#everyone in media has straight hair
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I read the comic in one sitting less than an hour after finishing the movie, and wow I have many Thoughts™.
- It's very obvious the two versions were meant to cater to different audiences AND tell different messages. I don't get why people are going "But the comic was better! It had more nuance!" just because Nimona was easier to root for in the movie.
- The comic was written back when ND Stevenson was still trying to process a lot of stuff, so all the characters are morally grey/straight up evil and the climactic battle is between a Ballister who regrets turning against Nimona, even if it was to save others vs. a Nimona who's too hurt to care if her lashing out was going to hurt innocent people.
- By the time Nimona got a movie adaptation, ND was a lot more secure in his sexuality, so the climactic battle was Nimona vs. the Director, the symbol of religious oppression and bigotry. It's not just about your friends turning on you because you're "too much" for them anymore, it's also about a society that would rather bring itself to the brink of ruin than coexist with you.
- (I totally get why people were upset about Ballister's surname change, though. Like come on, the media dubbing him Blackheart just to be mean was RIGHT THERE).
- Nimona's metaphor for not shifting is such a neurodivergent thing. Even in the comic, Nimona's parents insisting she's a monster who replaced their daughter is reminiscent of the changeling myth, which is what many parents thought their neurodivergent kids were—changelings who replaced their "real" children.
- Ambrosius being trained to cut off HIS BOYFRIEND'S WHOLE FUCKING ARM instead of merely disarming him is a very cop thing to do. As much as cops claim they're trained to de-escalate situations, their training still teaches them to treat everyone as a potential threat, and that level of constant vigilance can turn anyone into a trigger-happy/arm-choppy bastard. Even the Director, who can use a sword but probably hasn't actually fought someone in ages, STILL can't see Ballister reaching for the squire's phone without assuming he has a weapon.
- And on that note, the Queen getting killed simply because she was trying to reform the Institution and allow commoners to become knights? That's the best "no such thing as a good cop" metaphor I've seen. Because even if there ARE good cops and they ARE in leadership positions, the system will crush them before they make any meaningful change. It's not a good institution that turned rotten, it's an institution that only exists to spread its rot and refuses to be good.
- That's why Ballister's characterisation is so different in the movie vs. the comic. Comic Ballister had 15 years to come to terms with his trauma and the Institution's evildoing, while Movie Ballister is still freshly traumatised and hasn't found a way to define himself beyond the role he was assigned by the Institution.
- Not to mention Comic Ambrosius was not very noble to begin with and genuinely believed Ballister was better suited to villainy than heroism, while Movie Ambrosius never wanted the glory that came with his lineage in the first place and only antagonised Ballister because of indoctrination he needed to unlearn (which he did, all by himself, after witnessing the lengths the Director will go to just to kill Nimona).
- It really shows how important it is to surround yourself with loved ones who are open to change. Comic Ambrosius can love Ballister all he wants, but he'll still blast his arm off because he thinks Ballister deserved it anyway. Movie Ambrosius will stop to question what "the right thing" even means, even if he didn't love Ballister enough to defend him unconditionally.
I have so many more thoughts bubbling beneath the surface, but I'll probably address them some other day. In conclusion:
[ID: A pink-haired Nimona grinning evilly while holding up a knife.]
Watch Nimona. This is not a request.
Edit: Added more thoughts!
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𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐄'𝐒 𝐆𝐅 — ♡
one piece social media + dating
feat: ace
♡ liked by p1rateking_luffy, marco_o and 7.3k others
_ynln: he's 20 and still manages to burn everything in sight <3
tagged: ace
chef.thatch: All my hard work down the drain
↳ marco_o: wait is this why the deck floorboard is scorched
↳ _ynln: ACE DID IT
↳ _ynln: he fell asleep while we were singing happy birthday 😭😭
↳ ace: WOWWW YN YOU'RE SUCH A SNITCH
↳ marco_o: oh my god
iampops: How do I add a caption on Instagram posts
↳ p1rateking_luffy: HAPQPY BIRTHDYA ACE! (liked by ace, _ynln)
↳ ace: thanks luffy!
♡ liked by iampops, izou.u and 5.4k others
_ynln: worth it ❕❕
tagged: ace
marco_o: oh my god this is why we don't trust you guys unsupervised
↳ _ynln: i know u love us (liked by ace)
↳ marco_o: you guys make me want to throw myself off board
↳ marco_o: im losing hair cause of you two
↳ ace: like you had much to begin with LMFOAOO 💀💀
↳ _ynln: 🤣🤣
↳ marco_o: im letting both of u die
izou.u: are you guys the reason why the bathroom looks like shit
↳ ace: it's yn's fault ☝️
↳ _ynln: WTF HOW IS THIS MY FAULT
↳ _ynln: YOU'RE THE ONE THAT SAID 'wHaT iF wE jUmPEd?' AND THEN CANONBALLED
↳ ace: LMFAOOAOO IT WAS SO FUNNY 🤣
iampops: Sons tell me how to add a caption on Instagram posts
chef.thatch: I lose braincells whenever I am near these idiots (liked by _ynln)
♡ liked by ace, saaaa_bo and 4.9k others
_ynln: if he isn't dreaming about me, im going to sell him to the marines 😪😪
tagged: ace
izou.u: is he even breathing in the second photo
↳ marco_o: i hope not
ace: whaattt of course i was dreaming about you my pookie dookie sugar bear cupcake frappe 😜😍🥰😘🤩❤️🔥💕💞💖
↳ saaaa_bo: ew
↳ saaaa_bo: kudos to yn for taking one for the team and dating u
↳ _ynln: i can already hear my 550,000,000 berries from here
↳ _ynln: @saaa_bo FRRR YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE THAT HAS MY BACK ☝️☝️
iampops: Sons I've been asking for a week. How do I add a caption on Instagram posts?
♡ liked by theroronoa.zoro, p1rateking_luffy and 9.2k others
ace: my favourite girl ❣️❣️
marco is my favourite of all time
tagged: _ynln
_ynln: everyone don't be fooled, he tackled me into the ocean straight after this 😐😐
↳ ace: my mum told me to chase my dreams, not my fault my dream tried to run away 🥱
↳ _ynln: YOU STARTED SPRINTING AT ME WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO
↳ ace: start sprinting towards me at the same time 🤩🤩
lovenami: omg @_ynln you ate in this photo
↳ _ynln: NAMI OMG ILY 💞💞
p1rateking_luffy: HEHE MY FUTURE SISTER IN LAW
↳ ace: bet
↳ _ynln: wait what
↳ iampops: yn how do I add a caption on Instagram posts?
↳ _ynln: pops omg you're showing your age rn
marco_o: jesus christ delete the second part of that caption
↳ ace: stop being shy 😚😚
yamatototo: yn needs to be saved 💀💀 (liked by _ynln)
_ynln 36m
[_ynln] ace replied to your story: marco said it was payback for destroying the bathroom, you're next 🤷
#one piece#one piece headcanons#one piece x reader#one piece smau#one piece imagine#luffy x reader#smau#one piece x you#one piece fluff#one piece scenario#ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader#ace headcanons#sabo x reader#ace x yn#marco x reader#thatch x reader#izou x reader
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youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
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He has me by my heart | Mob!Lando x Reader
Summary: Lando is bad for you. You know that, countless people have told you this. But no matter how corrupted, dark, and wicked he was. No matter how possessive, jealous, and insane he could be, almost childishly so. Despite it all, he had you by your heart, and there was no getting away from him.
Themes: mob!lando, daddy kink, smut, explicit language, possessive!lando,
a/n: you know those videos of Lando being escorted by police in italy yeahhhh
You saw it on the news.
Then again, everyone did. Ever since he was arrested a few weeks ago, people tuned in any moment they could to follow his story. He was well-known, filthy rich, and dangerous. He went against the law a lot. But somehow there was never enough evidence against him that incriminated him.
Lando had too many loyal servants who were willing to lay down their lives in order to keep him away from being locked up in prison. But a few weeks ago, a couple days after you both broke up after a huge fight, he was arrested.
Apparently he got into a rather violent fight at some exclusive club. Videos of it circulated around everywhere. And it was the most convicting evidence that had ever surfaced regarding him so the authorities used that to at least lock him up for a little time while they tried to dig up more stuff about him.
However, that ended up not happening. Lando’s people kept everything clean. Every dirty work happened in the dark with no witnesses. Every skeleton was carefully placed in impregnable closets. So the authorities had no choice but to release him.
The day of his release, you watched him on TV. How he gloated as the authorities let him go. How he enjoyed the many cameras filming him, taking pictures of him which would later surely spark many conversations in the media. He had always liked the attention.
Even through the screen you could see it on his face. The arrogance, the smirks, the determined, proud look in his eyes like he was an unchallengeable monarch. He walked to his car, grinning like a king. He was, in many ways. A king in the darker side of life.
Just then, your phone rang. It was an unknown number. You answered it with your heart racing, part of you already knew who was calling.
“Hello?” You tried your hardest to sound as unbothered as possible.
He chuckled from the other side of the call. “Hey princess, missed me?”
You exhaled shakily, “Lando.”
He scoffed, “You sound a little out of breath there, baby. Have you been watching me on TV?” He laughed. “You knew they could never keep me locked up for long, didn’t you princess? We talked about this, remember?”
Oh. So he was doing the thing where he pretended that you two hadn’t had a big fight, said cruel things to each other and decided to go your separate ways. Yet again.
“Why are you calling me?” You said, “We broke up, remember?”
He sighed like he was annoyed, “Come on, princess. You know that wasn’t real, right?” He argued. “We were both tired and angry, and we didn’t mean it.” He didn’t even wait for you to respond as he said, “I’m coming over later, and then we’ll talk. Alright, princess? I can’t wait to see you.”
With that he ended the call. And you were standing there in the middle of your apartment feeling confused. As always.
When he comes over later, you thought, you’d set everything straight and break up with him for good this time.
—
Hours passed.
You realised you shouldn’t just sit and wait for him. But you were anxious so you couldn’t do anything else other than wait.
Later in the evening, three knocks at your door signalled that he was here. You stood there for a short while, fresh out of the shower and still in your fluffy robe as you stared at the door. You decided you were going to keep this short.
He’d walk in, you’d talk, and then you’d ask him to leave. Right? Right.
But then you opened the door. And there he was, in a fresh suit. His hair was a fluffy, curly mess. He smelt amazing. And that soft, puppy dog look in his blue-green eyes.
“Hi princess,” He said, already walking in and shutting the door behind him, “I’ve missed you.”
Your walls came crashing down instantly. You had your arms around him before you even realised it. Your face pushed into the crook of his neck as you shed a few tears and inhaled his familiar scent. Body wash and cologne.
“I was so scared I would never see you again.” You found yourself mumbling against his skin as he backed you into the closest wall.
He laughed as you pulled away to wipe your tears, “Babygirl,” He cooed, “You know that would never happen.” He cupped your teary face in his large hands and smiled at you. “Were you worried for me? Hmm?”
You nodded. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you. Soft lips against yours, you melted into him. Your back against the wall, your fingers tangled in his hair while he moaned shamelessly into the kiss… playfully biting your lips.
“I’ve missed you so much, princess.” His hands wandered, undoing the knot at the front of your robe. He let out a strained groan when he finally felt your warm skin. He whispered between messy, hungry kisses, “Daddy missed you so much.”
He pulled away to look at you. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips were now fuller. Fuck, he was your weakness.
“Missed this mouth,” He whispered while tracing your lips with the tip of his finger. His mere touch was driving you insane. So much so that you dropped down to your knees even before he asked you to.
Lando looked down at you with pride in his eyes and a devilishly handsome smirk on his face. “That’s my good girl,” He said breathlessly, caressing your cheek gently as he watched you undo his zipper and pull down his briefs.
His cock stood proud and tall in front of you. Your mouth watered shamelessly at the sight of it. Thick and big, you realised you’d missed him just as much. Your hands instinctively wrapped around his length and you placed the tip against your lips, kissing it and feeling the pre cum coating your lips.
Lando hissed in pleasure as you pushed him into your mouth, taking in the tip and swirling your tongue around him.
“I missed your fucking mouth, babygirl…”
He whispered your name under his breath, his hand holding your head and guiding you up and down his cock. His taste drove you crazy. As did the sounds which left his mouth.
You intended on making him come hard and fast.
“Fuck…,” He moaned again, right before coming undone all over your tongue. “You did so good, princess.”
You looked up at him, still kneeling on the cold floor. You’d missed this too.
“Stand up,” He ordered. And when you did, he leaned in to kiss you again. Rougher this time, more demanding as he pulled you away from the wall and guided you over to your living room. He grabbed your face gently by the chin and said, “Can you go make daddy a drink, princess?”
You nodded immediately. Lando smiled, kissing you briefly on the lips before smacking you gently on the butt as you walked over to the mini bar to make him a drink. You watched him the whole time you poured his whiskey in a glass.
You watched how he got rid of his suit jacket, unbuttoned his white shirt and plopped down on the couch. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked like he was at peace. So much so that you almost hesitated before you gently touched his face to get his attention.
Lando smiled at you as he took the glass from you first, then pulled you onto his lap. Palms gently caressing his smooth chest, you admired your man. His beard seemed coarse you realised as you stroked his cheek. You wondered whether it would feel rougher in between your thighs.
Judging by the smirk on his face, Lando thought of the same thing as he sipped on his drink. And his hooded eyes silently promised you ‘later’. His free hand rubbed up and down your exposed thigh, until he reached in between your legs.
He shamelessly watched how his fingers softly rubbed your throbbing clit. You whimpered softly, grinding against his hand on his lap.
“Who took care of you while I was away?” He asked.
You knew what he meant. Jealous, territorial, over protective man that he was.
“No one,” You answered, whining as he slid a finger inside you.
He swallowed all of the whiskey and leaned in to kiss you again. He kissed down your neck, and all while slowly fingerfucking you he whispered along your collar bones, “If I find out someone touched you while I was gone I’m gonna do terrible,” He licked and bit your skin mid-sentence, “horrible things to them.” He left marks on your skin, marking his territory. “And I’ll make you watch.”
You couldn’t help the unexpected giggle that escaped your lips. “No one touched me,” You assured him. “I took care of myself.” You added.
Lando pulled away from your skin smirking like the handsome devil he was. “Yeah?” He insisted, “Show me how.”
You gave him a shy smile.
“Come on,” He said. “Show me how you touched yourself while I was away.”
So you gave him a little show. Still on his lap as you touched yourself, like you did almost every night when he was gone. Even when you were angry at him, nothing else got you off like the memories of the moments you both spent under the covers.
Lando leaned back for a minute, his hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs while he carefully followed your finger as it dipped in and out of your wet hole. His eyebrows furrowed everytime you moaned or let out a wanton gasp.
He grabbed your thighs tightly each time he had to hold back from shoving your hands away to touch you. His shameless stare urged you to keep going. Lando was almost just as breathless as you were when you brought yourself to the edge, slowing down and not wanting to come just yet.
“Please…” You murmured, removing your hand away and looking into his dangerously pretty eyes. “Please,” You begged again
He looked up at you and smirked. He knew what you wanted. You wanted him to make you come. His smug grin widened before he taunted, “Aww what is it, princess? Your fingers don’t feel as good as daddy’s?” He cooed, “Hmm? You want daddy to make you come, don’t you?”
You nodded quickly. Lando just smirked and shook his head. Then before you knew it, you were being pushed down onto the couch. You laid on your back while he hovered above you. You could feel the metal chain around his neck just barely brushing against your chest.
“It’s okay, babygirl.” He whispered, his face inches above yours. “Daddy’s here now.” He said before leaning in to kiss your lips. His tongue gently stroking your lower lip, then his mouth trailed downwards, kissing your neck, your collar bones down to your breasts, licking and kissing and leaving behind his marks on your skin.
Your body felt hot. Burning under him as he took his time and kissed every inch of your skin. “Missed you,” he whispered as he pressed kisses down your chest.
Within seconds his fingers found their way in between your legs again, carefully parting your wet folds before slipping inside you.
He asked, “Do your fingers feel this good, princess?” Lando leaned in again, and kissed along your jaw while his fingers stroked you gently. “I bet they don’t.”
You whined and squirmed and you wanted more. You threw your head back and whined loudly, you felt your walls clench around his fingers.
He smirked, feeling it too. “Oh? You wanna cum, is that it?” he leaned in closer, whispering against your mouth, “You want it so bad, don’t you princess?” he teased, chuckling darkly.
You moaned, and whined and tried your hardest to keep quiet but you ended up being loud anyways. His touch, his stare, his words… “Look at you,” he whispered, kissing and biting down on your skin occasionally as his fingers took you higher. ��So perfect for daddy.”
He bit down on your neck as you squirmed, moaning shamelessly.
“Come for me, babygirl.”
You did. Welcoming the sweet pressure in between your legs and you came with a loud cry all over his fingers, coating them with your arousal and making him hiss and swear at the sight of you so beautifully dishevelled.
He had missed this indeed.
“You’re all mine,” Lando said.
You were still recovering from your previous orgasm that you didn’t realise his mouth was on you again, the lower half of his face completely submerged in between your legs, which were on each of his shoulders as his tongue tasting you shamelessly, eagerly.
“Fuck,” He moaned against your wetness. The sound of it making you shiver.
His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your sensitive clit mercilessly. Your hands immediately gripped his messy, curly hair and tugged gently at his roots.
“You taste so good, princess.”
You whimpered under his touch, feeling his faintly rough stubble rubbing against your soft skin. It burned a little, but you enjoyed each and every second of it and craved for more. His mouth felt good.
“Fuck… Lando,” You moaned out loud as your back arched off the couch for just a moment, your eyes closing and your head leaning back as you felt a wave of intense pleasure wash over you.
“You’re gonna cum for me, is that it, hmm?” He whispered and got back to teasing your clit with his warm and wet tongue, relishing your taste.
“Please, please….” You murmured. He chuckled, his warm breath fanning your wet folds.
“Come on, ask nicely.” He whispered, biting down on your hip bone before kissing his way back to your clit.
“Please daddy,” You whined, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Please, can I come?”
His smirk meant that he was satisfied. “Of course you can, princess.” He murmured. “Come all over daddy’s tongue.”
Lando got back to eating you out like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. The pressure in between your legs was building up nicely. So with a few more strokes of his tongue, you let go and came all over his face.
The waves of pleasure which washed over you were so intense that you teared up as you came, grinding your hips against his waiting mouth. And Lando lapped up whatever you gave him. He couldn’t get enough.
When he finally pulled away to let you breath for a moment, he kissed your thighs, admiring the pretty mess that you were.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, princess,” he whispered, looking down at you. “All mine.” He had that feral look in his eyes. Shameless, and raw. Passionate, and unrestrained. He wanted you and he wasn’t hiding it. “Get on your hands and knees.” He ordered.
You did as he asked. You knelt on the couch, holding onto the back while he stood behind you surely admiring your ass as your back faced him.
Lando trailed a finger lazily up your spine before sliding his fingers around your neck. He gripped your throat gently, and tightened his grip just enough so he got your full attention. His lips hovered over the side of your throat and his other hand reached around and toyed with your clit, his fingers making you tremble.
You could feel his erection pressing against your butt. And your heart raced in anticipation.
“Daddy missed this pussy, princess.” He whispered into your ear, his fingers teasing your clit until you were embarrassingly wet for him. “I know you missed daddy’s cock, didn’t you? Hmm?”
You whined in response as his tongue licked along your neck.
His hand gripped your throat, eliciting a loud moan out of you. “Answer me, babygirl.” He said. “Use your words and tell daddy you want his cock.”
His fingers left your clit as he undid his trousers again, grabbed you by the hips and aligned his cock to your entrance. Pushing against it just enough to make you lose your mind but not enough.
