, but the blood pumping at your core exposed another tale entirely. You could only answer with your panting, louder the more pressure between your hips grew. 

“Not gonna…ah, answer me are you?” His fingers curled around your neck. “Just gonna pant at me?”

Because you were in the same situation before, when his hands were doing the work, you did not answer him, only offering him trembling breaths. When his fingers exerted a little pressure on you, you felt that very oxygen decrease, panting muting out to shivering, choked exhales. 

Watching you breathless beneath him had him nearly cumming inside of you. 

But because he was not that selfish, he only indulged in his fantasy for a couple of moments, dipping into the waters of his experiment—apparently, with the way you grinned lazily at him, it seemed a success.

A note for later. 

He replaced his hands with his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses upon your throat for penance as he slammed his cock into you once more. He devoured your moans with his tongue, opening your mouth completely because he could not have enough of your lips, could not indulge enough in rendering you at his mercy.

Tasting your blubbering, he could tell you were nearing your orgasm. “Close, now?” he murmured upon your mouth, and you nodded hurriedly against him, feeling your spit-slick lips graze up and down his own. He smiled.

“Good.”

This time, he was completely, carnally relentless.

His cock worked overtime, moving at lightning speed inside of you. His fingers brought in an earlier prospect, circling your clit, uncovered before him now, and the pleasure you received from so many ends had you relinquishing all sanity. Forget the edges of madness—you were engulfed in lust-stricken hysteria, encouraged by Seungcheol’s antics. 

You were in another world, drifting from normality, his every thrusting driving you further away from everything you were familiar with. You thought that maybe people could die from pleasure, and that it was not such a terrible way to go out, if it meant you could savour the sensation forever.

But of course, these joys never do last forever, even if the one who offered such ecstasy would have laboured forever for you. You, however, had your weaknesses, which came in the form of your blood pumping, so loud in your ears you thought they would explode. 

With one last circle of his fingers against your clit, and you were completely undone.

Your orgasm had you crying out, legs shaking uncontrollably as your walls pulsated around him, gripping onto him so hard you knew his shoulders would bruise. The apparent asshole was extremely gentle as he slowed his ministrations, his own restraint about to snap. With a violent curse he slipped out of you, spilling himself onto the sheets. Some of his release had landed on you, but he did not notice, collapsing beside your recovering figure. 

With the commotion the two of you created, the silence was deeply felt, the only sound now being the harsh breathing you both shared. You stared at the ceiling, a white darker than his hair, blinking back at the events that had occurred since you saw him.

You put your hand on your heart. It still beat a mile a minute.

You had to give it to yourself—that may have been the best fuck you ever had. 

Turning to face the boy who was responsible for it, he too, followed your actions, silver locks matted upon his forehead, sheen with sweat. 

As his heavy-lidded eyes rested on you, he offered a lazy smile—no, a languid smirk. 

As if he knew that he was the best you ever had.

You could have scoffed.

How you thought this boy was an angel was beyond you.

Because as the two of you stared each other down, uncovering one mystery after another, you knew that this was no guardian of the heavens.

No, because tonight, you had most likely slept with the devil.

#seventeen imagines #seungcheol imagines #seventeen smut #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #scoups smut #tags dont mess up <3

[sonamytrash]

Cat and Mouse.

Levi has had enough of your little games.

Warnings: Fem reader, smut galore, a lot of filth, female anatomy described, public sex, sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, dirty talk, name calling, teasing, anal fingering, an@l sex, an@l creampie. Not beta read.

AN: MDNI. I don't know what to say for myself. Read the warnings. Enjoy.

The scent of old books and dust wafted through the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of coffee brewing nearby. The library at the scouting headquarters was usually a peaceful haven, but today, it wasn't. Today you were there.

Levi steps behind you quietly, his usually light footsteps making no sound. He presses his body to yours and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of you. He speaks softly, "You're avoiding me, Why is that?" His hand trailing circles gently at your waist.

"You're such a needy little thing, aren't you?" You teased, pressing against him.

He growled low in his throat, gripping you tightly. "Don't push your luck, sweetheart,"

He presses his hardening erection against you, pinning you to the bookshelf as he breathes you in. One hand slides down over your hip, the other trails up over your breast, cupping it gently before tweaking your nipple through your blouse. He pulls you tighter against him, pressing his lips to your ear.

"I'm not here to play your little game of cat and mouse." He states firmly.

As you felt his fingers slide under your skirt, tracing a path up your thigh, you arch your back, unable to control the response he is getting from your body.

