#again I’m getting put me in your pocket vibes
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he looks like a little kid who’s asking for his moms phone
#is this his lightly brushed by melancholy look#I can’t even think that or else I’d get sad#hes just a kid#again I’m getting put me in your pocket vibes#so sweet and innocent#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr#scuderia ferrari#ferrari#formula one#f1
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A/N: Ngl, this was supposed to be a drabble… Anyway, I was listening to 2nd gen K-pop while listening to this, which is so counterintuitive because I was vibing to Gee while writing some of the craziest smut I’ve written in a while. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy <333 Answers 🥟 anon's request!
Minors don't interact, 18+
Pairing: Roomate Perv!Hyunjin x Perv!afab Reader
WC: 3k (oh!)
Warnings: Pervy reader and Jinnie, unprotected sex, m!masturbation, f!masturbation, use of vibrator, call reader names (whore, slut, good girl, ect…)
Your window cracked ever so slightly, allowing you to feel the spring breeze, but not enough to allow bugs and pollen to infiltrate your room. Your clock in the corner of your room was clicking away as the seconds passed. The only thing on your mind was what you were going to order for dinner. Before you could even shout out to your roommate, asking him what he wanted to eat, he barged into your room. The door ricocheted off the stopper causing you to look up.
“What do you want to eat Hwang?” you asked, turning around so your back was touching your bed. He knew it was your week to order food, but that wasn’t what he was here for. “Just get whatever, I’m not picky”
Before he could even continue, you cut him off, stopping him mid-sentence, his mouth hung open.
“Dude, last time you said that you threw a 45-minute tantrum of how ‘it wasn’t what you wanted’ and made me order a whole separate dish, only for you to eat mine because you were hungry and didn’t want to wait that long.”
“Hey, if you got it right the first time, we wouldn’t have been in that situation” he huffed, jumping on your bed, causing you to lift a bit.
He was wearing a black hoodie and some gray sweatpants, per usual. His new eyebrow piercing was right in your face as you turned to him. He chuckled, stealing your phone, and looking through the options to eat from.
Turning around so your breasts were pushed against your bed. They were slightly spilling out from your tanktop, but it was too warm to care. You didn’t understand how your friend wasn’t burning up in his outfit, but you didn’t care enough to ask.
“So, what are we getting to eat” you asked, trying to take your phone back from his grasp, but he stopped you.
Damn him and his weirdly long fingers that no man should have. “I was thinking, beer and chicken? It’s simple enough and we still have some cans left over so I won’t drain your bank account” he grinned.
You simply nodded, telling him to order it while you went to the bathroom. What you didn’t know was that wasn’t all Hyunjin did. A couple of weeks ago, when he asked to borrow your phone to send pictures of himself from a party the two of you attended with the rest of your friends, he saw pictures you took of yourself, in the cutest set he’s ever seen.
He knows that he constantly sees you in your short clothes all the time, but something about you wearing a pink lacy set had him weak in his knees. He came twice just thinking about it, the image burned into the back of his retinas.
He needed to see it again, so while you were doing your nighttime skincare routine, he went through your phone trying to find the photo. What he didn’t expect was there to be multiple angles and even multiple sets. He felt his cock harden in his pants, trying not to groan at the sight of you in barely anything.
He quickly took out his phone from his hoodie pocket, making sure that you weren’t out yet, and airdropped himself the photos, so there wasn’t any evidence of what he was doing.
He put his phone back in his pocket and exited out of your photos app just in time. You came out of the bathroom, your hair pushed back with a bunny hair band, whilst tossing one to him. “Come on, you know the drill” you giggled as he took off his hoodie, revealing his toned stomach and navel piercing.
He had gotten it with his eyebrow piercing after Jisung had dared him to. You were there for the entire thing, not expecting him to actually go through with it, but for some reason he did. It looked good though, so you weren’t going to complain.
He eventually put on the headband, after a minute of his dramatic sighs and protests. You knew he could never say no to you. You giggled at him, realizing how silly you both looked, but not complaining.
You pulled at him, trying to drag him off your bed so the two of you could watch a movie in the comfort of your living room.
The layout of your apartment was a bit off. Your rooms were right next to each other, and you both had your own bathrooms and walk-in closet. Which was nice, especially due to how much money the two of you spent on clothes.
Your living room was much smaller than others, connecting to your kitchen, but the two of you didn’t complain. It was homey and perfect for the two of you, and for the rest of your friends whenever they came over for your week’s movie night.
You both finally made it to the living room after Jinnie complained that “your bed is too comfortable” and “How am I supposed to leave if Sergent Bingo doesn’t want me to?”
You giggled at that, knowing how much he loved the stuffed animal that lived on your bed that he had won for you at the fair the first year of living together.
“I think he will live, plus we can bring him with us if it means so much to you!”
He just sighed as he got up, wrapping his arms around the stuffed bear and muttering about how Bingo didn’t appreciate being moved from his habitat.
“You are such a big baby” you giggled, sitting on the couch next to him, wrapping a blanket around your body as you attempted to find something for the two of you to watch.
“Am not”
“Are too”
Before he could rebuttal, the doorbell rang, causing you both to turn your heads. “Foods here” You got up, throwing the blanket at his face, laughing at his shocked expression.
You got the food from the delivery man, thanking him for walking up all the steps to your apartment. “What did you order again?” you yelled from the kitchen, getting paper plates and beer cans from the fridge.
“I got those cheese balls that you always fawn over, then just original and galbi because we both like that”
You got back to your seat, cracking open one of the cans of beer as the two of you began to watch a K-drama that Seungmin had recommended, Move To Heaven.
Two episodes in, and the two of you were sobbing, the food was gone, and the beers that were previously in your hands were splayed across the table.
“I can’t believe that happened to him, what did he do to deserve this?” you sobbed, hugged Hyunjin who was also on the verge of tears.
“I mean, who kills them off the first episode, like he did not need that happening to him” he said, hugging you back.
“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, wiping the tears off your face as you turned off the TV. Hyunjin threw away all the boxes and plates as you collected the blankets, folding them and putting them away in the storage closet next to the living room.
“Good night, sleep tight!” you said to Hyunjin as he began walking to his room. He bid you a good night as well, laughing at the way you were holding Sergent Bingo above your head as you entered your room.
Little did either of you know that you were in fact not sleeping tight.
You had taken out the vibrator your friend had gifted to you for your birthday, making sure it was fully charged before pressing it against your clit. It was small, but it did the job perfectly, always leaving you satisfied.
You usually never got off when Hyunjin was home, but you had been so pent up for the last month, that you just had to do something about it. You couldn’t wait any longer, you removed your shorts and underwear in one go and began to tease your slit.
You could feel the cool air hitting your legs and cunt, the small hairs on your legs sticking up at the sensation, but you ignored it, the only thing on your mind being Hyunjin.
The way he looked today, the way he smelt. You would think a grown man wearing a bunny headband couldn’t be hot, but you were wrong. The way he licked his fingers, trying to get the sauce off them, all you could imagine if that was how he would eat you out.
Would he suck on your clit like he did his fingers, how would they feel inside you? You thought back to his grey sweatpants, the way you could see the imprint of his dick against them, causing you to rub your thighs in front of him. You prayed that he didn’t see you, but if he did would he help you?
You could feel yourself getting wetter at every passing moment, your finger rubbing against your clit. It wasn’t enough though, you needed more stimulation or else you wouldn’t be able to get anywhere.
You turned on your vibrator, allowing the low hum of it to overtake your room. You began to slowly press it against your clit, low moans escaping your lips as you press it harder onto yourself. You tried to keep quiet, but it felt so fucking good, that you didn’t notice the moans escaping your lips.
But Hyunjin noticed, he could hear each moan escaping your lips. He was devouring each one like it was a hymn. He could feel his cock getting harder, straining against his boxers and sweats, it isn’t weird that he’s hearing you right?
If he just happens to jerk off right now, it wouldn’t be weird, right? He just happened to feel the need to get off at the same time as you. It wasn’t your moans that were making him this hard.
That’s what he kept telling himself as he pulled his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He began to languidly stroke his cock to the sounds of your moans, using the pre-cum leaking from his tip as lube.
He slowly pulled out his phone, looking at the pictures that he had airdropped himself earlier. Were you wearing the set you had in the picture, were you lying down like this, all pretty with your legs spread out just for him?
Would you be able to take his cock, or would you whine that it’s too much, how your tight little cunt couldn’t take it?
His body shivered as he could feel himself getting closer, but it all stopped when he heard another broken moan escape your lips.
“Jinnie-ah”
He couldn’t believe it, you weren’t moaning his name. It was just his imagination until he heard it again. The whimper that escaped your lips as you moaned out his name.
“Hyunjin, fuckkk”
His body went rigid, he quickly got up, dressed himself, and pressed his ear against your shared wall. He needed to hear you say his name again. He had to make sure it was his name you were moaning.
You couldn’t cum, it wasn’t enough, no matter how much you tried. You were so pent up, you needed to cum, but you just couldn’t, so you began crying. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to fuck yourself with your fingers as your vibrator was still attacking your clit, but it wasn’t enough.
That was til you heard your door creak open, there you saw Hyunjin. You tried to cover your body as fast as you could, but he didn’t let you, ripping your blanket off your body, leaving you in just your tank top.
“Such a fucking whore, moaning my name. You were just begging for me to hear you, right baby? Poor little thing can’t cum by herself, she needs my fingers, doesn’t she?”
You just nodded, no longer feeling ashamed, feeling the need to cum. “It’s okay baby, I’m here to help. Sometimes whores can’t get off by themselves, that’s why you need me”
He got on top of you, his knees pressed into your bed, trapping your thighs between them. He kissed your lips, nibbling at your bottom lip before moving his lips down to your neck, sucking at your skin.
“Who do you need baby?” he asked, removing his lips from your neck, running his finger against your slit, feeling how wet you were.
“Need you” you whined underneath him as his finger pressed against your clit. “Then why were you using this instead of coming to me?” he asked, holding up your vibrator.
“Is this better than me?” he asked, pressing his finger against your clit, causing you to moan. “Come on baby, you can’t be this dumb?” He asked you again, slapping your face slightly, sticking his thumb in your mouth, causing you to suck.
“It’s okay, I can make you cum like the whore you are” he chuckled before taking his finger out of your mouth and began to finger your hole. “Fuck you are so tight”
“Mhm, only for you Jinnie” you moaned as he began to thrust his fingers faster into you, adding another one. Your walls were clenching around him. “Look at you, so close to cumming. Can’t believe you were using this flimsy little thing. Should we see if it really works?”
Before you could even comprehend what was going on, he turned on your vibrator, pressing it against your clit.
“FUCK!” you moaned, you felt like you were so close to cumming, it only took Hyunjin another curl of his fingers in your cunt to make you cum around his fingers. Your body was convulsing around him, your thighs enclasping his hands.
“Ah ah, you are going to take my cock baby. Why do I think I prepped you? Moaning my name like the fucking slut you are. You are the one who caused this” he whispered into your ear while dragging your hand to his pants, allowing you to feel how hard his cock was for you.
He flipped you around while pulling down his own boxers and sweats, throwing them somewhere in your room. You took a look behind you to see his cock, and your jaw dropped. He was huge in length, not as much in girth, but his cock was so pretty.
His tip was pink and leaking precum while he had multiple veins running alongside his cock. “How is that going to fit?” you whimpered, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit baby.”
He slapped his cock on your ass before sliding the tip along your slit, causing you to moan. He lifted you by your hair, wrapping it around his hand, causing you to cry at the sharp sting. “Look at my cock baby, fuck, have never felt this fucking hard in my life. You are gonna make me feel good aren’t you baby? Going to take my cock like the good girl you are”
“Yes, gonna take your cock, gonna take it so well” you whimpered as he pushed the tip inside of you.
“Feels so good” you moaned as he let go of your hair, your head loling on the side of your pillow.
“Fuck baby, barely have the tip in and you are so fucking tight. Can’t wait til I make you mine”
He slowly began to thrust his cock into you, adding an inch at a time. But as your walls clenched around him, he lost all of his patience, thrusting his cock deep inside of you.
He slowly took his cock out of you, leaving only the tip in, only to thrust back into you with full force.
“You planned this didn’t you?” he asked, as he continued to pound into you. Your face was deep in your pillows, your voice muffled, so he yanked at your hair, causing you to moan.
“Speak when you are spoken you slut” he slapped your ass, causing you to moan. “You planned this didn’t you, the photos of you in your camera roll. You moaning my name so loud the entire floor could you”
“What if I did?” you said giggling. This only enraged him more, causing him to thrust into you faster. Your hair was still in his hand, your back arched against his chest. “Such a fucking whore, making me think I was a pervert when you orchestrated everything.”
“Just wanted you, are you that mad at me” you whimpered as he took one of his hands to rub your clit.
“I could never be mad at you baby, you know that” he kissed your neck before letting your hair go, your face falling back into the pillows. He lifted your hips a bit higher, causing you to scream out his name, which was fortunately muffled by the pillows underneath you.
“I can feel you baby,” he said, feeling the way your walls were clamping his cock “cum for me baby, cum on my cock and take my cum like you’ve always wanted to” he said, kissing your back.
That was all you needed to cum on his cock, he used one of his hands to muffle your screams, not wanting to wake everyone up. It didn’t end there though, he continued to rut into you, chasing his own high.
“Please Jinnie, too much can’t take it anymore” you whimpered underneath him, but that didn’t stop him. He needed to cum, he needed to mark you as his. “Fuck baby, you can take it, just a little more there we go”
He came with a moan, filling you up with cum and making you squirm underneath him. He kissed your lips before falling next to you, pushing the hair out of your face.
“I hope that was okay,” he said, looking at you a bit ashamed.
“Okay? That was amazing, I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever cum in my life” you said, kissing his lips. “The only thing I think is not okay is Sergent Bingo, his poor innocent eyes” which caused you both you laugh. You both wrapped your arms around one another, falling asleep in each other’s embrace.
#ju <3 answers#ju <3 writes#stray kids#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#skz smut#skz x reader#skz hyunjin#straykids x reader#straykids smut#hyunjin skz#hyunjin smut#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin
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Part 4 of Mafia!Price
No Content Warnings
There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.
He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.
You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.
Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.
“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”
You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.
“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”
He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.
Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.
Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.
“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”
Will need to call later today — as if!
“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.
He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.
“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.
You blink. Are you what?
“Tomorrow, sir?”
He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”
When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.
“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”
You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.
“I do now.”
Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.
“Of course you’re coming along.”
“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”
“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”
“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”
“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”
You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.
“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”
“‘Fancy man party’?”
“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”
You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.
“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”
You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.
“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”
You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.
“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”
“Sounds great, luv.”
You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”
He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”
—
Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.
“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”
He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.
He snorts. “My job happened.”
You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”
You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.
He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.
“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”
He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.
The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.
“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”
You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”
But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.
It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.
You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.
“Sir?” you call.
“In here, luv.”
You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.
“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.
You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.
It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.
“E-evening, sir.”
He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.
“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”
You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.
“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”
You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.
“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.
“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”
They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.
“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”
They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.
“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.
“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.
Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.
“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.
“The silver and diamond.”
You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”
A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”
You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.
“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”
You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”
“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.
You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”
He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.
“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.
You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.
“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”
You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.
“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.
Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.
“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”
He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.
“That bad, eh?”
“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.
“Gift from an ex,” he explains.
You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.
“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.
He snorts. “Maybe.”
You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.
“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.
“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.
You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.
You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.
Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.
“Pass inspection?” He asks.
“Barely,” you tease.
His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.
“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”
“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.
You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.
“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.
“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”
You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”
Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.
Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.
“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”
You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#oddly wholesome for a mafia au#mafia!au#mafia boss price#assistant reader
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Limits of a Fae Heart - five
Pairings: Azriel x Reader
Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well.
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: reader is AFAB, mentions of the female body/parts, cursing, sexual content (p in v), spitting but it's hot, choking, slight dom/sub vibes, I'm actually awful at tagging things but there's smut. for the love of all things holy, do not read if you are a minor.
One | two | three | four | six
taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @isa1b2h3 @sidthedollface2
Cassian has made it known several times that the tension between Azriel and I is getting on his nerves. He’s not so casually told us to get a room many times since the morning he interrupted us. It’s truly only been a couple of days but with just the three of us to keep each other company, we’re all starting to go a little mad.
Then again watching an abandoned camp for days on end because your high lord said so would do that to anyone.
By the fourth day of watching and edging closer to the camp with absolutely nothing to show for it, Cassian approaches me as I’m sitting by the fire, trying to warm my stiff body. He plops himself down next to me and lets out a dramatic sigh as he leans back on his hands. I don’t spare him a glance and he lets out another sigh. I look over at him to see him already giving me a playful but annoyed look.
“Yesss?” I ask as I stick my hands closer to the flames.
“When are we going to be done with this boring stake out? The camp has been abandoned for close to a week now and unless I’m blind, there’s no reason for us to be here anymore.”
“If you’re asking to go home, just ask.”
“Fine, can I go home? You and Azzie boy can stay here and stare lustfully at each other all you want but I would like to go home and have a proper bath.”
Right on cue, Azzie Boy materializes out of a pocket of shadows and glances between the two of us. A hint of jealous shots down the bond as he takes in how close Cassian and I are. It quickly disappears as Cassian scoots over with a loud huff.
“Well what’s your answer?” he demands lightheartedly and an arched brow.
Azriel narrows his eyes at his brother and sits across from us, the flames illuminating every inch of his sun kissed face.
“I planned on going into the camp tomorrow and if I found nothing, then we could leave but I think Azriel and I can handle it ourselves,” I say looking from Cassian to Azriel, who’s already staring at me. He was probably wondering what Cassian was referring to but realization relaxes his face and he nods in agreement.
Cassian claps his hands together, “Alright it’s settled then. Don’t kill each other and I’ll see you two tomorrow!”
It’s almost pitiful how excited he is to return to Velaris but it’s even more pathetic how quickly he’s on his feet and flying away.
Azriel leans back against the fallen tree that lays behind him and props one leg up as his shadows drop an apple into his awaiting palm. He’s purposely staying silent; baiting me to initiate conversation and toying with me by pulling out his beloved Truth Teller and using it to carve the red fruit with impressive precision.
His shadows dance around me meanwhile a few brave and handsy ones find their way under my sweater and undershirt and nuzzle against my bare skin. I gasp at their snuggly behavior and go to shake them out when his voice stops me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What does that mean?”
He chuckles as he eats a piece of apple off of the truth teller. “They don’t like when you push them away. Puts them on edge and then they don’t listen to anyone.”
I don’t heed his warning and shake them out anyways, causing them to let out a sound akin to a growl. They immediately find their way back under my clothes and practically mold themselves to my body so I can’t get rid of them so easily again.
“Told you.”
“By the cauldron,” I groan as I attempt to swat them away, “tell them to leave me alone. They’re freezing.”
He stops his carving and looks at me curiously, tilting his head to the side slightly as his hazel eyes rake over me. “And why would I do that? They’re perfectly fine where they’re at.”
I send him an annoyed glare before I climb to my feet and walk towards the tent for another night of restlessness.
“Where are you going, sweet girl?”
“What have I said about calling me that?”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with an intense gaze and an almost feral smirk.
“And where does it look like I’m going? To bed obviously,” I say in a clipped tone and gesture to the tent.
“No you’re going to lay there and flop around until the crack of dawn. Come here.” The shadows imprinted onto me do their singer’s bidding and push me back towards him.
“Excuse me!”
He cuts off what was inevitably going to be a tepid attempt at a lecture from me. “Enough of that. Come sit next to me.”
With the shadows wrapped tightly around me and pulling at me, I don’t exactly have a choice but follow their lead. They finally ease up when I’m sitting beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder and he offers me a slice of apple.
“What’s that look for?” he asks when I look between him and the slice with a scrunched up expression.
“When did you become so commanding?”
“You have a problem with it?”
I roll my eyes at the way his plump lips are turned up in a smile and are parted to show off his perfect teeth. “I have a problem with males who think they can tell me what to do. You of all people should know that doesn’t go over well with me.”
“Maybe but I’m not just any other male now am I?”
“Yes you are.”
I go to take the slice but he pulls it away, clicking his tongue at me. “Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he murmurs to me and I know it’s a challenge designed to test my resolve.
The nickname and his low timbre sets something ablaze in me and I know I stand no chance in beating my him. His win comes in the form of my lips parting to allow the sticky sweet slice to greet my awaiting tongue. He tracks my every movement, intently watching as its juice wets my lips and my tongue cleans it up.
“It’s my job to anticipate people’s next move but you?” Azriel says with a shake of his head and goes back to carving pieces out of his half eaten apple. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you do the exact opposite of what I expected. It should frustrate me but it doesn’t. Why do you think that is, sweet girl?”
“Maybe you’re bad at your job,” jumps out with my breathy voice and he blinks at me with an arched brow. “Perhaps it’s for the better if you find a new profession or stop treating me like one of your targets. You’ll stop disappointing yourself that way.”
“Now I never said that it was disappointing.” he chides and grabs my chin when I try to look away from his soul blazing gaze, “It keeps me on my toes, never really knowing what you’re going to do.”
“You really are like every other male; needing to be challenged but not enough to make you feel lesser. You all have this need to control.” I whisper and let my gaze fall to his lips briefly, “I’ve already told you and quite frankly shown you that I’m not one to fall in line because a pretty face told me to.”
He searches my face for a hint of humor as he holds me in place. Testing me, he leans into me and when I think he’s going to kiss me, I let my eyes flutter closed only for him to draw back. From beneath my lashes, I see a feral smirk break across his face.
“You think I have a pretty face?”
“That’s what you took from that?”
“Answer the question.”
“You’re infuriating beautiful and I hate looking at…”
Azriel silences me with a hungry kiss, our hands desperately searching for something to hold onto as our tongues collide against each other and drink in the other’s sweet taste. His lips are soft as they slide against my own while his hands feel jagged tangling into my hair. Cold metal presses into my scalp and I can’t say that I’m surprised he didn’t drop his beloved truth teller when he launched himself at me.
My hands find their place on his chest and the nape of his neck, slowly making their way into his mess of dark waves. The soft noises that rumble through his chest when I tug at his hair emboldened me and I sharply pull, forcing him to let me lead.
He does for a moment. That is until he is shadows that are still wound around me, something I forgot about, trace over the raised lines of my hidden wings. A whimper falls from me and Azriel hungrily laps it up using his shadows to drag me into his lap. My arms wind around his neck while letting out a surprised noise when I feel his confined cock against me. We break away and that’s when I realize my breathing is so heavy that I’m almost panting but Azriel is no better. He tilts his head up again to playful nip at my bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth before letting it go and kissing the red mark on it.
I hear myself whine at the loss of his lips and heated touch but I can’t find it in myself to care. I’m slipping into the abyss of lust that is between us and pulling tight at our bond and it feels absolutely amazing.
He’s growing cockier by the minute much to my dismay. “If you’re this flushed after a few kisses, I can’t imagine how you’d look after I’m done with you.”
With a flash of silver in the fire light, the truth teller is safely tucked away again and both of his hands come to grip my hips. He dips his head to plant wet kisses across my jaw and whispers against the supple skin of my neck, “but tell me, pretty girl, do you want that?”
Words feel pointless, coiled in my throat and morph into something else while they come out in the form of broken whines.
“Come on, beautiful, use your words.”
I quietly mumble “yes” and let out a high pitched whine when he sucks a bruise over my pulse. He mumbles something like “good girl” as his shadows engulf us and my back hits the cold mat of my bed roll with him slotted between my legs.
Azriel continues his attack on my neck and I lean my head to the side to grant him more access but not without teasing him. “Couldn’t walk ten feet?”
He runs his tongue up the column of my neck. “Are you complaining?” he shots back with a bold flick of his tongue of my ear lobe before taking it between his lips, sucking and nibbling on it.
“N..no,” I try to say as my body shudders when he starts to roll his hips into mine.
I vaguely hear his voice but I’m too caught up in the feeling of his clothed cock pressing into my core. A forceful grip on my jaw drags my attention to the male above me; his wings are flared behind him while his shadows dance around the room and curl against the both of us. Those gorgeous dark waves fall around his sculptured face and he gazes down at me with those hooded hazel eyes.
“Keep talking to me, sweet girl. I want to hear you no matter what, understand?
I barely nod and it’s not good enough for him. He squeezes my cheeks and doubles down on his original question, “I said ‘keep talking’. I need you to tell me that you understand. That you’ll stop me if it gets to be too much.”
“Yes! Gods, yes Azriel I understand!” I moan out, already running out of patience as I arch my back and roll my hips into his, matching his pace as best as I can.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispers before continuing his trail of blazing kisses down my neck.
I go to drag my hands down his neck but his shadows are quick to grab them and pin them above my head. He chuckles at my frustration and feeble attempts to pull my hands free as he sits back on his hunches.
With only the fire light from outside to illuminate the tent, Azriel looks like a god above me. The power that radiates off of him commands the flames to perfectly bathe every inch of his taunt and towering body. His blue siphons shimmer in the dim light, reflecting my own pathetic state back at me. If I could I would’ve turned over so I wouldn’t have to see the satisfaction on his face as he gazes down at me completely at his mercy. He makes a disapproving sound as he gently takes a leg in his hand, caressing my thigh and calf before stopping at my boots.
“You’re not going shy on me now are you, beautiful?” He murmurs against my ankle, kissing each inch he reveals as he tugs off my boot.
“Fuck you,” I choke out when more shadows join in. They replace his warm touch when he’s moved on, kneading where his hands once were and licking at the places his kisses have grown cold. Being so thoroughly surrounded by him is intoxicating and I find myself going dumb before he’s even touched me.
“Already doing that, sweetheart.”
Gods this fucking male.
Azriel repeats his actions with my other leg and moves to my pants next. We watch each other with half lidded eyes as he takes his time unlacing them and deliberately brushes his long fingers against the bare skin at my waist. When he starts the painstakingly slow motion of pulling them down my thighs, the damned shadows crawl up my torso. They drag his sweater and my thin long sleeve up my body, helping me to pull it off before tugging my bra down to shamelessly play with my breasts, groping and kneading at the tender skin.
The Shadowsinger’s eyes are blown wide, leaving only black in the place of the golden hazel as he watches them play with me. A long sinful moan is pulled from me when the shadows tug at my nipples and it seems to snap him back to reality. He pulls my pants off completely and inhales sharply when he sees the rapidly growing wet spot on my underwear. His eyes flutter closed as the scent of my arousal invades his nostrils and when they open, a fire is blazing in them. He looks devastatingly handsome staring at that spot like it’s the first glimpse of water he’s seen after weeks in the desert.
“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” he mumbles more to himself while he slides his hands up to my knees and lowers himself to lay on his stomach before me. Another pair of shadows wrap around my thighs, preventing them from closing when he lightly runs his fingers over my clothed core. I writhe and struggle against my restraints with a loud huff, halting the male between my legs.
“Talk to me, sweet girl,” he asks in an affectionate tone, searching my face as he rests his head against the inside of my thigh. The same soothing sensation strokes at our bond and my face flushes even more as I search for the words. “What do you want?”
Light kisses are littered on my thigh as I stutter, “more… I need more.”
“More what?” he asks, forcing me to say exactly what I want. As he speaks he les his warm and wet tongue drag across the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “More what?” he asks again with a mischievous smirk taunt on his bitten lips as he licks directly over my covered slit.
“Touch me more, Az please.” It feels terribly pathetic to beg him and I’d cover my face if the shadows weren’t tightening their hold on my wrists.
My mate immediately drags his thick tongue over the thin fabric covering my core and mouthes at me through it. He circles my hole before flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit. Desperate please build in my chest while my brain turns to mush having him so close to where I need him but just out of reach. It’s beyond frustrating and he knows it, smirking and chuckling at me in my disheveled and starving state.
Whimpers and whines grow into loud pleas and sinfully wanton moans as he works his tongue over the soaked fabric. After about the fourth time he nearly touches my clit, I start to realize that my wordless begging isn’t going to spur him into removing the offending piece of clothing. He wants words but I won’t let myself beg again just yet.