Damn him. He knew just what to do. How to play you to get you to do exactly what he wanted. You pushed back against him, desperately craving friction, as you whimpered, “Please daddy, I want your cock. Please…”
He chuckled. “There’s my good girl.” He praised and gripped the sides of your hips tighter. He pushed into you with ease, earning a sinful moan out of you.
Lando groaned as he filled you up entirely, your ass cheek pressing into his pelvic bone as he buried his cock into you. Your knuckles gripped the back of the couch tightly as you felt the familiar pressure forming again in no time, given you were already so sensitive and sore from before.
You were barely able to think straight. You’d missed him. You’d missed this way too much. Having him right now gave you a high you did not quite comprehend but you were grateful for it.
“So fucking good… princess…” Lando spoke in a haze, and you barely heard him as the only thing you focused on was how good he felt, sliding in and out of you. His cock stretching you out each time he fit it snugly inside you.
He felt it too. He relished the sounds your bodies made together. The careless moans he earned out of you, how wet and ready you were for him. How perfectly you clenched around his cock. Your soft, often loud, whimpers and his groans of pleasure.
“I dreamt of this perfect, warm pussy the whole time I was locked up in there, you know that, princess?” Lando pounded into you like his life depended on it. Stretching you out and filling you up each time he rammed his cock into your entrance.
You could feel the soreness his touch would leave behind, and you didn’t care. But fuck… his dirty mouth only made him hotter.
“The only that kept me going was knowing that I’d come home to you and fuck you like this,” He whispered, and you felt his cock throb against your walls. You tightened around him, feeling your orgasm so close that you almost shed tears again.
Lando kept mumbling in the throes of pleasure, “Like you were made for me, for this cock…” He trailed off, moaning in that boyish way that only made you want to come harder. “It’s all you’re good for, isn’t it, babygirl? Hmm?”
Right there… you were tight on the edge, ready to let go…
But just as you were, he pulled out and flipped you around. You were on your back again, looking up at him. His roughness only turning you on even more.
He smirked when he saw that look of uncontained desire on your face. “Not so easily, princess.” He chuckled. “Daddy spent all this time away from you. So it’s only fair that now you beg for my cock.” He parted your legs, and settled in between them again, his cock slipping inside you once again. “Beg for me.”
When he saw that you didn’t, his fingers wrapped around your throat once more. “I said,” he growled, “beg.”
Your lips parted as you gasped, giving in. You’d do anything for him you realised.
“Daddy please… please make me cum…” you whined, “I missed you so much, I need you-,” you cut yourself off, moaning wantonly as he began fucking you hard and fast again.
He grunted and moaned shamelessly right in your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. Your legs started to shake as he quickened his pace. He pounded into you incessantly.
You stared into his eyes, tears escaping your eyes, lips swollen and bruised, neck littered with his bite marks, and your eyes just as wild and passionate as his. His messy hair, that dangerous way of his, his reckless nature, that annoying arrogance, his pride was his fatal flaw and yet… Oh fuck you loved him.
Lando smirked, leaning in to whisper against your mouth, “Daddy loves you more, princess.”
Well, guess you said it out loud then.
“You belong to me, don’t you? Hmm?”
“Yes.” You gasped. “Please, daddy can I-”
The pleasure was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came all around his cock, moaning and squirming. Your fingers scratching his neck, your arms holding him tight like he was your lifeline. He was, in more ways than one.
Lando moaned out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you, filling you up again. “Fuck,” He groaned, his voice a little hoarser. “Fuck, princess.” He sighed, putting his whole body weight onto you for a moment. He nuzzled your neck and left soft kisses along your skin.
You let him rest for a moment, mindlessly playing with his hair. You almost laughed thinking about how your initial plan was to kick him out of your life, forever. But deep down you knew, you could never get rid of Lando.
No matter how corrupted, dark, and wicked he was. No matter how possessive, jealous, and insane he could be, almost childishly so. Despite it all, he had you by your heart, and there was no getting away from him.
#lando norris x reader#lando norris smut#lando norris#lando norris x you#mob!lando#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 au
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The Secret Spot
5.1k words
Golfrry, quick escalation, shy Harry into vocal Harry, oral m recieving, p in v, quickie situation.
I didn’t edit this at all, just written in a whim lol.
“Cassie! You’ve been assigned to a party today!” Martin called out as he walked through the locker room handing everyone their assignment slips. I brushed my hair up into a ponytail high on my head so I could slip my visor on.
“Is it a big one?” I said, pulling out my white apron and tying it around my waist, slipping in my small order pad and favorite green pen with the small golf ball topper. It was always a conversation started with the club members; and conversations always led to good tips.
“It's a small three person party, I heard it's a big name, haven’t confirmed who yet - you'll have to pick up your slip at the front desk. It's a bit hush hush.” He shrugged and I nodded, making sure my shoes were tied properly as my friend Kyle came up to me.
“Hush hush, huh? I hope for your sake he’s hot,” He smirked, pushing all his weight onto his left hip. Whoever thought it was a good idea to let Kyle interact with the older men at the golf club had no idea how many sugar daddies he would end up by his second week on the job.
“Kyle, sweetie, I don’t need them to be good looking to get good tips, I just need them to have heavy pockets,” I said standing up straight and slamming my locker shut. Pushing him out of the way gently with my shoulder I made my way out of the room heading out to the front desk.
“Be a good whore!” I heard him call out, making me shake my head and laugh. The lunch time crowd was beginning to flow in quickly; lunch time was the prime time to have a shift, people hardly ever wanted to let go of these shifts for that reason. Small waves were thrown my way from the usual crowd, I made sure to make note of my usuals, sending them extra greetings especially since I wouldn’t be assisting them today. As I approached the front desk, Cedric, the club manager spotted me, perking up instantly.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite little waitress,” he smiled, eyes back on the computer screen in front of him.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite little boss. I heard I have a part assigned today?” Leaning on the front desk, I reached over the counter, grabbing a mint packaged in the signature green of the Ocean Wells Country Club, earning me a soft smack on the hand. I pulled the mint to my chest, quickly opening it and popping it in my mouth, Cedric rolling his eyes.
“Yes actually, and I’m sure you will thank me for it. I had to pick wisely and my soul told me you would be the only one to not act like a crazed fan girl when I told you who you would be serving today,” I watched as the small slip printer started printing out our usual assignment slips, he quickly ripped it off the machine and slid it across the front desk to me.
Raising an eyebrow, I slowly picked up the slip and looked it over, my eyes widening at the sight of the names on the slip.
Niall Horan
Harry Styles
Mitch Rowland
I looked up at him, jaw slightly dropped, “You’re fucking joking right?”
“Nope, not a joke at all. As a matter of fact, they are walking in at this very second,” he smiled, pointing his chin in the direction of the front door. My body seemed to turn quicker than my head, but once it followed, my eyes were instantly drawn to Harry. He was wearing a navy sweater over a slightly brighter blue dress shirt, matching slacks and brown golf shoes. He has recently cut his hair, a frenzy in the media, but it had grown out to perfection, short on the sides, a swoop of curls wanting to remake their appearance on the front. His face was perfectly layered with growing facial hair, it made him look so mature and well cultured. He looked like money, and well, he was. It wasn’t until they were almost in front of me that I noticed the three of them had made their way to the front desk - and that I had been staring like a gawky girl in love.
I quickly cleared my throat and turned to face Cedric who chuckled a bit as I made myself busy organizing the business cards on the desk, chewing on the mint in my mouth. I felt their presence next to me soon after, Niall standing the closest to me, Harry doing most of the speaking for the party.
“Hello, we had reservations under Styles?” He said kindly, his voice so soft spoken and kind. I didn’t expect anything less if I was being honest.
“Yes, Mr. Styles, Mr. Horan and Mr. Rowland, we are all ready for you. You have been assigned to start on the left, two golf carts have been assigned, one for you and one for your caddies. Your personal waitress, Cassie here, will also have her own cart to bring drinks, cigars, food and any other desired items here at the club,” Cedric spoke, his hand gesturing over to me, causing all three men to turn their eyes to me. Each smiled, making eye contact, but only Harry’s lingered just a moment longer than the rest.
“Nice to meet you all, I’m here for whatever you may need, even making sure that the other isn't cheating,” I smirked, making them chuckle a bit.
“She's a club favorite, you’ll enjoy her ever present company,” Cedric said in a slightly condescending tone.
“I’m sure her services will be appreciated,” Niall said, clearly noticing Cedric's tone.
“Very well then, here are your keys, golf clubs should already be loaded, enjoy your time here at Ocean Wells Country Club.”
I nodded at Cedric, turning to the front door and holding my arm out to let the gentleman know they could carry on ahead of me before I began walking slightly behind them. I noticed Harry’s pace slow a bit more than the others as we made our way over, his attention turning to me for a moment, clearing his throat.
“Would you mind starting us off with some whiskeys, over ice please. We will need lunch reservations at around two, we should be finished with our game by then,” he said, unable to make eye contact fully.
“Might I suggest 2:15 to make room for any delays and travel time back to the cafe?” I said politely, his eyes shifting to meet mind more predominantly. They were a beautiful shade of green, tricking the eyes to think they were blue, crystal clear in certain lights - glimmers of aquamarine.
“You know the place better than I, 2:15 is fine,” he smiled small my head nodding, for some reason my cheeks found themself washed over with a flush of pink.
We exited out into the warm summer sun, a sigh instantly leaving me, eyes closed as my face moved to look up into the sun, taking in its heat. Summertime was my favorite time of the year, it’s when I thrived most, when I felt most alive. Bringing my face down, I opened my eyes to find Harry already looking at me, quickly looking away when he noticed my eye contact.
We all stepped into our individual golf carts, they drove off to their first hole as I drove to the cafe to pick up their first round of drinks. I placed the order, waiting until they were brought out, throwing in some complimentary pretzels and beer cheese to start them off right. I carefully loaded everything into the cart, driving my way over to where they were. By the time I had made my way over, they were on the second hole, Niall currently lining up his shot before swinging effortlessly, the ball landing right next to the hole but not quite making it in.
I watched as he handed Harry a twenty dollar bill, Mitch and Harry laughing at how upset Niall looked. I pulled up behind their carts, Harry’s attention quickly moving over to me. He walked over as Mitch chose his golf club for his turn, reaching for the tray of drinks as I moved out of the cart.
“Oh you don’t have to do that, I got it,” I smiled, both our grips steady in the tray.
“Truly, I got it,” he smiled, his hand brushing my hand away. I felt my breath get caught in my throat as I swallowed, turning back to grab the tray with the pretzels and cheese.
I faced him, smiling shyly, “I figured you all would do well with some post game fuel? No one has ever hated our pretzel and beer cheese. It’s a club favorite,” I smiled, his eyes took in the food as Niall and Mitch made their way over to us.
“What’s all this?” Niall smiled, Harry’s eyes staying on me as he spoke.
“Cassie brought us a club favorite apparently,” he finally broke his eye contact, handing a drink to each of the boys as I nodded.
“I could drink the beer cheese if it wasn’t frowned upon,” I shrugged as Mitch reached over, ripping off a piece and dipping it in the cheese. He took a bite, eyebrows raising, nodding as he pointed to the tray with the remaining piece in his hand.
“Holy shit, let the stuck up pricks stare at us cause I’ll down it with you in a second,” he exclaimed making the rest of us laugh.
Niall and Harry took a piece each, copying Mitch in every single aspect, quickly praising me for my choice in game starting fuel. For the next few moments they stood around me, eating and drinking to their satisfaction before agreeing to move onto the next hole before anyone else began the same course, though I of course knew that wouldn’t happen. They were elite guests, no one would be assigned to this side of the club until two hours in so they would take all the time they wanted.
I loaded the empty glasses and trays into the back of my golf cart, hearing Harry yell out as my eyes caught Niall and Mitch driving off without him, middle fingers in clear sight, “Fuckers!”
Covering my mouth, I bit back my chuckle, shaking my head, “Need a ride?” I called out, his body shifting to face me, an eye roll following.
“I swear they know how to act proper,” he shook his head, shy dimples imprinting on his cheeks.
“Proper isn’t exactly my style, so, eh,” I chuckled, getting in my cart and patting the seat next to me. He walked over, getting in, hands wiping down his thighs. I took in his actions, my eyes taking in his face with a soft smile, before facing forward and starting up the cart.
“So how long have you been doing this for?” He asked softly, facing forward.
“Umm? Three years? Trying to make enough money to pay for college. The goal is to finally start this coming spring, but we shall see,” I shrugged, glancing over at him. He turned to me for a moment before we both looked forward again.
“What are you wanting to study?” He continued the conversation, his voice a bit stronger than before, almost as if he was slowly getting more comfortable.
“Social work, work with youth in the foster system. I want to be able to help people in a way I wished someone helped me when I was in foster homes,” I swallowed, my grip tightening slightly on the wheel as I drove. I could see Niall and Mitch in the close distance.
“That sounds like a beautiful full circle moment?” He said, questioning if that’s what it really was to me.
“Uh…sort of? I guess. I mean, you’re not the first person to tell me that, but I’m not exactly sure if I see it in that light. Just because, I don’t know if it’ll give me the healing most people think it will,” I said as I parked behind the other carts. We both turned to face each other and he nodded slightly.
“Mm, that’s understood. Your trauma isn’t healed just because you helped others avoid the same,” he said softly, a smile pushing into my left cheek.
“Exactly,” I breathed out, his lips rolling into his mouth. I couldn’t help but linger there, linger on the plumpness, the perfect rosey pink, the perfect Cupid’s bow. I shifted in my seat, “Um, shall I get you all some iced tea? Or water? Second round?”
He cleared his throat, moving to exit the cart, “Um, water and another round please, thank you.”
I watched as he moved towards his friends without another word and I drove back to the cafe to pick up their next round.
HARRY'S POV
I walked towards Niall and Mitch, willing myself to not turn back towards Cassie. Since laying my eyes on her upon arrival, something struck my heart in a way I hadn’t been struck in a while. She radiated electricity, not warmth, not light, electricity. She seemed to shock my entire system by just standing there. It didn’t help that I was aware it wasn’t just my eyes lingering for too long - hers on my lips just now shocking my soul.
Running my fingers through my hair, I approached Niall and Mitch, Niall’s hand slapping Mitch’s chest, “Told you!”
“Told him what?” I said, raising an eyebrow, walking over to my caddy and picking out my next club.
“You’re already smitten, been smitten since we walked in,” Niall said, my eyes narrowing in his direction.
“What the fuck are you going on about? I’m just being polite, she’s treating us well,” I said, picking my club and walking over to prep my swing.
“Full of shit, you both are eye fucking each other any moment you get!” Niall said, my eyes rolling and Mitch just laughed.
“He kinda has a point,” he said, standing next to Niall, arms crossed in front of his body.
“You both are idiots,” I said, turning back to the ball, pulling back and taking my first swing. It was such a lousy swing, the back of my hand meeting my forehead. They were wrong, it was obvious they weren’t, but I didn’t want this to be just another damn hook up situation. She seemed like a good person who didn’t deserve that, even if she didn’t mind it.
“That swing shows me that we aren’t,” Mitch teased, and I shook my head.
“Look, she’s beautiful, there is no damn denying that, but I’m not letting it get to my head, alright? Let’s just play the damn game.” I pushed past them, switching clubs so we could just continue playing.
We finished up the hole and moved onto the next when Cassie finally joined us again. She brought over our drinks and water, making conversation with Niall. I tried to avoid her this time around, watching her from a distance. At least this way I could take her in, and not deal with the teasing from my mates.
She was so animated when she talked, often twirling her long brown hair as she spoke, the white uniform, trimmed with green making her tan skin pop against it. She smelled like an apricot, something I noticed on the drive to the previous hole with her. Sweet, fresh, something I would gladly bite into. I shook the thought from my head, bringing my hands behind my head, linking my fingers together. I closed my eyes, inhaling the summer dry air, it was my favorite season to bask in, just taking in the sun, letting it warm my skin.
“Seems like they left you again,” I heard Cassie’s voice next to me, my left eye opening to peek over at her.
“I feel like it’s going to be a thing for the rest of the game,” I let my arms drop down next to me, a small giggle coming from her.
“Well, it’s okay, you have the best golf cart in the entire club to save you,” she winked playfully.
“Thank goodness for that,” I smirked, as she shrugged, walking backwards to the cart before turning around completely. I followed like a lost puppy behind her, watching her full hips swing from side to side as she walked away from me. I licked my lips, biting down on my lower lip, walking around the cart as I reached it, getting in.
“So, are you enjoying your break from work?” She asked, her eyes shifting towards me, and I let mine meet hers instantly.
“Yeah actually, nice to not have to be moving constantly unless it is my choice to do so. I like that I can just settle for a bit,” I said, her eyes shifting down to my hand then back in front of her.
“I like settling. Just knowing somewhere is home. Moving around so much when I was younger, it made me crave stability, you know?” She said, and I nodded.
“It’s like, rooting your feet somewhere long enough to actually make it feel like it’s your home,” I responded, bringing a big smile to her face.
“Exactly, exactly that,” she giggled a bit.
We drove for a bit longer, trying to find the boys at the next hole but they were nowhere to be seen. She came to a complete stop, pulling out her phone, “Maybe I went the wrong way? But I doubt it, I know these pathways like the back of my hand.”
I rolled my eyes, tossing my head back knowing exactly what they were doing, “I’m sure it’s not you. I have a feeling those assholes are long gone right now.”
“Oh..,um, I can head back if you want? You don’t have your clubs so…” she suggested, her face glancing over her shoulder then back at me.
Staying quiet for a moment, I took in the situation, analyzing the possibilities and that one that stood out the clearest was - I didn’t want to leave her just yet. I brought my hand to my lower lip, pinching it softly as I turned to face her, “You know this place like that back of your hand right?”
“Basically.”
“You have a place you like to hide out, that no one knows about?” I said, her eyes narrowing a bit, before a slightly devilish smile appeared on her face.
“I do actually,” she said, putting the cart into drive without another word.
“Going to show me?” I said, and she nodded.
“An adventure on company time? Why not.” She giggled, making me laugh with her.
We drove for a good five minutes, the golf cart cutting through different courses, avoiding people’s games and paths. We reached what seemed to be a back corner, a giant tree settling into the corner. It’s long thick trunks and branches seemed to bend, creating perfect nooks to rest in the shadow away from the sun. She park just to the side of it, turning off the cart, holding her hands out.
“Voila!! My secret spot,” she smiled, getting off and walking over to the tree. I watched her climb on top of it, effortlessly finding her perfect spot, settling into the curve that seemed shaped perfectly for her.
“How many people actually know about this?” I said, walking over, trying to pick the perfect place for me to climb up and settle.
“Just my friend Kenny, but he wouldn’t know how to actually get here. Just knows it exist….so like please don’t kill me or anything cause then I’ll never be found.” She pointed at me, making me laugh as I found my spot directly in front of her, our legs extending out next to each other.
“I won’t, I promise, I wouldn't know how to get back without you,” I said, sitting up for a moment to slip on my sweater before settling back. Unbuttoning the sleeves on my dress shirt, I rolled them up to my elbows, finally relaxing.
“Did the tattoos have stories?” Cassie said.
“Some. Others were just crazy ideas, things I thought would fit the bare spaces. A couple friends have chosen,” I smiled over at her.
“So if I said to get a turtle near your palm tree you would do it?” She asked, my head tilting slightly knowing my palm tree wasn’t currently exposed.
“And how do you know about that?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, both eyebrows raised at her. I watched her eyes widen, reds and pinks covering her sweet cheeks.
“Oh….I just…um, Niall he uh —…”
Bursting into laughter, I cut her off, shaking my head, “Cassie, I’m aware some people know more about me than I may know, I’m just twisting your arm.”