He hikes your skirt up, exposing your plump ass and panties. He can feel the wetness pooled between your legs already, and it only makes him bolder. Running his fingers over the fabric before pulling them aside, exposing your already swollen clit.

"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough with lust "Fucking drenched." You can't see his face but you know there's a smirk painted accross his lips.

His words only served to heighten ypur arousal, and you can't help but grind your hips against his hand, wanting more.

"Mmm Levi...." You hum, closing your eyes, willing yourself to remain steady, trying not to make a sound that would give you away.

The feeling of being so exposed, so vulnerable in this quiet, austere place, only heightened your arousal. You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers dipped lower, teasing your folds.

"And to think," he whispered, "I thought you were the one trying to teach me a lesson."

"A-ah..." you stammered, your voice shaking. "L-Levi, we should..."

He cut you off with a chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck. "We should what, y/n?" His finger teasing your slit, you gasp as your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. "Do you want me to stop?"

You know you should, but you can't find the words to tell him to. Instead, you arch your back further pressing your aching core against his hand. He groans, "Good girl."

He pumps his finger in and out of you, the pace increasing with each stroke before adding a second digit. His fingers move in a rhythm that makes you see stars.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he moved his fingers faster, circling your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He can feel your body trembling against his as you get closer to your release. He leans into your ear, "Cum for me."

You feel a shudder run through your body, and with a cry that was equal parts relief and desperation you cum. He holds you tightly, his fingers never ceasing their motion. Feeling your warm juices flow out of onto his hand. He rubs your clit gently while his fingers continue to thrust inside you, prolonging your orgasm. He can feel your body shuddering against his as you ride out your high, your moans muffled by your hand.

He grinds his hips against yours, his hard cock pulsing with need. "Do you want more? Do you want me to fuck you right here?" he growls into your ear. He awaits your reply, his other hand gripping your hip tightly.

You nod, still desperately trying to control the volume of your voice. Of all the places he could choose to do this, here you are in the library, pressed against a bookshelf with a dripping wet cunt, ready to take your captain's cock.

He pulls your panties down your legs and steps back, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants, glancing around the area to ensure there's nobody nearby.

He pushes them down just enough to release his hard cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He grabs your hips and pulls you back against him. You arch your body obediently for him as he guides himself to your entrance. Without much warning, he plunges inside you, filling you up completely.

He lets out a low growl as he begins to thrust into you. You can feel his hips slamming against your ass with each powerful thrust, your moans now muffled by the books on the shelves as your face is pressed further into your arm and the shelf.

"You like that, don't you, you dirty little slut?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "You like having your captain's cock deep inside your cunt."

Levi pulls you closer to him, his hand gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you harder and faster. He can feel himself getting close to his own release as you tighten around him. He leans in and kisses your neck, one hand moved lower, finding your clit again and rubbing circles around it, relentlessly this time. He groaned as he felt your walls twitch around him in response to the stimulation.

Levi's movements grew more frenzied, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he neared his release. He slammed against you, pushing you harder against the bookshelf, His fingers were now digging painfully into your hips, his lips parted in a silent moan as he thrust harder, faster.

He continues pounding into you until he finally reaches his own orgasm, spilling his hot cum deep inside you.

As your body convulsed, your muscles tensed as your orgasm rippled through you. He quickly brings his hand from your hip to your mouth. You arched your back, moaning into his hand as he silenced your cries. Your nails dug into the brittle wood of the bookshelf, your inner walls gripping him tightly, milking him for every drop of his release.

He nuzzled your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin. You let your eyes drift closed, savouring the feel of him inside, the weight of him on top of you. His hips moved gently, his erection still partly hard, and you could feel him begin to stir again.

Having relinquished the grip he had on your face, his hand trails down to cup your ass, feeling the firm muscles beneath his touch. Your skin was smooth and soft. You could feel the weight of his body as he shifted, slowly pulling out of you. Your body ached with the loss of his presence, but you knew he wouldn't be gone for long. His erection is still hardening against your ass. You press yourself back firmly against him in an effort to encourage him to have his way with you again.

Levi smirks at your exposed and willing body. He leans down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're greedy, aren't you? Begging for more from your captain?" he says, his voice laced with desire.

He uses his fingers to spread the abundance of juices from your pussy onto your tight asshole, gently teasing the sensitive area. "You want it here? You want me to fuck your tight little ass?" he growls into your ear. He slowly slides a finger inside you and you gasp. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Please."

"Mmm, you're so tight back here," he groans, his finger pumping in and out of you. "But don't worry, I'm going to open you up real good" He says, adding a second digit.