So I try the bond, sending every ounce of lust and desire that I have down to him. His only reaction is a slight quiver of his wings and an airy chuckle against my core.
“Nice try, sweetheart but that wasn’t what i told you to do. Remind me, what did I tell you?”
He’s completely stopped using his tongue and has moved to dragging his fingers up and down my slit.
I throw my head back with a growl at the loss of stimulation. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to calm down so I can think straight. The shadows are quicker than me and stop any thinking I may have done with another harsh pinch to each nipple.
“Until you can tell me exactly what you need, I’m perfectly happy to keep bringing you to the edge over and over again.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. “Fuck me with your tongue, fingers, I don’t care. Just fucking get on with it already, Az.”
“Now was that so hard?”
I go to snap at him however I’m cut short by him kissing the juncture of my thigh before he pulls my underwear to the side and lightly laps at my soaked folds. He starts slow, kitten licking and teasing me to gauge my reactions. With the shadows around my thighs, I don’t have a lot of range but I’m able to move my hips against his face enough to get some relief.
Azriel takes pity on me and his tongue, wide and rough, finds my clit the moment he licks a decisive strip up my core. His mouth becomes glued to me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. That feeling in my lower stomach grows tighter when he sucks on my clit and pulls back to blow on it. Throwing my head back, moans fall unhindered and my hips start to move wildly against his mouth.
More shadows find their way around me, caressing and kneading everywhere they can touch. Some tangle into my hair, pulling at the strands while others grope my ass only adding to the bliss that is Azriel’s expert tongue working me into oblivion.
He brings a hand up to let his fingers circle my hole, collecting my wetness before plunging two fingers in. He smirks against me after my hips falter and he slips his free arm under me, holding my hips up so he can bury his face into me even further. I whine and mewl as Azriel circles my clit and flicks it in time to the come hither motion he’s making with his fingers inside me.
“Az…Az, oh gods, I’m gonna..gonna cum,” I cry out. His shadows double down on their groping and massaging while he doesn’t let up eating me out like a man starved. He watches my orgasm crash over me through half lidded eyes and I try as best as I can to keep eye contact however my own eyes feel heavier than ever before.
Azriel whispers words of reassurances and praises against my heated skin as he kisses his way back up to me. The shadows around my thighs loosen and draw light circles where their bruising grip once was. The ones on my wrists relax and caress the sore muscles from being held above my head.
“You did so well, sweet girl. So good for me,” he mumbles between labored breaths that mirror mine. I nod in agreement, cupping his face and pulling him down for a much slower kiss than before.
“So perfect, made for me…taking everything I give you,” he mutters against my lips. His wings shake out above us and mine feel like they’re about to do the same when one of the shadows dances over where they’re melding into my body.
He lets his body settle against me, once again letting his hips press into mine but now it’s unbearable. Im still sensitive and the feeling of his leather covered cock against me drags broken sobs from my chest. Like the teasing male he is, Azriel shushes me against my lips as one of his hands finds my thigh and urges my leg over his hip. With my leg around his waist, he moves us at a pace that makes us both moan into our kiss. He drops his hand next to my head while the other comes to rest on my throat, tilting my head back when he pulls away and drags his thumb over my puffy bottom lip.
“Such a pretty mouth,” he growls, staring lustfully at the way that my tongue swirls around the tip of his thumb. I suck at it and he pushes between my lips, allowing me to work it with my tongue like I would his cock. His eyes darken when I release it with a pop and a string of saliva connects us.
A heavy weight constricts my chest and pushes all of the air out of breath thanks to the tsunami of burning desire that Azriel sends to me. “Open up, sweet girl.”
With our hips grinding slowing down and moving into a lazy, occasional jolt of pleasure, I obey. Without being told, I rest my tongue on my bottom lip, a silent agreement to what he’s about to do.
Azriel’s cock twitches against me as he spits into my mouth and I swallow it with a satisfied smirk. He curses under his breath and his cock twitches again.
And this is when we find ourselves in a rather unfortunate situation; he’s fully clothed while I’m bare save for my bra that’s been pulled under my breasts.
My pawing at his chest gives him the hint and he leans back to quickly rid himself of his leathers while his shadows keep me entertained. They flick and pinch at my pebbled nipples while sneaking down to rub me through my underwear.
The moment his clothes are off, I push myself up and climb into his lap to wrap myself around him. I kiss him like he’s the air that I need and he matches me in pace and passion.
Droplets of sweat race down his broad tattooed chest and his hair is messy and tangled. His arms, perfect matches to his chest, broad, muscular and tattooed are wrapped around me, keeping me in place as he ruts into me. He rocks his aching cock against my barely covered puffy and oversensitive clit while we devour one and other. His breath hitches in his throat when I grind down on him and my nails scrap against the base of his wings.
“Do…do that again,” he whimpers into our kiss and I happily oblige.
I start with lightly dragging my nails against the base again before moving up the ridge of his wings. The barely there touch is enough to make him groan out and break our kiss to throw his head back in pleasure. I take my chance to assault his neck with my own kisses and bites when I repeat the motions to his wings. His hips stutter under me as my delicate touch combined with the hardness of his aching cock become too overwhelming.
Azriel groans out, frustrated that there’s still a layer of thin fabric separating us and seconds later, I feel the cold tip of the truth teller slice through my underwear. His shadows remove them from between us while he holds my hips in a bruising grip to rub my wetness against him. Back and forth, he drags the head of his cock through my folds, stealing desperate moans from my swollen lips.
“Az,” I whine as I feel his thick tip catch against my clit, “please Az.”
He coos to me as if he’s being sweet as he continues to torture me. “Please what, sweet girl?”
“Fuck me Azriel,” comes out in broken sobs when he lines himself up and snaps his hips up, fully sheathing his thick cock in my warm heat. He waits for me to adjust to his size, only moving when I wiggle against him. He sets a brutal pace, fucking up into me in calculated and determined thrusts. The near painful hold he had on me is grounding as he pumps his dick into me and I cry out as pleasure starts to build into a second orgasm.
He pulls out only to guide me lay on my side to the bed roll and drags me against his chest, slipping in from behind. Wrapping one heavily tattooed muscular arm around my neck, he lets the other come to wrap around my middle and play with my puffy clit. The corded muscles are flexing as he holds me in place against him, ensuring that I have no choice but to take his thick cock.
“I want everyone in Velaris to hear you,” he grunts against my ear as he sets a cruel pace from behind me. Downright sinful sounds fall from my permanently open mouth and his own beautiful sounds fill my ears when my core throbs and clenches around him.
“You can be louder, pretty girl,” he urges me while tightening his already unyielding grip around my neck. My hands sink into his arm, leaving red marks in their wake as I cry out, body trembling and writhing against him.
I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder as we continue to move against each other. His cock drags against my walls in a painful way and my eyes flutter shut from the white hot pleasure it brings me. I’m pulsing around him and pleading with him to come with me.
“Shush, pretty girl. Let me take care of you. Come for me, beautiful. I know you need to,” his breath feels like an inferno in my ear and I involuntarily moan at his praise. I know I can’t possibly be seen as anything other than a mess; tears streak my face and sweat collects in my hairline but none of that stops Azriel, my mate, from praising every inch of me.
The last sharp thrust and caress of his tongue against my neck are what push me over the edge as my hands dig into his arm. His own release is almost upon him as his thrusts falter and he goes to pull out but my hand darts behind me and grips his hip.
“Come…with me.”
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest, “you want me to come in you, pretty girl? You want me to mark you with my cum? Make it so every male who ever comes near you smells me? Is that what you want?”
“Yes, gods yes yes…please…come with me…please come in me.”
My begging sparks him to snap his hips even harder than before as he works us through our orgasms together. Both sweet and humiliating words continue to pour from his mouth between his kisses as he alternates between licking and biting at my lips. His arm loosens around my neck and shifts to cup my shoulder instead while the other grasps my hip.
“You did so well, sweet girl. So proud of you, took me so well,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into my neck while our highs start to come down and our breathing slows. Finally our bond feels content; overjoyed that we are together and basking in the raw affection we have for each other.
I know that there is a part of it that won’t be satisfied until we accept it, until I accept him and offer him a meal that I made just for him.
My heart skips a beat when that thought crosses my mind however this time it’s out of panic. What if’s and past traumas flash in my mind, no doubt flooding the bond with seemingly unwarranted anxiety.
I try to pull away from Azriel but he holds me as he whispers softly from behind me, “Stay with me, my sweet girl. You’re crashing and you need affection right now. Let me help you through it.”
Panic sinks its talons into me even further, causing my heart to race, my breathing to grow too fast, the feeling of slipping into thick water without a way out to overcome. Tears spring from my eyes again and his voice sounds muffled even though it’s right next to me.
“Breath with me.” His chest rises and falls against my back and my body falls into sync with it. The bond fills me with nothing but adoration and pure contentment, pushing away the crashing low I had begun to slip into.
“Good, just follow my breathing, just like that. You did so well, I’m so proud of you. Keep breathing with me and let me take care of you, beautiful. Let me give you the affection you need.”
For the first time ever in my life possibly, I feel safe. I feel safe in the arms of this mysterious Shadowsinger. I feel protected, cared for, and loved by Azriel, my mate.
#azriel smut#az smut#azriel imagine#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#az x reader#azriel spymaster#azriel#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#limits of a fae heart az x reader
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the real question is Kyle more or less of a lil shit once he gets the girl? like you can't tell me that boy doesn't own a remote controlled vibe... -mk anon
this request is so old but IDC!!!!
and he does. 100%.
i wrote this half asleep so im sorry if it sucks and if there’s errors
“cmon, pretty thing. just once? i promise i won’t use it much, and if i do, i won’t turn it up so high.”
liar. fucking liar.
kyle had sweet talked you into putting a vibrator inside yourself, then going to a party with all of the guys. he promised he wouldn’t turn it on very much, he just wanted to test it out, and you believed him, which is why you let him. but you were so, so wrong.
—
there you stood, talking with wendy and bebe. everything was going perfect, and you really thought kyle had just forgotten about it, but then you felt the slightest sensation between your legs go to not so slight.
your hand flew to your mouth, which caused wendy to stop mid sentence and look at you. “hey, are you okay? you look like you’re about to be sick,” she asked. you nodded frantically. “yeah—yes! ah— i just— um..got a sharp..c—cramp in my stomach. i’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you replied before rushing off, trying not to let whines and whimpers escape from your mouth.
you rounded a corner into a hallway where, thankfully, no one was. you sighed loudly, sinking down to the floor. “oh god, kyle— stop, stop, stop…”
“what’s that? stop what?” you heard a voice come from down the hall. you snapped your head into the direction of the noise.
there kyle stood, his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants and his glasses perched upon his nose. you looked him up and down, noticing how his white wife beater hugged his waist perfectly.
“you— you said you wouldn’t do it much. and that if you did— it wouldn’t be so high!” you said, not even bothering to stand up and go to him. instead, he came to you and knelt down, taking your chin in his hand. “oh, i guess i tricked you. poor girl.”
then he grabbed your hand and pulled you up. “why don’t we go back to the party, huh? i think our friends miss us. i don’t think it would be very polite to abandon everyone just so i could toy with you,” he said as he led you back to the group he was originally with. as you walked, the vibrations slowly came to a halt. when it stopped, you sighed in relief.
kyle held your hand as he spoke with cartman, the two of them bantering while kenny and stan just listened, laughing at the smart remarks that came out of one of the others mouth. you listened as well, letting out a giggle or two, but then kyle turned the toy to its highest setting.
your knees almost buckled underneath you, and you let out an audible gasp which turned into a whine. “oh, honey, what’s the matter?” kyle asked, rushing to your aid. you gave him a look, then lied and said, “my stomach hurts, kyle.”
everyone looked at the two of you confused, but then kyle excused the both of you so he could 'help you'.
he dragged you into a bathroom, locked the door, then picked you up and set you on the counter. he forced your legs open, then moved your panties to the side to look at your glittering cunt.
your skirt bunched up at your stomach as he kneeled between your legs. he didn’t do anything, he just looked up at you and dirty talked you.
“see? look at you. you’re such a good girl, but i bet you’d rather me do this in front of all our friends. especially cartman, huh? that right, doll?” you shook your head quickly, telling him no.
“awh, baby don’t deny it. you may be a good girl for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a little slut, right?” you shook your head again, whining and squirming, trying to close your legs. “no— nonono!”
“come on, take it for me. i know you can. be a good whore and take it. quit tryin' to close your legs,” kyle said, keeping your legs open with both his hands.
“please— i..oh god—” you groaned before your orgasm washed over you, your legs twitching and your hands flying to kyle’s hair.
as you came down from your high, you heard kyle speak, “wow that was quick. good job, baby. come on, i’ll clean you up and get that thing outta you,” he told you, helping you off the counter, then sitting you down on the toilet seat and running the water in the sink.
#south park#x reader#south park x reader#kyle broflovski#kyle broflovski x reader#south park kenny#eric cartman#bully!kyle broflovski#smut#kyle broflovski x reader smut
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Found/Fated/Forever
Part 1 Part 2
Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader
Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort
Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader
Content Warning: Y/N in danger
Word Count: 3,100
“You want to WHAT?” You asked him, eyes wide,
“Lower your voice! Someone next to you is gonna hear you yelling like that and call the bouncer.” He hissed.
“Well I’m thinking that might be the right idea considering what the hell you just proposed to me.” you hissed back.
“It’s not that crazy!” He insisted. “I step out of line, you blast me with radiant damage as hard as you can and if you don’t outright kill me, you’ll take the wind out of my sails plenty long enough to get far away from me.”
You regarded him for a moment. “You JUST got through saying you had SIX mates. I know having two or three is rare, but you expect me to believe that you might have a SEVENTH mate and it might be me? We were vibing just now but I don’t know if we were vibing that hard.”
“I also told you it's the same with each of my mates, something tells me I need to be somewhere, and by a crazy coincidence, we meet.” He adds. “I will know right away!”
“Ugh!” You sighed, exasperated, resting your head in your hands. “You know 3 hours ago I walked into this club single, happy, looking to get drunk and have an easy fuck to forget a shitty day, and I’m walking out having saved a woman from a demon rapist, pissed off or turned on that demon rapist, and now I have a marriage proposal from the aether.”
“I can help with some of those issues, I think? You lost me there for a second I’m not going to lie to you.”
You didn’t reply.
“Look, I don’t want to pressure you. We had a great conversation over a strange and scary happenstance, and if you would rather go our separate ways as strangers having never learned the truth, then I respect that choice. Or the cheap fuck, if that option is still on the table.”
You smacked him for the later remark. You sat, contemplative, and as if sensing you needed space, Jungkook excused himself for a cigarette, leaving you alone with your watered-down whiskey and your thoughts.
I mean what are the chances right? He takes a little nibble, he spits it out, I take him back to mine, and we test out that vampiric stamina. It’s basically impossible that 1 person has 7 soul mates! You reasoned. On the other hand the one in a million, no billion, no TRILLION chances that you are this guy’s 7th sister wife what does that mean? Do I join his commune? They probably have a commune. Am I bonded to his other wives? Are they also vampires? I don’t think I have enough blood to go around. You rub your temples, frustration rising higher and higher in your body. I could also not choose. You reminded yourself. I could go home, forget this man, forget this night, and have everything go back to normal.
Interrupting your thought process, David approached you. “You look mighty stressed.”
“Yes!” You just about yelled at him. “Sorry, yes.” You said in a calmer tone.
“Bar’s chill for the minute, what's up?”
You obviously couldn’t tell him the truth, but what if you were vague? Vague was okay. “I was confronted with a life-altering choice, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, how do you usually make choices?” He asked, leaning back on the bar and crossing his arms.
“I don’t. I find that fate has a way of making decisions for me.”
“Well…” He shrugged, digging in his apron pocket. He slid forward a shiny, silver coin on the table. “You can have fate choose for you again.”
You looked at him, then the coin. It’s my best bet. You thought to yourself, sliding the coin off the bar and into your hand, feeling the weight of it. May this lead me to the path of my destiny you willed into the coin before giving it a toss.
The coin landed, and you understood what it was you had to do.
~~~~
You met Jungkook on the street, just as he put a cigarette out on the cold pavement.
“Hello,” he regarded you warmly.
“I’ve decided.” You tell him. “Strings of fate and all that horse shite. I will blast the shit out of you if you take more than I tell you.”
“You have my honor and my word.” He replied, punctuated with a dramatic bow.
“Remember, blasting! And not the fun kind!” You warned him again, finger pointed sternly.
“I would be disappointed in you if you gave me anything less.”
“Anywhere really. I mean somewhere a little private. Like I said I just need a sip and I will know.”
“Is my house okay? I mean you said you’d fuck me so I’d figure it was alright.” You asked, feeling shy suddenly.
“Oh yeah, that’s fine!” Jungkook said. “I mean I was joking about the fuck thing I mean I just said it because you said it!”
You looked at him with a strange expression.
“Not that I wouldn’t! You are extremely attractive! If you wanted to I would definitely be down don’t get me wrong I just-” He cut himself off. “I am making this so much worse for myself, aren’t I?”
“Very much so.” You said as you opened your umbrella and stepped out from under the awning. “Shut up and let’s go before I change my mind. The Uber will be here in a minute.”
~~~~~
You lived in a one-bedroom place in a modest part of town, inside an apartment block that never seemed to be quiet, with the exception of this moment. Jungkook sat politely at your small kitchen table, you stood and leaned against a kitchen counter, the silence hanging between the two of you only interrupted by the sound of the rain hammering at the window, and the kettle steadily coming to a boil. You regarded him again for a moment, before turning to your cabinets and pulling out two mismatched mugs.
“The tea will be done in a minute.” You said, ripping open the tea bags, setting one in each cup. A few more minutes of silence passed before Jungkook stood suddenly.
“I’ve never done this before,” He blurted.
You take a moment to process what it is he could mean by that. He’s mated so he’s certainly not a virgin, seems to be over a hundred so it’s not his first time drinking blood you thought, before your mind wanders further. I did not just invite this man into my home to kill me. Tell me I did not invite this man into my home to murder me. God DAMN it, I fell for his stupid necklace and that incubus is probably waiting for his signal nearby.
“I suggest you explain yourself quickly and clearly, because it is sounding to me like what you’ve never done is have your ass blasted as hard as I am about to.” You said, turning around slowly, eyes locked on him. No funny business dude.
“I wasn’t completely truthful with you before. A lie by omission I guess which doesn’t trip up the necklace but I am going to stop rambling because you seem really justifiably mad.” He said putting his hands up. You took a step closer, energy beginning to crackle at your palms.
“Every single time I met my mates, I was called to meet them by happenstance. That is true. But every single time they knew, or guessed we might be mates before I did. So I have never personally tested the whole “someone else’s blood or energy should be poison to me” theory.”
“So you have no idea if this is even going to work!?” You yelled at him, palms crackling further. “So I’ve just invited you into my home so you can what, make a snack out of me?”
“I know it works!” Jungkook countered, taking a step back as if almost cowering.
“How?!” You demanded, lowering your magic a bit. You weren’t going to kill him, not yet anyway.
“30 years ago!” Jungkook blurted nervously. “One of my hyungs, we got into a huge fight and he ran away for a few months. He subsists on energy, and when he tried to take from people that he wasn’t mated to, it poisoned him. Badley. He was starving and as close to death when we finally found him.”
You look at his necklace and wait. No glow. So he was telling the truth. You lowered your guard completely.
“Jesus Christ dude you can’t phrase it that way! I thought you were going to say “I’ve never done this before, never murdered!” and then jumped me with that incubus freak.”
“No, you are right about that and I am really sorry.” He took a step back toward you, sitting back at the table.
“If you know it works,” You began, pouring the now boiling water into each prepared mug. “You didn’t have to tell me you’d never tried it personally.” You said, placing each up on the table and joining him at the opposite seat. “It has no bearing on the outcome for you, so why did you feel the need to tell me?”
“Ah well,” he began, stirring a scoop of sugar into his tea idly. “I’m a stranger, asking you to make a big leap of faith that sure, benefits you, but also benefits me. I couldn’t sit right with knowing you didn’t have every piece of information I could offer you.”
“I… appreciate that.” You remarked, dumping 3 ice cubes into your tea. “I don’t like to wait for it to cool,” you admitted, somewhat sheepishly.
“No, I don’t get the impression you do like to wait for much,” Jungkook replied, offering his cup to cheers with yours. You clink mugs and drink your tea in comfortable silence.
~~~~~
“So how is this done usually?” You asked him, standing face to face in your combined living room and bedroom area.
“Truthfully?” He asked you.
“Truthfully.” You confirmed.
“My kind typically have been the stalk you, grab you and lure you into a dark alleyway and drain you of all your blood or charm you with magic and charisma and lure you to a place where we do the same thing, sort of people.”
“I am confirming that that is not what we are trying to accomplish?” You half-jokingly asked.
“That is not what we are trying to accomplish.” He confirmed. “I want you to be comfortable. However, wherever would be the most comfortable for you is where I want to do it.”
“Um, okay.” You looked around. “I guess for me that would be my bed, that isn’t weird right?”
“Not at all,” He confirmed, allowing you to lead the way.
“But-” You stopped halfway before getting onto your bed. “It’s just my duvet is white, maybe I should put down a towel? In case things get messy.”
He scoffed at that. “I am not such a pedestrian, I reckon I have been drinking blood since you were born.”
“Are you sure about that?” You looked him up and down. Vampires didn’t age, sure, but surely he couldn’t be THAT much older than you, right?
“If I get so much as a drop on your duvet, I will replace it with any duvet of your choice.” He said, placing his hand on his heart.
“It doesn’t mean that much when you place your hand over an undead heart.” You said knocking his hand off his own chest. “But you’re not glowing, so I will take your word for it.” You said, sitting down. “Come, sit.” You invited him with a pat on the bed. He obliged.
“Hey,” You began, after letting a few beats of silence pass. “Do you think we could just lay side by side for a few minutes?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He said, following your lead and sliding himself up the bed, laying comfortably on one side, you on the other.
A long silence hung in the air. “I fuck strangers and this is somehow the most intimate I’ve been with one ever.” You remarked sarcastically. Jungkook chuckled lightly in response,
“Me too.”
More silence hung, heavy in the room. You laid back, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. He too laid, unmoving, this is all on your terms he was communicating. You shut your eyes.
“What does it feel like?” You whisper.
“The bite, or the connection?”
“Both”
“The bite hurts for a second, but it goes away pretty fast. Vampire venom has powerful numbing properties. Some people even feel peace or euphoria, it's supposed to keep you from running from us once we have you.” He paused before continuing. “The connection is, overwhelming, in a word. Everything in your body turns up to 11, you become very magically charged, emotionally charged, physically charged and, uh, sexually…” He cleared his throat. “Charged.” He finished.
You sat in silence, digesting that information. You roll over on your side, facing him, he mirrors you.
You spent a few more minutes, studying his face in earnest. At this proximity, there was a boyishness quality you didn’t notice from far away. It was cute, even, bunny-like, and as you stared at him, you searched your mind, your heart, your soul, desperately looking for recognition, the easy way out, one last chance to avoid the leap of faith.
“What if I am mated to you?” You whisper
“We will figure it out.”
“How?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before we begin, I told you before you might lose some of your sense once we begin. Where is a line too far? Where should I stop you? Where should I stop me?”
“The troubled, sarcastic, sad part of me knows I can’t trust anyone.” You said, raising your hand to cup his cheek. “But something deep inside of me is telling me that you are truly good people. And for once, I am not going to push this one away.” You whispered, voice wavering. “Just, don’t hurt me, okay?”
He didn’t reply, but he held your gaze.
“Jungkook?” You ask softly.
“Hm?”
“Would you kiss me please?”
He then scooted closer to you and mirroring the motion you did before, he raised a hand, cupped your face gently, and placed a single, lingering kiss on your lips. He pulled away slightly, but a centimeter, I’m ready, but only when you are, he communicated to you. You closed the gap this time, I’m ready.
The kiss started off slow, chaste, even as two bodies, two energies tentatively explored the other in the more intimate environment. Jungkook was a good kisser, you decided, firm, but not too pushy. He allowed you to set the pace, the intensity, but what you gave he took readily. You parted your lips to him, and he took them greedily, using his free hand to hook around your back and drag you across the bed and completely flush with his body. You found your arm folded into his chest, the building intensity causing you to grip the fabric. You kissed greedily now, hungrily, like lovers long since reunited. It felt good, it felt right, you also decided. Kissing him was like the gentle respect and deep intimacy shared between two people who had loved each other for a long, long time. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt it, and you wanted more.
Your arms were at a disadvantage, pinned against his muscular chest, but you used the position to pull yourself closer and closer still. You needed more of him. You wanted more of him.
“Jungkook…” you whispered against his lips, a plea.
“I know, God I want you too.” He whispered back his arm like an iron bar across your lower back holding you in place. “But we have to do this first, sex makes everything so messy and confusing.” He broke away from your lips, kissing up your jaw bone stopping at your ear. “I’m gonna do it now, okay?” He whispered.
“Okay.” You confirmed. You found yourself then, in a swift move on your back with him straddled across your waist. From this angle, his baggy pants tented visibly over his crotch, the sight of which alone wound your core up so tight, you wondered if you’d cum immediately when he slips it in. He didn’t give you long to appreciate the view, as he leaned over you, face to face, and continued to kiss you. Your tongues didn’t battle but danced in harmony, and as you felt your hips rise to grind against the hardness so close to where you needed it, he broke away from your lips again, panting, he again peppered kisses up your jawline, but then down your neck this time gently sucking and licking on his way down, leaving you breathless. He settled on the spot but gave the skin special attention, the sensation of which had you sighing and running your fingers through his hair.
When he was finally satisfied, he wasted no further time and sank his teeth in, the sensation of which made you yelp in pain. He didn’t lie about the pain. After a brief pause, you felt the sensation of him drinking you in. He swallowed once, came up for a breath, and in that moment, from head to toe, it was like you had both been struck by lightning.
Overwhelming wasn’t the right word for it. Euphoric. Pure energy crackled and popped at your skin, literal sparks flying off at the points your skin connected. It was painful, you thought, but everything felt so amazing it faded into the background. Joy, pure joy radiated through your body. In fact, you can’t recall a time when you had ever felt this light-hearted and happy.
In the same moment, as euphoria washed over you, Jungkook’s demeanor changed and with a visceral, animalistic grunt, he dove back in sucking at your neck. The sensation was divine.
“More, more” You found yourself begging again and again. He was like an immovable object in his current positioning, but you allowed yourself the luxury with your now-free hands to slip under his baggy shirt, relishing in the corded muscle of his back and biceps.
The more he drank, the closer it seemed you got to the edge of something great. As something darker and harder to control overcame Jungkook, he didn’t notice when your enthusiastic pleas for more turned into incoherent babbling, and only when he had his fill, and the dark that consumed him receded, did he finally realize that you had fallen silent for quite some time.
He pulled away from your neck and examined your body in horror. Limp, and unmistakably ashen. You looked like a corpse.
“Y/N,” He said, panic in his voice, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N!” he said louder now, yelling and shaking you as violently as he dared.
Fuck.
Fuck.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I told you guys one after the other! Like I said in the last post, I'm working on intertwined, that update might go up today or tomorrow, depending on what I'm feeling, I only promised this post! I also mentioned before that I will update the tags once I reveal which bts member is what/ what Y/N is but try to guess below! You might be right~
#bangtan#bts#bts smut#bts x reader angst#bts x reader smut#bts x y/n#bts x you#bts x reader#bts x fem!reader#bts x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x reader smut#ot7 x reader smut#poly ot7#ot7 x reader smut#ot7xreader#ot7 x reader#foundfatedforever#foundfatedforever part 2
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the misadventures list; 5 (m)
➜ the night shift can be very wild at times. you’ve witnessed so many strange, concerning and absurd situations happen inside the tiny convenience store that you could make a long list with everything that got you stunned - and the situation that takes the prize of being the weirdest of your list is the night a desperate millionaire, for the sake of saving his fortune, asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend.
pairing: playboy!jimin x (f) reader
genre: smut, comedy (?), fluff • fake dating au
warnings: toxic parents. brief mentions of homofobia. alcohol consumption. explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, oral m&f receiving, throat fucking, unprotected sex, praise kink kinda, cum play, dirty talk). made-up celebrities. me trying to be funny i guess
rating: 18+
word count: 20k
A/N: i can't thank you guys enough for waiting for this update! i know it's been a while but i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!! as always, feedback is MUCH appreciated <3
➜ Chapters: check out masterlist in bio!