I kicked her legs softly with my foot, her eyes narrowing and returning the same gesture. For the next moments, we just sat in silence, taking in the small noises of the golf course, the bits of wind on the tree leaves. Every now and then we would ask one another questions about our personal life. I had no problem opening up to her and her with me, letting her tell me about the things that seemed to just magically pop into her mind.
As we sat, our bodies also seemed to scoot further down, feet and legs sharing soft touch against one another, knees rubbing gently against her thigh, her fingers also moving to dance around my calf. I let my own do the same, small chills forming on her bare legs. We stayed this way until she let me know we needed to head back soon, the time we were meant to be out on the course was almost over, and she would have to finish the rest of her shift.
I nodded in agreement as we both moved to begin our climb down. I made my way first, extending my arms out towards her to help her lower herself the rest of the way down, her perfect self landing perfectly in front of me. Her eyes locked on mine, tongue licking over her lips, breath heavy from our proximity.
“How much longer did you say we have?” I said softly, my hand moving to push her hair behind her ear.
“I didn’t specify,” she said, her voice shaky, my head nodding as I bravely closed the distance between us and kissed her. It’s what I wanted, and though her movements were hesitant at first, her eagerness in kissing me back let me know she wanted it too.
I wrapped my hand around the nape of her neck, gripping at it, pushing her closer to me, her mouth opening up and letting my tongue meet hers. I ran it across the roof of her mouth, pulling away as my teeth pulled her lower lip with them. She shuddered softly, a soft moan escaping her pretty pink lips.
“And to think I thought you were shy,” she whispered, hands trailing down to my hips, fingers tapping softly against them.
“Mmm, being shy doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want, and what excites me,” I quipped back, earning me a small raised brow.
“And what do you want?” She pushed up on her toes, kissing nose as her hands began pulling my dress shirt out of my pants.
I inhaled sharply through my nose, fire growing in my stomach, blood beginning to rush to my prick, “Fuck sake, you really wanna know?”
She nodded, undoing my belt buckle and pants, working the zipper down as her hand slipped into the band of my brief without question.
“You. You on top of me in that golf cart. Fucking me until you can’t anymore,” I groaned as her hand wrapped around my length, freeing me from the restriction of my clothes, pumping up and down my length.
“Mmm, get in the cart, Harry,” she said, releasing her hold on me, pushing me back. I watched as she began stripping free of her clothes, and I did the same as we walked over to the cart, sliding into the back seat. She climbed into the space next to me, bending her body over to take me in her hand, pumping up and down my shift before slipping me in her mouth. Her tongue rounded around my tip, teasing along my slit making my abs contort, my legs shooting up slightly, body tensing at the feeling.
She chuckled, the vibrations adding to an additional sensation around my cock, as she pushed her mouth further down me, bobbing up and down until she took me completely, nose meeting my happy trail. I felt her swallow me further down her throat, my hand instinctively wrapping around her ponytail, holding her there as my hips bucked forward.
She pushed against my hold, pop off me with a gasp of air, her spit covering my cock, her hand replacing where her mouth was as she wiped her mouth with the other. She moved closer to me, kissing me deeply, my hand curling around her jaw, not able to get enough of her, of her taste.
Of her sweet apricot scent.
My hand moved down to her hip, gripping at it and directing her over my body, her legs straddling my hips, her hands both moving to my shoulders. I pushed her wet center onto my shaft, guiding her hips up and down it, her slick and spit creating enough lubrication to guide her movements further.
“Oh fuck,” she gasped, her hips rocking back and forth on me, her thighs clenching as she did, “Mm, I need you.”
She moaned, her eyes moving to mine, pants falling from her lips as her movements grew incredibly sloppy, her face was so flushed, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Yeah? Where do you need me? Huh? Tell me where,” I pressed into her lips, her moans growing more frequent, lips pressing an open kiss into my chin as I felt her come on me, arousal coating my cock thickly.
Her body trembled, her teeth biting at my chin, my hand moving up to her face, gripping under her jawline tightly, “Hmm, you need more than that?”
She nodded, “Please.” She basically begged.
“Mm? What more do you want, huh? Tell me Cassie,” I groaned at the thought of her saying she needed me inside her, at what that would feel like.
“Fill me up, please. God, Harry, please,” she breathed, pushing body up, gripping at my cock, bringing it up to meet her wet cunt, rubbing the tip against it before slipping herself down on me. It was a slow moment of taking me inch by inch, each moment further down met by the tight squeeze of her walls. She finally took the last bit of me in, each of us groaning out in pure ecstasy, before she began to lift her hips again, bouncing up and down on me effortlessly. Her perfectly round tits were in front of me, bouncy with her, begging to be in my mouth, my hands wrapping around them and bringing them to my lips. My tongue flicked at her nipples, pulling at them between my teeth, her moans escalating just like her pace on my cock.
“Fuck you do that so good, that wet cunt is so good,” I groaned into her tits, biting at the plump fleshy skin, kneading it with my hands. I slipped on arm around her waist, pumping my hard cock up into her, matching her pace.
“Oh, yes, Harry, just like that. Fuck just like that….god,” she moaned, her hands pulling my face to hers, kissing me deeply, our tongue sloppily running against each others. I slipped my fingers between us, rubbing her clit as I continued to pump in and out of her, her movements hardly existent, her legs trembling, her head knocked back in pleasure.
I could feel her tight cunt fluttering around me, pulling me deeper into it, her arousal already soaking down my thighs and hers. I wanted to taste every bit of it, I wanted it to coat me completely, make me filthy in it.
“You wanna come for me, Cassie? Come all over my hard cock, sweet girl? Hmm? Cock so hard for you, wants to fill you up. Can I do that? Can I fill up that wet cunt? Watch you squeeze me out after? Yeah?” I whispered into her neck, kissing along it up to her ear.
“Oh yes, Harry, fu-fuck, yes, yes, fill me up, oh…Ha-Harry I’m going to…I’m..” she gasped, her walls clenching around me, her hips pushing forward, legs clenching around me tighter, “Oh fuck, yes.”
She breathed out in relief, a moan so damn sexy I could have came at the very sound of it. I kept bucking my hips up into her, letting her ride out her high on my hard cock, taking in the way her body and face reacted to the feeling, only turning me on more. Both my hands gripped at her hips, fucking into her harder and quicker until I came, my hips bucking up and holding place their, shooting warm ropes into her fluttering walls.
We both came down from out high, her face nuzzled into my neck, my hips final relaxing and lowering back down, bring her carefully with me.
“Cassie baby, do something for me?” I whispered, a tired nod coming from her. She carefully sat up, eyes locking with mine.
“Pull off me sweet girl, squeeze out my come for me, let me see it drip out of you? Yeah?” I breathed out and she nodded, lazily doing as I instructed. She pulled off of me, both of us groaning. My eyes locked into her sweet cunt, watching her squeeze my come out of her, “Fuck, yes.”
She smirked tiredly, reaching down and covering her fingers in it, bringing it to her lips, licking them clean slowly. I met the other side of them, helping her, until she pulled them away so we were sharing the mix of our arousals on our lips.
Pulling away, she sighed, pushing her forehead on mine, “Mmm, I’ve never christened my secret spot before. Must be my lucky day.”
I chuckled, pressing one more kiss onto her lips, “We can do it again tomorrow. I have time. Find other places in this club to christen.”
“Mm? Sounds like a challenge.”
“I never liked when things came easy anyways.”
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HIM & HIM - SAE ITOSHI + OLIVER AIKU
synopsis: You're a tired-out office worker who often relieves yourself from the mundanes in life through clubbing and going to local bars. Little did you know that one night you would be approached by two men and an offer that you can't deny.
contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, sex worker!oliver, sex worker!sae, semi-public sex (nightclub bathroom), double penetration, anal sex, vaginal sex, face grabbing, slight hair pulling, nipple play, ass slapping, usage of aphrodisiacs, unprotected, overstimulation, degradation, name calling (slut), rimming/anal fingering, blowjobs, hand jobs, cumming in ass, facials, kinda proofed mdni
word count: 3.5K
a/n: part 2 of my kinktober event! nevermind maybe this is the nastiest thing I've ever written?? i gave up and am now using words cock and pussy because who can stop me?? no one gets emotionally hurt in this one - sorry to everyone who got sad over my first kinktober fic :(
It shouldn’t be a crime with how often you find yourself going to nightclubs every weekend. You’re simply letting yourself loose — from all of life’s hardships and the insane amount of unpaid overtime that you’re expected to work at your corporate company.
You should’ve known it was too good to be true when they misspelled your name in their welcome letter.
And now, with two years down the drain, you feel like the only way you can properly destress is by spending two hours at a random bar and then on their dance floor every week. Some of your friends might suggest going to therapy but who would want to get a therapist specifically for work? That sounds like too much to juggle around. You could also quit, but the job market is absolutely ass right now so why would anyone want to do that?
Searching for your new weekly playground also doesn’t take too much effort versus sifting through various shitty therapists either. You always do a bit of background research before settling on one; it has to offer good drinks at a reasonable price point, the DJs and performers have to be people that you’re familiar with, a dress code would be nice to get rid of some weird guys, and has to have hot guys there. After all, that’s one of the hidden reasons why you love going out solo to these clubs.
And your mission for tonight? Flirt with some guys, get free drinks, and get shitfaced.
Seventh Heaven is currently the talk of the town. Having it finished its grand opening almost a month ago, you’ve been seeing it all over your social media pages non-stop. Not only did it fit your criteria, but everyone kept raving about their escorts — male and female alike. You never thought about paying for entertainment, so it wasn't necessarily high on your priority list, but you'd be dishonest to yourself if it didn't pique your interest.
As the night finally arrives, and as you step into the venue, immediately captivated by the grandeur of the place. The elegant decor, the subdued lighting, and the hum of conversations create an atmosphere that feels both exclusive and inviting. Your legs take you straight over to the bar, where you start your friendly banter with the bartender.
Luckily, the dress you’re wearing has never failed you in getting free drinks. “What should I do to get a margarita around here?” You bat your lashes.
The bartender doesn’t say anything and hands you a sweating glass. You take a sip of it from where you stand, eyes wandering the room and scanning for easy men to prey on. Your eyes dart from table to table, most of the men were already preoccupied by other women. It seems like you aren’t the only one with this idea for tonight. You sigh, shoulders slumping, as you realize that it might take a while for your next free drink. You’re about to pull out your phone to keep your attention preoccupied until—
“Would you be interested in having sex with us?”
You nearly choke on your drink, the tequila burning your nose and throat as you cough down the remaining liquid. You feel a pat on your back and look up. The large hand belongs to a tall, heterochromatic man with wispy hair, he’s smiling ear to ear. Behind him stood a smaller, slender man with sharp features and strikingly teal eyes. Surely, these men weren’t talking to you?
“I-I’m sorry?” You have to do a double-take because wow do they make guys this attractive anymore?
The other man sighs and steps over to remove his hand from your back. “You’re too impatient, Oliver.”
The man named Oliver pouts. “I only said one sentence, Sae.”
“You were being rude.”
“That’s rich coming from you—”
You clear your throat, now seemingly confused about the situation unraveling in front of you. “What’s happening exactly?”
They both pause and exchange knowing looks.
You clutch your drink close, eyeing the two men and ignoring the rising heat from your legs. “And why me?”
“You’ve only been glancing at tables with women surrounded by men.” Oliver leans forward and winks. “We might have the same idea for tonight, yeah?” His charm is oozing, it’s contagious. You can feel your knees buckling underneath from his smile.
You can’t remember when’s the last time you’ve had sex. Dating is out of the question due to being overworked and hookups are always a hit-or-miss. Though seeing that these men are staff members from their shared uniform, you would be stupid enough to turn down such an offer. These must be the men that people were talking about.
This week has been overwhelming and taxing on your mental health and you could use a nice break right now. The drink isn’t helping you forget about life that much.
“I’m not a fan of threesomes, so you guys better change my mind by the end of tonight.”
You didn’t question much as they directed you into a bathroom by the far end of the nightclub. It’s spacious, the floor is layered in black tiles, and definitely isn’t just meant for doing your business. The walls are covered in noise-cancellation plush foam, paintings of nude men and women scattered across the place, and there is a small fridge filled to the brim with rolled-up towels by the corner.
“Well, don’t just stand there—” Your back presses against the sink’s counter, spreading your legs slowly for the two men in front of you with a tease of a smile on your plush lips. “—fuck me already.”
Sae reacts first, rolling his eyes at your words before leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. Your arms and hands work fast and, in an instant, you’re tugging at his shirt and belt buckle while crashing your body into his. His calloused hands mimic your frantic motions, grazing and eagerly grabbing the flesh of your waist, thighs, and eventually settling and kneading your ass. You originally thought he would come off as the shy, vanilla type compared to his friend but you’re gladly taken aback.
You groan against his mouth as he nibbled lightly against your lips, tongue immediately invading the open space given to him. You’ve hardly touched him but you can already feel his painfully hard length pressing against your legs. Instinctively, you spread your legs wider for him to grind on your clothed folds, moaning at the familiar built-up sensation.
“Can’t believe you’re hard for me already.” You coo against his lips, chuckling when he pulls back with the slightest frown etched on his face.
The playfulness in your tone is immediately replaced by a breathy moan when his fingers plunge against your sloppy folds, pressing tightly. Sae leans in and starts leaving small bites along the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Says the slut who wants us inside of her right now,” Sae mumbles against your warm skin.
You poise your tongue, ready for a comeback, before letting out another groan when Oliver appears beside you, forcing your hand away from Sae’s neck and placing it on his leaking cock. The taller male hisses in pleasure at the feeling and bends down to meet your glossy gaze.
“Gotta take care of me too, sweetheart.” Oliver breathes into your ear, the scent of his cologne makes your head fuzzy, and he buckles his cock further into your palm. “We’ll fill you up but it’s me that’s gonna make you cum.”
Sae’s grip on your ass tightens up at the declaration, he snaps his head up and throws Oliver a furrowed brow. Your moans come out in a series of shudders as Sae’s fingers easily pull your panties down your thighs, leaving behind trails of slick from your dripping heat. You bite back your volume and jolt in pleasure when his fingers start ghosting over your entrance but his sight never leaves Oliver’s face.
“Keep count, will you? I’ll be the first one do to so.” His voice stays leveled despite the apparent dark glint over his teal eyes, almost as if he was going to devour you in and out throughout the coming night.
“Yeah?” Oliver purr against your ear, his large hand finding home at the small of your back and his other assisting your occupied hand on his cock, pumping it slow and steady. Pleasure shoots down your stomach at the sight of his leaking tip and the way it throbs in your hand. Oliver laughs when he notices you shuffling between the two of them, the sweet scent from your folds drawing both of them in. “You want me first, baby?”
Sae’s hand forces your face up, directly in line with his. His expression stays deadpanned as he taps your cheek with his thumb. “Answer carefully.”
You lick your lips, eyelashes fluttering. “Both.”
Oliver laughs and Sae merely hums in satisfaction. Your grip and pace on Oliver’s length fasten as Sae leans in, continuing to ravage the space between your shoulders and neck all while his digits begin sliding into your cunt. You twitch as Sae’s breath stops momentarily at the feeling of the velvety walls inside, taking in every single detail as your legs start to give out from underneath.
“So fucking filthy,” Sae groans at the wet sounds below and starts scissoring his fingers inside.
The combination of his thick fingers and the feeling makes your eyes blow wide, unable to formulate sentences, and you find yourself grasping at Sae’s shirt in order to ground yourself. He’s teasing, it’s tanalizing with the slow pace he’s set for you. There’s something mysterious and addicting about Sae’s aura that makes you want to please him so that he spares you his time.
Right now, from what you can tell, he wants you to say what you want otherwise he’ll continue to stay slow.
His teal eyes bore into yours as you grind yourself shamelessly down his fingers with a loud whine. “Make me cum—I wanna cum…”
Oliver moves closer, his stubble grazing above, and places a chaste kiss on top of your head. “Guess you’re taking the first point for tonight.”
Sae ignores his friend’s commentary and silently nods at your request. As you hump against his fingers desperately, Sae goes in and captures your lips before picking up his pace inside of you. Your other hand is currently lathered up in Oliver’s pre, who’s seemingly also enjoying the sight of you taking everything in. His hand on your back roams and stops at your clothed breasts, massaging the soft mounds, and exhales by your ear.
“You’re doing so good. Do you know how wet you sound right now?” He coos.
You couldn’t say anything back, gasping for air as Sae’s tongue occupied your mouth, and merely tugged at Oliver’s length faster. When his fingers dig and curl at a familiar spongy part of your walls, you roll your head back and let the warm coiled feeling take over. Your head starts to feel hazy, and your body thumps as Sae continues to work you toward your orgasm. It’s not until Oliver starts toying with your hardened buds that you come undone all over the other male’s digits, the sounds from your mouth are full of cursed obscenities and saccharine moans.
“Look at the mess you made,” Sae pulls his fingers out and glances down at his lap. Your slick is sticking all over his forearm and upper thighs, it’s absolutely drenched and you didn’t think you were able to reach that level of pleasure before.
Sae watches you carefully as your chest rises heavily, your face flushed and tears smearing the makeup you had carefully put on earlier in the night.
Oliver takes a seat on top of the toilet lid, a hand patting his lap and the other stroking his cock. “Just for you, princess.”
You’re still high off of your orgasm but you feel yourself nodding, babbling nonsense from your mouth as you position yourself facing away from him, angling the tip of his length from behind. Your vision goes teary again. It’s barely even all the way in and yet—
“Shit, did you just cum again?” The tight feeling of your walls fluttering around Oliver makes him moan. He places both of his hands around your waist and guides you further down his length, hissing through his teeth when you finally bottom him out. “So warm, so fucking tight, sweetheart.”
With the angling done right, he’s slamming deep into you over and over again, each stroke eliciting little whimpers from your mouth. Slick is dripping down your thighs and onto his lap, but he doesn't seem to notice, and you couldn't care less since you're fascinated with the thickness of his cock and how beautifully he fits inside of you. You absolutely love the sensation of him sliding in and out of you, nearly fucking you like a toy, and having total and complete power over you while mumbling praise into your ear.
Sae stands in front and there’s a slight annoyance that’s written across his face as he stares down at you. He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “That easy to please?”
His cock springs free from his pants, his head red and covered in pre. While he isn’t as large as Oliver’s, it is certainly pretty, nicely trimmed, and has a thick vein running along its side. Sae tries to control his breathing as your hands suddenly wrap around his aching cock. As you swallow him whole into your warm, wet lips, Sae groans while looking into your half-lidded eyes. His hands instantly fly to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing his hips further into your mouth, not paying much attention to the way drool is now seeping out of the corners of your lips.
Sae cursed under his breath when you reach down to fondle with his balls gently, massaging the flesh into your palms. You continue to hollow out your cheeks, bobbing your head down his length while Oliver slams against your cervix again. Your constant moans send vibrations down his length and it’s so intense that he has to pull away, his stomach flexes in the process.
“Switch with me,” Sae barks at the other male but is only met with a chuckle.
“Fuck no, she’s too good for you,” A hard slap on your ass sends a shockwave through your body. “You can keep fucking her sloppy mouth.”
But that didn’t stop Sae from getting what he wanted. He grabs your wrist and pulls you out of Oliver’s grasp before sharply turning you around. Sae’s hands rest on your shoulders, the applied pressure from him indicates that he wants you to sit back down on Oliver’s length. You silently follow along, feeling his intense gaze from behind, and wrap your arms around Oliver’s neck for support as you edge yourself down. You’re whining again, still not used to having something so thick and filling inside, and Oliver leans in, kissing you on the cheek in an attempt to comfort you.
“Told you he’s the rude one,” He murmurs teasingly.
“Be quiet,” You can imagine Sae rolling his eyes.