He slid his hand away from you, only to return a moment later, his fingers slick with more of your own arousal. He pressed his fingers against your puckered opening again, teasing and stretching you.

"Oh god, yes, Levi." You moaned, your hips bucking against his hand. "More,...please," you whimper.

"Always wanting more." He murmurs, "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He mocked, using your earlier comment against you as you pressed against him. His teasing sending another shiver down your spine as his other hand finds your clit and gently circles the already oversensitive nub again.

"You're going to take all of me,” he growls, his voice low and husky. "You're going to feel every fucking inch of your captain's cock."

You moaned a desperate. "Yes." As he withdraws his fingers from your ass, your body tensed, preparing for the sensation of him filling you. He positions himself behind you, his thick cock pressing against your tight hole. "Relax." He whispers seductively into your ear. With that, he slowly pushes inside you, the stretch causing you to gasp in pleasure and pain.

"That's it, take it all," he groans as he fills you completely, giving you a few seconds to adjust, his hips starting to move in a steady rhythm. Your body was pliant beneath him, accepting his possession, your cries muffled against the crook of your elbow resting against the bookshelf. He felt you tightening around him, your muscles contracting in rhythm with his thrusts and expert assault on your clit, the sensation was exquisite and he couldn't help but speed up, his hips moving faster and faster, driving deeper into you.

You arched your back, meeting each thrust with a moan. Your ass was a tight, perfect grip on his cock, milking him with each stroke. He could feel the impending climax building inside him.

"You're such a dirty little whore, craving your captain's cock in your ass, in the library of all places." He groans, "But fuck, it turns me on." his grip tightening on your ass cheek. "You make me so fucking hard." He hisses, his cock pistoning in and out of your ass. Your nails dug into the wood again, leaving long, jagged scratches against the old furniture as you struggled to maintain your balance.

Your body quivered, your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. He felt it too, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more urgent. His breath hot against your neck.

You gasped as your third orgasm consumed you, your body shuddering violently. He growled, his hips moving even faster as he felt your inner muscles of your pussy clench around nothing as the muscles in your ass clench against the invasion of his cock. His own orgasm was close, and as you cried out in pleasure, albeit muffled. He felt the hot rush of release as he emptied himself into your ass. His cock pulsing with each spurt of come as your muscles milked him. He let out a loud and audible "Fuck."

He collapsed against you, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you, his breath ragged as he tried to steady it.

Your body hummed with pleasure, every nerve ending tingling from the exquisite sensations that still coursed through you, you would have slumped to the ground had he not been supporting your exhausted body.

Suddenly, as your senses returned to normal, you remembered where you were. You both become aware of the sounds around you. The soft rustle of papers, the ticking of a clock on the wall. The bookshelf you have been using as a prop loomed over you, newfound marks, and splinters in the wood of the probably antique item.

Oh, if walls could talk.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x y/n #levi smut #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #aot smut #fanfiction smut

[tfatwsiguess]

Midnight Present

Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

NSFW

Prompt: Bucky wakes you up with some unprompted attention, and won’t let you go back to sleep until you’ve paid your dues.

Warnings: Overstimulation galore, fingering & oral female receiving, begging, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, somnophilia, brief choking, pet names

My first published smut. Never thought I’d post any because it’s just not my style and honestly I’ve preferred to just write it for myself, but idk I think this is kind of good and while I’m in between chapters for I’m Glad I Met You I should probably still post to be relevant 🙃 I really just wrote this for myself so it’s not plot heavy or detailed or anything but aye it’ll do

★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰

You woke up with a shudder. The slow rhythmic movement between your legs eased you out of deep sleep. The sensations pushing through your exhausted haze racked your unsuspecting body with another shiver.

Bucky had a strong hold around you; his smooth vibranium arm tight around your stomach, gripping your hip, and his other snaking under your side and into your pajama shorts. Your back was pressed against his front– not the position you fell asleep in, but how you were inexplicably positioned now. His strong arms kept you close against him as his fingers were slowly, but firmly, massaging your clit.

Your hips began wiggling, stuttering at the sudden processing of stimulation.

At seeing you were finally waking, Bucky’s left arm stretched and gripped you tighter. You whimpered, both out of grogginess and stimulation pulling you from sleep. “Bucky…” you whispered.

“Shhh,” he coaxed softly into your ear. It sent shivers down your spine, and he loved the feeling of your body tremor. “Stay quiet, kitten.” His voice soothed with his chin perched right up on your shoulder, leaving you no personal space of your own.