« playlist »
It’s almost 6PM.
Jimin is not happy about it.
The change in his expression as he checks the hour on his phone is subtle, but you see it as clear as day. The smile that remained on his lips and vanished from his eyes. He sighs, putting the phone inside his back pocket, and goes back to saying his goodbyes to everyone at the pier.
It makes you forget for a second that you were in the process of saving your own number on Jane’s phone.
You look down once again, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Damn. You weren’t supposed to be making friends. Jane is the lesser problem right here - she doesn’t know anyone from Jimin’s family except Jimin himself. The problem is that many of Jungkook’s friends are Jimin’s, too, and they asked for your number or your Instagram. Which, sure, isn’t that big of a deal and isn’t something unpredictable either, but hey, your purpose here is to pretend for just three days. You’re supposed to vanish from Jimin’s life right after it’s over. “Vanishing” doesn’t include making friends with his friends.
“What? You forgot your number?” Jane asks, eyeing you. She’s so drunk that it’s obvious that she’s not seeing you really.
“Yeah, I’m… a little dizzy.” You chuckle awkwardly. That’s a lie, though - you’re not drunk in the slightest. As soon as you noticed that alcohol was making you act weird, you stopped with the cocktails and drank as much water as possible to dissipate it from your system (so much pee). Going to the Park’s private concert drunk is out of question.
Giving in, you type your real number on her phone and hand it back to her. Jane smiles.
“I’m so glad that we met, Y/N! You’re such a great person! For real, like, you have a nice vibe!” Jane says excitedly. Yeah, definitely drunk. “We should meet again before the trip is over!”
It won’t be possible, of course. You’re not free to do whatever you want. But you nod anyway, hoping she won’t remember anything later. “Sure, let’s go out!”
Your little chat is interrupted by Jungkook calling everyone for a group photo. As soon as everyone starts gathering in a spot, you feel Jimin’s hand resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His grip is warm and gentle and heat spreads from the spot he touches. His hair is kind of a mess right now, yet he still manages to look cute. Jimin doesn’t say anything, just sends you a small smile before posing for the camera.
A few clicks later, he leans over to say quietly in your ear: “We really have to go now.”
You nod. Both of you still have to get ready for the concert in a few hours. As Jimin explained, up until now, only his parents’ closest friends arrived; tonight, though, is when the real people will arrive. Not causing a good impression on them is not an option.
You start to make your way out of there, in the midst of saying goodbye to the people you walk past (consciously ignoring the vultures that were around Jimin, though. You ain’t acting nice to them at all). As you both walk past Jungkook, Jimin puts his hand over the younger’s shoulder and sends him a warning gaze.
“You better sober up,” he says. Jungkook only opens a carefree smirk in response.
“C’mon, I’m not even that drunk yet. Don’t worry.” You’re not so sure about that, though; there’s something kind of psychotic about his silly smile. “See you guys later!”
Instead of arguing, Jimin just sighs.
And finally, you’re walking away from the pier.
It’s quieter now, which honestly is such a relief. The temperature started to cool down a bit. The sun has already disappeared behind the horizon line, yet the sky is still clear, painted in beautiful shades of orange, yellow and pink. You just walk in silence, hands behind your back, feeling a little funny. Since you stayed a long time in the water, it feels as if your body is still floating. It’s been a while since you felt this way.
“Jimin, I wanted to ask you a question…” you say quietly after a while.
After not getting a response, you frown and look around. Jimin isn’t beside you.
He’s a few steps behind, holding his phone to eye level.
“What are you doing?”
Jimin smiles. “Registering the moment.”
You quirk one eyebrow up and walk back to where he stands, a little bit confused. Jimin lets you see his phone for a second.
Your jaw drops.
You stand at the very center of the photo he took, your back turned to him, hair swaying with the wind. The beautiful sight of the evening sky serves as an astonishing background, the last beams of sunlight framing your figure beautifully. It’s breathtaking. He made such a trivial moment become something incredible with a single shot.
“What the hell?!” You exclaim, astonished, making Jimin chuckle. “You’ll send me this, right? This has to go on my Instagram feed!”
“Nope.” He says in a cocky manner, sticking his phone to his chest so you can't see it anymore. “I’m gatekeeping this one.”
“Aw, come on! That’s not fair!” You cross your arms and frown at him. "What are you going to do with this photo anyway?"
"It's my lockscreen already." His eyebrows shoot up in a playful expression. "What makes me remember, you should change yours, too. Why didn't we change it before? Such an amateur mistake!" He swiftly takes your phone from your hand and opens the front camera.
"What are you doing-?"
You gasp softly when Jimin pulls you by the waist, sticking your body to his. "Smile, pretty!"
His act was so sudden that you, indeed, end up cracking a genuine smile - at the same moment his lips touch your cheek tenderly.
Click.
Jimin steps away and smiles proudly at the photo. "We look like a real couple here. Come on, set it as your lockscreen."
You take the phone back from his hand, feeling a little dizzy.
Oh well.
You literally made out with him in front of everyone just a few hours ago, in the middle of the ocean. Why does the chaste kiss he planted on your cheek still makes your face burn? Is it because now you're alone, not having to pretend to be a couple anymore, that his act felt much more intimate? But… there was no one else around during your first kiss at the beach, either.
It's because you're head over heels for him already.
You shake your head frantically as if to yank these thoughts away from your head. No no no. I'm not falling that easily. I'm a cold hearted bitch. I'm just flattered because he's cute and hot and rich, but it'll go away. Right?
"Yeah, right." You mumble.
"What?" Jimin quirks one eyebrow up.
"What?" You freeze, realizing that you voiced your thoughts out loud. "I-I mean- I want to ask you something."
"Oh." He puts his hands behind his back and starts walking again. You follow him shortly. "What is it?"
You munch the inside of your cheek nervously. "You can not tell me if you don't want to. But… what happened earlier today? That family meeting, I mean. Is there anything I need to know?"
The carefree glint in his eyes immediately disappears. Jimin looks down at his feet. "Oh."
An uncomfortable silence settles between you, only the sounds of the ocean and voices from the other people at the pier lingering. It makes you regret making that question as soon as the words leave your mouth. "You really don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You say hesitantly after a few seconds.
"No, it's alright." Jimin reassures, but he's still staring at his feet. He sighs and shakes his head. It's so painful to see him sulking this way whenever his family is mentioned… "Basically, they called me to say that Eunbi's parents are pissed about us."
Your eyes widen in surprise. "Really?" You came prepared to be hated by Jimin's parents, but Eunbi's as well? Shit. As if one billionaire middle aged couple of enemies wasn't enough.
"Really." Jimin nods. You have finally reached the stairs that lead to the street level. This pier is within the resort's property, actually, so you're not that far from the bungalows, and the main building is just a few streets ahead. "They came thinking that the engagement was already settled. Without asking for our opinions, you know. They think that bringing you here is disrespectful to their daughter."
"Oh." You knit your eyebrows. "So… they don't care if you're in an actual relationship. They'd want you to break up so you can get married to someone you barely know… even if you weren't aware of the engagement?"
"Yep. That's exactly how they think." He sighs heavily.
You go up the stairs in silence. Your brain is working furiously. "This won't put you into real trouble, right?"
Jimin chuckles. "Y/N, the whole point of bringing you here was to put me in trouble. I want to stress them. Just don't worry too much, okay? Worrying will give you wrinkles, and you have to look wonderful tonight."
You're finally standing on the sidewalk, where one of the Park family butlers already waits to take you both back to the bungalow (he's wearing a short sleeved dress shirt, at least. Poor butlers, having to wear suits in the summer!). Your stomach twirls in nervousness. Spending the afternoon so freely made you forget for a bit your actual purpose here.
"You go without me, pretty. I'll get ready at Jungkook's place."
You turn to him, frowning in a confused expression. "What? Why?"
The happy gleam in his eyes comes back slowly as he steps closer. "I already explained that today is a little more serious, right? More guests arrived, we have to impress people… so I hired a team to take care of you. Hairstylist, makeup artist and stuff. They're already waiting for you."
"Oh." You feel your face burning for some reason. It should be expected of him to do something like that - even obvious, since all the socialites attending are probably getting the same treatment - but still, you can't help but feel a little flustered. "Okay." You change the weight of your body from one leg to another nervously. "So… see you later, I guess?"
Jesus Christ.
He's doing it again.
Standing directly in front of you with his hands behind his back, a mysterious lip tightened smile and mischief in his eyes, watching your every movement with amusement. If your face was hot a few seconds ago, now your entire body is feverish. Will you ever get used to this? The things Jimin makes you feel without even touching you are kind of amazing. Imagine when he actually touch you the way you want the most-
Hey, pervert. Stop.
"I think I've said this a hundred times already… but it's kinda rude to just stand and stare at people." You say, eyebrows knitted - but you can't manage to sound annoyed at all.
Jimin smirks.
"I want to kiss you."
You're so taken aback that your eyes widen.
"Huh?"
"Don't huh at me." He steps even closer - so close that you feel the heat emanating from his body. He rests his hand in the junction of your jaw and your neck, spreading even more heat from that spot. You don't push him away. All this heat is going to make you melt like a popsicle. "Don't try to look innocent right now. You shoved your tongue in my throat not long ago, missy."
You giggle, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I already said… I was just method acting."
"Hmm." Jimin nods slowly, biting his bottom lip. The sight makes you weak on the knees. "Sure. So, me kissing you right now means I'm method acting because one of the butlers is watching and we can't look suspicious around them, okay? Because they're my parents' eyes and ears, okay? Not because I want to kiss you." His voice gets lower as he leans in, a faked innocent expression that has you smiling and melting at the same time. "Just to make it clear so there's no misunderstanding. Okay?"
"Okay." You nod.
"Good. I'd hate if you got it all wrong."
Your giggle is muffled by his lips on yours.
Your hands instinctively rest on each side of his waist, while he cups your face with both hands. Oh God… his plump lips are addicting. This kiss is slower and somehow more peaceful than the one you shared in the sea, but it makes your heart race and your senses go crazy nevertheless. Your lips move slowly, in sync with his. You can feel him smiling within the kiss, which causes your knees to feel even weaker.
He breaks the kiss not too long after, aware that you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, but not taking his hands off of you. Yet again, he bites his bottom lip, analyzing your features carefully. "Hari will be there. You'll have a lot of territory to mark. Be ready."
You throw your head back, laughing. "Sure. You really are enjoying this way too much, huh?"
"I am. Why wouldn't I?" He confesses cheekily, shrugging. He pecks your lips one last time, lingering for a little longer, before finally letting you go. "See you later, pretty."
"See you."
You hope that Jimin doesn't notice that your legs kind of forgot how to walk as you distance yourself from him towards the butler. Because yes, you feel like a poor popsicle melting under the scorching Hawaiian sun. The sun has Jimin's face, which makes you remember the Teletubbies for some reason, earning a quiet giggle from you. The butler eyes you as if you're crazy.
Maybe you are getting crazy.
But to be honest - this insanity is sweeter than any popsicle you could ever taste.
As a kid, you always fantasized about being Mia from The Princess Diaries. Call it escapism if you want - fantasizing about a perfect life while yours was awful - but it was a dream of yours. Imagine: finding out your grandmother is a queen? Going from a regular loser to a crown princess? Who wouldn't want that?
You haven't thought of that movie in years. Now, as you stand in front of the mirror, it suddenly pops up in your head. Yes, Mia's iconic "transformation" scene.
Except you didn't think you were ugly before, which means right now, you're feeling like a literal goddess.
Maybe that's why God didn't make me rich, you think. Maybe he knew if I looked like this on a daily basis, I would be the most unbearable human being in this world.
"Did you like it?" The hairstylist, Christine, asks, eyeing you expectantly.
If I liked it?! I look like the hottest bitch you'll ever see in your life!
But instead of letting everyone see your God complex, you just nod and smile politely. "I loved it!"
Your eyes focus on the mirror again.
Jimin suggested you'd both wear black tonight as an evil joke. Traditionally, the dinner followed by the private concert is a more "informal" event, so everyone should dress accordingly with colorful outfits (you're in Hawaii, after all). Let's wear black. It represents me grieving my freedom, he said jokingly at the mall. You chuckled and thought he was being dramatic back then, but after everything you've witnessed for the past 48 hours, you realize that Jimin wasn't really joking when he said that.
The Yves Saint Lauren dress you two picked is quite simple: a short, strapless and sleeveless dress with a straight neckline. It's perfectly balanced between sexy and elegant: it enhances your curves the right amount, not enough to be considered vulgar by the aunties. Although it's strapless, it doesn't squeeze your boobies up so the uncles won't get "distracted" (ew). It's so simple but fits your body so well that you can't help but stare at your own reflection in awe. Simple black Givenchy sandals complete the outfit.
Being a (poor) fashion enthusiast, this whole experience is like heaven to you. One thing is to see new collections and judge new trends; another completely different thing is to get to wear a piece from a high fashion house. It's not only about prices and status. This dress is so well cut and woven that it seems to be alive, as if it knows where to be tight and where to be loose.
Doing your own makeup and hair was never a problem and you could do a pretty good job by yourself, but professionals doing it is on another level. Christine styled your hair back, carefully parting it and tucking it behind your ears, so your face is highlighted. Marco (the makeup artist) made your skin look impeccable, as smooth as baby butt cheeks (it's crazy how makeup can lie, huh?); the winged eyeliner, albeit simple, enhances the natural shape of your eyes. The lashes are subtle and make your eyes appear bigger. He completed the look by placing tiny little glitter dots under the waterline, one for each eye, so they kinda look like shiny tears (you suggested it, by the way, being carried away by the whole "grieving" concept. Talk about drama). He chose a lipstick color close to the natural color of your lips, making them appear shiny, plump and healthy.
And finally - the jewelry.
Mr. Zhou arrived at the bungalow a few minutes ago, carrying a leather, medium sized suitcase. You greet each other politely. Jimin texted saying that he would bring the jewelry you'd wear tonight - and you were anxious all along, because while you planned the outfits, he had already said you'd wear jewelry, but he didn't tell which jewelry; didn't show a single photo of what you'd wear, simply asked you to trust him. Although you learned to trust his fashion sense pretty fast, you don't like surprises at all. What if it's something extravagant that would ruin the look?
"Mr. Jimin picked those pieces from the Park jewelry collection himself," Mr. Zhou explains as he puts white gloves on (oh shit - this is so expensive that he has to wear gloves to touch it?!). "He said they would suit you fine - and I agree."
The chief butler opens the suitcase and takes the biggest black velvet case from inside, opening it.
It takes all of your self control not to gasp.
It's a gorgeous diamond necklace (yes, diamonds, fucking real diamonds!); it looks like a thick chain, actually, and at the center of it, sits a bigger emerald (yes, an emerald, a fucking real emerald!). Inside the box there are also subtle emerald earrings framed by tiny diamonds; since the necklace is already too much, the earrings have to be subtle to accompany them.
“I present you The Serpent’s Eye.” Mr. Zhou explains eloquently. “Tiffany & Co., designed by Paloma Picasso and acquired by the Park family in 2006.” He takes the necklace from the velvet case carefully. "If you'll allow me…"
"Of course." You say, turning around and facing the mirror again - but you do so hesitantly, because being the fashion enthusiast you are, you recognize the name Paloma Picasso, and the fact that you’re about to have one of her original designs around your neck scares you. You’ve been very well aware that every piece of clothing you wear is worth thousands, but these pieces must be worth much more than everything else combined.
Mr. Zhou stands behind you and places the necklace around your neck, the cool touch of metal and diamonds making you shiver. The necklace sits just above your collarbones. The name of the design is understandable - it indeed resembles a small snake tangled around your neck. He also helps you put the small earrings on.
Finally, Mr. Zhou steps aside.
"You look astonishing, Miss. Y/N," he says, and honestly, he sounds like he means it.
Yeah, I do, it’s what you want to say - but instead, you say “Thank you.”
It’s exactly what Jimin intended: elegance. If you’re too extravagant, his parents would hate it, and it’d make you look cheap no matter how expensive your clothes actually are. If it’s too simple, it’d look like you have no fashion sense. This look is the perfect balance. Your natural beauty is the focus, everything else just meant to highlight you.
You look like a celebrity.
You look like them. Like someone’s rich daughter. And yes, it’s conflicting, because you never wanted to look like them - but you can’t deny that you like what you see in the mirror.
You understand Jimin better now. Of course - he's an old money child, he doesn't know any lifestyle other than this. You're just having a little taste of what this life is. Yet, you can understand why he's so desperate to not lose his portion of the Park family fortune. Who wouldn't want to live such a lavish life? Who wouldn't want to look their absolute best at any opportunity, to wear clothes worth thousands just because they can?
Mr. Zhou looks at the watch on his wrist. “Now that you’re ready, I should take you to the event hall as soon as possible.”
“Am I late?” You ask in a worried tone.
“Fashionably late. I’m sure everyone will understand. It takes time to look your best.” Mr. Zhou reassures. Why is he being so nice today? “I will wait for you outside, Miss Y/N.”
You nod. As Christine and Marco pack their things, you don’t forget to thank them over and over again for their wonderful job. They seem like pretty nice people, actually, and you'd like to get to know them better, but you have no time to. Two other butlers will assist their exit. You take the small black clutch that literally can only fit your phone and a small lipgloss before walking out of the bungalow where Mr. Zhou already waits.
No golf car today. Instead, that same Mercedes Maybach from yesterday is parked outside. Mr. Zhou politely opens the door for you and helps you get inside the car before taking his place on the driver's seat.
Another wave of nervousness hits your stomach as he turns the car on and finally starts making his way towards the hall - a separate building within the hotel's property, sitting in front of the ocean, not far from the pier. The ride will take probably 5 minutes. You exhale heavily, checking yourself again with the front camera, before tapping Jimin's contact.
you: i'm coming
He replies almost instantly:
jimin: waiting for you outside
Oh. You didn't think he'd already be there. You put the phone inside the clutch again and look out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek.
"Are you nervous, Miss Y/N?" Mr. Zhou asks out of sudden, snapping you back to reality. He keeps the formal tone; his voice is soothing.
"A little bit, I'll admit." You say with a lip tightened smile.
"Tonight, you'll be meeting Jimin's parents' close friends and allies from other companies." He continues. He always speaks as if he's picking his words carefully. "It's quite important to them. It's not just a celebratory event, you see… they reassure their place within society and business today."
You frown slightly.
Mr. Zhou never talked this much. Although he keeps that formal persona, you see that he's trying to tell you something very specific, just avoiding the direct words to do so.
And yes, you get the message.
"You don’t need to worry, Mr. Zhou.” You say, crossing your arms, your expression hardening like stone in seconds. “I won’t embarrass the Park family in front of their friends.”
You see the butler nodding. “You’re smart.” He remarks. “Intelligence is important if you want to be accepted in the family.”
I would never in a million years want to be part of this family, you think. Instead, you just gulp and grip your arms, trying to ease the growing anger.
Finally, he parks in front of the events building. Yet, instead of immediately going out - and stopping you from opening the door yourself, since you’re already annoyed, Mr. Zhou turns around on his seat to look at you directly.
His expression is serious.
“I don’t want you to take my words badly, Miss Y/N.” He says in a quiet, yet stern voice. “I have been watching over this family even before Jimin was born. I know each of them very well, and I know how dysfunctional they are. When I say you have to be smart around them and watch yourself very carefully, I don’t say it to belittle you; I say it because I know what they would be capable of doing if you offend them somehow.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” You lean forward a bit, getting defensive. “Did they tell you to threaten me?”
“No.” His voice and expression don’t change despite your obvious outrage. “I am warning you because I see that you’re not quite aware of the type of people you’re dealing with. And because you seem like a respectable young lady.” Mr. Zhou’s eyes soften a bit. “I see that Jimin likes you a lot. I’m not quite sure of what your relationship with him really is, and I’d be happy if it’s genuine, because he really needs it in his life. But I know Jimin very well…” Mr. Zhou tilts his head to the side, frowning a bit. “...and I’d hate it if you're somehow harmed because of his immaturity.”
He sends a last significant gaze before finally opening the door.
You just have these short seconds to recover your breath before he opens the door for you. Shit. What he said actually gets you. Call it naivety or whatnot - but you didn’t stop to consider that Jimin’s parents are actually powerful people that could mess up your life if you annoy them enough. But… Jimin wouldn’t have asked for your help if he knew his parents would try anything serious against you, right?
Mr. Zhou knows Jimin better than you do and he just called him immature.
Oh shit.
The butler opens the door and offers his hand for you to walk out of the car. Now, you’re not just nervous - you’re worried.
Thankfully, the temperature dropped - it's still considerably hot, but much more comfortable than hours ago. You stand up, inhaling the fresh nightly air, and look at the gigantic building in front of you. Important events happen here quite frequently. Large marble stairs lead to the entrance of the hall. There is a gathering of women and men dressed elegantly slowly making their ways inside, greeting each other politely as they walk in, as well as many security guards. You stand on the sidewalk and nervously look around, searching for Jimin.
You spot him before he spots you.
He's standing at the corner, kind of hidden, close to the first steps, absently checking his phone. You already knew what he would be wearing tonight, but to see him in the outfit makes your brain malfunction.
Obviously, Jimin wears all black: a silk turtleneck under a black glitter Louis Vuitton blazer that fits him marvelously. The turtleneck is tucked into the dress pants. On his feet, leather black boots. His hair is pushed back, a single strand falling on his forehead, and he uses a pair of shades to complete the look. Instead of the usual dangly earrings, he wears small hoops tonight that match the outfit very well. Once again, you're left astonished at how this man is doing basically nothing - just standing there with one of his hands tucked inside the front pocket of his pants, checking his phone with a blank expression - but Gosh, he's gorgeous. His posture is perfect: he has the elegance of a swan, the grandeur of an eagle, and the confident gaze of a tiger about to slash you to pieces. In fact, he looks so good that you even forget the short talk you had with Mr. Zhou a minute ago.
It takes him around three seconds to lift his gaze from the phone and spot you.
It's funny, because you see the exact moment he freezes.
The shades slide down the bridge of his nose. He looks at you with slightly widened eyes and parted lips. It's like he's in shock.
Then, a smile breaks its way and lightens his face.
Jimin shoves the phone inside the pocket of his pants and rushes to you in a second. Nervousness bubbles within your stomach at every step he takes. It doesn’t help that he walks with the stance of a model - he’s definitely doing this on purpose. Handsome men that know they are handsome are the most dangerous type. Jimin is not only very well aware of his appearance, he uses it to his advantage all the time.
And when he stops in front of you, checking you out from head to toe - it’s like you can’t even breathe.
It’s a different feeling from yesterday. There’s no playfulness in his eyes at all. Only that same electricity hanging in the air you felt earlier today at the yacht - when you sat on his lap, when you kissed. This electricity is getting more and more intense, it’s like you’ll start seeing sparks around you at any moment. Fuck, he didn’t even touch you yet. You don’t know how much longer you can resist…
Honestly, you’re not sure if you want to keep resisting at this point.
Jimin takes your hand and makes you twirl around, earning a soft giggle from you. He bites his bottom lip, that mischievous smirk making you feel weak on the knees.
“Just so you know,” he says in a low voice, putting his hand on your waist, “If I make a fool of myself in front of everyone, I’m blaming you. Because I won’t be paying attention to anything else tonight.”
You giggle again, tentatively touching the lapel of his blazer. It’s beautifully embroidered with circular patterns; you can only see them if you stand close enough, though. Your sight lingers on his lips (for long seconds; they’re so plump and glossy and delicious) before you look into his eyes again. “I could say the same thing, Mr. Park.”
Jimin’s smirk widens and he tilts his head to the side. “I knew The Serpent’s Eye would suit you.” He touches the necklace with his fingertips. The action makes you gulp - this necklace seems to weigh tons and you’ve been painfully aware of it all the time, your anxious brain already making up scenarios of you losing the millionaire design and Jimin’s parents making you pay with your life.
“Why did you choose it, by the way?” You quirk one eyebrow up in a teasing expression. “Are you calling me a snake? Should I be offended?”
Jimin chuckles. “Of course not. Serpents are astute and smart animals… just like you.” Sir, the actual smooth person here is you, not me. “Not everyone can pull off such an aggressive design. I knew none of my mother’s friends would dare to choose it.”
Jimin hooks your arm around his and slowly starts to guide you towards the stairs. “So your mom lets her friends borrow her jewelry?” You ask.
“From the family collection, yes.” Jimin nods in a gracious movement. “The most expensive pieces, only to the closest and most important guests. It’s a sign of trust and respect.”
“But your mother surely doesn’t respect me.” You say between gritted teeth, aware of the people around you.
“Don’t worry, she won’t say a word about it. It’d be weird if the guests noticed that her daughter-in-law isn’t wearing one of the pieces. Like I told you… this event is about appearances. She’d rather die than let people think her family isn’t perfect.”
Daughter-in-law. This makes you shiver. You've been her fake in law for barely 48 hours and it already feels like hell. Imagine being her real in law… Jieun must’ve done some awful things in her past life to deserve this, honestly.
You’re forced to pay attention to your real surroundings before you can overthink more, though, when you realize you’re the center of attention.
This is probably the closest you’ll ever feel to being a celebrity. It’s not unusual to be the center of attention when it’s your birthday, for example. But this… this feels different. You don’t know most of these people, just some familiar faces from earlier today - yet, it seems that they already know you, they measure you up and down, they smile and greet you before you can. Sure… your arm is hooked with one of this event’s hosts, the Park’s youngest son. Yet, you see that people are also actually seeing you. You’re not just Jimin’s accessory.
Is this good? You’re not sure. This means they’ve heard from you somehow. In the span of less than 48 hours, these unknown people have been talking about you.
They approach you with curious smiles; they greet you and Jimin, make some shallow - almost diplomatic - comment about the weather or how long they haven’t seen Jimin or about the outfits or I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N! (how the hell did they hear a lot about you in such a short time, though?) or you make a gorgeous couple! (you know they’re not lying about this bit; you do look gorgeous). They do not look at you disapprovingly, so you can confirm that the outfit choice was indeed appropriate for the event, albeit dramatic.
“You’re great at this, did you know that?” Jimin compliments after yet another middle aged couple walks away, leaning a bit closer to your ear so only you can hear. “You even remember their names.”
“I have a good memory,” you say between a gritted-teeth smile. “Also, working on customer service teaches you a few things.”
“Really? You weren’t this charming when we met at that convenience store.” He says in a teasing way, cocking an eyebrow up.
“First of all, I met you sitting on the floor behind a fridge. You looked like a freak.” He lets a giggle at that. “Second, I’ve moonlighted as a waitress many times. And event hostess. Never any event of this level, of course.”
The last sentence was spoken in a quieter tone. Once again, you’re a bit scared of how Jimin - and everyone else - don’t seem to be bothered by the absolutely luxurious environment around. The immense hall is decorated in similar white and cream tones from the dinner yesterday (there’s a reason for that; Jimin’s parents are celebrating their 30th anniversary, the Pearl anniversary, apparently). Even waiters and waitresses, walking around with silver platters in hands and pretty smiles on their faces, wear cream uniforms. There are literal cascades of white lilies and roses so beautifully entangled that you’re intrigued at how they managed to arrange that. The round dinner tables are also decorated with white flowers at the center. There is a massive ice sculpture of an open oyster with a pearl in it at the entrance of the hall; the presence of pearls and oysters is almost everywhere in the decoration. The hostesses and waitresses even have small oyster shaped pins on their hair. At the very front, there is a stage; it’s barely lit yet, but you can see musicians discreetly preparing their instruments for the concert later. Professional photographers walk around the hall, recording and taking pictures of anything remarkable.
It’s jaw-dropping.