You whine louder when you feel a sudden wet muscle brush over your ass. It’s Sae’s tongue. He’s making lazy circles around your other hole, before slipping a finger easily in. You clench yourself tightly around Oliver at the new feeling. You haven’t realized that your asshole is much more sensitive and you can’t help but move your hips, wanting more.
One finger. Then two. And three.
Sae moves them slowly from inside, curling them and stretching out your hole for a few seconds before retracting. Within moments, you feel his cock probing at your entrance, causing you to moan and wither against the larger male.
“You can take it, don’t act like you don’t want to get filled up by two guys.” Sae pushes the first inch forward, inhaling a deep breath when it goes in with minimal resistance.
You feel his cock twitch inside of you with every forward movement. Your legs begin to shake from the build-up pressure from both holes. You’re gasping loudly, struggling to breathe as your eyes shut tight, and your mouth goes slack from the intensity that it almost hurts.
Your loud wails are quickly silenced by Oliver’s hand, his thick digits shove their way into your mouth as he continues to bounce your shaky figure down his hardened shaft.
Tears begin to blur your vision at the intensity of it all, the aching feeling from your hips, ass, and cunt from the constant stimulation is getting to you. Just when you thought this was the height of it, Oliver pulls out a small glass vial from the pocket of his shirt. It’s a clear substance, unlabeled, and you’re sure it’s not regulated by any means with the look he’s giving you right now. Sae slows down his pace from behind and you feel his chest rumble lowly against your back, seemingly knowing what might happen next.
“Sweetheart,” Oliver’s free palm caresses your flushed cheek, a more careful and delicate touch compared to earlier. His hand stops at your mouth, thumbs rubbing softly over your lips in his way of coaxing you to open up and chuckling when you easily obey. “Gonna make you feel good, I promise.”
Luckily, the substance didn’t have a taste to it. The texture is almost like water and it flows down your throat with ease. What you didn’t expect is the drug taking effect on you almost immediately. As if your body has risen in temperature, you start to heavily pant, hands gripping Oliver’s sleeves while you lean further back against Sae’s firm chest. The two men both let out groans of their own when you start spasming from the inside, their cocks fighting with your hot walls.
Slowly, they begin to pick up their initial pace. Oliver watches as your mouth goes slack, pools of drool spilling out, and eyes roll back. And, while he knows he should let your body adjust to the change, the sight of you all fucked out is enough to drive him crazy and he quickly finds himself slamming into you, a force so strong that it makes Sae break his focus.
“Stop hogging her all to yourself,” Sae snaps.
“Maybe you should try harder, no?” Oliver’s free hand settles on your breast, toying the nipple between his thick digits, earning a squeal from you. “Or else we’re gonna be here all night.”
His comment spurs Sae and he finds himself speeding up, fucking your ass deeper and messier than before. All signs of his previous stoic emotions melt away as his hand reaches to grab a fistful of your locks, tugging it harshly followed by a sharp slap on the flesh of your ass.
You can’t contain your cries, sobbing loudly in pleasure as both of your entrances elevate to another level of sensitive heights.
“Oh—! Yesyesyes give it to me…!”
“I knew you could take it,” Oliver latches his mouth onto your breast, dual-colored eyes looking up as he twirls his tongue around your pebbled nipple. “Such a good fucking girl, taking two cocks at once.”
Your walls are spasming uncontrollably around them. “I-I’m gonna—” Your nails dig deep into Oliver’s forearms, leaving behind half-crescent marks as you moan louder, wordlessly begging both males not to stop.
Your toes start to curl, and your mouth drops as your third orgasm strikes you after one final, expertly aimed stroke against a particular area inside of you. It’s loud, messy, and incomprehensible, and Oliver groans when you press closer to him. You release yourself all over his cock, the pool of liquid drenching his lap. You find yourself reaching another orgasm as Sae reaches over, hand gripping tightly around your throat, forcing you to look into his eyes.
“Your ass is mine, you understand?”
Your eyes roll back, nodding numbly. “Yes—oh my god—it’s yours!” And another wave comes, the coil in your abdomen snaps and you clamp down around the two men again.
Oliver continues snapping his hips into your cunt, a few seconds after, you notice his pace is a bit more feverish and out of focus. Sweat is dripping profusely down his face and he smirks. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I have to tap out soon.”
Sae’s palms rest on either side of your ass, kneading the flesh deeply. “Fuck—”
Oliver quickly pulls out and streams of white warm spurts hit across your face as Sae fills you up from behind. You can feel him twitch inside you and tighten his hold on your body as he spills out his last drops inside. For a while, the three of you stayed stationary, labored breathing, and mirror foggy from the long session. It’s not until when Sae pulls out that Oliver decides to also get up.
Sae grabs a warm towel from a small fridge in the corner of the room and begins cleaning up your face while Oliver adjusts your dress straps back on. You couldn’t ignore how soft and tender both men are acting despite what just happened. You sigh in relief, your heart and senses calming down from the drug and your last orgasm, as you struggle to stand.
“Next week,” You murmur, looking at them with doe eyes, between heavy breathing. “Will you guys be here again next week?”
Maybe you can endure your shitty office job if they’re around.
KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART II)
@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo
#doobean:kinktober23#bllk#blue lock#bllk smut#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#oliver aiku#oliver aiku smut#sae itoshi smut#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi#itoshi sae#itoshi sae smut#blue lock smut#cw: drugs#oliver aiku x reader#doobean writes
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who is she ? | george russell x fem! reader x carmen montero mundt
summary; when a williams investor catches the attention from the grids ultimate old money couple.
fc; jarinpat
warnings; ?
word count: 540
taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri
note; requested ! my requests are closed !
masterlist !
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liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and others !
williamsracing: introducing our new investor for 2024! welcome y/n l/n to the williams family !
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: so so so happy to be part of the williams family 💙💙
username: OMG Y/N???
username: who is she and how is she so rich?
username: y/n l/n! she comes from a rich family! like hellaaaaaa old money rich but she’s ceo of a fashion company
username: she’s an icon tbh
username: AHHH
alex_albon: y/n slay 💅
logansargeant: y/n slayy💅💅
yourusername: alex and logan slay💅
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“Who is she?” Carmen’s soft voice caused Francisca to look at her with furrowed-up eyebrows. The two were in a circle with Lily, Alexandra, Rebecca, and Kelly. All of their attention went straight to the girl Carmen was staring at.
Her wide-leg beige pants paired with a white off-the-shoulder blouse and her black Kelly belt caught the attention of the Spanish girl. The mystery girl held a black crocodile Birkin in her hands with her wrist adorned with a serpent watch and diamond-encrusted Cartier and Van Cleef bracelets. Everything about her screamed wealth.
“That’s Y/n L/n, Williams's new investor.” Alex's loud voice interrupted their thoughts as he and the other drivers walked up to the group of girls.
George was immediately by Carmen’s side, both of their eyes stuck on Y/n as she seemed to be on a phone call.
“Why’re you staring like that.” Pierre teased the Mercedes driver when he noticed his and his girlfriend's stare.
Alex turns and sees that Y/n has just hung up on the call. “Y/n! C’mere!” He called out, catching her attention.
Carmen’s eyes widened as both she and George immediately stood straighter. A sudden nervousness sprung in both of them as they saw Y/n smile and walk towards them, her heels clicking with each step.
“Alex, Hey!” She exclaimed with a smile, fixing her blown-out hair as she stood beside the Thai driver.
“Everyone meet Y/n, y/n meet everyone!”
The group immediately erupted into chatter, making Y/n feel comfortable and like she had known them for years. However, she felt 2 pairs of eyes on her.
She had first noticed the couple when she first arrived in the paddock. She saw them by the Mercedes. Their style had caught her attention. Their ‘old money’ style that she had seen trending on social media which was her own style as well.
Carmen’s raspy laugh and George’s cheeky smiles caught her attention before she had to get her eyes off them due to some media duties with Williams.
She didn’t realize she had also caught their attention until she felt their eyes on her as Max was ‘maxplaining’ something.
Y/n glances up and is met with both of their eyes. Her lips curled into a smile as she softly chuckled. Fortunately, since the three were standing off to the side, she leaned towards them and whispered, “I really like your watches.”
George glanced down at the silver and teal Rolex on his wrist that matched the one on Carmen’s. “Well, I-we like your everything.” He blurted out with a smile. The Spanish girl couldn’t help but snort at her boyfriend’s sudden boldness.
Y/n let out a shy giggle, glancing down at her black and tan Chanel Mary Jane’s. “Well, aren’t you both nice?” She quietly said as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Are you busy later?” Carmen asked with a hint of nervousness making her accent stronger.
“Not tonight, no.”
“How about dinner? Just the three of us, perhaps?” George responded with a hopeful smile.
Y/n kept looking between the two before her lips curled into a matching smile. “Tonight. 8. I’ll be waiting.” She says before turning around. She says a quick goodbye to the group leaving Carmen and George starstruck.
#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#f1 scenario#formula one scenarios#f1 imagine#formula one imagines#formula one imagine#f1 scenarios#george russell scenarios#george russell x reader#george russell imagine#george russell x reader x carmen montero mundt
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So.. I'm confused about something. If your beliefs in radical feminism say that trans people aren't valid in their feelings of being trans, what's stopping you from making bisexual people not part of the LGB? B stands for bisexual. What if their sexuality is just a phase? What if they are *actually* just heterosexual? For that matter what's stopping you from excluding YOURSELF from the community? At some point, you can't exclude any more people from a space that wasn't supposed to be gatekept to begin with! -Vero of CFC
You people always use that word “valid”. It’s absolutely meaningless post modern nonsense. Trans people feel that despite having a male or female body, their feelings about it change reality. I’m not telling trans people how they feel. Because you’re right, I can’t know that. What I’m telling them is that their feelings don’t change their bio sex. I’m telling them their feelings don’t supersede the rights and dignity of women. That’s not at all the same thing as being same sex attracted.
If I tell you that I am attracted to both men and women you can believe me or not. It doesn’t change my sexuality. You can’t know how I personally experience sexual attraction. But if I tell you I’m an Olympic Figure Skater, that’s something external and material. That’s something that either is or isn’t. And it doesn’t matter how true I want it to be.
This isn’t about people being invalid or valid. It isn’t about telling others I know better than them how they feel. It’s me telling them that their feelings don’t change material reality.
And we don’t get to sidestep reality because language is limited and imprecise. We create words to express ideas and categorize things so we don’t have to start every conversation from the ground up. Think of the quote “a rose by any other name”. The word ‘rose’ is made up but the flower it refers to exists in the material world. And you and everyone on earth could declare a rose a tulip but as long as people needed to specify they’d find a way to invent the word rose again. It’s why every 3 years your movement declares old terms verboten. MtF and FtM got used until people got mad it didn’t erase the reality of bio sex and people just used those terms in place of “male and female”. Then the same thing happened with AFAB and AMAB. Now we’re onto TME and no one knows what anyone is talking about because at the end of the day, people are male or female and no amount of “validation” or the right words erases that reality.
I am bisexual because I am attracted to both men and women. Lesbians are women exclusively attracted to women. Gay men are men exclusively attracted to men. Straight people are exclusively attracted to the opposite sex. The LGB community formed because the thing we had in common- same sex attraction- is punished in most societies. It absolutely was designed to gatekeep. It was a civil rights movement- not a secret club house. The LGB have no more moral responsibility to admit opposite sex attracted people than black activists have to include white or Asian people.
“Queer” has nothing to do with it. Demi flux genderoo aroallo fox kin have nothing to do with it. A group of men that believe their internal state of mind makes them literally a woman has nothing to do with it. You people overran a movement for same sex attracted people, convinced everyone to call our community a slur, and demand that we center heterosexual teens too immature for a relationship thinking that makes them the same as a Gay man.
I’m tired of arguing with 19 year olds that read too much mlm fanfiction that having short hair and wearing hoodies from the boys section doesn’t mean they’re gay men. I’m tired of arguing with those same girls that the 45 year old man with pigtails and a pink pinafore sucking his thumb and holding a dolly on social media isn’t a brave woman defying The Man. He’s just a pervert.
#radical feminism#radical feminist safe#radical feminist community#radical feminists do interact#radical feminists do touch#radical feminists please interact#radblr#feminism#radical feminists please touch#trans
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nick x yapper!bsf!reader is a must
Talkative- N. Sturniolo
pairing: Yapper!reader x BestFriend!Nick
classification: platonic SFW head cannons
warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing (bitch is said too many times)
inspiration: request^^
summary: head cannons of Nick with a yapper bff!
Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)
Talkative- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)
—
☆SFW
Nick loves to talk, everyone knows this to be a true fact. No one has been able to keep up with his talkative persona, but when he met you, he met his match.
☆ You have a habit of barging into Nick’s room unannounced with your phone in hand, a bag of snacks in the other.
☆ “BITCH, YOU WON’T GUESS WHAT I JUST HEARD!” you announce, throwing yourself on the bed next to Nick.
☆ Nick rolls his eyes but despite your rude intrusion, he can’t even be mad. He’s desperate for the gossip, “I’m not guessing, just tell me.”
☆ “Actually… wait, let me guess.”
☆ You love teasing Nick about how handsome his brothers are. You don’t even have a real crush on either of them, it’s just fun to watch his reactions.
☆ A straw rests in your mouth, your eyes trained on the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen across the food court. You’re practically drooling.
☆ “Girl, what the fuck are you looking at?” Nick asks, following your gaze.
☆ “Oh just the sexiest man I’ve ever seen… well, after Matt of course,” you reply, a sly smirk on your face.
☆ Nick doesn’t respond, eyes squinting in annoyance.
☆ “Chris can get it too with that long, sexy hair. Oh, and Matt with his tattoos. I swear if they weren’t your broth—”
☆ Nick cuts you off before you can finish, “BITCH, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!” You burst out in laughter.
☆ You’re the only person, other than Matt and Chris, that can make Nick completely crack up with your witty jokes.
☆ “Holy shit, you’re actually insane,” Nick wheezes, wiping the tears.
☆ He’s clutching his sides, the laughter overtaking him completely.
☆ Your entire friendship is full of love, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not ready to playfully roast each other.
☆ When the roast is especially true, he shoots you a middle finger.
☆ “Fuck you,” he laughs, never taking anything you say too seriously.
☆ Sometimes you say things that Nick completely disagrees with, but he never shuts you down because he loves a good debate.
☆ “Nick, that’s literally wrong! How would the chicken come before the egg?!” you exclaim.
☆ “Where would the egg come from without the chicken?!” he’s getting excited, scooting closer as the debate progresses.
☆ “You’re so wrong, dude. Just admit it.”
☆ “IT’S LITERALLY THE EGG!”
☆ On the rare occasion that you two are fighting, he’s not in the mood to hear anything unless it’s an apology.
☆ His fingers are pinched together, the pinkie and pointer finger straight up in the air. “Quiet coyote, Y/n. Quiet coyote.”
☆ “Boy, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, shoving his hand away.
☆ He eventually gives in, rolling his eyes and preparing to listen to your rants.
☆ When you’re hanging out with a group of friends, it quickly turns into you and Nick talking over each other to tell a story.
☆ “Nick, shut up! Let Y/n speak!” Matt shouts, becoming tired of the constant interruptions.
☆ Nick pauses completely, side eyeing Matt in annoyance. You stop talking too because it’s not as fun without Nick’s energy to bounce off of.
☆ The two of you stay awake past midnight almost every night, your phones illuminating your faces as the FaceTime call enters the fourth hour.
☆ It’s just you two in your own rooms giggling and whispering through the phone.
☆ Eventually, when one of you gets tired, the other has to pull a conversation topic from the depths of your mind to keep the other awake.
☆ “You did not just say that,” you gasp, in shock at Nick’s statement.
☆ “Bruh, what you just said was worse,” he replies, a dumbfounded look on his face as he point to you with his hand.
☆ “Oh true.”
☆ You’re constantly interrupting him to take pictures for social media photo dumps. Whether it be off guards or full on photo shoots.
☆ “WAIT SHUSH! POSE FOR THE PICTURE!” you exclaim. Nick rolls his eyes, pausing mid yap sesh.
☆ Nevertheless, he puts on a smile and poses.
☆ “Let me see,” Nick yanks the phone, examining the pictures. If he doesn’t like it, he simply hands the phone back to you and poses again.
☆ Just like everyone else, the two of you have bad days sometimes.
☆ “Hey…” his voice is quiet, his head peering through your cracked bedroom door.
☆ You’re curled up under the covers, small sniffles escaping every so often.
☆ “How are you, bae?” Nick asks, throwing in a corny nickname to make you laugh.
☆ Your response is sarcastic, “Never been better.”
☆ “Bitch, fuck you,” he chuckles, but there’s no true anger in his voice. He kicks his shoes off and joins you under the covers, ready to listen to you recount your day and your troubles.
☆ Nick is ready to defend you no matter what.
☆ If he ever hears anyone talking badly about you, or even mention your name, he’s interjecting the conversation.
☆ Sometimes he doesn’t even know the previous context, but he’s ready to fight whoever is talking shit.
☆ Nick never turns down the chance to talk, even if he’s really busy.
☆ “I can call back if you’re busy.”
☆ “No, bitch! Tell me!”
—
MASTERLIST
A/n: this is short, mostly bc it doesn’t have a NSFW section like my other head cannon posts (for obvious reasons). But I hope you still like it!
- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗
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Pretty Privilege (and its complications…)
♫: California Gurls, Katy Perry // Icky, Kard
“You love your boyfriend more than anything; so much so that you decide to pay a visit to him while he‘s on duty, a perfect excuse to gawk at his perfect form and charming self. Unbeknownst to you (like always) the act only causes Taehyun to stress, forced to watch you attract attention like a magnet and have people flirt with you left and right— even your understanding boyfriend has his limits, you know.”
lifeguard!Taehyun x fem!reader
Genre: established relationship, beach au, fluff, smut
Word count: 9.6K
warnings: bimbo/ditzy/feminine mc, mc is called a queencard bc idk, mc gets horny every three seconds, mc has nipple peircings and insane pretty privilege, (I have nothing to say for myself.) everyone in this damn beach wants her, she gets hit on by both men and women. alcohol consumption, (no one gets drunk) use of pet names (baby, my girl etc.) and the words boyfriend/girlfriend, lowkey public indecency.. teasing, possessiveness, a little jealousy.
smut warnings: dom!taehyun, sub!mc semi-public sex, marking, thigh riding, degrading, possessiveness (again!), rough sex, biting, breast play, grinding, oral (f. rec) multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, strength kink, tae picks the mc up, praise, dacryphilia, creampie (lemme know if I should add anything!)
Notes: alternate title: my strange addiction (kang taehyun) this fic is nawt meant to be taken seriously!! (I blacked out halfway through writing and editing this) Can you tell that I have tropes that just have a deathly chokehold on me? Embarrassing…
Kang Taehyun feels his heart stop the moment he sees your car pull up.
A peaceful, thirty-minute break quickly turns into a meditation session the moment he sees your hot pink Porsche convertible pull up, straight from a Barbie movie as the fuzzy dice that hang from the mirror bounce around— even from the top of the hill where the parking lot is at, he’s still able to spot you with eerie ease.
You’re as energetic and bubbly as ever as you exit the car, laughing with your friends as you fail to notice Taehyun’s heated stare; your friends however, are much quicker to catch him, sharing knowing looks amongst themselves and laughing softly.
His face feels hot as he quickly looks back down, his gaze downcast as he goes to scroll on his phone as a distraction— like instinct, he opens Instagram, your newest story popping up on his feed as he finds himself gulping nervously.
Beach day!! >v< the picture is captioned, your bright smile practically blinding as you pose with your friends— you practically steal the spotlight with ease however, especially when you’re wearing a pink halter top with a Hawaiian flower pattern that exposes your breasts perfectly, the dip allowing your gold necklaces to rest in between.
God, Taehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair as he hears your bubbly laugh from a distance, it’s so difficult having such a hot girlfriend.
A hot girlfriend who’s practically an influencer, he adds, counting down the minutes before he has to go back on duty as he remembers how successful your social media page has become. You didn’t mean to do it on purpose— you simply wanted to document your life and style like any other person would— but it seems as though you attracted much more attention than you anticipated.
A few hundred thousand followers and plenty of sponsorships later, however, you quickly found yourself titled a true “queencard”— not that you wanted to be, anyway.
You took your newfound “fame” with a grain of salt however, living your life as normal and continuing to document your lavish and busy lifestyle— in turn, Taehyun asked you to keep your relationship on the more private side.
It wasn’t that Taehyun didn’t want to be seen with you; if anything, he adored showing you off, enjoying the way no one could take their eyes off you whenever you entered a room— off his girlfriend. He was very vocal about the love and pride he held for you, but he also preferred to keep his life away from the media. And like the angel you are, you accepted his wishes without any hesitation.
Like Taehyun, you absolutely adored your partner; you were quite obsessed with him, honestly. If he’d let you, you’d fill your feed with him, your camera roll that was already filled with pictures of him begging to be posted as your mind told you that he could be an influencer as well— because who were you kidding, he’s so smoking hot.
“Girl, you need to stop staring before you start drooling,” Chaewon says, helping Wonyoung unload the bags from the car as they begin to laugh and tease you. You simply whine at her comment, biting your lip before you force yourself to look away; how could someone look so attractive by just scrolling on their phone?
“I can’t help it,” you cry, taking a beach bag from Wonyoung in order to help, “he’s just sooo hot!”
“And you let us know every time,” Wonyoung laughs, nudging your side as she gestures toward the beach before her, “don’t you at least wanna get closer?”
Like an eager puppy, you nod, getting a head start as you walk down the steep path towards the beach; you can hear your friends yelling at you to be careful, but all you can currently think about is Taehyun— Taehyun and his rippling muscles, Taehyun and his tan skin that’ll be left exposed to the hot sun, Taehyun and his chain that you love to tug on when he’s on top of you…
Oh my god, you realize with dread, your thighs rubbing together as you stop to wait for your friends, I’m so horny right now.
The curse of having such a hot boyfriend— you literally got soaking wet from the very thought of him.
The last thing you would do is have your friends realize, however, much too embarrassed to let them in on your more intimate thoughts as you scan the beach, looking past the groups of people for a good spot to settle down; lucky for you, you find a spot between the lifeguard tower and a concessions stand.
“Here here here!” You yell, running towards the spot without hesitation as your friends are forced to keep up; you ignore the feeling of the sand slipping into your sandal pumps, much more distracted by the fact that you’ll be able to see your boyfriend on duty.
Taehyun, ever the innocent victim of your antics, remains clueless as to where you’re setting up at the moment; he sits at the tables on the other side of the concession stand, still scrolling through his phone as he counts down the minutes before he’s on duty once more— sighing, he looks up from his device, his eyes scanning the hill before him as he inevitably finds your car— he can’t help but frown once he sees that you’re no longer there.
Where could you have run off to, he wonders, walking over to the headquarters in order to go back on rotation— he’s unable to stop thinking about you, already dreading how much of a distraction you’ll be to him as he makes his way over to his platform— only to stop, his breath stuttering as he sees the very sight he’s been dreading. (See: fantasizing.)
You’re wearing that same denim mini-skirt that always drives Taehyun crazy— actually, you’re not even wearing it anymore, his teeth sinking into his lip as he watches you strip innocently. The bikini bottom you wear matches your top, the same pink with the Hawaiian flower pattern; the shameful excuse of a bottom barely covers you, yet you don’t really seem to notice as you tie a sheer beach skirt around your hips.
Dangerously, you pull your shirt over your head; and if Taehyun wasn’t flustered enough by your bottoms, the matching top definitely did the trick— how it barely managed to cover you almost impressed Taehyun, his mouth drying as he took note of the way you tied all the strings into cute little bows, adorning your hips and back as your friends complimented you over the cute set— puffing your chest out proudly, Taehyun swore he almost fell to his knees as he took note of the piercings that poked through the thin fabric.
Oh god. He’s screwed.
You and your friends are quick to set everything up; you’re eager to lay back against the towel as Wonyoung runs to the ocean, yelling at the two of you to go with her as she laughs with joy.
“No thanks, I’ll stay here,” you say, getting comfortable as you stretch under the sun, the warmth making you smile as you reassure Chaewon, “Actually, I think the place over there has a mini bar— I might go get a drink.”
With one last goodbye and a yell along the lines of get me one, I’ll meet you there! Chaewon leaves, sand kicking up behind her as she begins to chase after Wonyoung; the two look beyond happy as they enter the water, the sight endearing as you finally get up.
Unbeknownst to you, Taehyun watches like a hawk; he couldn’t get his eyes off you even if he wanted to, the sway of your hips and the shining sun on your skin much too enticing as he watches you leave, bitterly taking note of the way the men nearby begin to drool over you.
Taehyun isn’t an insecure person— he’s far from it, and he knows damn well that you’d choose him over any other man on this beach. But he’s also tempted to run after you, to claim you as his and show everyone just how much you like him— but he remains professional, feeling his ears turn red as he snaps out of his lewd fantasies.
You haven’t even talked to him, but he’s already feeling desperate for you.
Being a lifeguard has its perks— today’s perk comes in the form of his tall seat, being able to get a good look at the whole beach, and you. More specifically, the way you cutely lean against the counter of the bar, pouting like always as you take a second to stare at the menu.
“So…” you trail off, pursuing your lips before you’re smacking your lips, tapping your ID rhythmically against the wood as you feel the worker staring at you intently, “I’ll just have two margaritas. And a water. Please?”
The worker before you is bright and quick to work as he nods, stumbling over his feet for a second before he’s making you your drink; you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone work so fast as he hands you your order, sliding over an ice cold water bottle as well.
“Thank you! How much do I owe you?” You exclaim, placing your purse over the counter as you begin to dig for your wallet; only for him to interrupt you, stuttering out a quiet Oh, wait, as you look up at him with innocent doe eyes, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s on the house,” he smiles, watching as you can only let your jaw drop at his words; unsure of what to do, you glance back at your order, left speechless as you take a second, only to look back up at the worker in surprise.
“Really?” You ask breathily, tilting your head as you lean in closer to read their name tag— Jay simply nods, smiling sweetly as they reassure you that you don’t need to pay, “Oh, you’re so sweet!”
You’re laughing at the way Jay turns slightly red, surprised at his kind act as you ask one last time if it’s really okay— he reassures you once more, opening his mouth to say something before another customer is approaching, taking his attention as he reluctantly leaves your side.
Taking a sip of your drink, you can’t help but feel the smile stuck on your face as Chaewon finally appears to join you; she’s soaking wet as she stands with you under the shade of the bar, thanking you with a cute smile as she takes the margarita you hand her.
“How much? I’ll pay you back,” Chaewon says, gesturing at the drink before her as you simply shake your head in response.
“No need. It was free!” You say, giggling at the way Chaewon looks at you incredulously.
“Free?” She echoes, watching as you only nod eagerly in response, “how?”
“Dunno,” you say, licking at the rim that’s dusted with sugar, “that Jay guy was just really sweet!”
“Or attracted to you,” Chaewon muses, nudging you playfully as she gives you a mischievous grin— she laughs as you shake your head defensively, painfully unaware of your pretty privilege as you fail to notice the way Jay glances back at you, clearly hoping to talk to you again.
“I got this for Wonyoung,” you say, gesturing to the cold water bottle that’s currently dripping over the counter, “gonna go give it to her, wanna come with?”
Chaewon shakes her head, gesturing to her unfinished drink as she tells you to go ahead; watching you go ahead, she waits for you to get out of earshot, turning to the employee before she’s narrowing her eyes at him.
“Can I get a water please?”
Without another glance, Jay nods— “That’ll be one-fifty.”
Barking out a laugh, Chaewon grins, proving her theory right as she watches Jay turn red from the realization that she caught on— being friends with you proved to come with more benefits than she realized, she thinks, biting back another smile as she goes to drink her margarita. Turning around, she watches you fondly— and more specifically, the way you begin to walk past the volleyball game that’s going on, making your way back to your setup as the men playing begin to take notice of you.
“Hey baby,” a man calls out, drawing your attention as you simply hum politely in response, “Why don’t you come play with us?”
You can only muster out a soft laugh at that, shaking your head as you ignore the way your body begins to heat up from all the attention; shyly, you refuse their offer, unsure of what to say as you feel their eyes taking you in slowly.
“Oh, I’m not that good,” you say, shaking off their amused laughs as you hold Wonyoung’s water bottle close to you, feeling the perspiration drip onto your forearm, “I probably wouldn’t be very useful on your team.”
Your response is genuine; you know you’re not good at volleyball after countless failed attempts to learn, much more content sitting on the sidelines and watching your perfect boyfriend absolutely dominate during his games— the thought is enough to have you fighting back a fond smile, brought back to reality by the way the man talking to you takes a step closer to you.
“ ‘s okay, I can teach you,” the man grins, spinning the volleyball expertly in his hands as his teammates nod in agreement. You’re unsure of how to refuse them now, but a sudden sharp whistle is taking all of your attention as your head whips to the source of the sound.
You practically feel like an overexcited puppy as you spot Taehyun, on duty and scolding a group of teenagers for who-knows-what. Without another thought, you run over to him, leaving the group of men who can only call for you to wait— their words fall deaf on your ears as you feel your heart beating faster, calling out his name and watching as he finally spots you running over to him.
“Hyun!” You say, waving cutely as you watch him smile fondly at you— you think your heart could burst as you practically jump into his arms, feeling him stumble back from the impact as you throw your arms around his neck fondly.
“Taehyun!! Baby, hi!!” You say, bouncing on your feet as you pull away to pepper kisses on his cheek; all he can do is laugh as he falls victim to you, muttering a soft “okay, okay” as he pats your back fondly.
“Baby, baby, I’m still working,” Taehyun reminds you, watching you pull away with a small oh right, that tumbles from your lips. His hands are still on your waist as his fingers trace over the fabric of your beach skirt, and you can’t help the way you burst into giggles as you take him in.
“What, what’re you laughing at?” He asks, brows raising as he tilts his head curiously; you can only shake your head, wiping the bottom of your lip as you attempt to calm down.
“My lip gloss is all over you,” you say, watching as he simply laughs at your comment, his dimple on display as he reaches up to rub at his cheek— it barely works, but he doesn’t seem to mind much as he finally lets go of you.
“Did you get yourself a drink, pretty?” He says, nodding his head at the water bottle you hold in your hands; you nod, smiling happily as you recount the events that happened in your head.
“Yeah, the worker there is super sweet,” you gush, glancing back at where you see Chaewon still leaning against the counter, waving at you happily as you’re quick to return the gesture, “he gave me my drinks for free.”
“Did he now?” Taehyun asks, raising a brow at you as he watches you nod innocently. Glancing back at the shop, he sees Jay, who can only avert his eyes and hide from his sight. Looking back at you, his gaze softens as he takes in the way you practically glow under the sun, “that’s very nice of him.”
Taehyun wishes nothing more than to be able to go back off duty and enjoy his time with you; instead, he needs to wait another four hours before he can properly show you just how happy he is to see you— unbeknownst to you of course, much too eager to be outside on such a nice day as you ramble about things with no clear end in sight.
“I need to go back to work, baby,” Taehyun sighs, smiling at the way you begin to whine immediately, “I know, I know— I wish I wasn’t working today either.”
Bringing you in closer, he places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose before he’s taking a step back, the dazed smile you send him enough to have his heart fluttering as he returns it without a thought.
“ ‘m just happy I get to see you.”
His words clearly affect you as you attempt to stutter a response, hitting him with a whine the moment he tries to laugh at you fondly— you can tell he’s reluctant to leave, but the same group of teenagers as before seem to be causing a ruckus once more as he sighs, bidding you goodbye before he’s off.
You can only stand and stare with dismay, pouting as you watch him turn his back to you— his toned, broad back, with a waist so small you’d do anything to wrap your arms around it— or even better, your legs…
You groan as the same dangerous train of thought begins to hit you, your eyes squeezing shut as you force yourself to turn around— to walk straight to where Wonyoung lays without glancing back at your boyfriend, the task much harder than you’d think as you hear his sharp voice scolding the group of teenagers.
He sounds so hot, you think to yourself, wanting nothing more than to run away with your man and have him fuck you stupid behind the concession stand, oh my god, I want him so bad.
“Wow, this thing is freezing,” Wonyoung says, taking the water bottle from your hands gratefully. Watching as you slump down next to her, Wonyoung pauses, trying to guess what might be wrong before she follows your line of sight.
“Ah,” she mutters, taking a long drink from her water before she sighs, “Are you sad you can’t talk to your boyfriend?”
“He’s being professionalll,” you groan, throwing a hand over your eyes as you lay back, the pout forming on your face second nature at this point, “I just wish he’d stay over here!”
“It’d be a danger to the public if he just stopped doing his job,” Wonyoung reasons, watching the way you reluctantly agree with her, “plus, it was your idea to visit while he was on duty.”
“I didn’t think he’d look so fucking hot!” You admit, crossing your arms over your chest in defeat as Wonyoung simply laughs in amusement. Opening your eyes, you’re surprised to find Chaewon looming over you, a smile on her face as she takes her seat on her towel beside you.
“You always think he looks hot. Also, the bartender over there totally wants you.” Chaewon pipes up, calling Wonyoungs name as she gestures to the water bottle in her hands before gesturing back to the mini-bar.
“Don’t tell me,” Wonyoung says, staring down at the item in her hand as Chaewon nods in confirmation, “wow, that’s pretty impressive.”
“It’s nothing, he was just being nice!” You refute, ever an airhead and your friends simply shake their heads in response, “It’s true!”
“He didn’t bother looking back in my direction once you left,” Chaeryeong points out, glaring playfully at Wonyoung who laughs at her comment, “not to mention, those guys playing volleyball were literally drooling over you.”
“Wait, I saw that— I was kind of scared for a second,” Wonyoung admits, Chaewon nodding along as she confesses that she was about to jump in when you finally managed to escape, “you’re so lucky you managed to leave before things got weird.”
To be honest, you stopped listening around that last part— well, it’s not like you weren’t listening, it’s more like you weren’t really contributing to the conversation as you take notice of Taehyun, more specifically the way he’s playing with a child around the shallow end of the ocean, watching as he manages to make the child laugh, his eyes bright and fond as he takes good care of the toddler.
The sight practically has you melting, and you’re forced to bite your lip to suppress your smile— but then again, you’ve never really been good at hiding things— especially with the way you find your friends looking in the direction you are, the two of them sporting knowing smiles as they exchange a look.
“Oh girl,” Wonyoung sighs, going to lay on her back as she puts on her sunglasses, “you’re drooling again.”
Shit, you totally were.
-♡-
The next three and a half hours pass by painfully slowly— for Taehyun, at least.
It seems that you’re finally able to take your eyes off him after a period of adjustment, and he’s able to watch from his post as you enjoy yourself in the ocean, splashing around with your friends as the three of you have fun and remain carefree.
Carefree is probably one of the last words Taehyun would use to describe himself at the moment— it was a given that being a lifeguard was unpredictable and difficult, but being on duty while having his hot girlfriend that attracted attention like a magnet there with him was next-level.
He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times someone managed to hit on you in the past hour— from what he saw, at least— it was ridiculous, really, even more so because you were never able to pick up on it. Ever.
Taehyun couldn’t take his eyes off you for one second without a new person approaching you; he chalks it up to both your beauty and the fact that you’re one of the most approachable people Taehyun has ever met.
He’s never been happier to own sunglasses than today— or else you definitely would’ve caught him watching carefully as a random woman your age offered to put sunscreen on you, your friends back in the ocean as you opted to take a moment to rest under the sun instead.
“Your swimsuit is so cute,” she told you, her voice filled with a flirty lilt as it managed to travel to Taehyun’s ears; you had been as clueless as ever, holding your top up with your hands as you allowed her to untie your string and lotion your back— he tried to give this random stranger the benefit of the doubt, but it was really difficult to with the way she massaged you gently and leaned over to speak into your ear.
“Are you single?” The implications of her words barely registered in your head before thoughts of Taehyun were overpowering your brain, a smile involuntarily tugging at your lips as you tried to hold back your giddy giggles in order to answer.
“She’s not.”
You could feel the woman’s hands still on your shoulder as the two of you looked up, your smile only widening as your eyes met Taehyun’s— at least you think, he was currently wearing sunglasses. (Which he looked really hot in, of course. You think you would’ve jumped on him by now if it weren’t for the risk of you flashing the entire beach.)
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman behind you said, laughing nervously as she quickly went to stand; you couldn’t help but be confused by the way she hurriedly said goodbye to you, but all your questions were answered once you turned around to meet Taehyun’s irritated face, his brows pulled together in a frown as he let out a soft tsk.
“Hyun, are you jealous?” The question is enough to have him snap out of his daze, blinking wildly behind his shades before he’s pushing them up and onto his head, pushing his wet hair back and exposing his forehead as he did; looking down at you, he can’t help but soften at the sight of you and your cute wide eyes, letting out a soft chuckle before he’s patting your head fondly.
“No, I’m not.”
You watch as he settles down behind you, taking the previous woman’s spot as he murmurs for you to turn around. You’re facing forward once more, taking in the pretty sight of the beach as you shift on your knees, sitting back on your legs as you wait for him to do something.
“You looked pretty jealous,” you muse, looking down to watch as he takes the sunscreen bottle that was left at your side; the smell of the lotion fills your senses once more as you hear him open it, squeezing some on his palm as the sound of his airy laugh reaches your ears.
“Well, it’s not exactly nice to watch another person feeling up my girl,” he reasons, watching as you straighten up at his comment, “why didn’t you ask your friends for help baby?”
“Mmmh, they’re busy and she offered to help,” you confess, shivering at the feeling of the cold lotion against your shoulders, “and she was not feeling me up.”
Unbeknownst to you, Taehyun can’t help but feel frustrated at your comment— your naivety made it difficult to make a point sometimes, and this was one of those moments as he was unable to stop the deep sigh that escaped him.
“She wasn’t?” He asks, and you can’t help but gasp as you feel his touch become further; fingers digging into your flesh, massaging your shoulders tenderly as he leans in close to whisper into your ear, his hands roaming your body so slowly you think you might melt, “so what do you feel now that I’m doing it?”
Horny.
“I… I feel like I’m in the wrong,” you admit, stuttering softly as he begins to come back up to your shoulders, his dainty hands going past your collarbones and down your arms; slowly, he makes his way down, leaning forward as he does so until he’s pressed firmly against your back— his firm chest against your back, his hands reaching for your own as he interlocks his fingers with yours.
You can feel his hair tickle against your neck as he presses a slow kiss against the back of your shoulder, biting your lip as you fight back the desperate whine that threatens to escape from you.
“Glad you realize,” he laughs softly, letting go of you and sitting back as he takes a moment to inspect the beach; you can’t help the sadness that fills you as he begins to stand, only to pause as he notices your dejected state.
“Do you need any more help?” He asks slowly, watching as you nod happily before you’re laying down across the towel; he thinks he might lose his job as you look back at him, batting your eyes prettily as you send him a coy smile.
“Do the rest for me?”
Taehyun hesitates. On one hand, it wasn’t very professional of him to lotion up his incredibly gorgeous girlfriend while on duty— not that the public was aware of the fact that you two were together, anyway— but on the other hand…
“How could I say no to you,” Taehyun sighs, kneeling at your side and taking the lotion bottle from you as he decides fuck it— he has half an hour left anyway.