It was still the middle of the night. Everyone in the compound should definitely be asleep by now, but the quietness still didn’t help, and he knew you were louder when you weren’t in as much control of yourself. He was gonna have some fun with that.

Bucky’s fingers pick up in pace, and your breath hitches. Still never completely awake, your head arches back in helplessness as he teases you up onto the edge. Your hand found his left arm weakly, subconsciously attempting to pull it away. “Nuh uh, baby. Be a good girl for me.” His arm easily slipped out of your hand and grabbed your wrist, the other applying much more pressure to your tenderized clit as punishment.

You let out a high-pitched whine in your foggy stupor. As his rubbing hardened mercilessly, your hips and back moved more, cowering away from his hand. But his bigger body surrounded yours, and he follows you easily to your hiding place. Another voice-cracking whine, paired with a jolt of your hips had him smirking satisfiedly. Your struggle was adorable, and he just couldn’t get enough of you defenselessly whining through his teasing.

Your head began moving side to side, overrun with unchecked pleasure. Buck shoved his hand tighter into your core, deciding to up the tension. You had nowhere to go, no room to struggle against his torture, so when your squirming became more persistent, he doubled down. He knew where your sweet spot was and abused it with no shame, rubbing and pushing harshly. Your breaths became high pitched as the ball of tension coiled further in your core. Faster and faster he pushes you past your limit, still restraining your wrist and pinning your hips tight against him. Your desperate, breathy moans came faster now, feeling his entire toned body holding you still until he allowed otherwise. With your mind shut off, reflexes dulled, and pussy sensitized, all the sudden sensory overload expedited your climax flawlessly. Just what Buck was expecting.

“Such a sensitive girl,” he chuckled darkly.

His voice in your ear was almost enough to put you over the edge while his fingers were still working you over. A guttural moan came from your throat, like a beautiful song just for him.

He wanted more of that. And he wasn’t gonna stop until you were wailing. Until you were left a mumbling mewling mess all strung out just for him. Silly putty in his hands to do with as he pleased, and nothing less.

He narrowed his quick rubbing directly onto your clit, speeding in tight circles that had you going slack jawed in seconds. “Ah!” You cried incredulously. Even as your hips protested again, he didn’t let up. He didn’t stop as you were crying out, allowing no break as you clearly entered your high either.

His flesh hand kept up it’s evil pace as his free one reached up and pressed against your mouth firmly, effectively muffling your pretty little self. He didn’t have to be as gruff as he was, but he wanted you in a puddle by the end of this. And even muffled by his strong hand, you sounded like you were being destroyed.

He absolutely loved forcing you to be vocal. To be so reactive he knew just when you were needing to come down. That didn’t mean he’d let you. Instead, he kept up his circling strokes through your whimpers.

“Buck–“ you cut off to let out a whine, “Bucky!” You cried at his cruelty, struggling now more than you ever had. Your body writhed and thrashed against him, but was still easily kept under his control. His fingers parted slightly over your mouth to let you helplessly cry his name. “Bucky please–“ you could barley get out.

“You want me to stop touching you?” He huskily breathes out, fingers still circling lazily.

“Mhm!” You moaned quickly, eyes screwed shut.

“Beg me.”

“Please, I can’t…” you breathed out, nearly unable to remember words anymore.

“Mhm?”

“B-Bucky please I just– nngh! I just came, j-just let me– ah!” His laugh at your impossible struggle made you feel even more powerless. Especially with his front seat view to your dirty pleas as you try to fight through him increasing the pressure again. “Nng! I can’t! Bucky, you– agh! Fuck. Pleeeease!”

“Alright, baby.” The hair of his stubble moved when his lips stretched with an amused smile. “Come for me, now.”

And that did the trick. Your second wave of pleasure and serotonin summoned forth with one last heavenly pressure pushed down on your hot core. “Nuh! OoooohgodBucky!”

His other hand reached up and nudged your face towards his, consuming you in a kiss through your second earth-shattering climax. His hand stayed perched on your bundle of nerves, not rubbing, but keeping the pressure there as he saw you through the wave. He didn’t part his lips from yours until your whines died down, pulling back slowly.

It took a while for you to catch your breath. You knew super soldiers were efficient, but to reach pure pleasure twice in just a matter of minutes was indescribable…

His beautiful hand left from between your legs, leaving you be. If you weren’t before, you were worn out now.