You feel weird inside.
It doesn’t matter that you look like them; you don’t feel like them. You don’t belong in this place, and it feels that everyone will notice it too if you do the slightest thing wrong. It’s clear in the way you’re astonished (outraged) at how someone can spend so much money on flowers (do you even know how much a single bouquet costs? Can you imagine thousands of flowers?!) while these people walk around with hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging from their ears or around their necks, and to them it’s just another weekend.
Oh boy. Mr. Zhou was kinda right. You will have to be very careful not to embarrass Jimin or his family in front of these people.
You walk around with your arm hooked around Jimin’s for a while, making silly small talk with the guests. Jimin quietly whispers who they are and their importance as they approach. It’s always some over the top shit like Biggest LG Shareholder or Co-Founder of This Very Famous Car Brand or CEO of This Very Rich Food Company and it makes your stomach drop every time. It seems that half of the country’s GDP is hanging around in this hall. A bunch of old guys with their (1) same age, but full of obvious cosmetic procedure wives or (2) much younger wives that of course married them out of true love.
Jimin complimented you earlier, but it’s him who deserves the most compliments. He’s really good at this. It’s so easy for him to engage in a superficial but polite conversation. Hello! I acknowledge your presence here! I am thankful that you came but I do not care enough to talk more than two minutes with you! Yes the weather is nice! See you later! All that with the prettiest smile and most genuine fake laughter you’ve ever seen (sounds contradictory but that’s exactly that). And they all fall for that. He’s so unbearably charming.
Which makes you wonder.
Jimin said that the whole purpose of bringing you to Hawaii was to upset his parents. But… he’s not really acting like someone willing to do that. Of course - maybe he knows that if he goes too far, his parents might really cut him off of their sweet sweet money fountain. Yet, it doesn’t match with what he stated earlier. Does he really want to piss his parents off? Or does he want to play the good boy so his parents leave him alone with this engagement thing? Those are opposites, he can’t want both.
Does he even know what he wants?
You’re unsure.
Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have accepted this insanity, the little anxious voice in your head says. Maybe he really is too immature and is about to fuck me up.
Jimin gives a little pat on the hand that holds his arm and smiles.
“We’re doing really well, pretty. I’m relieved that you’re here.” He says quietly. “This kind of event always stresses me out, but you’re making this easier.”
Don’t go around saying cute shit like that while I doubt you!
You avoid his gaze and sip a little bit more of the champagne you picked earlier from a waiter. “It doesn’t look like you’re stressed at all.” He shrugs.
“I’m method acting, too. Kinda used to it at this point.”
And there it is. That quiet sadness in his eyes.
Goddamnit.
All the questions in your head crumble to the ground, and you immediately want to comfort him like a baby.
That’s not a baby. It’s a grown ass man. Get yourself together.
The voice in your head is angrier now - and she’s kinda right, to be honest.
Jimin sighs and pats your hand again.
“Okay, we’ve wandered around enough. Food will be served soon… so we have to get seated.” He doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn’t despise the idea of having to sit with his family for another torturously long dinner.
“Okay.” You nod, placing the now empty champagne glass on another waiter’s platter. You inhale, trying to gather more confidence. “Let’s go.”
So, you start walking towards the table at the front of the stage - the most important one where everyone can see from all directions.
They’re already there, surrounded by their closest friends.
At every step, you try to gather more and more anger within yourself - this anger will fuel your confidence and muffle the nervousness (in theory). Fuck this middle aged billionaire couple. Fuck their matching cream outfits - Mr. Park Hyunjun wears a very traditional (read: boring) cream suit, while Mrs. Park Eunji wears a long, flowy dress with blue details in it and beautifully embroidered with silver patterns that seem to remember a soft breeze. A beautiful pearl necklace adorns her neck and modest cleavage. Their outfits are very “age appropriate” and posh, indeed, and they are an attractive couple, but everything about them is so painfully traditional.
Also fuck the way they look at you two with disapproval.
Another nauseatingly fake scene unfolds in front of your eyes - Mrs. Eunji giggles and side hugs Jimin, gushing over how handsome he looks (she can’t hide the obvious distaste for his black outfit, though).
“What an… interesting choice,” she says, touching the embroidery on his blazer with her fingertips. “Rather dramatic, I’d say.”
Jimin smiles. “Everyone looks good in black, you know. Also, I didn’t want to stand out.”
Bullshit. No one else is wearing black because it goes against the dress code. The way he said it so innocently would make any unsuspecting ears believe him, but his mom is certainly not one of those - neither are you.
“Of course, black can make anyone look presentable at least. Y/N is live proof, isn’t she?”
She eyes you from head to toe and smiles sweetly.
Holy fucking shit. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
Her tone. The way she looks at you. Her awful Tom Ford perfume that makes you want to vomit as she approaches and - gasp - side hugs you too, like a good and loving mother-in-law. You smile and give her some soft pats on her back, but God, you can’t act as well as her at all - although you force yourself to do your best, well aware that all eyes and ears are focused on the Park family.
“You look astonishing tonight, Mrs. Park,” you say between gritted teeth. “This color really suits you.” Cream is boring. Like old paper. You almost smell like mold, too, rattlesnake.
“I’m glad you think so.” She’s not glad you think so. “See, me and Elie spent a long time choosing the color palette for this dress… he did such a wonderful job in the end.” She widens her eyes slightly. “Oh! My apologies, you can’t possibly know who I’m talking about…”
“Elie Saab.” You promptly say. Of course Elie Saab himself designed a dress for her. “Yes, I know his work.”
“Really?” She raises one eyebrow and this small movement spreads anger through your system. So much disdain, and she just said a word. “I didn’t think you’d know such a highly regarded fashion house, since you seem so… humble.” She has the audacity to eye you up and down with disgust again. “A wonderful trait to have, you see! Our Jimin definitely needs someone in his life to teach him some humility.”
In all honesty, you don’t even know how to respond to this.
Your wanted reaction is to reach for the nearest fork and stab her face with it. Which is, unfortunately, socially inappropriate. You also think of calling her by the ugliest names in existence, which, unfortunately is also socially inappropriate (won’t take you to jail, at least).
But all you can do is keep that smile plastered on your face and anger in your eyes.
This level of contempt is not unusual.
Alpha High taught you to get used to it. The giggles, side glances, or straight up offenses spoken out loud so everyone could laugh at your expense, too. It taught you to accept it silently, because you knew no one would stand up for you; you didn’t have enough money or a heavy surname to back you up. You weren’t important enough. Who cared if you had an excellent academic performance? It wasn’t as cool as having a summer manor in Greece anyway.
You hate that no clever response comes to your mind. You hate that you can just stand there and awkwardly look at her - this woman that made you feel cheap even though you have diamonds sitting around your neck. You hate that, deep down, you’re feeling as cornered as you were as a defenseless fifteen year old standing on the school hallway.
Not a fun feeling at all.
And things just start getting progressively worse.
Before even Jimin gets time to say something, another couple approaches - and your blood freezes. You’ve seen them yesterday at the reception dinner and earlier today, now feeling a little stupid that you didn’t make the simple connection. They’re followed shortly by another person, a much familiar and hated face.
Eunbi’s parents, apparently; Mr. and Mrs. Jeong.
Now that you look at the three of them, the silly part of your brain wonders who Eunbi inherited her beauty from, because they don’t share much of it with her, let’s say. They’re impeccably well dressed, of course, but their daughter’s beauty steals all the attention. She wears a rosé pink minidress (is it MiuMiu?) with a straight neckline and thin straps. On her ears, diamond earrings that seem to resemble raindrops; around her neck, a diamond choker necklace. Everything combed with the subtle makeup gives her a young, cute look.
You measure each other up and down like two rival lions about to fight. Complete opposites, black and pink.
The tension is so extreme that it’s almost visible - like some kind of fog.
Jimin is the one to break the ice, stepping closer to greet the couple, and you do the same, glad that you don’t have to look at Mrs. Rattlesnake even for five seconds - though this other lady also hates you, apparently. It’s kind of amazing how Jimin can act like the heavy tension isn’t there at all.
The seven of you stand there smiling for long and silent five seconds. It looks like a smiling contest. You can’t tell who’s angrier.
“So… Y/N, right?” Mrs. Jeong says. She looks like an eggplant, some part of your brain remarks silently, almost making you (very inappropriately) giggle. “It’s such a surprise that you and our Eunbi were classmates. We would’ve never guessed.”
If that’s even possible - your anger levels increase. It might’ve sounded like a pretty normal thing to say, but her tone and the way she measured you up and down makes it clear that what she really meant was we would’ve never guessed that a nobody like you also studied in Alpha High.
“We were surprised, too.” Eunbi says before you can, smiling sweetly. “We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“This is a great excuse for you to come with us to a day at the Spa tomorrow, isn’t it, Mrs. Park?” Eunbi’s mom says, eyeing the other woman knowingly.
“Of course! Y/N and Eunbi must have a lot to catch up after all these years, right? Y/N, you have to come with us tomorrow.” Rattlesnake hisses- (oops) says.
You look at the two other women with uneasiness.
First of all, this doesn’t sound like an invite, but a summon. You simply know you can’t say no. Second of all - these three despise you, they wouldn’t want you there if they didn’t have second intentions. What do they actually want?
You want to say no thanks, but it feels like you’re handcuffed in this situation.
“Sure. It sounds refreshing,” you finally agree with a painful smile. It didn’t even happen yet, but you know tomorrow is already ruined. Don’t let these bastards get to your head, your inner voice advises; don’t show weakness. You can deal with them.
Yeah, right.
You notice that, surprisingly, Eunbi looks very uncomfortable with the whole idea; she avoids her mother’s gaze and looks down, smile faltering a bit. She doesn’t want to be around you as much as you don’t want to be around her, apparently. At least you can agree on something.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Park stepping closer once again, placing his hand on his wife’s back. “Dear, dinner’s ready and about to be served. We should take our places.”
“Of course. I’m sure all of us are hungry enough.” She turns around to the other guests to announce it loudly, and somehow all the nearly one hundred people manage to hear it, walking to their respective seats.
Respective seats.
The seats are all charted - something you only saw in movies before, but you should’ve expected it at this point. Coming closer to the round table, you notice that over every beautiful white and blue porcelain plate, there is an elegant tag name in golden lettering on top of it. Mr. and Mrs. Park; Hyungsik and his wife sit by Mr. Park’s seat, while Jimin’s place is by his mother…
And by Jimin’s seat…
You freeze. Jimin freezes, too.
Jeong Eunbi’s name tag.
Feeling your stomach drop, you look around, searching for your own name tag - but there’s none to be seen, and it’s getting increasingly embarrassing as everyone else sits down while you and Jimin remain standing.
Your throat gets dry.
“She’d rather die than let people think her family isn’t perfect,” Jimin said as you walked inside the hall. This made you think she wouldn’t want to embarrass you.
Oh, Jimin. How wrong you were.
“Hm, there must be a mistake.” Jimin speaks up. The smile is still there, but his eyes hardened and his breath gets deeper as the visible anger fills him. “Where is Y/N’s seat?”
“Oh! Jimin, dear… this is a bit unpleasant,” his mother says, stepping closer with clasped hands and (fake) apologetic eyes. “You know that we planned this event months prior… the charting was already made long ago. We didn’t know Y/N would be here today. Unfortunately, there was no time to tell the catering staff to provide one more seat at our table.”
Funny how your legs start feeling cold all of sudden.
It’s the second time you’re at a loss of words tonight, this time much worse than before. You grip Jimin’s arm just a little tighter, feeling how the situation is starting to get people’s attention. Mrs. Park isn’t trying to be quiet right now. Your legs are cold, but your neck and face suddenly warm up with embarrassment as the guests on the main table whisper among each other in confusion.
“We found a vacant seat, of course, right over there, Y/N,” Mrs. Park continues - for fuck’s sake, she just continues - pointing over to the other side of the hall. “With the Kim family. You’ll love them, I know it!”
Your brain can’t process a coherent sentence.
With the corner of your eye, you notice Eunbi standing a few steps away awkwardly. She has the decency to look embarrassed, at least. Everyone else at the table is already seated.
You’re… you’re supposed to be their daughter-in-law. Their younger son’s girlfriend, the first girl he ever brought over. Yet… they refuse to let you sit by Jimin’s side on the main table, the hosts table, and want you to sit alone on the back so they can set up Jimin and Eunbi. And they’re doing it publicly.
This is the type of humiliation you wouldn’t expect from an adult, a mature person. But it’s happening nevertheless, and you want to sink and disappear. You can’t think of a quirky comeback, a way out that would make you feel less humiliated - even though Jimin isn’t even your real boyfriend and these people aren’t your real in-laws. This trip feels like a mistake, like a bad idea, like Mr. Zhou was absolutely right in his warning.
You’re so overwhelmed by this sour feeling that you don’t notice how Jimin’s smile disappears.
He sighs heavily, looking at his feet, jaw clenched.
“Okay.” He looks up at you - and you’re taken aback, because you’ve never seen Jimin angry before. “Y/N, let’s go back to our room.”
And he starts walking away, taking you along by the hand.
“What? Jimin- where’re you going?” Mrs. Park says, making Jimin stop. “Dinner’s about to be served.”
You see the warning in her eyes and gritted teeth and hardened smile, but for once, Jimin doesn’t play along. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak louder, but when he does speak, it’s in a hard and serious tone.
“If Y/N doesn’t have a place here, neither do I. I don’t see why we should stay in this situation.” He doesn’t bother to whisper, aware that he has the table’s attention. “Now, if you’ll excuse us...”
Oh shit. He’s angry and offended. Jimin turns around again, holding your hand tightly.
In the midst of all the bad feelings, this is so satisfying. You’re simply happy that Jimin didn’t leave you on your own, didn’t lower his head to his parents. He stood up for you and is genuinely pissed! His mother is still babbling - she for sure didn’t expect Jimin to want to leave like this - and even Mr. Park got up from his seat; Eunbi is pale, her parents watch in disapproval, similar to Jimin’s older brother, who glares at him as if he did something wrong.
“Wait, Jimin, please,” someone else says, which catches both yours and Jimin’s attention: Mr. Hwang. He’s gotten up and looks between you and Mrs. Park cautiously. “I am sure we can solve this situation very easily. There’s no need to miss this amazing night.”
Mrs. Hwang also gets up; her eyes are widened with worry and an uneasy smile. “I am sure everyone at this table can move a little so Y/N can sit with us.” Murmurs of agreement echo around, much to the Park’s displeasure. “Waiter, please? Could you assist us?”
You and Jimin eye each other as Mrs. Hwang politely asks a nearby waiter to bring another chair, while the guests start getting up with no protest to open a little spot by Jimin’s side. In no time, there is one more chair at the table; another waitress hushes to bring a new set of plates and cutlery.
“See? It’s done! Not a big problem at all.” Mr. Hwang says happily; the guests at the table also seem content.
“I guess we can all sit now, right, Jimin?” His wife says. “We all would hate it if this lovely young lady missed the concert.” And to your surprise - the table agrees.
You look at Jimin again. He doesn’t look happy - not at all - but it seems that he softened up a bit because of the Hwang couple; same goes for you. If this was a competition for Best Middle Aged Couple, the Hwangs would’ve won it by far.
He raises an eyebrow at you - a question. You shrug and nod in small movements. Although you’d rather not be here, at least Mrs. Park looks infuriated that her silly little plan didn’t work and she in fact caused a ridiculous scene. Her attempt at embarrassing you completely backfired.
Jimin sighs heavily and, instead of saying anything, walks back to the table once again. The guests sigh in relief; Eunbi looks even more awkward; the Parks are fuming. Jimin pushes the chair for you to sit, and as you do, a little spark of victory fills your chest.
“I’m glad this is solved,” Mrs. Park says, glaring at you as if she wants to stab you with the nearest knife, a lip tightened smile. “I hate unforeseen events.”
You are the unforeseen event. About to be the worst she could ever imagine.
“It’s alright, Mrs. Park. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.” You say sweetly. Jimin does his best not to laugh; she definitely wants to stab you.
Me 1 x 0 Rattlesnake
A win, at last.
Everyone at the table does their best to forget The Seat Incident for the sake of a good mood.
Lighthearted conversations. Good (amazing) food. The band plays soft background music. Understandably so, neither you and Jimin talk much - he is still visibly upset; chooses to just respond whenever someone mentions him or makes quiet comments in your ear from time to time. You, on the other hand, don’t talk much because the person sitting by your left side is Eunbi and you’d honestly rather swallow nails than willingly have a conversation with her.
All things considered, everything is going alright. They’re asking fewer questions than yesterday, which is great, so you can focus on whatever the name of this thing you’re eating is - taking small bites and chewing slowly so you don’t look impolite and desperate for food. Your stomach twirls every time you hear Jimin’s parents' voices, though, which makes you enjoy the taste less.
You’re doing great, you mentally pat yourself on the back. A few more hours and you’ll be back in your room. Just get this over with.
After pretty much everyone is done eating - your stomach is so full that the dress becomes uncomfortably tight -, Mr. Park gets up from the chair and softly clicks the side of a knife on a crystal glass, enough to call everyone’s attention. You notice when a waiter swiftly places a mic on the table for him.
The band stops. Everyone goes silent. Mr. Park Hyunjun takes the mic, a soft smile adorning his features, as the spotlight focuses on him.
“Good evening once again, my friends.” His deep and elegant voice echoes softly through the speakers. The whole hall greets him back. “I hope everyone enjoyed this amazing dinner prepared by Chef Mauro Bianchi. Mr. Mauro, it is a pleasure to have you with us once again.”
A round of applause. An aggressively Italian man with a cook outfit politely bows and smiles as the spotlight focuses on him in the back of the hall, close to the kitchen doors. Of course Mr. Park only acknowledges the worldwide famous, I-don’t-know-how-many-Michelin-stars holder Chef, but not the entirety of the staff that helped organize and serve everyone.
“As most of the friends present here already know, me and my dear wife prepare this event every year not only as a celebration of our union, but also as a celebration of all the many achievements and challenges we win throughout the year.” He makes a dramatic pause, his eyes scanning the crowd to make sure everyone is paying attention - and everyone indeed is; despite your hatred for the man, you can’t deny that with this level of oratory, he could’ve easily been a news anchor.
He offers his hand to help his wife get up from the chair as another round of applause echoes. Mrs. Rattlesnake has a pretty smile, you have to admit. Once again - yeah, they do look great together, and otherwise you’d think this is all too sweet, but there’s just something inherently wrong with this scene… too poised, robotic - trained to detail.
“And past year was indeed one of the most significant of our lives. After much work, Aurum ranked fifth place as one of the biggest steel companies in the world. We’ve achieved heights my parents would’ve never imagined.” He continues. More applause. What does it even have to do with his marriage? “Unity. This is the word for our 30th anniversary. Everything we’ve made and built, we did together - and I’m sure we wouldn’t have gotten this far if we were apart.” Oh, so your fortune was “achieved” because of your wife? I thought it was because of the already rich company your dad left on your hands.
“And the oyster, my friends, is the perfect symbol of unity; it summons up our life as a couple very well.” He looks at his wife sweetly. You have trouble telling if Mrs. Rattlesnake’s glossy eyes are fake or not. “An oyster. Two shells, pressed together - working together to create the most beautiful pearl. And our pearls, our jewels - the biggest gift this marriage brought us both - is our two sons.”
My God.
You want to vomit.
The applause is a bit louder now as the spotlight focuses on both Jimin and Hyungsik. Both of them smile and wave to the public. If you hadn’t spent the most uncomfortable hours of your life around this family, you would’ve fallen for Mr. Park’s sweet words - but hell no. I mean, it might be true about Hyungsik - but Jimin? The dear son they very publicly disrespected only barely an hour ago, by ignoring his partner? The dear son they mock constantly, scold, disrespect, and want to force into an arranged marriage against his will?
These people genuinely make you sick.
You’re a bit surprised as Jimin grabs your hand under the tablecloth, where no one can see. You take it and squeeze softly. He wants to vomit as much as you do.
“You two are live proof of our love, and we are so proud to know you’re our children.” The applause continues as Mr. Park speaks this time. Kind of funny how he says that while Jimin himself stated that he sees his parents once a year. That’s not the behavior of someone that cares this much.
“Unity. Family. Love. Friendship. It’s what we’ve been harvesting together for the past 30 years, and I couldn’t be more happy and grateful.” He squeezes his wife’s hand sweetly. “Now, let us celebrate together, my dear friends.”
The lights go off while the hall applauds; the band starts playing again, way louder this time - a melody you’re familiar with - and when all the spotlights focus on the stage-
You gasp loudly.
“What the-?!” You whisper in utter shock. Jimin chuckles.
The woman standing on the stage is… is Kim Gain.
Like, why are you even surprised at this point? What, you thought the Parks would’ve hired a bar singer for their super expensive wedding anniversary? But even so, you didn’t expect to be seeing the 90s love songs’ legend Kim fucking Gain standing a few meters away from you, wearing a gorgeous long silver dress, her beautiful and powerful voice filling the hall as she sings her all-time smash hit Flower Hill. This woman doesn’t even do concerts anymore! You can’t even imagine the insane amount of money they must’ve paid her to do a private concert.
She sings looking directly at the main couple, and God- despite the age, her voice sounds even better live than recorded. It makes you forget for a while all of tonight’s awful events. You quietly hum along to the lyrics of Flower Hill word by word - it’s impossible to not know this song, not only because it’s a classic, but because it’s your mother’s favorite song and she hammered it into your head.
Your memories are as clear as the blue sky; your mother played her CD over and over again - this song specifically - while she prepared lunch. You helped her peel the boiled eggs, standing on a stool so you’d get tall enough to reach the sink, while she cut cabbage swiftly. You both sang along to Flower Hill. Even your father would hum along eventually as he put the dried bowls on their respective cabinets.
It’s a good childhood memory. One of the few. You remember thinking that your mother looked so beautiful when she wasn’t frowning and angry at you.
And all of sudden - sadness hits you like a truck.
Funny how being humiliated in front of these people didn’t even get close to making you cry the way just thinking of your mother does.
You sigh and look down, that familiar heavy thing growing in your chest, stubborn tears that you blink away before they can even come. Shit shit shit. Don’t you dare to cry here, Y/N, you scold yourself harshly. But goddammit- Mrs. Kim Gain sings really well, and when the chorus hits, you always melt away.
It’s moments like this that remind you that you are, in fact, not indifferent. And you are, in fact, far more hurt that you can put into words.
It’s your turn to squeeze Jimin’s hand for comfort.
He eyes you quietly, confused - but chooses to not make any comment.
You elbow Jimin’s side, eyes squinted, as if unsure of what you’re seeing.
“What?” He asks, relaxing on the chair next to yours, now sitting on a table at the external part of the hall. Finally some cool night air; from the external part, you have a wonderful view of the immense garden that goes down the hill directly to the sea. You can see the pier down there; it’s full of parked yachts - much more than during the day - but there’s some in the distance as well, shining against the otherwise pitch black sea like little stars.
“Am I crazy,” you say after sipping more champagne from the glass, “or that’s Kim Minju?”
You discreetly point to a certain girl standing inside the hall. She’s tall and gorgeous, wearing a green sundress. You’re not really into idols - you don’t have time to keep up with celebrities at all - but even someone like you can recognize Kim Minju, the new “it” girl from the new “it” group everyone’s been talking about lately.
Jimin squints his eyes as well, and when he sees who you’re pointing at, he nods. “Yep, it’s her.”
You raise one eyebrow up. “Why are your parents friends with teenage celebrities?”
“They’re friends with her mother.” Jimin sips from his own glass of champagne. He took his blazer off and rolled the shirt up to his elbows, looking much more relaxed now that he can finally stay away from his family.
Kim Gain finished her concert, which meant people were allowed to just hang around and talk again, while the band kept playing background music. You decided to leave the main table as soon as you could, finding this almost-hidden table at the external balcony (you’re glad it’s this hidden, because it’s getting hard to sit all lady-like with your feet hurting like this. These Givenchy sandals were way too expensive to be this uncomfortable to wear). Jungkook was hanging out with you two minutes ago, but suddenly something “very important” happened and he had to leave (in other words: some hot girl passed by and he went after her).
“And her mother is…?”
“One of MNET’s biggest shareholders, basically. Why do you think Minju is the most popular member? Her mother pays for her to be the center, to have the best clothes… this kind of thing.” He speaks in a low voice, aware of the people around. “Most popular idols are only popular because their families pay for their popularity.”
“Oh.” Makes sense. You look him up and down, the hint of a playful smile on your lips. “You could’ve asked your parents for help in this area, Jimin. You would’ve made a great idol.”
Jimin chuckles and pushes his hair back. “I know, right? But I don’t think I would survive a day in this life. I mean- a dating ban?” He scowls. “Just no.”
You chuckle too, resting your chin on your palm. You’ve only been sipping champagne - though they’re serving other interesting drinks, too -, afraid to get even slightly intoxicated and embarrass yourself (and Jimin) in front of these people. Even so, this champagne is starting to make you feel a little funny inside. Maybe I should stop.
“How do you even know this dating ban thing is real?” You raise one eyebrow at him. Jimin huffs.
“I had a thing with this idol girl for a while.” He says nonchalantly - then interrupts himself, as if he just realized he said something he shouldn’t. He eyes you apologetically.
“I don’t care if you talk about other girls.” You assure, rolling your eyes. And you actually don’t. It’s not like you have anything real going on for you to care. (You’re quietly blaming your rage fit against Hari earlier today on the alcohol).
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why would I?”
Jimin looks at you in silence.
“Kinda hoped you’d be jealous.”
You laugh it off, furiously ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. “Just tell the story, Jimin.”
He seems dramatically disappointed, which makes you giggle again. Jimin sips more champagne and tilts his head.
“So… me and this girl. Whenever we went out together, we had to literally - I mean literally - hide. Wearing masks, sunglasses, hoodies, all this stuff. At the beginning it was kind of fun, but then it got unbearable. Her manager kept calling her all the time to know where she was. One time, a paparazzi caught us and I had to pay them a shitton of money to not release the photos.”
“Why didn’t she pay for it? Or her company?” You ask, genuinely curious.
“Because her company didn’t know. She didn’t tell them, scared of getting punished or whatever. And she didn’t have the amount they asked for. So I paid for it.” He shrugs. “Then I broke up with her. I mean, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, why did I have to hide?”
“Yeah, sounds like a strict life. I don’t think I could take it, either.”
You notice the way Jimin’s eyes glint with playfulness again; a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. He comes even closer to you and looks around, making sure the people aren’t paying attention to the conversation.
“Back on the topic of Kim Minju,” he says in that quiet tone that means gossip. “Her mother is lesbian.”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Really? How do you know?”
“I know a lot of things about a lot of people.” He discreetly points to an elegant woman standing near Kim Minju - maybe just a bit younger than Mrs. Park. “That one.” You squint your eyes to analyze her. “She’s been ‘single’ for around ten years, since her divorce with Minju’s father. She’s, like… the most famous closeted lesbian I’ve ever seen. In terms of how much people I know she fucked, she must be only behind Mr. Junghoon.”
Your eyes widen even more. “Jungkook’s dad?!”
Jimin nods vehemently. “Yep. He must’ve fucked at least half of this hall. All those pretty younger wives.”
You eye Junghoon - standing in the middle of the hall, laughing at something someone said. “Like father, like son, I guess.” Jimin chuckles at this. “I mean, he is very hot for his age.”
“That’s not even the craziest person here.” Jimin narrows his eyes, looking for someone into the crowd. You find yourself entertained by his sudden will to spill people’s lives on you - it even makes you forget how much your feet hurt for a while. When he finds them, he elbows your side lightly. “That couple over there? The Kwons?”
You take around three seconds to find them- a middle aged couple, a bit older than Jimin’s parents, perhaps. They seemed very polite (considering you talked for less than two minutes).
“Yeah?”
“They host massive orgies.” You look at Jimin in pure shock. He looks back at you with his eyebrows raised in that I know, girl expression. “They have a mansion in Malibu only for this purpose. They invite dozens of people to participate.”