Your skin is warm to the touch; both of you are sighing in contentment the moment his hands meet your skin, massaging the lotion into the rest of your back as he tries to remain as professional as possible.
You, on the other hand, are not doing that great.
If there’s one thing that tests your self-control more than anything, it’s Taehyun— especially Taehyun that has his hands all over you, his touch firm and soothing as he begins to massage the back of your thighs— if he sees you squeeze them together, he doesn’t bother to let on, your mind fogging with horrible and lewd thoughts that would have your boyfriend red and flustered within seconds.
The last of your resolve crumbles the moment his fingers ghost over your waist; dipping under the skimpy string of your bikini bottom, reaching toward the back before he begins to cop a feel— you can feel your breathing begin to pick up as he’s moving up, tickling against your sides before he’s reaching past your top; fingers massaging against the sides of your breasts, cupping what he can before he’s squeezing coyly. Flustered, you bury your head into your arms, listening to the way he laughs teasingly, his hands drifting away just as quickly as they appeared before he’s going to ask you if you’re alright teasingly.
“I need you,” You whine, the words muffled against your arms as you dig your head deeper into your arms.
“Hmm?”
This seems to be your last straw; sitting up, you scramble to keep your top on as you turn around to face Taehyun, taking him in in all his sun-kissed glory, sure that you look beyond flustered and destroyed by now.
“Taehyun, I need you so bad,” you whine out, scooting closer to him as you watch his eyes widen with your unhinged rambling, “I’ve been trying to be good this whole time and distract myself, but it’s so fucking hard because I’ve been wet from just looking at you— Hyun baby, I’m so hmmf—!”
Taehyun is impressed by how easily you’re able to fluster him— he’s sure his ears are completely red as he presses his palm firmly against your mouth, taking in the way you look at him with wide, teary, and fucked out eyes.
He takes a deep breath in order to control the dangerous feeling of desire that flows through him.
Exhaling deeply, he takes a second to look at the clock posted by the headquarters— he feels his body relax with relief as he slowly pulls his hand away from you, giving you a warning look before he gestures at the time.
“Fifteen minutes,��� he says, leaning in and muttering the words in his deep, glorious voice, “can you be good for me for another fifteen minutes?”
You think you might die if you don’t take him right now.
“Yeah,” you breathe out shakily, watching as Taehyun laughs at your pathetic state.
“Good,” he says, standing up and getting ready to leave before another lifeguard realizes he’s been talking to you this whole time, “just wait for me, baby.”
You’re a bit dejected as you watch him leave you, back to being his perfect and professional self as he spots abandoned swimming equipment from the rental shop; he can feel your heated gaze on him the entire time, forced to stifle a laugh as he glances back in your direction curiously— you’re shamelessly staring, a pout on your face as you carefully re-tie your top once more.
Please, you think to yourself, choosing to lie back against your towel and clear out your thoughts, your eyes fluttering shut as you take a deep breath, please let these next fifteen minutes pass quickly.
-♡-
Taehyun knows the exact second his fifteen minutes are up— only because you trot up to him like an excited puppy, your beach skirt flowing in the wind as you wave at him excitedly.
“Will you let me clock out at least?” Taehyun asks, letting out an amused laugh as you immediately attach yourself to his side; you give him a quick nod of your head in response, telling him to lead the way as you refuse to leave him anytime soon.
“Missed you so much,” you say, eyes sparkling as Taehyun can only throw his head back and laugh in bewilderment at your comment, “I’m serious! It’s hard to keep my hands off you, Hyunnie.”
“Don’t worry, I feel the same,” he hums, slowing his steps to place a gentle peck on your cheek, “Wait for me? I’ll only be a moment.”
Nodding happily, you tell him you’ll go get him a drink— you know he could use it, taking in his tired steps as he walks back to headquarters with a sigh— turning around, you spot your friends already at the bar, waving you over as you make your way to them happily.
“He’s finally off?” Chaewon asks, watching as you nod with a bright smile on your face, “that’s good. You two can spend some time together now— especially now that the sun is beginning to set.”
“Not that you weren’t already,” Wonyoung teases, watching as you try to defend yourself with useless stutters as she continues to poke fun at you.
“I— can I just get a water?” Giving up on trying to win the argument, you turn back to the same worker from earlier, watching as Jay jumps in surprise the moment your eyes meet his.
“Oh, of course,” he mutters, placing the ice-cold refreshment before he clears his throat, face turning red as he avoids eye contact with you, “you don’t owe me anything, we’re closing soon and the register is already locked.”
Letting out an embarrassed laugh, you can’t help but glance at your friends, feeling your face become hot as they send you sly looks; Jay seems to be just as flustered as you, bowing politely before turning around and resuming his closing tasks— biting your lip, you suppress another laugh, your friends already mouthing things along the lines of I told you so, as you simply push them playfully, looking around to see if Taehyun has come back yet.
“This for me baby?” Taehyun’s hand is warm on your waist as he appears behind you, looking over your shoulder and smiling as you eagerly hand him the water bottle in return.
He’s quick to drink, much thirstier than he realized as he practically begins to gulp it down; he can feel your stare on him the whole time, fighting back a smile as he closes his eyes in an attempt to ignore it.
He looks like a model, you think, watching him fondly with hearts in your eyes; the day hasn’t looked nicer than it does now, the beach almost empty now that the sun has almost set and the weather growing cooler as the waves crash against the shore, the golden rays of the sun practically leave Taehyun glowing. Playfully, he pushes you away, unable to hold back his laugh any longer as he scolds you to stop staring! You can only laugh sheepishly as you try to deny doing so, but you know he’d never believed you from how clingy you’ve been with him all day.
“You’re so sweet Jay,” Taehyun smiles, the said male practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name; turning around slowly, he laughs awkwardly, meeting eyes with Taehyun, who snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer as he tilts his head teasingly, “for not charging my girl. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jay stutters, eyes downcast as he feels his face burning from the attention, “figured it was for you, so I didn’t bother ringing it up.”
Taehyun only hums in appreciation at the man’s comment, slightly irritated at the way he’s able to lie through his teeth so easily; turning away from him, he takes the chance to look at you, smiling fondly and leaning in for a chaste kiss that has you melting against him.
“Gross. Get a room you two,” Chaewon scoffs, covering Wonyoung’s eyes playfully as the two tease you endlessly.
“Gladly,” Taehyun smiles mischievously, rolling his eyes at the way your friends gag in response, pulling you against him as you steady yourself with a hand on his chest, “mind if I steal her away from you guys for a bit?”
“Go ahead,” Chaewon says, waving the two of you away with ease, “bring her back in one piece, please.”
I’ll try, is all Taehyun says, pulling you along and laughing at the way you eagerly follow along with one last goodbye to your friends, clueless to the way Taehyun’s jaw ticks with annoyance as he pulls you away from your friends— and right towards headquarters, making his way to the back of the building, secluded by trees and the hill you came from.
“Tae, what’re we doing here—?” Your sentence is briefly cut off with Taehyun’s mouth against yours, the kiss harsh and desperate as you quickly become a mess of spit, moaning weakly against Taehyun’s mouth as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip.
The string of saliva that connects you two as he pulls away has you whining breathily, steadying yourself with two hands placed firmly on his shoulders as you allow him to corner you, walking backward as his firm hold on your hips forces you to be pressed against the wall.
“You drive me so fucking crazy,” he growls in frustration, attaching his lips right under your ear as he begins to suck— you’re gasping in response, clinging onto him desperately as you already feel your knees become weak. Pulling away from you, his dark gaze meets yours, heated and sharp as he takes in your fucked out state.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to have my pretty girl get flirted with by everyone that lays their eyes on her?” He asks, shifting your hips towards him as he slots his thigh between yours with ease, “to just watch it happen because she’s too much of an airhead to realize what’s happening in front of her?”
The whimper that escapes you from his words is downright embarrassing; but it’s enough to have Taehyun’s lips back on yours, eager to keep you quiet as his fingers begin to play with the strings of your bikini.
If there’s one thing Taehyun is an expert at, it’s pleasing you with every part of his body— which is exactly why he’s able to have you turn into a mess under him in seconds, flexing his thigh and bouncing it as his strong hands force your hips down on him more; he’s controlling your every movement, his grip on you bruising as you wonder if it’ll leave a mark on you later.
“You’re already wet,” Taehyun muses, feeling the way you claw at him uselessly, throwing your head back against the wall as you try to set the pace yourself, only to fail miserably, “barely took anything and you’re already dripping all over me.”
The pleasure becomes overwhelming as Taehyun begins to litter kisses all over you, biting at you softly as he slowly begins to make his way down to your breasts; with a breathy moan, you jut out your chest, the sight making Taehyun let out an airy laugh as his eyes flicker back up to your face to watch your expression carefully.
“Such pretty tits,” Taehyun grins, kissing on top of the fabric as he watches your eyes flutter shut, his eyes flickering back down to the metal that pushes against the thin top, “which ones are you wearing today baby?”
“The ones you got me,” you reply, biting your lip as you open your eyes, clouded with lust as you grind a little harder against Taehyun’s thigh, “the heart ones.”
His warm mouth against your breast is enough to have you letting out a sigh of contentment; a hand immediately threads itself in his hair as you feel his tongue laving over your nipple through the fabric, tracing the jewelry carefully as you jut your chest out to him in response. His hand comes up to slip itself under the fabric of your swimsuit, grabbing your breast and squeezing teasingly before he begins to circle your other nipple.
You feel dizzy, his touch practically everywhere as your eyes flutter shut, trying your best to keep your noises to a minimum as you bite your lip— but it’s useless, especially with the way he’s practically on you, his warm body on yours as you’re able to feel his erection against you.
Whining hopelessly, you let go of his hair, allowing your hand to trail down as you get a good feel of his body— his strong muscles, his abs that flex in anticipation as you begin pawing at his swim shorts.
“Please please please,” you cry, slipping a hand past the barriers and stroking his dick slowly, your hips picking up the pace as you hear him groan lowly into your ear, “please fuck me Hyun, I need you so bad and I’ve been waiting so patiently for you…”
“Have you?” Taehyun asks, relishing in the way your hand struggles to keep a pace, shivering slightly at the way you tighten your grip on him for a second, “because all seen today is the way my little attention whore of a girlfriend can’t survive if my eyes aren’t on her for a second.”
“Did you have fun seeing the way everyone else drooled over you?” He asks, pulling your hand away from him harshly before he’s stepping in between your legs, hooking one of them around his waist before he begins to grind against you, “did you like seeing me jealous, sweet thing?”
“I didn’t mean to,” you gasp, feeling him prod against your entrance as he unties your beach skirt with deft fingers, the cloth fluttering to the ground as he begins to grind against you harder, “I didn’t know—!”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” He mocks, taking pity on you for a second before his gaze is hardening again, “you never know, dumb little thing.”
It’s almost shameful how hard your pussy clenches at his words; you’ve made a mess of your bottom as Taehyun groans, eyes catching the way you’ve left a damp spot already.
“God, you really can’t control yourself, hmm?” He asks, cooing at you softly as he takes in the way you’ve already begun to tear up. The sound of distant voices has him pausing, and you feel as though you’re afraid to breathe as your wide eyes meet Taehyun’s.
“Did Taehyun leave already?” The voice is immediately recognizable as Taehyun narrows his eyes, listening to Yeonjun, one of the other lifeguards on rotation today, talk to someone else.
“Yeah… he left a few minutes ago,” Jay responds, and you can’t help but raise a brow as Taehyun takes a step away from you, about to mouth what are you doing? before he’s sinking to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder as you can only watch helplessly.
“With that one girl?” Yeonjun asks, your eyes widening as you glance over in the direction the sound comes from; you’re quickly brought to the man in front of you as he begins to litter kisses all over your inner thigh, biting the skin softly as he murmurs eyes on me. Shakily, you nod, letting out a shaky breath as the conversation from the two filters back to you two once more.
“Yeah, you saw her?” Jay says— Taehyun’s nimble fingers are undoing the ties of your bottoms with such ease that you can’t help but gasp as the fabric slips off, your pussy left for display as your boyfriend takes in how needy you are with a satisfied smile.
Taehyun’s tongue is warm and teasing as he circles it over your clit, letting his spit coat you freely before he’s pressing firm kisses against your bud— you're forced to slap a hand over your mouth as he begins to suck on it, his tongue running over the sensitive bud as you feel your thighs shaking around his head; his hair is wet and ticklish as it touches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you’re forced to concentrate in order to not let an embarrassing sound slip from your lips.
“Man, of course I did— she was fucking hot,” Yeonjun’s confession is enough to have Taehyun working harder, fingers prodding at your entrance and eagerly stretching you out as you choke back on a moan— in any other situation, you would be loud enough that Taehyun would have to stop to tease you about it, but the thought of either of them hearing you was much too mortifying as Taehyun began to slowly pump his fingers.
Your body said otherwise, however.
“I saw you give her those drinks for free,” Yeonjun teased, and you listened to the way Jay simply groaned at the reminder; you, on the other hand, were forced to remain quiet, your eyes rolling to the back of your head the moment Taehyun added a third finger, picking up his pace and bringing you closer to your high as you began to rock your hips against his face subconsciously, feeling his tongue beginning to wander as it licked all over your pussy— curling his fingers, you sighed, feeling the way he flattened his tongue against your clit before he began to pump his fingers once more.
“I thought I’d try to make a move on her or something,” Jay confesses, the embarrassed tone to his voice not lost on you as you feel yourself grow hot— your hand presses harder against your mouth as you reach down to thread your fingers through Taehyun’s hair, pulling him closer against your pussy as you subtly try to communicate that you’re close; he seems to get the hint as he does his best to keep his ministrations up, your eyes squeezing shut as their conversation continues to flow into your ears.
“But that was before I knew she was his girl,” Jay says, sighing as Yeonjun replies with an incredulous seriously? “Yeah, you should’ve seen the way he looked at me when he caught on, man. I was scared for my life.”
You’re sure you know how Taehyun was looking at him— at least, if it’s any resemblance to the way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with pure possessiveness and anger that it has you coming undone in seconds, a weak moan escaping through your hand as you squeeze your eyes shut. Taehyun helps you ride out your orgasm diligently, the lewd sounds of his tongue cleaning you up making you flustered as you cover your face in embarrassment.
He’s sucking teasing marks all over your inner thighs once more before he’s standing back up, prying your fingers apart gently as he whispers for you to look at him; your eyes are needy as you blink up at him, and Taehyun swears you’ve never looked more beautiful as you practically glow before him, his eyes darkening at the reminder that you’re all his— his coworkers could only dream of getting close to you, let alone having you in the position he does now.
“My pretty girl,” he sighs out, smiling at the way you throw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him in closer until you’re pulling him in for a tender kiss— it doesn’t last long however, your breathy whines making Taehyun press against your cunt once more, feeling how much wetter it’s gotten as he begins to kiss you senseless.
“My girl,” he repeats, pulling away to trail his kisses down to your neck, beginning to suck carelessly as he feels you reach down to pull his cock out, “all mine. Mine.”
His sudden possessiveness is new to you as you can only remain pliant under him, allowing him to do whatever he wants with you as he finally aligns himself at your entrance; biting your lip, you bury your head in the crook of Taehyun’s neck, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him tease you— rubbing the head of his cock up and down your slit, feeling the way you clench around nothing as he grinds against you subtly— it’s enough to have you digging your nails into him, whining into his ear that you need more as you feel his tip begin to nudge at your clit; you think you might lose it as you feel his precum drip all over your cunt, your hips shifting toward him involuntarily to try and chase the feeling.
Your mouth is falling open the moment he’s entering you; stretching you out, sliding in inch by inch as he feels your pussy fluttering around him uncontrollably— he can feel the way you’re gasping against his skin, and he’s hooking your leg over his waist once more as he presses you firmly against the wall of the building.
You’re shaking like a leaf against him; whining for more, biting and kissing at his skin absentmindedly as you grind against him, your cunt dripping and sucking him in as the thought of keeping quiet slowly escapes your mind.
It’s enough to have Taehyun tugging you back, pulling on your hair teasingly before he’s planting his hand firmly over your mouth— his eyes never leave yours, the conversation of the two men nearby muddled in your ears as Taehyun begins to move.
It’s slow at first, the grind of his hips against yours allowing his cock to hit deep into you, the wet sounds of your cunt around him making you feel slightly shy before the thought is completely thrown out the window— you could care less of what’s happening around you as he begins to thrust roughly against you, your body rocking from the motion and your eyes threatening to flutter shut as you feel his cock hit against your sweet spot; but you refrain from doing so, much more entranced by his gaze as he slowly begins to pick up the pace, the sounds that come from you getting more difficult to muffle as you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the pleasure.
The reminder that there are two people that could hear you has you looking over to where they stand, feeling your heartbeat pick up from the anxiety as you eye that direction carefully— you’re quickly snapped back to reality the moment Taehyun is jerking your head back to him gently, tightening his hold on you as his gaze darkens.
“Eyes on me,” he whispers, rolling his hips just the way you like as though to make a point.
Eyes on him. Eyes only on him, you think, struggling to think anything coherent as his hand reaches up to pull your breasts out from your top, the flesh spilling out and beginning to bounce freely from the way Taehyun is fucking you— the heart jewelry that adorns your nipples shine at him, the sight making your boyfriend let out a weak moan as you feel him twitch inside you.
“So lucky to have you,” Taehyun sighs, reaching over to your other leg as he briefly lets go of your mouth— not before taking one of your hands and placing it over your mouth, pressing his hand firmly over your own as he gives you a stern look— and he hoists you up, leaving you completely at his mercy as he begins to bounce you on his cock, the feeling making you slap your other hand over your mouth as you eyes roll back from the pleasure.
“Stupid little airhead, only has eyes for me,” he rambles, laughing quietly to himself before it breaks out into another moan— he’s practically driving you into the wall behind you as he fucks into you roughly, able to set a much faster pace as he watches your tits bounce in his face lewdly, “god, so glad to have you all to myself— you’re perfect, cute little pussy was made for me.”
You clench down on him at that, feeling as though you’re going crazy from the pleasure— that, and the way your boyfriend looks, feeling your nails dig into your cheeks as you take in his messy, wet hair, his tan skin and muscles that flex from using his strength on you, and his face that’s contorted with pleasure as his lips become bruised with how much he’s biting on them— in an effort to keep himself quiet, he hovers over you, placing his head directly next to yours so he can moan and whisper to you freely.
“Wanna cum?” He asks, feeling the way you’re beginning to clench uncontrollably; frantically, you nod, tears beginning to pool in your eyes as you look at him with pure desperation in your eyes.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he grins, knowing that you’re too fucked to even speak correctly, “mine, and only mine.”
You’re trying to choke back on your sounds as you wonder if doing that is even possible— then he slows down, grinding into you and burying his cock as deep as possible as it begins to kiss your cervix— coyly, he leans down, his hair tickling your collarbone as he wraps his mouth around your breast; circling your nipple with his tongue lewdly, covering it in his spit and tracing over the heart-piercing before he’s blowing air on it— you’re shaking from the feeling of him, unsure of how you’ll do what he asks without blowing your cover completely.
“Hyun…” you whine out quietly for him, sniffling as he slows down his pace, almost stilling inside you as he watches fat tears run down your cheeks with cruel eyes, “Hyun, I’m only yours— I only want you, no one else, promise I only think of you, love you so much…”
The way you’re hiccuping from the effort to choke back on your sounds has Taehyun groaning, taking a deep breath in order not to come before he’s pressing his lips firmly against yours— then he’s resuming his pace, watching as you quickly quiet yourself as your body bounces from how hard he’s fucking you.
It’s too much— you’re falling apart the moment he’s bringing a hand over to circle your clit, supporting you against the wall and holding you up with his other arm as he watches you fall apart, his mouth opening in a silent moan as you tighten around him, pleading breathily for him to cum inside as you do so.