That didn’t stop him from slipping down to place his face to your hips. In nanoseconds your core was exposed to him, vulnerable to his desires. You shivered, feeling his breath gracing you down there. He wasted no more time, gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. He couldn’t care less if you came all the way down yet or not. That heavenly mouth of his opened wide and perched right on your abused area. A gasp was ripped from your throat when a fiery warmth engulfed you.

“Damn it, Bucky!” You groaned breathlessly.

He chuckled against you, making your back arch from the instantaneous vibrations. His suctioning mouth pulled back, releasing your soft skin.

“Just one more, princess,” he cooed between sloppy kisses. “You can give me one more.”

“Hhhhn you’re killing meeee.” You twist pointlessly, under the false impression you were able to move freely as you begged him once again, until the super soldier gripped your thighs harshly and pulled you back into his awaiting mouth. He took pleasure in ignoring your helpless pleas for a good long while. Especially when he knew you knew there was no amount of begging that would make him stop.

“Oh god– please…” you let out breathlessly as his warm, firm muscle shot out to slowly lap itself up against your precious bud.

Still half asleep, so tired and eyes still screwed shut, your hips twitched desperately; caught between pushing closer to him and getting free. But he left no choice as his head followed your every move, permanently perched around the oasis between your thighs. Those godly hands of his rubbed up your sides lovingly, stroking and squeezing occasionally while that mouth worked you over. You mewl defenselessly, only further fueling his devilish desire.

The delirium mixed with this euphoria was heavenly as he mercilessly teased you– and more overwhelming than you’d ever felt. His sweet spot for you, perfectly balanced. He nibbled your clit playfully, tongue making a reappearance right after to fully lick up between your folds.

The audible shudder that got him made his mouth stretch so wide, and his big soft hands immediately came down to grip those thighs of yours in triumph. With every clench of your sensitive muscle, he returned it with a rub or a lick or nip until he finally pulled another cry from your lips.

“Fuck. Yes…” You sighed, torturous overstimulation finally waning into bigger bursts of intense pleasure.

“Mmm. Mine.” He grunts in response, intensifying his tongue in and around your hot core.

“Oh god yes.” Your voice was becoming high pitched again, mouth hanging open. “Mmmm so good… My Bucky…”

That’s it babygirl, let go.

He thought as his eyes pierced you, but didn’t dare separate or stop to say it.

“Ugh, yes! Don’t stop!”

Once you really started letting your voice out, one hand of his snaked its way up around your neck, and squeezed. “Quiet.”

That was all he needed to say, and you knew what would happen if you weren’t.

It didn’t mean he would make staying quiet any easier for you. So it was all you could do when your hand pressed over your mouth and nose desperately. You were so close.

Then he saw your free hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. He didn’t like that.

Barnes reached up and gripped your wrist, twisting harmlessly to make you release and take the sensations as he intended; with no help. No relief.

“More.” You moaned.

“Say please.” He growls, both hands clenching around your wrist and thigh tighter.

“Fuck– please?” You obey, restrained hand struggling in his grasp. He grunts in satisfaction, speeding up his lapping at you. When he heard you panting again, he could hear the muffle of you suppressing your volume like he commanded. Good girl.

It was time for your reward.

Bucky’s face wiggled side to side between you, effectively pleasuring you with the glorious friction. With one hand pinning your wrist down and the other wrapped around your thigh to keep you accessible, he was ready to hold you down for your no doubt, thrashing orgasm.

It didn’t take much longer for his pink muscle to coax another climax from you. As dark as the room was, colors burst across your vision as your mind-shattering orgasm wholly ravaged between your legs, and electrified your world. You just couldn’t control yourself; you began rocking and bouncing into his face as he kept your clit sucked through it. The mangled whine that came from you both made Bucky feel like the most god-like being on the planet, and the evilest for enjoying every second of this. Especially when he could’ve just had F.R.I.D.A.Y. to soundproof the room.

When Buck finally separated from your skin, he allowed you a few seconds of sweet relief… before placing his last loving smooches across your clit and folds.

You gasped and arched away. “N-no more!”

He chuckled as he rose up from your blissed nether region, patting your thigh condescendingly. “Aw don’t worry, tough guy. I won’t keep you riled up any longer. For now.”

“Why…” you whispered, still catching your breath. And wits, which were certainly scattered in a puddle. “W-why did you…”

“Wanted to hear what you sound like in your sleep. And begging without the usual stubbornness.”

“Hm… you’re mean.” You responded tiredly, sinking back into sleep once his arms were safely around you again.

Bucky smiled softly, kissing a spot behind your ear gently, and whispering. “I’m waking you up like that more often. Just wait until morning.”

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