You sip more champagne. That conservative looking couple host orgies? They look like the type of people that think women showing their ankles is a sin. Appearances really mean nothing around here! “Were you ever invited?”
“Thank God no. And I wouldn’t go anyway. Not into voyeurism.” Jimin makes a disgusted scowl. “But I know some people that went there. They’re pretty creepy, actually. Just… stay away from them, okay?”
“Noted.” You’ve watched enough documentaries about how rich people can be creepy to know Jimin isn’t kidding.
“There’s also, let’s see… oh! Jinwoo, over there.” He points to a man in his early thirties that you briefly greeted earlier today. “His marriage was arranged, too. I heard he has a severe humiliation kink. He likes to be treated like shit by women.” You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hide the bubbling giggle. Not to kinkshame anyone, but wow. “But his wife is not into it at all. From what I’ve heard, they even live in separate houses. So Jinwoo has to pay women to satisfy him.”
“I wouldn’t think that of him… he looks like the type that calls women females.” You remark.
“People around here look nothing like they actually are.” Jimin sips more champagne. You expectantly wait for him to tell you more - (1) because you like gossiping (2) because this is the most fun you’ve had the entire night. “Oh! Minho and Krystal. Over there.”
Said couple is standing quite far, talking to Jimin’s brother and his wife. They must be in their early thirties, too; an attractive couple that haven’t stepped away from each other the whole time. You briefly remember thinking they looked cute together.
“Yeah?”
“They’re in a forced marriage, too. Minho is gay.”
You pause. “They look genuine.”
“They’re not.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I met him in a bar last year in Berlin. He hit on me. Insistently. He’s friends with my brother, so I turned him down. But yeah, I saw him with other guys there.”
You look back at Minho in silence.
Oh.
This one’s kinda sad.
“So… he was forced into marrying a woman even though he’s gay.” You reason out loud. “Does his family know?”
“Probably not. At least, they pretend they don’t.” Jimin sips more champagne with a sour expression.
“That’s fucked up in so many levels.” You’re starting to get angry just talking about it. “He’s trapped with this woman, having to pretend his entire life? All for the sake of appearances? What, are we stuck in the XVIII century and nobody told me?”
“I told you that’s how things work around here.” He says, staring at the bubbles in his champagne glass.
And he actually told you. In your third encounter, back at the convenience store. But you didn’t believe him. It felt too far from your reality to be taken seriously. Now, though - after finding out that most of these pristine looking people, the “role models” of society are in secret what they most demonize - you truly realize how awful everything is. This much hypocrisy feels repulsive, overwhelming.
Is this how Jimin has been feeling his entire life?
“What about you, Jimin?” you ask quietly, any hint of playfulness gone from your face and voice.
“What about me?”
“What if you’re stuck in this situation? I mean, I remember what you told me back then. What if you want to marry a guy? Your parents would be against it… are you going to end like Minho? Having to pretend for the rest of your life? Can you accept this?”
Jimin sighs and hangs his head back, closing his eyes. You hate it because for a moment all you can look at is his half parted plump lips and your brain malfunctions for a sec.
“Let’s not talk about me, please?” He asks in a whiny, raspy voice.
“Why not? I’m worried about you. Can’t I be worried?” You put one hand on your hip, somehow starting to feel offended.
“No, you can’t.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes.
Yeah, you’re offended now. “Okay, then. I’m sorry for caring.”
Jimin looks at you with half opened eyes.
His voice drops.
“Don’t do this to me.”
“What?” You raise one eyebrow up.
“Act like you actually care.”
“Why do you think I’m acting?” You slightly push the empty champagne glass away, so nothing is between you two. Because he’s quieter, you unconsciously drop your voice, too.
“You said so. Method acting.”
You’re getting tired of this “method acting” thing. You inhale heavily. “Well, I’m not acting right now.”
Jimin drops his eyes to his own empty champagne glass, drumming his fingers on the table softly. He makes a small pout. His lips are so damn attractive. “You know, I’m conflicted about you.”
“Please elaborate.”
“I know I shouldn’t be expecting anything real from you at all, since I hired you to be here. But why do I feel that something real is going on?” He looks up at you again. “But then, sometimes, I feel like it’s not? I don’t know what to think of you.”
Holy Shit.
He went straight to the point.
You feel goosebumps on your spine (though you try to blame it on the cool breeze hitting your back, not on Jimin’s piercing gaze, of course). It’s kind of creepy how Jimin can balance being silly and cute in a moment and then boom - painfully straightforward a second later. He didn’t beat around the bush at all.
And yeah, you get what he meant.
You can’t tell if something real is going on. It’s way too early to say something “real” - whatever it is - is happening; you barely even know Jimin. At the same time he doesn’t know if you’re serious, you don’t know if he is being serious; many times, it feels like he’s acting, putting up a character around you. The way you’re rapidly getting attached to him is scary - what if you’re getting attached to a character? What if you’re surprised by Jimin’s real persona in the worst way possible?
You have no idea about any of that.
What you know, though - something that is very real, is almost visible - is the undeniable attraction you feel for each other.
This isn’t deep. You don’t have to think much about it.
And right now - with the alcohol subtly fogging your judgment and making you feel hot inside; the accumulated tension - you don’t really want to fight back anymore. You don’t want to think of consequences. All you can think of is his pretty plump lips.
You smirk, resting your face on your palm again. You see how this single look of yours affects him. You’re not the only one that can do this, Jimin.
“You know,” your voice is very quiet right now; half lidded eyes that stare back at him with the same intensity. “Knowing everything isn’t fun. I think it’s better this way.”
You’re still in public, but it’s like everyone else becomes distant.
Jimin smirks, too.
“Let’s play a game, then.” He says all of sudden, getting even closer to you, on the edge of his seat. “I’ll ask a few questions. You can answer them or not.”
You feel his hand on your leg, under the tablecloth.
This makes you widen your eyes, surprised, looking around discreetly. “What are you doing?”
“You said your feet hurt, pretty.” Oh shit. That mischievous tone, playful smile, glinting eyes. You’re a popsicle melting under his heat. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to giggle, as Jimin rests your left leg over his own legs. “Free massage.”
You’re kind of hidden - your leg is fully under the tablecloth - but you still look around frantically, trying not to make any weird face. “Jimin- they’ll see us.”
Jimin clicks his tongue at the same time he swiftly unbuckles your sandal and places it on the floor. Your heart beats faster with adrenaline - if any auntie sees this, they might want to arrest me! “They’re not paying attention to us.”
Indeed, no one is. Mr. and Mrs. Park are having a dance in the center of the hall; most of the crowd surrounds them. The place became dimly lit as the spotlight focuses only on the couple as they sway to a romantic tune and everyone watches them.
You’re about to make another complaint, but as both of his hands hold your aching foot, pressing it - you have to fight back what would be an obscene moan. It feels too good. Jimin chuckles.
“So, back on the game.” It’s criminal how he acts like he’s doing nothing wrong as his hands massage your foot. “Did you want to hook up with Hoseok?”
This comes so out of the blue that you freeze. “What made you think that?”
“I saw the way you looked at each other.”
Well. It’s not like Hoseok tried to pretend when he first saw you. “No. He’s hot, but no.”
Jimin nods. He seems satisfied with the answer. His hands work around your feet miraculously, pressing on the right spots, easing the pain.
They go a bit up. On your ankles now.
Oh God.
“Did you want to hook up with Jungkook?” Still not looking at you.
“No.” You chuckle. “What got into you? Are you jealous?”
“I don’t know, am I?” He raises his eyebrows and shrugs, making you smile. “I’d only be jealous if something real was going on between us, right?”
His hands are traveling up your leg, still massaging as they do. You gulp heavily. Your heart beats faster.
“Right.”
Your thigh.
You gasp quietly as, in a sudden movement, he pushes you even closer to his body. The chair scratches on the floor. You’re glad the music is loud enough to mask the noise.
His hands are warm. His smirk widens.
Jimin massages your thigh slowly. You don’t make any attempt to stop him. His hands are resting just a little distant from the hem of your dress.
You want them to be under it.
Yes, you are very much aware of all the people standing around, the things they’d think if they notice what is going on. But Jimin’s hands are on your thigh and you feel hotter inside every minute and his delicious lips are right there and holy fuck he’s enjoying torturing you as much as you enjoy being tortured and- you don’t even remember what you were worrying about a second ago.
“You’re so soft.” He says in a quiet, sultry voice that makes your insides quiver. “Are you feeling better now, pretty?”
“Mmmh-hmm” you say quietly as your breath gets deeper - which makes Jimin smile even more. “You’re good at this, did you know that? You have a hidden talent.”
He chuckles darkly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. “I could show you what else I can do with this talent of mine.”
His fingers - slowly, hesitantly - travel just a bit upwards, while he eyes you tentatively. He sees no disapproval or discomfort in your expression, which only ignites his excitement. He smirks and shakes his head slightly.
“I’m actually going insane because of you, Y/N.” The smirk in his voice makes yet another goosebump run through your system. In response, you tilt your head to the side, eyeing him innocently.
“Why? I’m not doing anything.” You bite the tip of your tongue while smiling, which makes Jimin gulp.
Oh, the electricity. It almost sparks in the air with the power of a lightning. And to think you were trying to act all chaste not long ago, gaslighting yourself into thinking that doing anything with him would be equivalent as “selling yourself”.
Who fucking cares?
“Last question.” He says quietly, leaning even closer to you until his lips are right by your ear, sending shivers of excitement down your body.
“Will you let finally let me fuck you?”
The words get stuck in your throat.
Jimin hasn’t been this obscenely straightforward up until now. It makes your mouth water, your heart beat faster. His voice wasn’t demanding. It was pleading. Like he was desperate for you and couldn’t take it anymore.
And that’s your last straw.
You lean away just enough to look at him. Fuck, he’s got pleading eyes, too. Your panties feel humid, you remember the last time you had sex was three months ago, you feel his warm hand on your thigh, dangerously close to your intimacy.
You smile and, in a swift movement, move your leg away from his hand.
Jimin looks confused for a moment, his smile faltering, as you take the sandal and put it on your foot once again. He looks even more confused - maybe thinking you got offended? - when you get up and adjust your dress.
Then you look at him.
“Excuse me. I need to go to the toilet.”
Without looking back, you take the clutch from the table and make your way inside the hall.
The main couple is still having their moment in the middle of the hall - and for the first time you’re thankful to them, because no one even bats an eye as you discreetly make your way to the restroom. The dim lights hide you, not even waiters or security guards or photographers notice you.
As you get into the black marble restroom - completely empty - you have around five seconds to look at your reflection in the mirror before Jimin walks in and shuts the door.
His lips on yours shut you mid-giggle.
Jimin grabs the back of your neck and glues his body on yours with the other hand as he hungrily kisses you - the kiss tastes like the cherry from your lipgloss and expensive champagne. You grab both sides of his neck as Jimin and you stumble to one of the stalls and you close the door clumsily. Holy fucking shit, it’s getting hot. The kiss is deep and desperate and full of desire.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he says in a breathy voice that makes you smile seductively. “Why you gotta do this to me?”
You unconsciously squeeze your thighs on one another as he leaves a wet kiss on your neck; you grab his shoulders for support. “I’m not doing anything yet.”
He chuckles darkly against your skin, his hot breath increases your temperature even more. His hand travels down your back to squeeze your ass, making you gasp lightly. He leaves one more wet kiss, and another, and another.
Jimin leans away so he can look at you. His lips are reddish, wet and a bit swollen.
“You don’t need to.” He parts your legs with his own. Your insides bubble with excitement. “Look at you… all dolled up. The prettiest of all of them out there.” He licks his lips slowly. “I want to make a mess of you, Y/N. I want to see how pretty you look with your hair and makeup ruined by me.”
His knee presses on your intimacy, making you involuntarily sigh; the pressure is still too soft, not even close to satisfying the raging fire inside your body, but it already makes you gulp and breath heavier. God, you want this man inside of you. You need him.
Jimin notices your change in expression and his smirk widens as he moves his knee against you, making you sigh again. You kiss him eagerly. There’s still music out there, but all you can hear is the kissing sounds and breaths and Jimin’s deep humm of approval.
“This is the face I wanted to see the most.” He whispers on your lips, his leg pressed against you, his hands caressing your waist and hips. “Let me make you feel good, pretty… please?” He pecks your lips. “Hmm?” He bites your bottom lip lightly, passing his tongue on it right after. “Can I fuck you now?”
Shit shit shit. It’s embarrassing how you already feel this wet while you barely even started. Were you this much touch starved? Or is it because you’ve been wanting this as much as him since the beginning?
You kiss him again.
“Not here.” you whisper in a breathy voice.
Jimin nods. It’s obvious. Anyone could walk in at any moment.
Back to your shared bungalow? It’s too far from here - only five minutes by car, yes, but you don’t think you can wait this long. Not to mention Mr. Zhou would be the one to drive you both back and you don’t want to look at that old man’s face before having sex.
Inside some car? But which car? This place is full of butlers and security guards, anyone would notice what’s going on. Just no.
As you’re about to ask where you could head to - Jimin’s eyes glint in that way that tells you he had an idea.
His smirk widens.
He steps back and grabs your hand with a boyish, playful expression.
“Let’s go.”
You have time to grab the forgotten clutch from over the sink before Jimin drags you out of the restroom - luckily, the hall is still dimly lit and there aren’t many people back here. Discreetly, you two make your way towards the back exit - avoiding butlers and photographers at the main entrance - stepping out of the hall towards the stairs.
You finally realize where Jimin is heading to when you get to the sidewalk and he takes a turn to the left.
The pier.
Dozens of parked and empty yachts just around the corner.
You’re both laughing childishly as you run towards the pier - stopping only so you can yank those sandals off; who the hell could run in stilettos? - not caring to look back, feeling excitement and just the sheer joy of doing something you know you shouldn’t. The pier is quiet, there aren’t many people around; most yachts are dark. Jimin doesn’t drop your hand as he squints his eyes trying to find a specific one. When he does, he sprints towards it, dragging you along.
Jungkook’s yacht.
Completely dark. Cleaners, bartenders, all the staff are long gone, having finished their shifts long ago.
There is a security guard standing in front of the entrance stairs, though.
He frowns as you two approach.
“Hey!” Jimin says in a happy voice. “You’re… Steven, right? Remember me? We were here earlier today.”
By the looks of it, his name is Steven, and he looks shocked that Jimin remembers it. “Good evening, sir. Did you need something?”
“You see, Steven, I might have forgotten something very important in the yacht.” Jimin says. You want to laugh. “I’d like to go check it out.”
“Of course, sir. Tell me what it is, I can ask another guard to check it for you-“
Jimin steps closer.
“No, Steven. I need to check it out. It’s kind of personal, you know?”
Steven eyes you and Jimin back and forth.
The penny drops. His frown deepens. You’re not even embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t let you in.” He says in a mix of hesitance and annoyance. “This is private property.”
“I know, Steven, and I’m glad my friend hired such a diligent security guard. You’re very professional.” Jimin is a bastard, isn’t he? “I promise I won’t get you in trouble. Just let me check, okay?”
Steven looks around. “I’m sorry, sir… I really can’t.”
Jimin nods.
He drops your hand for the first time, reaching for the inside of his back pocket.
You watch with your jaw dropped as he opens his wallet and puts a stack of money on Steven’s hand.
Jimin casually walks around with stacks of money in his wallet.
The security guard’s eyes are as widened as yours. That much money must be double - shit, triple - of what he’ll get for this shift. You see as his annoyance dissolves and his resolve to not let you in disappears.
“It’s a really tiny thing I’m looking for, so it’ll take, I don’t know… an hour?” Jimin looks back at you up and down and reaches for his wallet again. He takes another stack just as big and puts it on Steven’s hand. “Two hours, actually, to check the whole place.”
Steven gulps. It seems he’s furiously fighting against his work ethic - but the money on his hand is heavier.
Steven steps aside, finally giving up. “Okay, sir.”
Jimin smiles and grabs your hand again. “Make sure to keep the other guards away, okay? Thank you so much!”
You two sprint up the stairs - you have time to mumble an embarrassed “thank you” - towards the deck.
The yacht is completely dark, except for some emergency lights. Jimin guides you around it. You know there are actual bedrooms here, but both of you are way too impatient to go up one more flight of stairs - so before you can even process what’s happening, Jimin has thrown you against the bar counter and is kissing you again.
You drop the sandals and the clutch on the wooden floor before entangling your arms around Jimin’s neck. He presses his body on yours so hard that you lean back, your back hits the counter. And to think you were right here a few hours ago, surrounded by a bunch of people; it’s a completely different vibe with the lights off, silent, the darkness of the sea around you.
It’s your turn to squeeze Jimin’s ass, which makes him chuckle against your lips. He leans away for a moment and seems to be searching for something; with a click of his, the glass top of the counter lits up - there are red led lights under it. Both him and you are painted red.
Jimin looks at you with hungry eyes, out of breath. That damn smirk.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting this, pretty.” He pushes you closer again, grabbing your hair and leaving noisy kisses on your neck.
“I think I do.” You say cockily. You’ve been aching for him all this time - and it’ even embarrassing to admit it to yourself -; it’s embarrassing that Jimin is everything you learned to hate (filthy rich, arrogant, a fuck boy) from your past experiences, but shit, you’ve been wondering how he would feel inside of you all this time, you’ve been craving him since that night in your tiny apartment… and you’ve been wondering if he fucks as good as he talks.
Your hand bravely travels to his front. You rest your palm on his crotch, gently pressing it - earning a soft sigh from him. He’s stone hard. It makes you chuckle cockily against his ear, and the sensual sound sends shivers down Jimin’s spine.
“No, no, no… you don’t really know.” His lips are on your ear as he speaks quietly and deeply. While one of his hands are still tightly entangled in your hair, the other travels down your back - which already almost makes you melt - to rest on your ass; in a slow but unhesitant movement, he grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it up to your hips, fully exposing your ass. “Ever since that time at the store…” he massages your asscheeks with both palms and squeezes it gently. You lick his neck in response. “When you looked at me with such disdain… you were reading a fucking text book behind that counter, looking at me as if you were so much better than me… I imagined fucking you over that same counter, pretty.” Goosebumps. He grabs one of your thighs and you instinctively wrap it around his waist; when he humps his clothed core against yours, you can’t fight back a soft moan. “I imagined fucking you over and over again. Such a hard-working girl…” He humps again, stronger this time. “So pretty…”
Your impatient fingers search for the lapel of his blazer, and you help him take it off, dropping it on the floor; you grab his face with both hands and your lips are pressed again in a hot dance, while he still humps slowly and sensually; each rub on your clothed clit sends electricity and heat through your veins. Your lower part is almost totally uncovered, except for the black lace thong you wear, and the cool ocean breeze makes the tiny hairs on your body raise. Everything is red and hot. Some sane part of your brain registers that if there’s anyone inside the neighbor yachts, they will totally see what’s happening - and it only adds to the excitement.
Jimin breaks the kiss and leans back slightly with half lidded eyes. His lips are shiny and stained with your lipgloss. He’s so sexy that the vision itself makes you feel pleasure.
He grips your ass tightly and watches intently as his movements make your breath get deeper each time, makes you sigh and moan softly. His breathing is deeper, too; his Adam’s apple moves when he gulps. He licks his bottom lip sensually, feeling the taste of your sweet lipgloss. He keeps you glued to his body as both of you move your hips against each other, rubbing your clothed intimacies to a more urgent pace; there are already droplets of sweat starting to cover his forehead.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, watching you whimper.
“Touch me.” Your voice sounds strangled and slightly out of breath, which makes Jimin smile darkly. “Please.”
“Baby, you don’t need to beg.” He’s so visibly proud of himself and excited that he’s almost glowing more than the red led lights. The hand that supported your leg swiftly travels to your front and he unashamedly presses it on your clothed core, feeling the lace with his fingertips and the wetness underneath. The smile widens. “I’m going to give you anything you want tonight. Anything.”
Your head drops back when he starts to move his fingers in circular movements over your clit. He watches your every reaction intently with that same darkened gaze and smile. With the other hand, he grabs the back of your neck and once again glues his lips to your ear:
“I want to hear you moan for me, baby.”
He says as his fingers slip under the fabric of the thong.
You shiver and an obscene whimper leaves your lips when his cool fingers make contact with your warm, wet intimacy. He hums in approval - and the deep sound makes your legs shake -, feeling your arousal, before once again putting pressure on your clit and moving his fingers in provocative circles. That’s a man that knows what to do with a clit, by the way. You entrance tightens around nothing.
“You like that?” He whispers. You nod, eyes closed, lips half parted. “Hmmm…” is all you can say. His smile widens.
Instinctively, you start to buck your hips, following the movement of his hand. He increases the speed of his movements, noticing your eagerness. You feel the fire spreading from your core down your legs and stomach.
With a quiet chuckle, he suddenly wraps his other arm around your waist. You let a surprised gasp as Jimin lifts you from the ground with ease and makes you sit over the counter (you hadn’t realized that Jimin is that strong, which is kind of hot).
He stands between your legs and kisses you again. Your fingers run through his smooth hair; he massages your thighs, back and ass. You softly bite his delicious bottom lip, and it’s sick how you know he’s smiling before even opening your eyes.
“You want me so bad, baby. It’s kind of cute.” He breathes amidst a quiet chuckle.
“You’re talking too much.”
He chuckles again as his fingers search for the zipper on the back of your dress. “I can’t shut up when you’re around.” The quiet sound of the zipper somehow sounds loud right now. “I want you to pay attention to me and only me.”
“You have all of my attention now. Let’s see if you deserve it.” Jimin finds it sickening how you sound innocent and sweet as you say this, gazing at him with the most daring eyes he’s ever seen. He shakes his head in disbelief.
“Yeah, let’s see.”
Usually, you’d worry about taking the dress off, scared to damage it somehow, but as Jimin helps you lift it and put it over your head, you couldn’t care less. You’re not wearing a bra. Your chest is fully exposed; you rest your hands back on the counter, gazing at Jimin sweetly, as he almost drools over your body.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He breathes heavily, mesmerized. Without wasting a second, he cups your breasts with both hands and squeezes them gently, earning a hum of approval from you. He kisses your neck, making his way down - slow, wet, loud kisses -, tasting you; you grip and massage his smooth hair, pulling it softly in ways that make him shiver.
When he hungrily mouths one of your hardened nipples, you bite your bottom lip and a soft moan escapes. Just the vision of his plump lips wrapped around your nipple makes you wetter. He swirls his warm, wet tongue around it, while his hand still works on your other breast, massaging it in delicious movements. He sucks your nipple, making a loud noise, before biting it gently - earning a hiss from you.
“I like that sound.” He says against your skin, looking up at you with a smile. “God, you’re delicious.” He kisses a spot on your stomach, under your breast. “You smell so good…” Another kiss. Lower this time. “I want to eat you.”
You giggle, biting your lip provocatively - as if his actions aren’t making you go insane. “Then do it.”
It’s his turn to laugh as he shakes his head; his smile is angelical - even though, right now, with the red light painting his face as he helps you position your feet on the counter - your hands supporting the weight of your body as you lean back slightly, totally spread and exposed for him -, he looks like a hungry demon.
God. You never had sex in such an open place before. The ocean breeze hits your body, making you shiver, at the same time that you’re burning from the inside, trembling in expectation. Jimin takes the hem of your thong and helps you take it off slowly, well aware of how painful making you wait is. He drops the last piece of clothing to the floor before grabbing the insides of your thighs, spreading you even more.
You’re naked and open over a bar counter, where anyone from the neighboring yachts can see you, with a million dollar necklace around your neck - and you’ve never been so aroused before.
Jimin licks his lips, eyes locked on your cunt. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” You bite your bottom lip hard when his fingers press on your clit in circular movements again for some moments before spreading your pussy lips with his index and pointed finger. “I can’t wait to be inside of you.”
He wraps his lips on your clit.
You throw your head back and actually moan this time.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck - his plump lips around your clit feel like heaven, much better than what your dirty mind could think of. He sucks softly and licks you, from your entrance to your clit again, flicking his tongue over it (once again - that’s a man that knows what to do with a clit). His warm, wet muscle moving against your most sensitive part makes waves of heat and raw pleasure run through your body, completely clouding your mind, as your fingers grip his hair and moans and hisses escape through your lips. Your sounds of pleasure, the wet noises he makes as he sucks you and the ocean waves create the most obscene and beautiful symphony you’ve ever heard.
“Fuck-“ you manage to breathe out somehow. If he weren’t busy sucking your clit, he would’ve smirked cockily. “Feel so good, baby…”
He leans away for a moment, actually smirking this time. His lips are so wet that the sight makes you more wet. “Shit, if you call me like that again, I will cum in my pants.”
This makes you smile - but your smile goes away quickly as he carefully introduces two fingers inside of you, making you moan and bite your bottom lip. You’re so wet that they slide in easily - but you’re also very tight due to not being penetrated in a while, which makes Jimin move slowly. He watches your cunt with the attention of a professional. Fuck, he might be a pro at this, actually.
He curls his fingers inside of you slowly, making you lose your breath; Jimin pays attention to your every reaction. “You like that, pretty?”
“Y-Yeah,” you moan, nodding, still biting your bottom lip. Jimin looks up at you with a fog in his eyes.
“You look so fucking hot right now, Y/N.” Somehow, the way he calls your name in that low tone instead of pretty sends goosebumps down your spine. He keeps eye contact while his fingers keep moving inside of you. He starts pulling them in and out, and you close your eyes for a moment, feeling shockwaves of pleasure every time he does so. Your breath gets shallow and quick, and out of instinct, you start bucking your hips, following his movements.
He mouths your clit once again while his fingers are still busy, making you moan louder. “R-Right there, Jimin-“ you stutter in a breathless voice. “Just like that…”
You don’t need to ask twice - he keeps hitting the same spot as his mouth works on your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over it, slurping all of your juices. You grip his hair for dear life, incapable of doing anything but moan and hiss and sweat, feeling your legs shake. You also think Jimin looks so fucking hot right now - head between your legs, hair an absolute mess (your fault), wet lips and the hungriest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.
It might be because you’ve been touch starved for a while, or because Jimin eats pussy too well, or because you’ve been dreaming of this moment with him - but you already feel the orgasm building up. “Don’t fucking stop,” you beg him - and he obeys, sucking and licking mercilessly; maybe even Steven down there can hear the squelching noise your pussy makes every time his fingers move, or your moans that make Jimin feel the hardest he’s ever been. A small pool of your juices forms on the glass under you, dripping from your entrance. Jimin works on your cunt like his life depends on it. You feel the overwhelming heat building up in your stomach, your body shaking, your lungs failing-
You grip Jimin’s hair hard and yank him away from your pussy as the orgasm hits (you pulled so hard that it hurt his scalp - and he loved it); he also loved how tight you clenched his fingers as the orgasm made you convulse, just imagining how it would feel to be inside you. He watches you with pride, all covered in sweat and helpless, your face contorted in pleasure.
He takes his fingers out of you slowly, standing straight again to press his lips on yours - and you don’t care to taste yourself on his lips. Your legs are still weak and trembling when one of his arms once again wraps around your waist and he helps you stand up on the floor, never breaking apart.
“Baby, I need you around me.” He whispers between kisses - and it almost sounds like a whimper, which makes your legs even weaker. “Will you get on your knees for me? Hmm?”
It’s your turn to obey promptly - Jimin ate you out so good that he deserves it. Without saying anything, and still keeping eye contact, you get on your knees, batting your lashes prettily at him while your fingers work on his belt. Jimin takes some strands of hair away from your face, mesmerized; ever since you first met, he always looked at you in a way that made you feel attractive, and right now it has just increased tenfold.
Jimin unzips his pants and frees his cock from his black boxers. You gulp at the sight of his girthy, veiny cock; he’s stone hard, pulsating, and you wonder exactly how long he’s been hard already. He pumps himself slowly, while you once again lock eyes.
“Shit- you look even better than I imagined.” He says in a low, breathy tone. Just the fact that your usually fierce and unbashful persona is obediently kneeled down in front of his dick, looking up at him with sweet round eyes (you’re too good at this), eyes clouded still recovering from your high, almost sends him over the edge.