“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” He asks, riding out your orgasm as he buries his head into your neck, “have you dripping with my cum while other people try to flirt with you? Give you a little reminder of who you belong to, fuck…”
With one last harsh thrust, he buries himself deep in you, finally coming undone and filling you up with his hot cum as you moan against your hand— the harsh bite he leaves on the juncture of your neck has you whimpering weakly, hands becoming limp and falling against his chest as he presses the rest of his body against you, holding you up as the two of you pant and try to regain your composure.
“You’re too good to me,” Taehyun finally sighs out, placing soothing kisses over the place he bit you, listening to the way you laugh softly in response. You’re throwing your arms over his neck as one of them moves to his nape, pulling him away from your neck and bringing him in for a sweet kiss— you’re reluctant to part as you speak, unable to hold back from pecking him between your words as you do so.
“You’re too good for me,” you say, pausing to give him a kiss, irresistible as always as he laughs breathily at your words, “you’re always putting up with me.”
“Not your fault you’re irresistible,” Taehyun smiles, watching as you grow shy under his comment despite the fact that he’s still bottomed out inside you, “I still love showing you off.”
“I wanna show you off too, you know,” you pout, hitting his chest gently before you’re pausing, biting your lip uncertainly as you tilt your head, “if you’re okay with that.”
Taehyun realizes quickly what you’re referring to, unable to stop the fond laugh that escapes him as he takes a second to think.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
It takes a second of you celebrating cheerfully to finally sober up and ask Taehyun to put you down— your legs are wobbly as you feel your face grow hot, his cum immediately leaking out of you as you whine in embarrassment for him to not stare— he can only shake his head in amusement at your antics, helping you clean up with the only thing he’s able to find at the moment.
“Wait, that’s my favorite beach skirt,” you whine, not putting up much of a fight as Taehyun kneels before you, your leg thrown over his shoulder as he cleans you up, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs as he does so.
“I can wash it,” he replies, unable to hide his grimace as he tucks it away in his pocket; the sight is enough to have you giggling, readjusting your swimsuit and fixing your appearance before you’re hiding behind Taehyun, asking him if his coworkers are gone yet.
“The coast is clear,” he hums, scanning the nearly empty beach as he spots your friends sitting by the ocean, chatting idly amongst themselves.
“You don’t think they heard us, right?” You ask, blinking at him innocently as the belief that you did a good job keeping quiet runs through your head— the sight is enough to have Taehyun soften, letting out a sigh before he’s nodding his head.
“Yeah. You were so good for me.”
Taehyun knows better, though— but he doesn’t really mind, because now he knows that he won’t have to worry about either coworker flirting with you the next time you come to the beach.
#txt fanfic#txt fanfiction#txt imagines#txt oneshots#txt ff#tomorrow x together#txt x reader#txt x y/n#txt x you#txt reader#fanfic#fanfiction#reader insert#txt au#txt smut#kpop smut#txt angst#txt fluff#kpop imagines#kpop x reader#kpop fanfic#kpop oneshots#taehyun x you#taehyun x y/n#taehyun smut#taehyun ff#taehyun imagines#taehyun oneshot#taehyun x reader#taehyun fluff
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Hii! Could you write a walker scobell x actress reader fic where she's new to acting and her first acting role is in the pjo show? Thank you!!
i love this!! thanks so much for the request! 💐
more than best friends
pairing: walker scobell x fem!reader
summary: you are casted as annabeth for the pjo series and become best friends with your co-star, walker.
warnings: nothing really! not proof read, reader plays annabeth in the seires, half social media
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yourusername- i am so honored to finally tell you that am part of this project! this cast has become family. i’m so excited for everyone to watch it, meet you at camp half-blood: december 20th 🌩️⚡️🌊
walkerscobell- so honored to be able to work with you, and call you my best friend 💐♥️
percyjacksonseries- ⚡️⚡️⚡️
view more comments……..
—————
everyone on the cast just announced their spots in the series, it was your first time doing this so you were a bit nervous. you watched your phone as all the positive comments started to roll in.
you heard the door to your trailer open and saw a familiar face, walker. you would never admit this to anyone, but you did sort of have a crush on him. but you had to put the admiration to the side now that he was your co-star.
“Y/N, do you want to go grab food since we’re done shooting for the day?”, he asked you.
“sure! where are we going?”, you replied as you got up and started exiting your trailer.
“i don’t know, in-n-out?”
“yeah, sure”, you said as you walked to the car.
the whole car ride was filled with scream-singing to one direction songs, it was amazing. the light that shined through his hair made you admire him even more. how the sunshine made his eyes sparkle. the way his smile grew when you were both singing along to the music that shaped both of your childhoods. you had always dreamed of nights like this, now they became your reality. your only wish was that he would see you as more than a friend.
—————
the next day you arrived to set early and we r straight to the hair and makeup trailer, which was were walker was also. you couldn’t wait to see him.
“hey Y/N, how are you?” walker asked as you walked through the door.
“i’m good, a little tired tho, how about you?” you replied.
“i’m good!”, he said.
you two fell into easy conversation while getting makeup done, or getting your hair fixed. it was always easy with him, you always felt safe and at home while you were with walker. it was just something about him.
—————
“action!”, you heard and immediately started to act out your scene with walker. it was going to be in the finale episode, where you place your necklace around his neck. it was supposed to be a little romantic, but it shouldn’t have affected you this much.
walker’s deep blue eyes stared you down, your cheeks immediately turned a deep shade of red. it was embarrassing, everyone on set would notice your admiration toward walker.
walker started laughing, most likely from your eye contact. almost every scene you guys shot together ended up like this, you and walker would burst out laughing. almost every scene had to be reshot many many times.
you shot the scene again and again until it was perfect. your cheeks still burning many minutes after.
—————
after many long hours of shooting, walker entered into your trailer to hang out with you. it had become a nightly ritual for you guys. you would lay on your couch and scroll on tiktok, showing each other the funniest ones.
after minutes of scrolling walker tilted his phone toward you. you noticed the tiktok featured you and walker. it was an edit shipping you two. it used clips from different moments from the press tour, and red carpet events.
“i mean… it’s a good edit”, you said nervously. you secretly loved seeing tiktok’s like these.
“yeah i agree, it’s one of the better ones i’ve seen. we look pretty good together, we make a great team”, walker replied not knowing how that last sentence would effect you.
“we sure do”, you agreed as both you and walker’s cheeks turned red.
—————
the other members of the cast had noticed how close you and walker had gotten, when you weren’t together, you guys were texting, and if you weren’t texting, you were probably asleep. aryan had brought it up to you last week, he said how everyone saw how you guys looked at each other, and how you were both always blushing when you had scenes together. you didn’t believe him though.
—————
filming had come to an end and you were definitely going to miss your new best friends, especially walker. you two had agreed to call and text as much as you could till you could be back together for the press tour.
—————
yourusername- filming this show was the best experience of my life, thank you to everyone who was involved in creating this amazing series. love you all ♥️
the first two episodes are out now! 🌩️⚡️🌊
walkerscobell- SO EXCITED‼️‼️‼️
percyjacksonseries- oh my god
walkerfan- Y/N’s feeding us with this bts content
Y/Nfan- it’s sooooooo good
walkerscobell- first two episodes. out now. 🌩️🌊
i love everyone on this cast so much, they have become my family, so so so thankful for everyone who got me here
yourusername- GO BEST FRIEND ‼️‼️‼️
percyjacksonseries- watching rn.
walkerfan13- PERCYBETH 😭😭😭
Y/Nfan- Y/N X WALKER CONTENT 🎉
—————
after the cast party, you decided to go over to walker’s place before your parents came and got you.
“hey Y/N, i kind of wanted to tell you something”, walker said nervously, “ever since i first met you you’ve inspired me so much and i just wanted to say that i really like you, in more than a friend way”, he rambled out.
you thought you were dreaming, no way he just said that. you stared at him for a second before kissing him, it was just a simple peck but you hope it got your point across.
“wait, you like me too?”
“of course, of course i do” you replied, noticing how red walker’s cheeks were.
he leaned in and gave you another kiss, you couldn’t believe this was real life.
—————
after a couple of months, many interviews, many nights on facetime, many ship edits being sent to each other, many days of secretly dating. you both decided to make your relationship public.
yourusername- my mom approves
comments on this post have been limited…..
walkerscobell- percybeth irl
comments on this post have been limited……
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thanks for reading, please send feedback and more requests!
🎀🧡🐞🫀⭐️🥥🫶🏻🐝🪻🪩🌎🪷🥿🫧🫐🧿🪞
#walker scobell x reader#writing#walker scobell fanfiction#walker scobell x you#walker scobell fluff#walker scobell fic#walker#scobell#fluff#social media fic#pjo#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#annabeth chase#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson fluff#x reader
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STARLET
male reader x cho miyeon
part 1 of another name up in lights
28k words
(special thanks to @passingnotions for helping make all my work possible)
“I would rather throw up,” you murmur out of the corner of your mouth, “than do another take of this scene with you.”
“Okay.” Miyeon tilts her chin. The lights begin to dim over the blonde hair she has falling over an upturned brow. “Then throw up.”
It takes a few beats—while production staff scurry about the tense silence rolling through the studio—for everything to fall perfectly still.
Miyeon takes a deep breath, and whispers: “I can get you a bucket.”
“Action!”
(The one where Miyeon ruins your career, and you ruin her too.)
-
That first time the two of you are photographed together, it’s wholly unremarkable. The entirety of the cast is in frame, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the banner at the presser and pretending that someone had just whispered something worthy of a belly laugh into your ears. Cho Miyeon hangs delicately off your arm, hand wrapped just above your elbow, and all of you are at your most jovial—looking like you’re simply having the most wonderful time, smiles wide and beaming. Because if that isn’t part of the act. You sell the characters, the fiction, the drama even when the cameras aren’t rolling.
The second photo is what gets people talking.
Anyone with half a brain ought to know that if you were sincerely seeing your co-star, an untruth that the general public is apparently beyond happy to eat up, you wouldn’t be so careless to post up outside a small cafe. Certainly not at a trendy place aside one of the busiest streets in the city, but these tabloids are rabid. Like a head injury, that self-condemning desire to get clicks and hits at any cost has long clouded their ability to think, and so it gets plastered right there on the front page of every rag in the industry.
Don’t get it confused, the photo looks good. It’s got allure and mischief written all over it. And that’s exactly what you’re going for.
Miyeon’s hair is up, tied into a messy bun, because she’d have hated to obfuscate the work that her floral shoulderless dress was not doing in hiding from the world the most immaculate pair of collarbones you’d ever seen. Then in her hands—between her teeth—she fiddles with the earpiece of her sunglasses, shooting you with the clearest, most flagrant fuck me now eyes that only a blind person might not pick up on (doubtful still). And you’re there, smirking back at her, for even if a photo tells a whole story, this one really only ever needed a sentence: sparks flying, the two of you really hit it off.
It’s a point of contention later—several times actually—but regardless of how you feel, the girl can act.
Now the image that really gets the media whipped into a frenzy is a lot less polished. It’s grainy and the lighting is poor and in a change of pace, the quality of the photo would lead you to believe that it wasn’t premeditated. Which, unfortunately, is exactly how it goes down.
Even still, it's all framed perfectly, infamously, a straight-up disaster. Miyeon is immediately recognizable, unabashedly blonde and gorgeous as ever. You’ve got your mouth on hers and the problems absolutely do not end there: her back is flush against the bricks of the alley, pinned under your weight, and yes, your hands are busy. One up her skirt, the other in her shirt, she’s blushing into you, and you wouldn’t know from the photo, but she’s got her fingers working at your belt and as a collection, it’s all utterly shameless. Everything up to that point had been muted in subtext; both of you know the value of intrigue, the art of letting everyone else connect the dots—this, however, unintentionally becomes a phenomenon.
Lights the internet on fire for a minute.
The shocking part of all this, what ends up being labeled a calamity by people whose opinions actually concern you, is the photo that you assume will haunt you forever and follow you to your grave isn’t even the one where you’re making out with the starlet du jour in the harsh yellow of an exterior floodlight—in the relaxed wickedness only two AM might ever know.
No, it’s this photo, the press’s favorite, given how it shows up everywhere. Miyeon’s holding the award for best actress in a lead role in one hand, knuckles tight around the podium microphone with her other. She’s radiant. She’s flustering. She’s breathtaking. She even trips up on her words in a way that’s endearing. And every fool with a blog is infatuated by all of it.
Your own thoughts on the matter aside, the most neutral and economic way to describe it is unintentionally funny. You were with her when she picked out that silver sequin evening dress, sparkling in the demand of stage lights and camera flashes. It spills from where the garment ties around her neck over the lines of her body as if it has no bias itself for any form or structure, only curving on its journey to her feet at the behest of where her breasts sloped down from her collarbones, the flare of her hips just below her waist. She’s the spitting image of perfection, a damn icon—the headlines are supposed to be about her—but there you are: tucked into the corner, in a sea of faces all justifiably mesmerized by the beauty that walked delicately onto the stage and adorably needed to adjust the microphone stand down to her height.
As It turns out, the absolute displeasure in your scowl isn’t any less captivating. Envious. Spiteful. Arrogant. You catch some serious flak for it.
For months, it ends up being the subject of commentary online, in print, on television—your names on the tips of everyone’s tongues. All with their own theories, but no one manages to guess the truth for a long time, because no one could even begin to believe it:
You hate Miyeon, and Miyeon hates you.
-
Oh, there are plenty of clues, if you aren’t already keenly aware of it, that your career is slowly sliding into obscurity. Years ago, walking into your agent's office was an event: eyes widened and turned to you immediately. The quiet smiles, the blushing, the batting of eyelashes. The pomp and circumstance of the agency’s biggest client strolling into Soyeon’s office like you were crossing the Rubicon into the streets of Rome. It was glorious and it always meant something big was about to happen.
To be clear, you’re not saying you need the attention, but today, no one even offers to take your coat, which is a shame, because it’s been raining biblically for the past week, and there’s puddles in your shoes, squeaking obnoxiously as you parade unceremoniously through a row of desks. Even so, sounding like a dog’s chew toy, it’s sheer and utter avoidance—eyes glued to monitors and unlifted from scribbled notes as though you’re simply another courier delivering a parcel (which hey, in all honesty, someone like that might even have some of that magical potential).
“Hold up. What do you mean they’re passing me up?” you ask, eyes narrowed and leaning forward in your seat so that the blatant abandonment of all your grace and charm doesn’t get lost in translation across the length of Soyeon’s desk. “That part had my fucking name on it.”
“It did.” Soyeon drums her pen against her keyboard. Comes close to making a face. “And now it has someone else’s name on it. Someone the studio trusts.”
“Oh, for christ’s sake, he’s twelve years older than me. The character is supposed to be thirty, not a dinosaur in a Kingsman suit.”
“It’s the silver fox thing. He markets easily to women.”
“And I don’t?” you stammer out, and Soyeon lifts an eyebrow. “Only a date night staple for almost a decade, Soyeon. Can you honestly sit there and say I wouldn’t play it better? The man plays nothing but himself in every role. Every. Single. Role.”
“Well, it just so happens that he brings people to the theater in droves,” Soyeon snaps back before you have the chance to say anything you could possibly regret. “Look, I told you I have good news and bad news, and it sounds like you’ve figured out the bad news already.”
“Oh please don’t tell me it’s charity.” You wave your hand flippantly. “We’re not doing this.”
Discount parts for struggling actors. If they were worth more than the paper in the scripts they were printed on, Soyeon would’ve been negotiating them this very moment.
There’s a lot about it to unpack, your fall from grace. You aren’t bringing in commissions, directors aren’t lining up in front of the firm to shove their scripts in front of your nose, and your last few films are better remembered for the comedic value of their scathing reviews than the actual screenplay or cinematography.
One such review of your most recent work, an ill-fated screen adaptation of Blood Meridian that had ‘studio interference’ written all over it right from its woeful inception, reads:
I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the implied sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the subliminal insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it.
There are plenty more just like it, and plenty worse, but it’s never done you any good, mentally, to sift through them.
“Really. I’m serious, these parts aren’t bad.”
Soyeon has enough confidence in her voice to sound convincing, but you’ve also never heard her come across any different. You catch yourself pausing to think about it, which is a clear tell that you’re perhaps nearing wit’s end, considering you’re not one to shy away from blurting out the first thought that forms half-coherent into your head.
“Now, they’re not what you’re looking for, admittedly, but I just think with a little luck, they could end up being a fortuitous move,” she adds.
“Go on, pitch,” you say, before sinking a little lower into your chair because even though it pains you to agree with her, she’s right.
“If you’ll dismount from your high horse for a moment,” Soyeon starts, waiting for you to finish rolling your eyes, “the Coens called again—”
“I’m not.”
“The part is interesting.”
“The part is small, it’s side-cast. Don’t sugarcoat it. I’m not taking one of their rescue-shelter-for-the-has-been supporting roles. That’s the equivalent of throwing in the towel.”
“It’s done wonders for careers in worse shape than yours, to be candid.”
“Careful,” you warn her, lifting your chin and glaring—a look you are definitely not known for—but if there’s anyone in the industry who could hold her own, deflect your best, and make you feel foolish for thinking you could cross swords and come out unscathed, it’s Jeon Soyeon.
“May I remind you that I’ve been nominated for best actor three times? That no one in their right mind predicted any of those movies to be any good? I’ve got talent. Let’s not sit around and pretend like I need to be put on life support here. I’m capable.”
Soyeon just steeples her fingers together. “I don’t need the reminder. I made that exact point in a call with a producer this morning, but it’s hard to get people to look past the fact that some of your recent choices have been—”
“If you’re going to say I told you so,” you grumble, letting out a sharp sigh, “let’s get it over with.”
She doesn’t say anything right away. Just pushes a folder across the desk and into your hands like she’s betraying national secrets to a foreign adversary. “Listen, don’t walk out in disgust. At least not right away.”
It takes only a moment. You recognize what’s going on here immediately. “Soyeon.”
“I know. I know. I know.” She waves her hand. “But hear me out, give it a chance.”
“It’s a rom-com, Soyeon.”
“I’m plenty aware of what it is.”
“I can see it already: smart, sophisticated, funny.” It takes a lot not to curl your lip. And then it fucking curls anyway. “I thought… I thought I had climbed out of the depths of romantic-comedy-hell, Soyeon. This is like suggesting that I get back into a relationship with an abuser.”
“I know, but this one actually is different,” she says, and you take a moment to remember you’ve always respected her honesty, paid her for it, and should’ve probably listened to it on more than one occasion. It’s the reason you’re here of all places.
“You’d kill the part,” she adds. “You spent years killing parts just like it. There’s no shame in that. And the director’s asked for you, specifically. By name. She’s willing to double your asking price.”
So maybe your eyes widen at that, even if it’s the absolute worst way to admit defeat, that you’re just as talentless as you’ve always feared: retreating back to the comfort of the role, all that expertise in acting with—no scratch that, acting at—some barely legal starlet ready to show a little skin to get ahead.
(That’s the nature of the game, and it’s your roots, unfortunately, but it’s safe, and if the money is there, then better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.)
“Ah, yeah okay, well here’s the thing: they’ve already decided on the female lead.”
You lean forward, like you’d have to listen to this next part in a whisper, because anything louder than that would make it too difficult to bear. “And?”
Soyeon clicks her tongue, runs her thumb across her lips, thinking of how to soften the blow. “I mean she isn’t what you’d call an actress, exactly.”
“What the hell does that mean, exactly?”
“Cho Miyeon,” she starts, and you’re actually just sitting there, tasting at something in your mouth like it’ll help you make sense of it, if only for the reason that you’re not quite sure who that is. “She’s, uh, well, she’s a popstar, you see.”
“Oh you’re not kidding.”