You stick your tongue out and lick his pink tip, immediately earning a hiss of pleasure. Your lips wrap around the tip and you suck gently at first, teasing him, never breaking eye contact, while he still pumps himself. Jimin gulps, licking his wet lips; the sight itself makes you tighten your pussy around nothing.
“Open your mouth for me.” He says - and this time it doesn’t sound like he’s asking, meaning he’s more desperate. You promptly do so, sticking your tongue out again. He slaps his cock against your tongue, hissing - and it’s fucking evil how you’re smiling right now, he thinks - while his other hand grips the hair at the top of your head firmly.
He pushes in. Fuck - he’s big and fat and you gag around him, but at the same time, he tastes delicious, if it even makes sense. Jimin closes his eyes and throws his head back, starting to roll his hips against your face, as his hand still keeps your head in place and your lips tighten around his cock.
“Shit– you look so good with my cock stuffed down your throat,” he hisses, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Drool and spit drip from the corners of your mouth, you gag and whimper, but it’s the daring gaze locked on his that tells Jimin he can just keep going. “So obedient, baby, taking me like a big girl… fuck– I want to cum all over your face.”
You hum with his dick in your mouth, sending vibrations that make him groan with pleasure. His balls slap on your chin every time he thrusts, and you keep your lips tightened around him, trying to give him the pressure he needs. There’s something sensual about you being naked while he’s still fully clothed - and you never thought you’d feel this way for anyone. He looks so hot with sweat covering his forehead, strands of hair falling over eyes, half lidded eyes and parted lips in a face of pure pleasure; fuck, you’d let him fuck your throat whenever he wanted, you’d suck him forever if it meant you would have this sight every time you did it.
His grunts and moans and hisses make you melt every time, even though his movements become more and more uncomfortable as he stuffs himself in your throat in quick thrusts that make you whimper and feel tears grow in your eyes. As if sensing this, Jimin yanks you off his cock and you gasp for air. He smiles at how messy you look right now, with drool dripping from your mouth and a thin layer of sweat over your forehead.
“C’mere,” he breathes out, helping you get up and hurriedly guiding you towards a nearby sun lounger. Closer to the yacht’s balcony, the ocean breeze hits your body harder, making you shiver. “How do you want me to fuck you, hm?”
Without saying a word, you smile devilishly before getting on your fours for him; you arch your back and purr like a cat, ass up, chest touching the lounger. You're still smiling and biting your lip when you look at him from over your shoulder, mesmerized by the sight of your stretched pussy.
Jimin steps closer and massages your asscheek before slapping hard, earning you a soft hiss. “You’re amazing. Can’t stop saying that. You’re perfect, baby.” He grips your hip with one hand while the other guides his cock to your entrance, getting the tip wetter with your juices. “You’re so good that you make me wanna fuck you raw, baby.”
Truth is - you didn’t even think of protection, and you couldn’t care less in this moment, as wrong as it is - but God, when Jimin finally pushes in, stretching your pussy as both of you moan in pleasure, you couldn’t be more thankful that his cock is uncovered so you can feel his skin purely.
Your breathing fails and you grip the fabric of the lounger tight, adjusting to the pressure and the slight pain it causes. Jimin pushes balls deep in, slowly at first, throwing his head back in delight. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, pretty…”
He starts to thrust in and out, making you moan each time with the glorious friction you desired so much. “Fuck– f-feel so good, Jimin…” you purr, arching your back even more. He grips both sides of your hips firmly, increasing speed with each thrust; the sound of skin hitting skin repeatedly is everything you can hear beside yours and Jimin’s moans and grunts.
Every nerve in your body seems to be on fire. His cock punches deep into your pussy, pushing you closer and closer to actual insanity as your mind becomes incapable of noticing anything but the feeling of him hammering inside of you over and over again, his strong grip on your hips, stuffing you even better than you had fantasized. Sweat covers all of your body now, and the necklace hurts your collarbones since you’re pressed against the lounger, but you couldn’t care less right now.
“I love hearing you moan, pretty.” He sounds out of breath and sexy. You gasp in surprise when, suddenly, he grips your hair and pulls it, forcing your head back. It burns your scalp; you hiss in pain, but the pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure and somehow doubles it. “Fuck– this pussy’s all mine. You’re all mine.”
You never thought Jimin was the possessive type, but people babble whatever comes to their minds when they fuck, right? That’s why, mindlessly, you have the audacity to agree: “Y-Yeah, baby, I’m all yours– ah!”
He pulls your hair even harder at the same time he takes it all out just to slam himself balls deep in again in a way that lets you see stars and drool. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck– he’s merciless, relentless in his quick pace, ruthless in the way he grips you and spanks your ass - but, at the same time, his mouth is full of praises, grunting how good you feel or how pretty you are.
You whine in protest when he pulls out entirely without warning. “Turn around, I want to watch you getting fucked.”
Once again, you do as he said without complaints - but instead of immediately laying back again, your hurried fingers unbutton his shirt and you make him take it off, which Jimin does gladly, since the fabric was already glued to his body due to how much he was sweating. You lay back; Jimin grabs your legs and puts both knees over his shoulders.
He takes his cock with one hand while the other holds one of your thighs, slapping it on your clit a few times. You watch his face distort with pleasure when he pushes inside of you again. Jimin picks a fast pace from the beginning, holding both of your thighs, focused as if he’s on a mission; all you can do is moan and whimper helplessly, massaging your own breasts while Jimin drives both of you closer to your highs.
He watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, your face covered with sweat, the way not even the ruined makeup makes you look ugly - and the fact that you’re wearing anything but diamonds somehow arouses him even more. You clench around him, pushing Jimin closer and closer to the edge. Neither of you are worrying about being quiet right now, and you can only hope that the ocean will be your ally in muffling your desperate moans.
But you’re suddenly forced to worry about it.
The sound of voices and steps yank both of you back to reality at the same time.
Jimin stops moving. You and him look to the stairs barely five meters away at the same time.
Two voices coming closer.
“Sir, please-” you hear. It’s Steven’s voice - worried, almost freaked out.
And the second voice-
“B-But I’m sure I left it here somewhere…”
You both recognize it instantly.
A very drunk Jungkook.
You look back at Jimin with horror, eyes open wide, as he lets go of your legs and lays on top of you instead, shushing you.
“Sir, please,” Steven’s panicked voice echoes again. “As I told you, the upper floors were waxed… you can’t go upstairs, it’ll ruin your shoes,” yeah, he came up with a smart excuse. But Jungkook keeps babbling about losing something, too drunk to understand.
If he comes upstairs, he’ll immediately see you. You’re not in a hidden spot at all. You want to get up and hurry away-
But then you look at Jimin again and he’s smirking devilishly.
He thrusts again, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.
Before you can moan - he covers your mouth with his hand.
Your eyes talk. Are you seriously doing this?
His eyes talk back. Yeah.
He thrusts again.
And again.
Your eyes roll back, you entangle your legs around his waist. Fuck, these men down there could come upstairs at any moment. They can hear you if you’re loud enough. If they come upstairs and see you in this situation, you don’t know if you’ll get over the embarrassment. But Jimin’s cock is stuffing you so deep and so good. He hits your spot again, and again, and again, and his dick is thick and heavy, and he could tear you open that you wouldn’t mind - so you don’t push Jimin away. No, you tighten your legs around him because don’t he dare stop; you grip his back, you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet, but the fact that Jimin can still hear your muffled moans against his hand makes it hard for him to endure this much longer.
He hides his face on your neck in an attempt to muffle his own moans, biting your shoulder in a torturous slower pace now - if he goes too hard, the sound of skin hitting skin will be heard from the floor below. A part of your mind registers that Steven is desperately trying to lead Jungkook out of the yacht, while all the other parts are focused on Jimin’s member inside of you, his weight over your body, his teeth sinked on your shoulder. You can’t stop, neither does he. It’s like you’re in some type of trance.
After long, torturous minutes, you hear the voices going away.
Jimin is ruthless.
He lets go of your mouth and supports his body with his forearms on both sides of your face, pounding in despair; neither of you can take this much longer, it’s getting painful.
“F-Fuck, pretty, you did so well-” he somehow manages to breathe out, smirking in boyish excitement. “Such an obedient girl, hmpf, keeping quiet while I fuck you good…”
“Oh my God–” you whimper, feeling the second - and more intense - orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. “D-Don’t fucking stop, Jimin–”
“Yes, baby, I’ll make you cum again–” he swiftly leans away and places one leg over his shoulder again, spreading you in an even better angle. “You deserve it, baby- shit, shit, shit–”
He punches inside of you over and over and over again until your walls are clenched and convulsing and your toes curl and your eyes roll and you grip the fabric of the lounger tight and your whole body shakes in an explosive orgasm. You’re breathless, weak; it was an almost out of body experience. Did you ever cum this hard before? You don’t think so.
And it’s not time to think of yourself, actually, because when your brain starts recovering from the high, you realize that Jimin had pulled out and is pumping his cock desperately, trying to reach his high. You grab his wrist, stopping him, and - Jimin almost loses it - you meow: “C’mere, come in my mouth.”
You sit up and he kneels over you until his member is on your face and, without wasting a second, you put it all into your mouth until you feel him in your throat, sucking him eagerly. Jimin moans and grips your hair while you pump your head over his length, producing loud suction noises. You just want him to cum as hard and good as he made you.
“Fuck– fuck, Y/N, I’m coming–” he warns in pant, pulling his cock out of your mouth.
You still keep it open, though, sticking your tongue out, as Jimin blows his load on you. You feel his hot seed dripping on your face, feel it on your lips and tongue. You patiently wait until he’s milked dry. Then, you open your eyes.
Jimin’s hair is an absolute mess. He’s all sweaty, panting heavily, face flushed, shaking slightly; you’ve never seen him look so glorious.
He opens a tired smirk.
And, with your gaze locked with his, you lick your lips and swallow.
It’s like he came again just seeing you do this.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
It is your turn to chuckle.
Yeah.
Maybe you will.
You let cum drip on a million dollar necklace.
#bts#jimin x reader#park jimin#jimin smut#bts fanfiction#bts x reader#jimin x you#jimin fanfic#jimin imagine#bts imagine
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Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.
(transcribed from the page pictures posted)
This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.
Download link for file at the end.
....
HENRY
“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”
“To–to your quiche?”
“Yes. To my quiche.”
Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”
“Yes?”
“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”
Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”
“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”
“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”
“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”
“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”
“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”
“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.
Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.
“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”
“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.
“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”
“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”
From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”
“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”
Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.
“Sorry?”
“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”
“What? Have they seen your apron?”
“That’s what I said!”
“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”
That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.
“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”
“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”
With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.
“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”
“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.
“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”
“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.
“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”
They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.
When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.
David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.
"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."
The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.
So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.
Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.
…
It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?
He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.
It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.
And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.
It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.
They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.
He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.
It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.
So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.
“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.
Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.
Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.
“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”
“I don’t know where to put it.”
“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”
“The credenza.”
“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”
He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.
“Oh,” Henry says.
This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?
Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.
...
It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.
A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.
It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.
Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.
But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.
"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"
...
It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.
Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.
Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.
It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.
He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.
With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.
“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”
“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”
Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.
(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.
“Why not?”
“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)
Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”
After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.
"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"
"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.
"Wait," Alex says.
He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.
"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"
...
It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.
Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."
This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.
“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.
Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.
“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.
“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.
Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”
Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.
He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.
On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”
The girl pulls a face.
“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.
He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.
“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”
He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.
“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.
“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”
“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”
Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.
But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”
And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.
...
It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.
It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.
He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.
“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“
“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.
“That’s the one!”
“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”
“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”
“Henry made sure I avoided it.”
“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”
Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.
And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”
Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.
It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.
But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?
They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.
In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.
He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”
...
It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.
Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.
A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.
Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.
So, he will.
...
It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.
The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).
“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”
“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”
“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”
“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”
“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”
“Where’s your double, then?”
“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”
“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”
“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”
“Henry IV.”
“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”
In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.
Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.
Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.
"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."
"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."
"It certainly felt that way at the time."
They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.
Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"
“We're aging," Henry points out.
"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."
"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."
"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"
"You're not even in the club now."
"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."
He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"
Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.
“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”
“Involved in an international sex scandal.”
“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”
“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”
“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”
“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“
“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”
“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”
“That I did.”
“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”
Henry takes a moment with that one.
“Having sex on our kitchen island?”
When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.
Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.
...
“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.
It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.
“Hm? No.”
When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.
“What is it?”
“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.
It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.
“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”
His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.
For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.
The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.
Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.
Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.
He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.
Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.
...
At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.
There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.
Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.
“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.
"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.
Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.
“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”
Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.
“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.
Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.
He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.
“I have some ideas.”
...
In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.
Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.
While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.
The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.
The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.
Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.
That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.
He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.
“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.
Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.
"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."
Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"
"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."
Alex smiles. "They do."
Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.
Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.
The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing
"I'm having a thought," Henry says.
"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."
"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course it is."
"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."
Alex frowns. "Like where?"
"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."
Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.
At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”
...
“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.
Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.
"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.
"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."
It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.
"The line dancing."
"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."
Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.
Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.
It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."
(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)
The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.
It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.
"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."
"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."
“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”
“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.
“Hi, Bea.”
“Time’s it?”
“One in the morning.”
“Ugh.”
Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.
Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.
Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.
He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.
“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“
“I love it,” Henry interrupts.
Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”
“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”
“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.
“Some chaps, perhaps.”
“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”
Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.
Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.
“Henry,” says Alex.
“Alex,” says Henry.
“You and me,” Alex says.
“You and me,” Henry agrees.
End.
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Get Your Passport, 'Cause We Runnin' Off
CHAPTER SUMMARY : the day of the big trip has arrived, and you're stuck with your bully for the whole ride there. maybe he'll be nice for a change...
boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro
WARNINGS : 18+, PG chapter tbh, daddy kink mention??, attempted/thwarted bullying.
WORDS : 3.9k
notes : every friday was a funny joke right guys? right?
LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride tomorrow?” Gojo queries as he helps fill your fridge and cupboards with food he picked up for you. It's his way of an apology without actually saying the pivotal words. He told Yuuji he’d look out for you, and he will keep his promise. A few groceries are bound to make him look good in both your eyes and the eyes of your boyfriend.
“Yeah I’m sure. Toji is picking me up from here and then there’s a coach to take us out of town for our field trip.” you inform him.
He offers a smirk and silences himself as he continues to empty the bags. It's a devious look, and you know he has something to say. You aren't sure if you even want to know, but there's just something so irritating about Satoru Gojo that makes you think you'll die if you don’t pry whatever it is out of him.
“Could the reason that you’re declining my offer be that I don’t have what Toji has?” he wonders. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion; hoping it will prompt him to continue. “I mean, Toji has a perfect doppelgänger, right? A mini me, closer to your age.”
“What are you implying, Gojo?” you speak, an accusatory tone bleaching your words.
“Do you… like Megumi?” he inquires.
You wish you never asked.
You can’t help but scoff at that. He couldn’t have found a more inappropriate tree to bark up. Like Megumi? You can barely even stomach looking at him. He’s evil incarnate and, quite frankly, you hate him. You’ve tried being nice to him. You’ve tried being cordial. There isn’t much you haven’t tried to make your life easier when it comes to Megumi, nothing works. So liking him is completely out of the question.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” you laugh, helping him with the last of the shopping so that you can shoo him out quicker. He watches you frantically pick everything up and put it away, he can tell what you’re doing.
Did he touch a nerve?
“I’m with Yuuji,” you halt, a revolted look in your eye informing him of your now soured mood. “I mean, are you… stupid? Megumi has been bullying me since he moved into my art class, actually. So, maybe you should—”
“Alright, alright. No need to get defensive.” he snickers, pulling a lollipop out of his jacket pocket to suckle on as he heads towards the exit.
“I’m not being defensive. You’re being annoying.”
“Yeah? Well why is it that you’d rather take a ride with Papaguro over me. Is it him you like?” he pushes. It’s like he’s trying to make you snap.
“I. Have. A. Boyfriend!” you remind him, yet again, “Toji is hot, yes, in a friend’s dad calling you kiddo type of way. I guess. But he’s just that, a dad. He treats me like his own kid, and I have no interest in him passed being friends.” you explain, hoping to satiate Gojo’s curiosity enough to make him drop the subject.
“Do you call Yuuji daddy when you fuck? Giving off major kink vibes right now, sweetheart.”
“Get out.” you demand.
“Huh? Wait I was just—”
“Out! Gojo, out! You’re done. Get out of my house.” you tell him with a completely straight face. He holds his hands up in surrender as he makes his way towards your front door to leave. You’ve never met anyone as insufferable as Gojo in your life. Not even Megumi is as bad as him. You watch him from your door as you see him walk towards his car. When he opens the door, you decide to offer him some parting words. “Toji doesn’t like you very much, it’s like he doesn’t trust you. And I’m not sure if I do either.”
“Do you know what Toji did to his own kid? Abandoning him after his mother died?” he questions.
“Yeah. I do.”
“And you trust that guy and not me? Tch.” he sits behind the wheel and starts up his car. “Thought you were smarter than that, babe. I’ll see you around.”
The wait for Toji to pick you up is nauseating. It’s your first ride with both him and Megumi in the car. The younger Fushiguro had opted to catch a ride into school with his sister when he heard the news of Toji becoming your new chauffer. But with Tsumiki at work and zero desire to risk taking the bus and missing the coach, his dad became the safest option.
He sits in the back, much to your surprise, giving him the freedom to manspread across the backseat. Toji couldn’t coax many words out of you, your nerves were shot. Of course you said good morning and told him that you were doing okay, but that was as much as he could get.
“Be nice to her today, shit head.” Toji orders. He laughs when he feels Megumi kick the back of his seat in protest.
You shake it off. Everything. His voice, Megumi’s defiance. It all crumbles away as you look out of the window and pretend you’re a cloud.
“Looks like rain…” you sigh. They both hear you, but neither of them comments. The sky couldn’t be bluer and the sun is blaring down. Even the sidewalks are hot to the touch if you were to walk on them with bare feet.
“I’m serious Megumi. No funny shit today, best behaviour.”
“Tell him I’ve been nice to you so he shuts his fucking mouth. I’ve not been giving you any shit, have I?” Megumi speaks, kicking the back of your seat, eagerly awaiting a response. You sigh, and smile. But why should you keep covering for him? Today is going to be hellish whether he leaves you alone or not.
May as well get him in trouble with his darling dad.
“Are you counting when you locked us in the bathroom together? Or the other day when you when you called me an entitled bitch? Besides that, no. You’ve been so lovely to me ‘Gumi.” you hum, continuing to look out of the window.
The argument that breaks out between them goes completely over your head. The only thing on your mind is the sky. You wonder what colour the sky is where Yuuji is right now. Will he look at it and think of you, too? What is the sky like for him? Are you even on his mind? You wish he’d call, you long to hear his voice.
“Little bastard. I know you’re stupid, but I’m wonderin’ now if you’re fuckin’ deaf too. Because I’m sure I’ve told you to quit picking on her.” Toji scolds.
“I’ve done worse. Snitch.” he mutters under his breath.
“Listen to me, Megumi. Leave her the fuck alone. I won’t tell you again. She hasn’t done shit to you so stop making her life difficult for no God damn reason. Thought Yuuji was your friend, so what the fuck is all this for?” Toji continues as he keeps looking in the mirror so that he can stare at his son. It goes ignored as Megumi slumps back into himself and plays his music through his headphones loud enough to deafen the world around him. “Why didn’t you tell me about all that shit he did, princess?” he asks. You shrug your shoulders, ignoring him similarly to how Megumi was.
What a pair of brats.
He lets you both out of the car and stops you both from going anywhere before he says what he needs to say.
“You. Best fuckin’ behaviour or I’ll kick the shit out of you when you get home.” he warns his son as he ruffles his hair. He leaves right after that, heading in the direction of the coach eager to get a good seat. “And you, princess, call me if anything happens. I’ve got a meeting later but other than that I’m free. I’ll drive down to wherever the fuck you’re going and pick you up myself if he acts up.”
“I’ll be fine, Toji. Enjoy your day.”
“Yeah, you too.” he smiles, “Have a safe trip, kiddo.”
You feel yourself smiling and blood rushing to your face at the new nickname he’s bestowed upon you. It wouldn’t have made you as giddy if not for your meaningless conversation with Gojo.
Kiddo, huh? How embarrassing.
Maybe he was right about you having a daddy kink, after all.
You’ll have to let Yuuji know when you speak to him.
The coach is full of students and teachers, and most of the best seats are taken. Though, you do manage to find two unoccupied seats together, you manage to snag them before anyone else does.
Megumi is a few rows ahead of you on the opposite side of the bus; you catch him looking over his shoulders a few times at you. A furious deathly glare in his eyes, clearly still bitter over you ratting him out to Toji this morning.
He’s sitting alone, too, like he often does.
It surprises you that the mean girls of your class aren’t fawning over him.
And almost as if you summoned them, you feel a tug on your hair from behind. The redhead. The blonde traps you in by the window as she takes a seat beside you. Your heart is racing.
You’re sick of this.
Sick of them.
Sick of everything.
And having these two harass you the entire way is going to make this an even longer journey than it already is.
“Maybe we could ditch the group and have some cocktails.” the redhead jokes from behind you. “We had a great time last time we all got drunk together, right?” she snickers, earning a laugh from her friend in the process.
They become stiff and polite in an instant, and you don't even notice. You're too focused on using the window as your escape once more, imagining yourself as a drifting cloud with the hope it'll help you drown out their cruel words for the rest of the journey.
You gasp when you feel fingers digging into the fat of your underarm, gripping harshly enough to make you yelp.
“Get off me!” you shout.
You assume it's one of the girls trying to hurt you.
But you're wrong. Very wrong.
It's Megumi.
Is he trying to rescue you?
He tilts his head in the direction of the seats he's sitting in, telling you that he wants you to come with him. Noting that Megumi often chose words over actions, you decide he was the lesser of two evils and go with him. You pick up his backpack that he used to save your seat and get yourself comfortable beside the window.
“Is there a reason that you two keep bugging her? I asked you for one favour that you couldn’t even fucking follow. Are you trying to make up for it?” Megumi wonders. He speaks in hushed tones, but it’s still loud enough for you to hear.
“We’re doing it for you, babe! We know you hate her, and—”
“I’m not gonna fuck either of you, y’know? I was using you. And I didn’t fucking ask you to do anything for me after the club. Leave me and leave her alone.”
They both look at you with disdain. You can’t help but laugh, quickly covering your mouth and looking out of the window to disguise it. Their expressions are too funny not to laugh at.
They're acting as if you casted some witchcraft over Megumi to make him turn on them. If they had any common sense, they’d realise he is just an asshole who uses people to get what he wants. His thigh rests against yours when he sits back down. It’s nice, for some reason, feeling caged in by someone as threatening as Megumi.
He’s done this before in a way that sent fear directly to your heart. He did it to intimidate you.
But this… is different. It’s protective.
His head rests back against the tall back of the coach seats as he listens to his music. His head lolls to the side, and for whatever reason he decides to open his eyes.
And, of course, he’s greeted to the sight of the girls. His eyes roll and he proceeds to flip them off, clearly done with entertaining them for a second longer.
“Why did you do that, Megumi?” you ask, genuinely curious as to why he decided to save you from them.
“Shut up. Listenin’ to my music.” he hisses back.
You shrug your shoulders, knowing it’s best not to push him. You reach down to pick up your sturdy tote bag and pull out a colour by numbers book and a pack of felt tip pens.
You hear him scoff when you pull down the tray on the back of the seat in front of you so that you can start to colour in. It goes over your head, though, instead of making a biting remark you simply flip him off with a smile.
You hear him clear his throat and turn his body away from you. His eyes flutter closed, and you can only assume he’s trying to nap. It’s fair enough, you think, the coach trip is three hours long. Maybe he didn’t get much sleep last night.
He grunts as he turns back to face you. Though he seems a little disoriented. Does he realise he fell asleep? He’d been lightly snoring for ten minutes.
He looks down at your colouring book, grunting in disapproval as you continue doing your best to remain within the black lines.
“God I fucking hate you.” he mutters.
“Excuse me? You’re the one who dragged me over here!” you snap back.
“Yeah, that was before I knew you were the type of person to colour things in wrong. Why is the fucking dolphin purple?” he laughs a little as he speaks, clearly amused with himself as he berates your colouring skills.
“I like purple. It’s cute!”
“Give me a page, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Huh?”
“Give me a page.”
“You want me to rip out a page of my brand new—”
“I’m bored! Give me one to colour in properly.” he demands.
You flip through the pages heading towards the back. There are a few pages you want to do yourself, so you refrain from tearing them. He studies your face and the changes in expression as you see pages you like and want to keep for yourself. Until finally, you find a page with a lion in the wild. It’s so cute, you almost don’t want to give him it. But before you can change your mind, he snatches the book out of your hand and tears it out carefully himself.
“Hey!” you object, but it’s too late.
“Shut up. You’d only ruin it anyway. You know lions aren’t green, right?”
“You shut up.” you moan at him, returning to the page you’d been colouring and dipping your fingers into your pack of felt tips to get another pen. You barely blink before they’re missing from your hands and have been stolen by Megumi as he fishes around looking for a colour he needs. “Those are mine!”
“Heard of sharing?” he responds.
“You’re meant to ask if you can share.” you inform him. “You are the worst art student I’ve ever met. Don’t you have anything of your own?”
“Just shut up and colour your stupid purple dolphin, princess. Be a good girl and share your pens.” he teases as he begins to fill in the lions fur in a golden yellow.
You cannot stand how easily he can get into your head. Because now you are second guessing yourself and your decision. Maybe a purple dolphin wasn’t the brightest idea. But you do like purple! It takes more than a moment to calm the storm in your mind as you battle against his words and your feelings.
There are tons of artists who used colour ‘incorrectly’. Henri Matisse’s Femme au Chapeau springs to mind in a vividly clear image. You decide that you won’t stop there. Every single colour you are about to choose will be ‘wrong’. Why not make the sea pink and the trees blue? Maybe the sand will be red and the sky yellow? It’s your God damn colouring book that you paid for with your own money.
Colouring alone passes an entire hour. Megumi can’t believe his eyes when you show him your finished page. You have a prideful look on your face. And he nods. Is that… approval?
“I actually don’t hate it.” he tells you.
“Thanks. I think?”
He presents his own, looking slightly disappointed in comparison to yours. It’s wrong, but so very right. It’s fun and exciting to look at. His, on the other hand, is boring. It’s how it should be, but it isn’t as entertaining as yours.
“Give me another one, I wanna make it like yours.” he demands.
“A please wouldn’t hurt once in a while.”
He takes your book from you, looking for a page he’d like to colour in. His fingers hover over an elephant you had your eye on. You’re begging that he doesn’t tear it to colour in himself. You scrunch your eyes as you prepare to hear the all too recognisable sound of paper ripping. But instead, a simple ‘tch’ leaves his lips as he flips the page.
“Please may I take this page?” he asks, pointing at a bear in the woods. You nod, grateful that you have the elephant all to yourself. You both get to work, and you are both filled with glee as he begins to colour the friendly brown bear in a sky blue colour. You decide to colour your elephant red, although you regret it almost instantly. You hope you’ll be able to fix it.
“So, you still haven’t told me why you saved me from those girls.” you remind him, prodding for information as to why he decided to be your knight in shining armour.
“So?”
“Why did you rescue me?” you bluntly ask.
“Why did you rat me out to my dad this morning?” he questions back. It steals your breath for a moment, you have no idea what to say.
Why did you do it? You’re just mad at the world, you suppose. He hadn’t actually done anything particularly awful. Nothing to scare you or force a lump in your throat, so you had no reason to tell Toji. But you did. You’re suffering without Yuuji. Why should you be the only miserable one?
“Why did you call me ‘Gumi?” he torments with a sinister smirk on his face.
“I’m sorry about this morning. And, thank you for saving me. It’s been tough since Yuuji left, and—”
“I don’t care.” he tells you, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he starts to colour again. You shrug, assuming you won’t hear from him again until he finishes his up-and-coming masterpiece. “You piss me off, y’know?”
“Feelings mutual, trust me.”
“Listen. I’ve never had a friendship with a girl before. I just sleep with ‘em, normally. But you’re not a dumb cunt on legs like the rest. I wanted to try with you, for Yuuji, but you’re so fucking nosy.” he informs you.
“You’re disgusting. You’d known me all of two minutes and decided I was a good for nothing whore. I didn’t do anything to deserve any of the things you did to me.” you tell him, doing your best to keep your volume lowered so nobody around would be able to hear you.
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t like talking about my personal life with anyone and you just… you know. Anyway. My dad’s a selfish asshole but he’s trying, and that’s because of you. So I suppose I should be thanking you for that, at least. And he wants me to be nice to you, so that’s why I saved you. I’m sure if you grew a fucking backbone you’d be able to handle them yourself.”
“I used to have a backbone until you started bullying me and destroyed my confidence.” you whined at him, earning a chuckle.
“I said I’m done with you, with that. I don’t know why I’m so desperately craving Toji’s approval but here we are. I can’t help but hate you, but I’ll have your back when it comes to those two. And… if I’m mean, I’m just fucking with you.”
“Shut up.”
“If my dad likes you there must be something off about you. He’s shady. Dangerous.” Megumi tells you. You shake your head, dismissing him.
“Toji is a big teddy bear. He doesn’t scare me, but you do.” you hum. “You’re fucked up and you know it. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re making my life hell again.”
“Teddy bear? Ugh. You’re not fucking him, are you? My dad?” he fake gags as he thinks about it a little longer than he intended.
“Why do people keep asking if I have a crush on your dad?” you whisper to yourself. But, you’re a fool, because of course Megumi heard you. He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your accidental statement. “Gojo.”
“Fuck sake, those two. Ignore him, they’ll both do anything to one up each other.” Megumi huffs, a disapproving shake of his head punctuating his statement.
“So you go way back with Gojo too, like Yuuji? How do you know him?”
“See, nosy.” he scoffs. “A story for another day, maybe. Or just ask your new best friend Toji when we next carpool.” he mocks you, finally blocking you out with his headphones again as he pours all of his focus into his bear colouring.
It’s such a small world.
How have you found yourself falling into this tight knit circle of family and friends who all seem to know each other? It’s crazy that they are all so close and yet so far.
Megumi and Toji are father and son but they are practically worlds apart in terms of closeness. Yuuji hates Megumi like he thought he never could. The Fushiguro’s are both related to your ex Naoya. And Toji, Yuuji and Megumi all have a connection to Gojo.
Megumi mentioned that Toji is shady and dangerous, but you don’t get that vibe from him at all.
Gojo on the other hand has an incredibly seedy aura about him. He’s sweet to you, sure, but why? Just because Yuuji told him to be? Is anyone really that nice? It’s like he’s going above and beyond to make both you and Yuuji happy. You can’t tell how Megumi feels about the white haired menace, but you know that Toji loathes him.
Why?
What the fuck is going on with the men in your life?
© 2022 fuwushiguro | © 2024 rinhaler
#🦋 — luxe writes#megumi fushiguro#fushiguro megumi#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#megumi angst#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#megumi x reader#megumi x you#megumi x y/n#fushiguro megumi angst#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi fushiguro x you#tw bullying#yuji itadori#yuuji itadori#itadori yuuji#itadori yuji#yuji smut#yuuji smut#yuuji x reader#jjk x fem!reader#yuuji itadori x reader#yuuji x you#yuuji x y/n
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Hi can I request a pedri imagine where him & the reader have been together for a while but he gives off the “I don’t need you vibes” but in reality he doesn’t want to lose her so she starts asking a little more from him because it’s almost getting too late. He finally starts to show he does need her & can’t lose her especially in a time when someone else tried to get her attention. (Something similar happened with my ex & I…this is why he’s an ex)
A/N: not going to lie I made myself cry with this one lmao.
Warnings: just sad
•••
It had been over three hours since Pedri’s practice had ended. You were still sitting in the dining table waiting for him. Your plate of spaghetti had gotten cold and after reheating it twice you had given up. You stood up and threw your food into the trash can.
Your texts asking where he was had gone unanswered, as it had become common. You left him a note on the table telling him there was food and that you loved him. You decided to go to bed. You laid there in the dark quiet room and tears began to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t understand how this was what your relationship had become. You weren’t sure when it happened but it did.
Pedri, the man who used to message you almost every hour that he could and almost speed home to be with you barely even showed any interest now. You wondered why you even stayed, it probably didn’t matter to him.
The next morning your alarm woke you up for work. As you opened your eyes you saw Pedri sleeping next to you. You couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful he was. You stood up and placed a kiss on his cheek which was met by grunting from him and him pulling the blanket over his face.
As you were getting ready to step out the door you realized his backpack was thrown over the note you had left him the night before. Which meant he hadn’t even read it. The front pocket of his backpack was open and inside there were a few folded notes from fans with their Instagram handles. You felt your heart sink.
You continued to look at your phone throughout the day waiting for a message from Pedri, but nothing. You knew he was awake and on his phone because he was answering comments on his Instagram. But you were clearly not important.
When you got back home you heard him in the shower. You walked to the room and waited for him to come out.
-Hola amor.- you say as he steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around the bottom half of his body.
-Hey.- he says.
-Do you want to go have dinner?- you ask as he begins to put on the clothes he had laid out on the bed.
-I can’t. I’m going out with the guys.-
-Where are you going?- you ask. You can already feel a knot in your throat. He barely even looked at you. No kiss, no hug.
-We’re going out.- he said annoyed.
You stood up and paced around the room while he continued to get ready. You were trying not to cry.
-I - I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving.- you say catching him off guard.
-Are you going to go visit your parents?- he asks.
-No Pedro. I’m leaving for good. We haven’t seen each other in two days and you’re going out? You don’t tell me where. You don’t look for me. You don’t need me.
He put on his hoodie as he rolled his eyes.
-Why do you have to choose the most inconvenient time to be so dramatic Y/N? I’m just going out with the guys, I’ll be back soon.
He began to walk out of the bedroom. But your pride always got you in trouble. You couldn’t stay quiet. You followed him.
-Don’t lie to me. Who are you seeing?- you ask with your eyes pleading not to tell you he’s cheating.
-Are you seeing one of the girls that gave you their Instagram handle?- you say holding tears back.
-Why are you looking through my stuff?- is all he says.
A year falls down your eye but Pedri is already storming out of the house.
-Pedro please don’t leave. - You plead.
-I can’t stand you.- he says as he shuts the door behind him.
You spend the night waiting for him again but end up falling asleep. You had texted his two closest friends Gavi and Ferran but they weren’t with him. The next morning when you woke up you found him sleeping in his clothes on the couch. You knew he had been drinking.
You had to go to work but had already made up your mind you would pack your bags when you came back. It would be much easier to get over him if you were away and not under the same roof.
That afternoon as you were leaving work with your co-worker you heard a honk. When the two of you turned around you realized it was Pedri. Your co worker said goodbye as you walked towards Pedri’s car.
-What do you want?- you asked.
-I sent you a message I was going to pick you up.- he said.
-I didn’t see it, like all of the messages I have sent you that you don’t see.-
-Please just get in the car.- he said sternly.
-Pedri please leave.-
-Just get in the car.- he insisted. People were already looking at the two of you yelling at each other. You know they would recognize his car soon and decided to just get in the car.
-Who was that hijo de puta? Is that why you’re leaving me? He asked.
-You have nobody to blame but yourself.- you spat back.
-So you are leaving me?- he asked. You didn’t answer. You could feel tears were forming in your eyes. You couldn’t let him see you cry. You turned to face the passenger window as you began to cry and
held in any noise. He didn’t say anything.
When you finally made it home he got out of the car and went inside leaving you in the car. Your heart was breaking more and more with each one of his actions. When you finally made it inside you made your way to the room to try to pack. A few second later he came in. You had your luggage spread open on the bed as you grabbed whatever you could, tears falling down.
-What are you doing?- he asked as he stood at the door.
-I told you I was leaving.-
-You’re overreacting.-
You suddenly felt a wave of rage travel through your body. You turned over to look at him.
-What do you want me to stay here for? To ignore me? To continue cheating on me? I love you Pedro but I’m done.- you zipped up your luggage.
-I’m not cheating on you.-
-The where were you yesterday?- you ask.
-With Ferran and Gavi.-
-I called, you weren’t with them.
-Y/N please. I’m not cheating on you. I never would. Please don’t leave.
-And why would I stay?- you say as you begin to pull your luggage outside of the room leaving him behind.
-Y/N please. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been an asshole lately but I’ve just been under so much stress. I love you.
That was the first time he ever said that. And you wished he hadn’t done it right now, seconds away from walking out of his house and his life for good. He walked up towards you now standing right in front. You yearned to feel close to him again. To kiss him and be in his arms. But you knew better.
-Pedro, I - I - I’m leaving. We need some time away, - he stood there in front you. Reality had finally hit him. He was about to lose me.
-Please Y/N, please stay. I’ll be better but please don’t leave.
-Tell me where you were last night.-
He put his fingers through his hair as he paced around. -I went out with Ansu and some of his friends. We went to a club. I know you wouldn’t like it so that’s why I said I was with Gavi and Ferran.-
-Was there girls there?- you ask almost not wanting to hear the response.
-Some girls came up to us but I didn’t do anything, I promise. You’re the one I love.- he says.
-You know this is the first time you tell me you love me?- you say.
He stood there staring at you now realizing that despite dating for over a year and living together he hadn’t shown you how much he cared for you. Realizing he was about to lose the person he cared the most for because he just couldn’t show how he was feeling.
-And I mean it. I’m sorry I’ve been acting like this. It’s just so stressful trying to perform for the club and when I come home I don’t want to fight with you.-
-And you think it’s easy to be alone all of the time? Got leave for days with the club and when you are home you just want to do what you want to do.- you explain.
-Well your co-worker has been keeping you company, hasn’t he?- he asks.
-My coworker barely talks to me but if you think I would so easily cheat on you then that’s another reason for me to leave.- you grab your purse from the kitchen table. As you turn around you feel Pedri grab you by your arm and pull you back towards him.
-Please don’t leave. I’ll do better, I’ll be better. But please don’t leave.
#pedri gonzalez#pedri imagine#pedri x reader#pedri#pedri is so damn hot#pedro gonzalez#pedro gonzález lópez#pedri fluff#pedri blurb#pedri requests#pedri angst#MWSxSadGoodbye
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Tio Jack and Titi
AN: that park scene gave me THOTS
Requested? My coochie
Warnings: men being creeps, Jack defending miss thing, some bickering and smut 🤭
Word Count: 2.5k words
Kory looked down at her phone then looked around her street. There was no car in sight resembling the one Lil Dicky’s twin owned. She read the text Jack sent her; ‘I’m outside’. Only he wasn’t.
Her best friend, Emilia, had the genius idea to send Jack over to her place to pick her up since Kory’s car was in the shop. Its repairs made a huge dent in her savings, so Kory couldn't Uber as frequently. Earlier in the day she was at Emilia and Urban's (her best friend's fiance) place to help set up for Theo's (their son's) third birthday party, but Urban dropped her off so she could shower and get ready. He was going to pick her up again in the afternoon, but couldn't at the last minute. Which was how Emilia conjured the idea of Jack picking up Kory on his way over.
Kory’s relationship with Jack was something. They've known each other since high school but were in different social circles. They had a few AP classes together, but other than that they never interacted. If Kory was being honest she had a slight crush on him back then, but that went away when she overheard him call her stuck up and annoying, at a party when Urban and Emlia first started dating. Since then she would rather not be in the same room as him, much less be in a car with him.
“I’m outside my ass,” she grumbled as she waited for him to answer. She made a mental note to send Emilia a strongly worded text message.
“‘Llo?” Jack answered after seven rings.
“I’m in the middle of the street and don’t see you.” Kory said, skipping any greetings.
"Well I don't see you either." He said.
Kory rolled her eyes. "Are you at the right place?"
"I'm at 1254 Rochester Road."
Kory sighed, "I live at 1234 Rochester Road. You're up the hill."
"Well you better get those legs moving." Jack said.
"I'm not walking all that. I have boots on." She argued, looking down at her brand new brown cowgirl boots.
"You live on a one way street. I can't make a U-turn. I have to get out of your neighborhood, then make three rights to–"
"Fine, I'll be there in a bit." She hung up and put her phone in her pocket.
In all honesty, Kory didn't like walking up the hill. There was this guy who mayne a few years older than her that would sit in his front yard in the middle of the day and just stare at people while he smoked and drank a 40oz. Kory had the misfortune of running into him a few times, and every time she'd just feel icky. He never tried anything, he mostly tried to make small talk, but it just gave Kory a bad vibe.
She looked down at her outfit. She could run back and change, but she knew Jack would leave her if she made him wait any longer. She sucked it up and walked. As she neared the guy's house, she looked for her headphones, but then she remembered she left them in her other bag. She cursed and speed walked as fast as her feet could take her in her boots. She spotted Jack's car a few houses over and practically ran there. Kory tripped over a sprouted root, but caught herself before she ate shit.
"Miss Korina, long time no see." The creepy neighbor said as he made his way over to her.
She gave him a toothless smile and tried to keep going up, but he got in front of her.
"Where are you going dressed so nicely?" He continued, taking a step closer to her.
"I'm in a hurry, I have to get to this party…" She said in a quiet voice.
"Oh you're going to a party?" He asked, blocking her. "I'm sure you can ditch the party and we can have our own."
"Everything okay?" Jack said.
"Keep walking, pretty boy." The guy waved him off.
"No, I won't keep walking. Especially when you're the one harassing my girl." Jack said, in a low voice. He got in between Kory and her neighbor.
"You should know better than letting your girl out looking like a whore. She's just asking for it."
"Let's go," Kory tried pulling Jack's arm, but he wouldn't budge.
"Don't ever fucking speak to her like that." Jack towered over the guy. "Because if you do, I'll personally make sure it's the last thing you'll ever do."
"Whatever, man, she's not even that hot." The neighbor mumbled. He went back to his yard and angrily grabbed his lawn chair as he made way inside.
Jack guided Kory back to his car, looking behind them to make sure the guy stayed inside. He opened the door for Kory then got in on the driver's side
"What the hell was that?" Kory asked Jack.
"You were getting harassed and I stepped in?" He responded, confused.
"By threatening the guy?! Are you fucking stupid? What if he had a weapon or something?" She frowned.
"How am I getting shit for helping you?" He asked.
"Because at the end of the day, I still live here. You probably made it worse for me now. God, what were you thinking?" She said the last sentence to herself.
Jack didn't talk back. He started his car and drove them to their best friends' house. He did make a mental note to call his realtor to find him some decent and affordable places for Kory. She may not like him, but he wasn't going to let her continue to live in that neighborhood. He knew Emilia and Urban had offered her one of the spare bedrooms, but Kory always said no to them.
The rest of the drive was silent. When they pulled to Emilia and Urban's home, Kory mumbled a thank you and went inside. Jack hurried out and grabbed the New Balance gift basket he got for Theo and the case of Modelos that Emilia told him to get. Kory was still inside the house when he entered.
They made their way outside to cut through the yard to get to the park. The neighborhood where Emilia and Urban lived in had small backyards, but were made up with the huge private park. Kory opened the gate and held it open for Jack. They were the last to show up to the party.
Theo saw his godparents and hopped off the dome he was playing in, running to them.
"Tio Jack!" He said, hugging Jack's leg. He pulled away and made grabby hands at Kory. "Titi!"
"Hi, baby." She said, kissing his cheek.
Jack set the present down with the other presents then placed the beer down with the other three cases.
"Give me my godson." He told Kory.
"No, he wants me to hold him." She turned around so Jack couldn't get Theo.
"How about you give me my baby before you drop him." Emilia said, taking Theo.
"I play soccer with tio Jack." Theo said, pointing at the field.
"Baby, Jack hasn't eaten yet, más al ratito." She told Theo.
The three year old sighed dramatically. "Okay."
"Why don't you help me order tacos?" Jack suggested.
Theo nodded and took Jack's hand, leading him to the taquero. Kory watched Jack place Theo on his shoulders. She unknowingly smiled to herself as Theo laughed at Jack.
"Girl, you got it bad." Emilia commented, sitting down across from her.
"What are you talking about?" Kory said, collecting herself.
"I went to get you food and the whole time you had that pendejita look watching Jack." Emilia said, dipping a carrot stick in hummus. She chewed pensively, pointing the remainder of her carrot at her. "If it matters he does that same look when he looks at you."
"How many margaritas have you had?" She asked her best friend.
"That's besides the point. I'm just saying there's a lot of sexual tension." She shurgged.
"There's no sexual tension because that man hates me." Kory said before biting into her taco. "He's said it himself. He finds me stuck up and annoying."
"I still think he was talking about Karina. Not your stubborn ass, Korina."
Kory rolled her eyes at the mention of Emilia's cousin. Karina had this one sided beef Kory since they met because their names were off by one letter. Technically Kory’s name was supposed to be Karina as well but the hospital made a typo and her parents never noticed until she was a few months old. Her parents never changed it so she stayed as Korina.
Karina on the other hand was one of the most annoying and pretentious people ever. She always had to one up everyone in her vicinity. She was beyond pissed when Emilia asked Kory to be Theo's godmother so every time there was a party or something she would go above and beyond with the gifts to show off that she would have been better than Kory. It made Kory laugh because never in her had she seen someone so desperate for validation. On top of that she had a thing for Jack and he has never given her a second glance. Kory remembered one time they were at a bonfire and Karina was showing off the fact that she was wearing Jack's hoodie. It wasn't until later when Kory overheard Urban tease Jack about it, but Jack swore up and down that she begged him to give her his hoodie.
Kory glanced over to where Jack and Theo were. Lo and behold, Karina was talking to Jack while he scanned the park for help. His eyes landed on hers. He rolled his eyes and nodded his head, pretending to fall asleep.
"I gotta save your compadre." Kory said, sipping her Fanta.
She made her way to the table where Jack and Karina were.
"Jack, Emi told me to tell you if you could help with something in the house." Kory said.
"Yeah," Jack quickly got up.
"I can help too." Karina offered.
"Karina," Emilia waved her over.
"Nevermind, mi primita needs me." She said, ramming her shoulder into Kory's as she walked toward Emilia.
Jack was going to tell Theo that he'd be right back, but he was playing Urban and Cope. Jack and Kory made their way to the house in silence.
"What did you need help with?" Jack asked Kory when they went inside.
"Oh nothing. I figured you wanted a break from your biggest fan." She said, opening the freezer to get a Häagen-Dazs ice cream bar.
"Oh thanks." He nodded.
"It's the least I could do for what you did earlier…thank you by the way and I'm sorry for lashing out on you." Kory said, taking a huge bite of her ice cream.
"I can get you security or something." Jack offered. "I don't feel comfortable with the idea of you living alone with the creep."
"Not to be rude, why do you care?" She asked before taking the final bite. She tossed the trash in the trash bin and washed her hands.
"Why wouldn't I? Despite you hating me I think highly of you. Always have."
"I don't hate you, you hate me." She corrected him.
"No I don't." Jack laughed.
"Well you may not hate me, but you do find me annoying and stuck up. Don't deny it because I heard you tell your friends at that one party I went with Emilia when her and Urban first started dating."
"Dude, I was talking about Karina. You know how she is."
"Oh." She said in a quiet voice.
"Yeah," he nodded, taking a step closer to her. He reached down to the hem of her dress. "If I was being honest, I kinda had a thing for you back then."
"Really?"
Jack nodded, pulling his hand away. "Truthfully, I still do."
Kory looked up at Jack's bright blue eyes and all bets were off. They pulled each other into a heated kiss. Jack was the first to pull away. He reached for her hand and led her upstairs to one of the guestrooms. They resumed kissing, leaving teasing touches here and there. Kory undid Jack's pants and slipped her hand inside, jerking him off while they kissed.
She eventually pulled away and sank to her knees. She pushed down the top part of her dress, revealing her breasts to Jack. She tugged her nipples and roughly squeezed them. She finally pulled her hair into a low ponytail and tugged Jack's pants down. Her eyes widened at the sight of his erect cock. He was much larger than she anticipated.
She licked her lips and situated herself in between his legs. She spit on his length and slowly jerked him off with both hands. Then Kory slipped him as far as she could take him. He let out an incoherent sound until she reached the back of her throat. She did it a few more times, egging him on. She pulled away, with a trail of saliva spilling from the corner of her mouth, and kissed down his length.
Jack reached for one of her hands and placed on his knee, lovingly squeezing her hand. Kory slowly bobbed her head up and down his length, getting her mouth used to him. She took him a little deeper each time.
"I've imagined this so many times." Jack groaned.
One of his hands gripped the back of her head, keeping her in place as he thrusted into her mouth. Kory let out soft moans. Her hands gripped his legs, nails digging into his thighs, keeping her from losing balance. Minutes later he spilled in her mouth. She had pushed his hands off of her as she continued to stroke him as he came, taking all of his release. Kory swallowed every drop and licked her hand clean.
"Shit, I didn't even ask where you wanted it." Jack said, embarrassed
"In my mouth was fine." She told him as she stood up.
Jack pulled her into another deep kiss. He reached up for her chest and played with her breasts. Without pulling away, he led her to the bed. He laid her in the middle of the bed. Before he joined her, he took off his clothes, staying in his boxers. He climbed on top of her and they kissed once more.
He reached in between them and Kory's dress off. Jack pulled away to take her in. Her tan skin glowed against her dusty pink panties.
"Fuck you're so beautiful." Jack mumbled before kissing down her body.
"Wait, don't go down on me." Kory pulled him back on top of her.
"Why?" He asked, confused.
"I just want you inside me." She said in a quiet voice.
"Next time then, but after I take you out though."
"Ugh, if you insist." She giggled.
Jack rolled his eyes at her comment. They resumed their kissing. A few orgasms later, Jack and Kory laid wrapped up in a blanket, lazily making out. Jack's phone went off. He reached over and dipped in the pocket.
"It's Urb," he said, pulling up the message for her to also read.
Urban sent out: if you two are done fucking please join us in singing happy birthday to y'alls godson.
Taglist: @heavyhitterheaux @carma-fanficaddict @youngharleezy @youngharleezyxo @babyharleezy @that-90s-girllll @alinaharlow @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @a-moment-captured @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract @cherry4everrr
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for ur event !! ‘s so pretty, tip the owner f’me!! <3
“ and you know what they say might hurt you//and you know that it means so much//and you don’t even feel a thing ”
+ takashi mitsuya
NOW PRESENTING…
takashi mitsuya x fem!reader
warnings: angst, bride-to-be!reader
notes: i took this lyric more for vibes rather than actual words. my bad bestie
from the ASM: [they take the note and smile at the tip enclosed inside, glancing up at the cameras in the casino before pocketing it.]
suya smiled softly at you as you twirled in your dress in front of him. when you had approached him eleven months ago with a vision in your head of how you wanted to walk down the aisle, he knew he just had to make it perfect, not just for you, but for him as well.
he sat back in his chair, fussing with the safety pins between his teeth as you spun around again and laughed at the way the white chiffon billowed around your waist and at your feet. “suya, it’s really perfect! it’s everything i’d dreamed of, it’s like you read my mind!”
“well, it’s not as if we didn’t go through four revisions before i took needle to fabric.” he chuckled around the pins, studying the curve of your waist, the way your body was shaped perfectly by the corset top. the lace detailing over your shoulders hugged your skin and gave you a soft glow in the lights in his studio.
you stopped spinning to smile down at him from the little stool he had essentially kept you on for the last eleven months while he worked desperately to make you the happiest bride, as if you weren’t already.
he noticed a portion of the lace detailing sagging slightly at your right side, and as he got to his feet to fix it, you stepped off the stool to meet him halfway.
he laughed and put his hands on your sides, gently trying to guide you back. “ah-ah-ah, not so fast, come on, get back up there. i need to fix-“
he stopped when you nudged his hands away to hug him tightly, your arms wrapping around his middle and resting on his back. your face pressed to his shoulder, letting out a gentle breath.
he looked down at your ethereal form in your picture perfect dress, blinking slightly before hugging you back, melting into the heat of your skin and the smell of new fabric mixed with your perfume. “hey, come on, what’s this? you were just smiling…”
“i just…” you shook your head before lifting it from his shoulder to look up at him, a gentle smile on your soft lips, eyes a little wet. “i’m really grateful that you did all of this for me. you really didn’t need to, i know you have a lot of other stuff going on-“
“stop, it’s fine. i wanted to. really.” he shook his head and moved his hands to your sides, squeezing you softly. “you look great. amazing, even. i’m glad you let me do this for you.”
“i know. i just wanted to tell you.” you moved your hands to his chest, studying his face in the bright lights of the studio.
mitsuya swallowed a little before patting your side to push you away. “come on. take that off, i’ll fix it before the end of the week. your friend will be able to pick it up for you.”
you stepped back as if mildly burned, looking at him before nodding and cracking a smile again. “yeah, okay. thank you. i owe you a drink, okay?” you gathered up a majority of the dress before turning to walk towards the back dressing room, disappearing from view.
suya sucked in a breath before dropping into his chair and running his hands down his face.
he’d had his chance to be the one you wore that dress for, and yet he had condemned himself only to be the dressmaker.
#takashi mitsuya x reader#mitsuya x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#tokrev x reader#♢ — special event: song requests#♧ — mitsuya#♤ — regular: ace
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She’s a Fire-Chapter VIII
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)
Running me wild
(previous chapter here, next chapter here)
Warnings: smut, sex toys, almost getting caught, p in v, oral (m receiving), etc.
“Goddamnit” Bradley mutters good-naturedly as he plugs in the outdoor lights and nothing happens, “Don’t even say it, I know.”
5 minutes earlier you had joined him outside to see how he was doing and asked if he tried plugging the lights in before putting them up. His silence spoke volumes. “I knew I was forgetting something. It should be fine though, they worked last year.”
You burst out laughing as he stalks over to you, grabbing you around the waist and tickling you. “You laughing at me Row?”
“I would never!” You gasp.
“I’m an idiot,” he sighs.
“No, you’re not. I’ve done it too. That’s why I thought to ask you. I’ll help you find the one that’s burnt out.”
Bradley brings out a second ladder from the garage and you two get to work, luckily finding it after only a few minutes.
“Alright, let’s try this again. Ready?” He says, plugging them in and coming to stand next to you. “3, 2, 1, open”.
You nod and gasp when you do. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, looking at you.
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“I’ll get a real tree someday, but I’m having a hard time parting with this one. It’s probably a fire hazard and full of lead but it’s gone up every year since I was born.”
Oh, Bradley. “I like its vintage vibe.”
Your heart melts when he pulls out the old ornaments that he made for his mom when he was little. “Look at you! How old were you?” You coo at his toothless school picture in a painted popsicle stick frame.
“That was first grade I think? So around 7?”
“So cute.”
You can’t help but wonder what your kids would look like with Bradley. Would they have your red hair? His hazel eyes?
Bradley boosts you to place the star on the top of the tree. You watch Elf under the lights, snuggling while eating cookie dough.
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A few hours later, Bradley whistles lowly when he sees you walk down the stairs in your plaid skirt, tucked-in sweater, and over-the-knee high-heel boots. “Wow, you look amazing”.
“Thank you, you do too.” You look him over in fitted black pants and a gray sweater. “Before we go, I just need to do one more thing.”
You pull him in by his belt loop and kiss him deeply, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his cock out, already getting hard.
“What are-wait, now?” He stutters, “Whoa, what is that?”
You slide the cock ring down you had in your pocket to the base of him. “It’s a remote-controlled vibrating cock ring.”
“Fuck, really? You’re gonna make me wear this in front of our friends?” He sighs, but his cock twitches in your hand.
“Yep. I have the remote and I’m going to use it whenever I want.” You say as you tuck him back into his pants. “Color?”
“Green.”
You smile. You know he likes the humiliation and embarrassment but he won’t admit it.
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Bradley turns on Christmas music and drives you through a neighborhood that is notorious for their holiday lights before heading to Jake and Natasha’s for the Dagger party.
You click the button on the low setting as you pull on their street. “Holy shit” he groans, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“Good or bad?”
“Fuck, it’s good. But I’m hard again baby, it had just gone away.” He whines as he shifts into park.
“Oh look, they’re waiting for us by the door, we better go in,” you smirk, but turn it off.
He sighs in relief and gets out, tucking himself into his waistband before coming around to open your door.
You take the hand he offered and press a kiss to his cheek. “Did I tell you I’m not wearing underwear?” You murmur before pulling away.
He mutters a curse and looks to the sky before grabbing the gifts and following you inside.
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Natasha gives you a tour of their beautiful home as you and Bradley are the first ones there and it’s your first time.
“And here’s our bedroom…Oh my God. JAKE! I told him to put these away”. Nat scrambles to hide the sex toys on the nightstand, shoving them in the drawer.
You burst out laughing, “I’m sorry. I know you’re mortified, but it’s not a big deal, we use them too.” You say, wiping a tear that leaked out.
Her face is beet red, but she laughs too. “I think most people do, I’m just glad it was you and not one of the guys. I literally asked him an hour ago to put them away and he said he would.”
“Sounds about right. I love what you’ve done with the house though.” You change the subject, trying to ease some of her embarrassment.
You meet the guys back in the kitchen.
“Jake, do you remember what I asked you to put away an hour ago? Well, you forgot. Rowan got an eyeful of our collection.” Nat says, smacking his arm.
He pales. “I’m so sorry. The timer for the oven went off and I must’ve forgotten.”
“Collection?” Bradley asks, not catching on.
“Adult toy collection” Nat answers.
“Oh, no big deal. I’m sure it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, she’s got a pretty big collection of her own.”
Your eyes widen, and Jake and Natasha burst out laughing.
Bradley looks at you with wide eyes as he realizes what he just said. “I’m so sorry. You probably didn’t want anyone to know that.”
You laugh too. “It’s okay, really.” You say, squeezing his hand to let him know you’re not mad. “Hey, I was single for a long time. A girl's gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Nat says handing you a beer and tapping hers to it. She gives Jake a look and you can see he’ll be paying for it later, one way or another.
Javy, Rueben, and Mickey arrive next, followed closely by Bob, Sunny, and Steve.
“Are you sure you don’t mind having Steve here? He sheds.” Bob asks before letting him in.
“We asked you to bring him! Of course, we don’t mind. No one ever died from a little dog hair.” Jake says as he kneels to unhook his leash and say hello.
You click the remote in your pocket with the commotion of people arriving, and Bradley chokes on his beer.
“You alright?” Sunny asks, slapping him on the back.
“Yeah, just went down the wrong tube” he sputters, walking around to hug you from behind. You can feel the hard press of his erection on your back, along with the vibrations. You turn it up to the medium setting and he inhales sharply and tenses, fighting the urge to rut against you. He relaxes when you turn it off a few seconds later.
“You’re evil.” He whispers against your hair.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
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You tease him throughout dinner, turning it on and off, low and medium speed. Your hand reaches over to palm him through his jeans. His breath hitches, gasps, and sighs are driving you crazy. He’s so desperate, he doesn’t even try to stop you, his legs open like a little slut every time he felt your touch. You tell him that too and he flushed even deeper.
Thankfully no one noticed, as Steve was the center of attention at the head of the table where Jake and Natasha set a chair specifically for him.
You leave the remote alone as you help clear the table and clean up.
The gift exchange is next, everyone has picked names out of a hat instead of trying to buy everyone something.
You sit in the recliner with your legs curled underneath you Bradley sits on the floor in front of you. You smirk to yourself as he gingerly sits, his ass still a bit sore from the night before.
“Okay, we all open on 3. 1…2…3!” Natasha says.
Everyone opens their presents at the same time. You were delighted to be gifted the coziest Sherpa bathrobe from Mickey.
All attention was again on Steve as he tried to open his gift from Jake and Nat when you clicked the remote to the highest setting. Bradley groans, curling in on himself. Everyone stops to look at him.
“Sorry. Just got a cramp” he lies, rubbing the back of his leg for emphasis.
“Those are the worst, Jake’s got a massage gun in the garage, by the bench press. I can get it-“ Nat says, but is interrupted by you.
“No, that’s okay. You should watch Steve. He can find it, I’ll help him.”
“You sure?” She asks, already smiling at Steve tear through the paper.
“Yeah, no problem.” You say, turning it lower before helping Bradley to his feet.
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You’re on him as soon as you’re through the garage.
“Please Row, pleasepleaseplease touch me,” he whines into your mouth.
“I will, you gotta be quiet though, okay?” He nods and you drop to your knees, pulling him out, and sucking him straight down your throat.
Your free hand goes to fondle his sack, and the other click the ring on the highest setting before dropping the remote and joining your other hand between his legs, going further back to press on his perineum.
His head falls back, hands grip your hair as he groans quietly, warm salty cum filling your mouth. You moan around him at the taste before swallowing it.
You quickly turn off the vibrations and slip it off him, kissing his spent cock and tucking him back in his pants.
Bradley pulls you to your feet to kiss you, loving the taste of himself on your lips.
The garage door swings open and you startle apart. You both smile at her sheepishly, not bothering with an excuse.
“Looks like your leg is better.” She smirks, “We’re gonna start a fire and a movie if you guys are done making out like teenagers.”
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Thankfully, everyone’s none the wiser when you come back, even Nat just thinks you two were kissing.
Bradley pulls you into his lap as he takes your place in the recliner. “Sorry, my ass is still a little too sore to be sitting on the wood floor for 2 hours,” he murmurs in your ear. You pull your new robe over your bare legs and Jake comes around with drinks.
“Alright. We’re watching ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation’. Everybody drinks when: Clark falls or is hit by something, the advent calendar is opened, Clark's bonus or the pool is referenced, and Clark messes with the neighbors. Got it?”
Everyone laughs and agrees. Halfway through the movie, you’re feeling good, a little tipsy. Bradley’s switched to water after he finished his drink, tracing shapes on your bare inner thigh. It’s driving you crazy, you were already worked up from the garage.
You open your legs a little further, trying to get him where you want him, and he just smirks, fingers not straying, eyes on the movie. Such a brat.
Your arousal is coating halfway down your thighs and Bradley’s hard underneath you by the time the movie ends.
You were fully planning on mauling him in the car, but Bradley offers to give Mickey a ride since his place is closer to yours than Javy’s. His heavy hand stays on your thigh the entire time. As soon as Mick shuts the door, you turn your hips in the seat. Left foot on the console, right on his knee, giving him full access. He takes it and plunges two fingers in, rubbing over your clit with his thumb.
“You’re such a dirty girl, Rowan. Working me up in front of our friends, I almost came in the living room…you woulda loved that though, huh?”
You mewl and nod, clenching as your orgasm approaches. Bradley can tell too, he pushes you to the edge but then pulls his fingers out.
You whine in confusion and then gasp as he lightly slaps your clit with his wet fingers. “No. You’ll wait until we get home now.” You clench around nothing at his words, his dominant side coming out.
Thankfully, home is only a few minutes away. You’re on him as soon he gets in the door, and he stumbles to the living room, laying you on your stomach in front of the tree. He rucks your skirt up with one hand as he pulls himself out of his pants with the other. He lifts your hips and plunges in with a deep groan. You cry out, suddenly so full.
You lean forward onto your forearm and reach down with the other to rub your clit, but he grabs it, holding it against your lower back.
“No. You’re only cumming from my cock tonight.” You whine, resting your cheek against the soft tree skirt as you try with your other hand.
He slaps your ass harshly, a deep moan leaving you. “Did you not hear me?” He growls as he pulls the other hand behind you, holding both wrists in his left hand as he fucks into your harder. His right-hand goes between your legs to gather some of your wetness, teasing over your clit for only a moment before pulling away. He brings his soaked fingers to your puckered hole and rubs circles there.
“One of these days Rowan, you’re gonna find out exactly what I do to dirty girls.” He grits out.
“I don’t…think you have…it in you baby” you pant out, goading him.
He chuckles darkly, full of promise. “You’ll see,” and he pushes a finger in your ass.
“Oh fuckkkkkk,” you groan, your pussy spasms, clamping down on him as you orgasm.
He removes his finger and his cock as you come down, forcing you down to your stomach. You hear him jerking himself off. “Dirty girls don’t get my cum in their pussy,” he growls as he cums. You whine and clench around nothing as you feel his warm load coat your bare ass and skirt.
You make a mental note to turn up your teasing, needing to see what he does when you push him farther.
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A/N: I liked this chapter. I may have to propose my husband after our kid goes to bed for some fun under the tree. Fun fact, the picture is actually of my tree 🎄
Taglist/tagging people who may be interested:
@its-the-pilot
@dizzybee03
@sweetwhispersofchaos
@shanimallina87
@blindedbythelightt
@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth
@lexixstewart
@phoenix-rising-starbird-one
@mrsrobertfloyd
@charmedkim
@k-k0129
@bellaireland1981
@hookslove1592
#bradley rooster bradshaw#top gun maverick#jake hangman seresin#robert bob floyd#jake seresin#bradley bradshaw#top gun smut#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x reader#natasha phoenix trace#rueben payback fitch#mickey fanboy garcia#javy coyote machado
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Okay so I’ve literally been searching for two days to find this post, but I can’t, so if anyone can find me the post about the League trying to figure out how crazy Amity is, PLEASE send it my way bc jfc I hate not crediting people and this is going to GRATE ON MY NERVES. Anyway.
Basic premise is that the JL sees the town goes “uh,,, that’s sus” and decides that they can’t just bust in and try and figure out if they’re crazy. So. In order to be better accepted, what do they do?
Well, they make the worst possible decision that they didn’t know was dumb: they sent a shrink.
The principal cleared her throat. “And… you’re here to apply for our, uh… what did you say?”
“The school counsel—”
“Ah yes! That!”
Dinah tried to keep her expression neutral while she internally chanted “whatthefuck whatthefuck whattheffffuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkkk—”
The principal seemed to chew on her apprehension for a minute before giving Dinah a wavering smile and rubber stamping it. “…You can start next Friday.”
“But it’s Saturday…? I can start Mon—”
“Thatwon’tbe—!” She cleared her throat, her smile tight, as if that could conceal her prior panic. “That… won’t be… necessary, Dr. Lance.” Principal Ishiyama gestured towards the door. “Besides. We’ll need the time to— fix up your office!”
Dinah smiled and nodded, but she noted to herself as she walked out of the reception how Ishiyama rushed to her secretary to begin whispering furiously.
Dinah saw how she was scared.
Dinah paused on the front steps, digging her phone out of her slacks’ pocket. She scrolled through her contacts for a moment before finally hitting call. She pressed the phone between her ear and shoulder as she started digging through her purse for her keys. As soon as it picked up, she announced, “Hey, babe! I got the job! I’m on the front steps of my new workplace!” She sing-songed. Oliver took the hint. “Oh? What the hell happened in forty minutes that has you calling me before you’re even in the car? Actually… wouldn’t it be twenty? Fifteen? Commute’s… what, twenty-five minutes? Still can’t believe Bat’s is putting you up in this shack—”
Dinah slipped into the drivers seat, shut and locked the car and switched her phone to the other ear. “Ishiyama was scared of me.”
“…What?” Oliver laughed a bit. “Darling, don’t get me wrong, you’re terrifying, and I love every inch of you for it, but… those are Canary vibes you’re talking about….”
Dinah turned the ignition, foot pressed hard on the breaks. “Then explain to me why I’m starting next Friday even though I told her that I was ready to start Monday— or why she jumped out of her skin when I tried to shake her hand? How about how she caved the moment I confirmed I was going for the counselor position and gave it to me without further questioning?”
Oliver got a bit more serious. “And you’re sure you were reigning in the Resting Bitch Face?”
Dinah rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m very sure that I was masking my ass off— and you know how good I am at that!”
“I know, hun,” Oliver soothes (it works, much to Dinah’s chargin and battered ego). “It’s worked on Superman and Batman. You caught your own Autism. Your mask is great, babe. Still prefer your murder vibes, though.”
Dinah grinned, her heart feeling achy and cheeks warm. “Well, yeah, that’s why I let you be my boyfriend.”
“And I thank God everyday you knocked some sense into my dumb ass— how about you go get us some safe foods and I’ll pull out the case packs again— we’ll try and figure out what’s going on, alright?”
Dinah smiled softly, her grip on the steering wheel softening, too. “Yeah, alright— when’s Roy gonna get here?” Dinah checked over her shoulder as she threw on her blinker. She turned back. “He should be up to date on anything we find.”
“He’s getting in later tonight,” Oliver told her, “and he’ll have already of eaten, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
Dinah smiled. “You’re so awesome.”
“I’ll try not to get a big head, but given how often you give out praise, that’s gonna be hard….”
Dinah laughed at the overly dramatic woe. She loved that about him— how he made her laugh like she was six again. “Okay, okay— I need to go, I’m driving— text me anything you want. Ask Roy, too.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll get started on the files, too, alright? Because that wasn’t ego stroking; she shouldn’t have been scared unless she knew who you were and she did something horrible.”
Dinah smiled like she was chocolate under a heat lamp. “Okay.” God, she hopes he can’t hear her freaking heart eyes.
“Okay,” He laughs. “I’m gonna go. I still have a sofa to get through this door.”
She laughs as she takes her turn. “Alright— be safe.”
“You, too. Love you.”
“Not quite there yet,” She tells him, still melting, “but I think I’m getting there.”
“Take all the time in the universe. Bye.”
“Bye.” God, that man makes her soft. Dinah screams a little in the back of her throat, wanting to thrash a bit (but that’s dangerous, so she’ll settle on the screaming).
(She’s going to need to send Batman a gift basket for this— a way for her to bond with her boyfriend’s son, make him feel validated, and let her manage some distance from her relationship to try and figure her head out? He’s getting a basket like none other. She’s gonna dig up Grandma’s cookie-brownie recipe and make him a butt-ton. And then she’s going to send the recipe to Agent A. …and so maybe she’s going to slip in a book on autism (because there’s no way he’s neurotypical) in there, too, but who’s gonna know, huh?)
Dinah floated through parking, and starting her walk to the store, but the floating quickly shifted into a mask as phones started going off in waves— all of them with the same ringtone, which would make others (strangers, from what she could tell) lean over to look at their neighbor’s phones once they realized it wasn’t theirs.
…And slowly, one by one, they began to turn to her. Dinah saw a lot of things on their faces. She faked a happy little twirl to get a look behind her, too.
Fear. Trepidation. Horror.
The most common one was what most would call a “threat,” but Dinah had always been one for specific language, and these looks weren’t threats.
They were promises.
They were swears upon their loved ones’ graves and everything they held dear.
They were telling her a very simple story with a very stony set of the face: “fuck this up, and you won’t live to fuck it up again. We won’t let you.”
Most importantly, it gave up that tiny little detail that made the puzzle fit. With a slightly more real (if more feral) grin, Dinah did a happy little job as she finally stepped into the store. It was such a simple little word, especially with a three letter modifier tacked in front, but it told her so, so much. It said, “We won’t let you….”
“Not again.”
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Unexpected 10
Sequel to Unsolicited
Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
Lloyd says little as he hands over his gibbering mother to his ever stoic father. The elder Hansen is barely bothered by his wife’s state so you assume it might not be all that unusual. Regardless, your wedding night has unfolded to a level of chaos beyond your comprehension. The worst part is your forced sobriety.
Your heels echo down the hall as you languish in silence. Is he angry? Surely you’ll find out when you get back to the room. You can’t worry about whatever’s brewing beneath the surface as your feet scream from the arch of the flimsy shoes.
As you turn the corner, your heel catches on the tacky carpet and you squeal in surprise as the shoe snaps and you’re sent stumbling forward. Before you can hit your knees, Lloyd has his arm around you, holding you tenuously above the bright pattern.
He angles you back to your feet only to swiftly scoop your up bridal style. Another squeak escapes your lips.
“Thanks,” you breathe, unsure what else to say.
“Well, it is our wedding night,” he shifts you in his arms.
“Uh, yeah,” you still find that fact hard to swallow.
“I know you’re fucking elated, sweetheart, you don’t gotta keep up that front,” he says smugly as he marches down the hall, “finally got a sugar daddy to keep you cozy–”
“Ew–”
“You say that now, but I get you on your back and your tune changes, don’t it, songbird?” He taunts as he stops and turns to face a door, “keycard’s in my pocket, dear, be a doll and find it for me?”
You sigh and awkwardly reach under his white jacket, brazing his firm muscles with your knuckles as you slide out the small plastic card. He bends his knees so you can scan it and the beep signals your success. You turn the handle and push the door in as he straightens.
“‘Oh, daddy, please let me play with your balls’,” he mockingly chimes, “‘oh, give it to me. Put another baby in me, dad–’”
“Knock it off,” you wriggle in his arms, “you’re so gross.”
“Baby, that’s part of the romance,” he winks, “you haven’t even seen my surprise.”
“Surprise?” You swallow, recalling his previous ones. That which led to you dangling over the side of a boat and the other to you facing your bloodied ex-husband.
“You’ll like this one,” he passes through the front room of the suite, a red couch with a heart shaped backrest stands center and gives the full vibes of the campy honeymoon retreat, “I think I will too.”
He carries you into the bedroom and you look around at the bubblegum pink walls. This place is ridiculous but what else did you expect from him. If anything, you prefer it to some elaborate church ceremony and hoity toity resort. This is quick and easier, not easy.
He crosses to the bed and lays you down, placing your head against the pillow as his hands trail down your body. You roll your eyes at his groping as he follows your legs to your feet. He lifts them and places them on his lap as he sits. You squint at him as he works at unclasping the strap of your broken shoe.
The wrinkle in his forehead betrays his struggle as his thick fingertips slip down the silver straps. He growls and snaps it instead, tearing it off your foot before swiftly doing the same to the other. You don’t mourn the shoes as you never plan on wearing them again.
You gasp as he pushes his thumb into the arch of your foot. You tense at the relief it sends through your soles and you groan without thinking. You prop yourself up on your elbows as you watch him roll a knuckle against the burning muscle.
“Relax,” he girds as he waves you down.
You hum and obey, still wary. You find it hard to let go. You cross your arms as you ease back against the pillows and try to focus on the pleasure in his touch.
“You’re not mad?” You ask at last.
“Mad?” He frowns and looks over at you, kneading your foot until you murmur. He keeps you from pulling away as he tickles beneath your toes.
“About your mom?”
“Mom? No. Where do you think I get it from,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “dad’s got a handle on her.”
You nod and let your shoulder relax. You lean your head back as he switches feet. You still feel a sense of dread. He’s being nice and that never bodes well. He still hasn’t revealed his surprise and you know damn well it isn’t a foot massage.
“So, Mrs. Hansen, what do we do first?” He wonders just as you start to drift into your mind. After that day, you could sleep then and there.
You stare at him. You would suggest calling it a night but that’s not going to get you anywhere. You shrug.
His hand slowly crawls up your ankle and your leg twitches as he snakes up your calf. You watch him trail his touch with his lips, climbing up to bend over you as his mustache bristles against your skin. He pushes the slit of your dress apart as he reaches your knees, kisses falling in a path over goosebumps.
“Mmm, Mrs. Hansen, I could think of a thousand things to do to you,” he purrs as he grazes over your thigh, pulling them wide as he drags you down to your back, “let’s start simple, huh?”
You let out a breath and bite your lip as he buries his head beneath the top of your skirt. He nuzzles the thin lace thong he chose for the occasion, wetting it deliberately with his tongue. You sigh, an edge of suspicion still set in your spine. You can’t let it all go, you know the final twist is inevitable.
He laps at your through the thin fabric, wiggling his head empathically, growling hungrily. His tongue flicks down to the thin string of the thong and he feels along your cunt with his fingers as he tugs it aside. He delves into your naked folds. You’re already a wet, a delighted hum rolling from his throat and rippling through you.
“Baby,” he pulls back just a little, his head a mound beneath the charmeuse, “let it go… Mr. Hansen’s gonna treat you right.”
“Oh, shut up,” you scowl and grab his head, shoving it down to quiet him. He always has to ruin it.
He lets out a garbled noise but goes back to diligently tending to you. His tongue swipes up and down, drinking you in. He settles and seals his lips around your clit, fingertips rubbing up and down, circling your entrance. He swirls the tip of his tongue around your bud and prods at you firmly.
He dips his thick fingers into you, slowly, stretching you to his bottom knuckles. You moan and tilt your chin up. This man is only bearable when he’s inside you. You bend your legs and keep your hand stretches across the smooth fabric, urging him on.
He slides his hand back, hovering against your cunt as he lines up a third finger. He slips inside again, this time the strain burns in your walls. You croak as you take him, walls clenching around his intrusion. He rocks his hand as his tongue dances around your clit, the heat storming in your core.
He drones against you, huffing in deep breaths around his rampant lapping. He once drags his fingers out and you feel the third poking along the back of your entrance. You gasp as he stretches you around his fingertips, pink to index. Your back curves deeply and you dig your nails into the fabric.
“Ll–”
He forces his way inside and your thighs tense around him. You whine as he pushes your limit, little by little. You whimper as he gets past his first knuckle, his tongue toying with you incessantly. As he wiggles his way deeper, the pressure thrums and burns, surging through your veins.
You gulp and drape your arm over your face. You writhe around him as he fucks you with his hand, keeping rhythm with his greedy mouth. The wet noises permeate through the skirt and bubble in the back of your head. You can’t think as you succumb to the swelling climax.
You choke on your orgasm, bucking as you ride his hand through the peak and tremble into your afterglow. He doesn’t let up as he shoves his fingers into you as deep as he can and smears his mouth up your thigh, pressing his thumb to your clit instead. He raises himself so the fabric falls away from him, shaking his hand inside you as you squirm.
“Come on, Mrs. Hansen,” he growls, “I know you can do it again–”
You hiss and brace your head with one hand, your other drifting to his sleeve as you latch on. You moan and bite your lip, another orgasm building, stronger than before. Your eyes roll back and you groan through your teeth as you chase the release.
You spasm and cum, your cunt clinging to him as a sudden gushes soaks his hand and cuff. He tuts as he guides you through your climax and slows gradually, until you’re twitching around his fingers. You puff heavily as your hand rests weakly on his forearms.
“Oh, peaches, I hope you don’t think that’s your surprise.”
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#unexpected#series#drabble#dark drabble#dark!drabble#the gray man
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Lunch buddies
A/N: this Max is so chill, not my usual vibe, but it's still cute. Warnings: Mid writing. Sorry.
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“Do you mind if I sit here? I normally wouldn’t ask, especially considering you’re a dude and like I am not a dude and the term “she was asking for it” would definitely make all the headlines in any context following me sitting here, but it’s raining so I can’t sit in the park and I really don’t want to go back to the office and participate in diet culture in the form of small talk with a table full of people I hate so this is my last resort really.”
The man looks up from his phone, a look of mild bewilderment on his face. He takes you in, then the empty booth seat opposite, and then you again. A frown falls onto his face, scrunching his dark brows and turning down his thin mouth in an almost comical fashion.
“It’s screaming desperate, Toots. If you wanted an autograph all you had to do was ask.” He replies in a brash, deeply annoyed voice. He gestures for something with his hands, sighing as he pulls out a pen from his pants pocket. “Alright, hand it over, who am I making it out to? You or am I keeping it vague so you can sell it on EBay or wherever you cucks sell this shit?”
You look at the paper bag in your hand filled with your favourite lunch and a mouth-watering almond croissant. He wanted your lunch for an autograph? You feel yourself handing the bag over before you even realise you are doing it, so strange was the request. You pull it back quickly while he watches you expectantly.
“Sweet-cheeks, I haven’t got all day, I get it, your struck dumb by the sheer magnitude of meeting me and realising I am indeed even more handsome in person than I am on screen, but times a wastin’ let’s get on with it.”
“I-I don’t have anything for you to sign, I’m really sorry.” You eventually stutter out pathetically. “I just want to eat my pork roll before it gets cold.”
The man looks you over again and you feel your cheeks warm, the whole situation made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. “You actually don’t know who I am?” He reiterates in disbelief and a hint of disgust.
“No, I’m sorry, umm, I’m going to go ask that guy over there if I can sit at his table. Excuse me.” You gesture to the table in the corner, where a man is sitting greedily slurping up noodles and watching all the women in the Cafe hungrily, you included.
“Absolutely not, sit down Gorgeous and don’t make eye contact with it, his mother obviously got tired of him lurking in her basement and whispering about red and blue pills like he’s Gollum.” The apparently famous man tells you with a scoff.
You slide in opposite to him, relieved. Sure, he hadn’t really endeared himself to you in the last few minutes, but he wasn’t giving you creeper vibes, just asshole ones and you could put up with that while you made sweet love to the pork crackling in your lunch.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” He replies around a fork full of food.
The pair of you eat in silence, you looking out the windows, enjoying the rain, and him watching you with a calculating scowl. You catch his gaze by accident and frown in return. “What?”
“I performed in front of nearly 80,000 people last night and you really have no idea who I am?” He double checks. You shake your head but offer your congratulations at the number of the crowd.
“I could even imagine that amount of people in one place, it must’ve been nerve-wracking! Are you a singer?” YOU query politely, pulling a piece of roast pork apart with your fingers.
“I am, but that’s not what I was doing last night.” He replies, looking smug. You squint at his handsome tan face, trying with all you’re might to recall if you’ve ever seen him before but nothing comes to mind.
“Are you in one of those Magic Mike shows? Though I guess 80k people might be a bit of a stretch turn out wise.”
“How did you even get to that conclusion?” He asks, humoured.
“Well,” You reasoned. “You said you’re a singer but that’s not what you were doing last night so I made the leap to dance and well pardon my French, but your build like a brick shit house and you aren’t particularly hard to look at. I took a swing.” His eyes crinkle when he grins, he looks young.
“Your swing left you in the sand, Toots, it’s great for my ego though.”
“I’ve known you for 5 minutes and I can comfortably assume that your ego is more than fine.”
“Touché.”
“So, what do you do in front of 80,000 people then?” You ask, sipping your coffee.
“I wrestle, actually I’m the world champion.” He admits, looking bashful, completely opposite to the guy she had been interacting with.
“Ah, the muscles make much more sense then. I was going to guess like a body guard competition next.”
“I heard those things draw a crowd.”
You laugh, matching his teasing smile.
He tells you about his wrestling, and you listen intently, keen to hear about a world you aren’t familiar with, a world this stranger seems to be so passionate about. When you comment on how much easier he is to talk to compared to before he shrugs and admits he’s always a little in character.
You finish your lunch and collect your rubbish, noting that you are already late back to work. “I’ve gotta go, but thank you for letting me sit here, I’m really glad I did. Maybe I’ll catch you on TV sometime.” You tease, sliding from the booth. He looks a little crestfallen but you don’t think into it too deeply, he waves goodbye and you do the same.
Your halfway down the block when you hear someone shouting behind you.
“HEY! WAIT! WAIT!”
You turn with a frown, removing one of your earbuds and finding you lunch buddy running after you, a Burberry scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. “Hey,” You reply confused, pausing your music.
“Go to lunch with me.” He pants out when he reaches you.
You grin, “We just had lunch, silly.”
“No, I mean tomorrow, same place. Have lunch with me. On purpose.”
“Like a date?” You ask shyly. He nods his head vigorously. “You wanna go on a date with me?”
“I want to go on another date with you.” He clarifies with a smirk.
“Okay, I think I can manage to find myself at my favourite lunch spot again tomorrow.” You agree with a small smile. His smirk widens into a grin of his own. You like that grin; it makes his eyes crinkle in the sweetest way. “12:30?”
“12:30.” He confirms.
“I’m Y/N by the way.”
“I’m Maxwell Jacob Friedman, but Max is fine.”
Yeah, you think, Max is fine.
“Okay Max, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
#mjf#maxwell jacob friedman#aew#all elite wrestling#mjf fanfic#mjf fanfiction#mjf reader#maxwell jacob friedman fanfiction#mjf imagine#maxwell jacob friedman fanfic
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