There’s a sincerity that lives somewhere in Soyeon’s lack of any expression at all, perfect poker-face armed and readied. You have to squint to really take it in. Heavens.
-
Exactly how much Soyeon actually knew about this girl, you’ll never know. She claimed first that they met through a mutual friend who does publicity work for another studio, and on a separate occasion saying that they went to school together, determinedly avoiding anything like names or corroborating details. Of course you believed her, because how were you supposed to know any different?
“Wait, you mean like actual royalty?” you ask a few days later, after Soyeon explains Miyeon’s nickname to you, because in this industry, it’s really not that ridiculous a question.
“It’s just a running gag,” she says casually, and you both watch the waiter wordlessly grate pepper into her salad until Soyeon puts a hand up.
“So,” you continue, incredulous, “it’s supposed to be funny?”
“Look, it’s a whole thing.” Soyeon picks up her fork, but doesn’t quite end up doing anything with it. “I promise she’s only half the disaster you think she is.”
“Then do me a favor: kick my shin when I’m supposed to laugh.”
“Do yourself a favor, and try to be a little amiable.”
“You say that like I don’t know how to be charming,” you deadpan, sipping at your coffee while Soyeon’s glare stands its ground.
It’s nothing official, but Soyeon had organized a script reading. The Director is off in some foreign land scouting for the perfect beach with perfectly white sand on an island that already has enough problems, and tells you in three separate text messages to just read the fucking script. You’re groaning, rolling your eyes, and then, curled up next to the fireplace in your readers at three in the morning, it hits you—like really hits you. And you’re shocked, mostly, that there's brilliance in these pages. It’s not the kind of flick you expected, the kind that has journalists at the Atlantic, real writers with academic chops and know-how, publishing articles with titles like: Why Are Romantic Comedies So Bad?
Which, hey, isn’t that a great question. There are a couple of answers, you imagine. You haven’t read the piece of course; you’re the last person that would ever need to. But perhaps among the most fundamental obligations for the genre is that there must be some degree of obstacle, a challenge to nuptial bliss that the hero and heroine must overcome, all before the story’s happily-ever-after. And, to put it simply, such obstacles have only gotten harder and harder to come by. They used to lie in heaps and piles on the ground, ripe for the picking: parental disapproval, difference in social class, unfulfilled promises, the classic and creatively bankrupt friendship-blossoming-into-romance. Nowadays there’s quite literally nothing new under the sun.
So take that all into account, and then add in the fact that you’ve got your hands on something innovative and creative and tasteful—it’s insulting, absurd even, that you’d hamstring the movie by shooting one of the leads out of a cannon and into the hands of a novice who may or may not be able to act her way out of a paper bag. The part calls for subtlety, not the ham-handedness and dramatic stylings of a girl whose experience with the camera extends to knowing when and when not to wink.
Only here’s the thing, it’s not absurd. Like at all. Because enter Cho Miyeon.
She appears in profile first, before pulling a chair out from the table and taking a seat all with the confidence of someone who’d probably be welcome at any table, anytime, anywhere. And almost immediately, you’ve got the answer to those hundred different questions of why. Why a rookie? Why a pop idol? Why ‘princess?’
Well, see, on a basic level, she’s fucking breathtaking.
The devil’s in the details if you aren’t disarmed completely at a glance. Dignified, regal, royal, this girl has it all, and then some. Her hair frames her face as though it were in any need of succor, perfectly messed and ash-blonde and tumbling effortless down her shoulders. She flutters her lashes; her lips part, close again in a way that is oddly captivating; and she gets a tilt in her chin that’s worth a thousand words (most of them admittedly, jesus, fuck, and my god). It’s like she not only understands every cliche in the book—but she’s gone out of her way to make them hers.
“Miyeon,” she says, voice gentle and saccharine sweet, extending her hand towards you.
It dawns on you that there’s a certain authority that comes about from saying your own name, even when you know no one has ever needed it—contrast to the way her hand fits in yours, dainty fingers, wrist flawlessly delicate; she’s five-two, arguably five-three in her socks and you’re the one who could crush her. Even so, it’s your mouth that runs dry. You’re catching your breath, and you have to clear your throat to even return the favor.
“I’m a huge fan of your work,” she adds.
“Oh,” you start, shifting gears, getting ready to lie straight through your teeth, “me as well.” It’s shamelessly performative. And Soyeon knows that. The wince she struggles to hold back from across the table is hard not to notice.
But then so is Miyeon, your eyes trailing down her body like a palpable touch over every curve.
Black mini skirt, pre-torn sheer tights, a pair of knee-high combat boots with a hell of a heel on them, and you’re just realizing you can see how perfectly flat her tummy is, peeking out beneath where the hem of her shirt decides to taper for the betterment of mankind. Ah, you get it, so apparently idols really do dress like that—anything and everything to tell you, keep your eyes on me now.
The feet of your chair scrape loud on the floor as you stand on your feet. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
“Alright,” Soyeon tuts as she stabs at her salad, “let’s dial it back.”
It takes two tries to meet her eyes properly, these beautifully dark and dangerous things, but Miyeon just blinks at you, quirks her lips gently into a small smile. And you smile right back, just a little, because maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.
-
It isn’t anything like the romance Miyeon will later make it out to be.
Even though sure, you’re both there laughing, blushing and coy—all of it enough to make the characters in the script look even-keeled, something a little more sane. “Please, it’s called chemistry,” you begin crafting excuses toward your agent when Miyeon takes a phone call on the terrace. “I have it with everyone.” And maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. But be careful, there’s nothing noble about what’s going on here.
“Sorry,” Miyeon apologizes, like she’d ever need to, pulling her chair right up next to yours. “Where were we?”
Just the part where the characters realize everything they’ve ever been looking for is right there in front of them. You spit the pen cap out of your mouth to answer: “the epiphany.”
For what it’s worth, the actual work to be done goes smoother than you expect. Sure, the initial delivery is rough around the edges and in need of a little tender love and care, but that’s far more than what you’d been prepared to give Miyeon credit for.
Not too long after, Miyeon suggests splitting a bottle of wine, something light and sparkling. It goes down easy.
Soyeon figures it’s time to fabricate some way to gracefully exit this whole thing, fingers tapping wildly at her phone, when you and Miyeon start touching each other. It’s subtle at first: she leans over your shoulder when you point something out in the script, pulls back a curtain of blonde hair right back over her ear before brushing up against you, lingers just long enough so that she can flick her eyes up to yours—doesn’t even care to look away whenever you catch her staring. And that’s just what can be seen above the table.
With a coat tucked under her armpit and her belongings all hastily gathered, Soyeon turns her face back over her shoulder one last time; she’s glaring, opening her mouth to say something but decides against it at the last moment. You get the message: don’t sleep with her.
You simply wave her off. Hide your own disappointment that she thinks you’d even need the reminder, because you would never.
“I guess I'm really looking forward to it,” Miyeon says, once the sun’s finished its daily dive into the horizon—once there’s only a mess of papers and empty wine glasses trailing in your wake.
(The restaurant’s in the middle of whipping itself into shape before a slew of dinner reservations come through. It feels rude to camp out at a table any longer.)
Miyeon turns to you, standing with a hand on her hip like the two of you are neighbors who share a mailbox, and says, “think it could be fun.”
Oh, surely you’ve done a better job at masking a grin. Miyeon picks up on it instantly.
“I’m serious,” she adds, letting the timbre of her voice shift into this juxtaposition of suggestion and naivety that has you doing a double take, mentally. Because the lines in her picture perfect face are so very easy to latch onto—even if you’ve never seen anyone as perfectly sculpted as her, you can’t shake the feeling that all humans ought to come out looking like this—but at the same time, there’s something that lies beneath the surface, something undoubtedly complex, something that quietly chides you for having such untoward thoughts of a subject so innocent and docile.
“I’m not trying to take the air out of your sails or anything,” you say as you guide her through the door, hand pressing at the small of her back, “but these shoots can end up being a lot less enjoyable than they look.”
“Of course,” Miyeon says, laughing, because here she is, the rookie, and it’s all very natural for her to appeal to some innate desire in you to come off as the authority on anything—film, stardom, the lack thereof, navigating life as a young pretty thing, the authority you’d discover in bending her over your kitchen counters—to some extent, she has you at least a little figured out. “What I mean is I’m looking forward to working with you.”
You watch her smile slant, shift quietly towards something more suggestive when you slip your coat around her shoulders—it’s a foregone conclusion, not that either of you are willing to look it straight in the face.
What you should have done is grabbed your phone and called her a car; there’s thousands of them in this city. What you should've done is driven home, alone. That’s all it should have been. Just some starlet you charmed for an evening to get your career back in order. Nothing more, nothing more. And instead of getting her for a few months plus change, you get her for life. This should’ve been extra clear when she leaned up against the passenger side door of your car, and found a new angle, something she’d only to that point allow to muse about your idle thoughts:
“And here I was, thinking you were just someone playing a part. Only ever a romantic for the camera.”
You can’t even say it all happens so fast.
Not when you take in consideration how you watch Miyeon delicately, slowly, purposefully grab a fistful of your shirt, balling it between her fingers, and begin to twist. This is probably where you’ll start, you think, when you explain it all in a tell-all book long past the age of your youth. Because, oh, what a pleasant surprise. She’s perfect. Flawless. A natural. You can’t keep your eyes away from her, and she’d have it no other way.
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” you ask, if only to resist the urge to pull her in.
“Well, I suppose I’ve got a few ideas,” she says, and there’s a glimmer at the surface of her eyes, dark and intelligent and flashing with something like danger, something like the worst decision you’ve made in years. And that’s saying a lot. “But I’d like to think you can show me.”
You give her a practiced smile, stretching just right, careful, careless, carefree. Trust me, that smile says. It’s a scene from a movie, one of many. It’s familiar. You’ve been here, with weapons in a caliber all of your own, and Miyeon’s cheeks start to ever-so-perfectly redden, porcelain skin come aflame.
“You know,” you say, making your voice drawl until Miyeon shuffles her weight between her feet, “if it was up to the writers, I’d kiss you here.”
“If it was up to me,” Miyeon starts, chin up at you like a challenge, “I’d let you.”
The way Miyeon explains it later is that you duck your head and hold your lips next to hers just long enough to let your next breath make her swoon, all before interrupting her with a hungry exhale and an open mouth pressing into hers. A hard, biting kiss that sends shivers down her spine. That you angle your mouths just right so your tongues can slip together, so you might sweep this girl right off her feet and into your arms—if Miyeon has a face that has fantasy written all over it, then so do you, and she says you ought to know what it does it to people.
She’ll be half right.
Only when you lean into her and start filing away those mental notes of how perfect her tiny waist fits in your hands, you pause at the sound of a cricket chirping, a reminder of the neighborhood around you.
“Not out here,” you murmur, casting a wary eye over her shoulder. “Let me take you home.”
Miyeon sniffles, blinks a few times, and nods.
-
Really, it starts with you. A month before you begin shooting, you suffer from a little insanity of your own. Miyeon’s got the second boot only halfway off her foot, lit up in the soft darkness of your foyer, when you take hold of her.
It’s not like you figured this was your last chance for happiness—swallowing down the gasp that comes off Miyeon’s lips like it were your only shot at tasting heaven—but that’s exactly how you kiss her. Mouth open and hot and heavy against hers. It’s hard to explain, and it doesn’t quite add up; you’ve got your Furies, your own personal pantheon, the girls you’ve most dreamed about and had running through your thoughts—who’d eventually find their way between your sheets in some manner or another, melting in your hands. But somehow, Miyeon’s different, you convince yourself. Or she does rather, starting with her tongue sliding languidly against yours before she decides to bite down on the swell of your lower lip. It hurts.
She knows it hurts.
“Watch it,” you say, coming off kind of harsh, before you can realize what all is going on here. Before you come to the understanding that she’s untouchable, priceless, that you can’t afford to break her—and that it’s precisely what she wants out of you.
“What?” she asks, the corners of her mouth slanted up ever so slightly. “You’ve got nice lips.”
How you’ll ever be able to forget someone like her, you haven’t a single clue, because Miyeon uncovers and undresses you down right to the bare soul. Your mouths crash again, just enough subdued to keep your teeth from clicking together like you’ve never done this before—like you’re reading her, getting lost in a new paradox: the intrigue of her tongue caressing yours, the familiarity of her thumb rubbing circles into your back. There’s the Miyeon that was cracking wise and sipping wine with you an hour ago, and now there’s this.
“So, how are we doing this?” she asks, breaths wet and heavy as she fidgets with the button on your pants. “How do you want me?”
“Well.” You’re sliding a hand up her stomach, across her ribs, until you hit the silky fabric beneath her shirt. “I’m not sure I know what you’re asking here.”
“Don’t play dumb.” Miyeon looks you straight in the eye, and she’s close enough that you can count the flecks of gold dancing in her irises. Brows furrowed for a second, she ends up indulging you anyway: “I’m asking how you want to fuck me?”
Every turn in her voice sinks deeper, reels you in further, coaxes you into shoving her to the wall between the door and a coat rack. The way she yelps first in surprise as her back hits the hard surface, whimpering later in delight at the grip your hands make onto her hips, it gives you the sense that she’s flustered, unable to come off as anything beyond embarrassingly forward and drowning in anticipation—
“Miyeon,” you say, slowly, getting a good read on just how much she likes hearing you say her name. That it’ll kill her, you figure, when you’re fucking her with slow, deep, deliberate strokes—once she’s inches within cumming and falling apart and it’s arriving right in her ear. “What do you think?” That lands even more pointed somehow. More dangerous than you could have ever predicted, the charm and practiced charisma in your voice coming out in lethal force: “Maybe, oh let’s see… should I fuck you right here?”
Miyeon starts with her fingertips across your scalp before threading them through your hair. “Well,” she says, teasing the callback, drawing the syllable out as though running it conceptually through her head. “If that isn’t a spectacular idea, I don’t know what is.”
“Yeah,” you murmur into the delicate skin under her jaw, and after lifting off her shirt and tossing it aside, she kisses you with a consuming, needy kind of hunger one more time. Until you’re both just out of breath. “I think so too.”
Miyeon dips her fingers into the waist of your pants before anything else. Function of the fact that men’s clothing is so straightforward and predictable, she’s able to shimmy them down off your hips until they hang unceremoniously around your thighs. “Um,” she says, sinking her teeth into her lip a moment, right after curling her fingers around your cock, “you’re like, really hard, you know that?”
“I was going to mention it earlier. You’re kinda my type.”
She leans into you, sighing a little into your neck. “Which is?”
“Oh, you know,” you say nonchalantly. “Pretty. Small. Ruinable. That sort of thing.”
“Right.” With a jerk of her wrist, Miyeon brings your cockhead flush against her stomach—pumps you there leisurely. “Wouldn’t want Soyeon thinking you were planning on ruining me.”
“Quick learner,” you murmur, bunching her skirt up over the rise of her hips.
“Well, we’re really not so different, you and me.”
“Hm.” She doesn’t know what she’s saying—you’re you—storied, seasoned, and only heeding right now to the wail of torn fabric. There’s a hole in her tights already, and your fingers work fast. Rip, tear, threads screeching undone. “I’m curious to hear what all gives you that impression.”
“The way I see it, we both know what we want,” she says, unashamed, and the sound that escapes her mouth sounds a lot like a hiccup, some little hopeful noise or another, swallowing for air at the touches skating across her underwear, where it’s soaked and hot and begging.
“Suppose that’s true.”
“Not afraid to go for it either.” She tightens her grip around your cock, squeezing like she’s waiting for you to tell her to stop and running her thumb across your slit. “Won’t settle for anything less than you—”
“A word of advice,” you start, and the authority in your voice makes her melt just a little further in your grip. “From someone who’s not so different… A little flexibility goes a long way, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” It’s smug, the way she says it. Her eyes are heavy, hooded—honing the perfect hue of haughty as she drags her panties to the side. “I’m nothing if not a little flexible.”
You bend from your knees, because Miyeon is tiny where she stands, up against drywall with her dainty arms thrown over your shoulders. And in a way, she’s right: you see the parallels, cut from the same cloth, the two strained noises or another buzzing in your throat indistinguishable when you hook your hand around her thigh, raise it, and barely slide yourself inside her, just an inch.
Miyeon’s mouth opens like she’s going to speak, and then hovers there, brows turning and knitting together—something you more than understand, because you’re on the verge of losing your mind too. She’s wet and slick with heat and so fucking inviting that you think the world might end if you don’t bury yourself into her this very second. Not that there isn’t near commensurate satisfaction in drawing out the moment, you fast discover, teasing mercilessly until you can hear Miyeon’s frustration. Her eyes shut tight, and her breath becomes ragged as you allow her another inch—almost keening when you pull back before pushing your cock into her cunt again, fucking her open slowly.
It’s only when you hear her beg please, please, please that you sink all the way in.
And she feels amazing. Tight and hot and clinging, she sleeves onto you like a glove. Immaculate enough to chip away at your positions regarding fate, the ridiculous notion that under the stars there was a girl out there for you, that you’re in orbit with some inevitable conclusion and her name is fucking Cho Miyeon. So outright sinful that you still need a beat to come to terms with it, and you make an effort to voice that: “Fucking hell, Miyeon.”
She lets out a whiny, punched out breath, tilting her chin to the ceiling and revealing the long column of her throat to you like an invitation, though you press your lips to her temple first, the taste of her skin and the sweat aside her brow like wine—sweet and woozy and intoxicating. There’s the rise and fall of her breathing against your chest, your fingers spread out across her creamy skin, and a sudden jerk from her hips, as if to bring you back to the present.
“Oh my god,” Miyeon gasps as your hips are drawn back again.
Only this time you’ve got the soft cheek of her ass spilling through your fingers. Waning self-control. Even less reservation about pulling her right back onto your cock. And though you’re mostly silent each time you work your entire length back into her, Miyeon is anything but—all these appreciative noises coming from low in her throat.
It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed: the way she darts her tongue out to wet her lips, how her breath hitches when you move, each and every sound she makes as you fuck wildly into her cunt—slamming in, in, in, and you can hear her begin to whimper, feel her caressing the curve of your ass with her… ankle? She tugs on you, grips you, and does whatever she can to keep you deep inside her. As though you’d ever, ever stop.
“I can’t,” Miyeon starts, and it’s nearly comedic—you’d be in fits if you weren’t delicately unraveling this girl in your hands, taking her apart piece by piece, blow by blow. The poise in her voice is gone; what’s left is shattered, unrecognizable mostly. Even those dignified lines in her face start to twist and wobble, threaten to come undone. “Please, I need… oh, please make me cum. I need to cum on your cock.”
“Breathe,” you tell her, feeling her slip a little against the wall, puddling further in your grip. It surprises you, the way your words come out like the crush of gravel beneath a boot, and it grips at something within Miyeon too, clues her in on how much she needs you—sucking air in through her teeth and sinking her face into your shoulder. The lines that mark where you end and Miyeon start are quickly eroding, boundary become meaningless. “I know you want to cum, but I need you to breathe for me, Miyeon.”
Her palms are damp with sweat, wrung around the back of your neck, hair sticking to her forehead and darkening in a beam of pale moonlight, not to mention what you hear: harder, faster, more—the needy requests make it sound like she’s almost sobbing.
“I promise, I promise,” you whisper into her mouth, “I’ll do anything for you. But first, I’m going to use this tight little cunt—gonna make a mess of you.”
Your fingers dig into her soft skin, tighter, tighter; you’ll leave bruises, marks, fingerprints, all this damage she’ll trace back to you—evidence that’ll queue memories like a roll of film, bring her right back to how you have her mewling and moaning at the end of your cock, tears welling on her lashes and mascara running dark beneath her eyes.
“Fuck,” slips out of her, nearly pouting like it’s your fault, that she’d never curse in front of anyone and here she is, teeth gritted—because, god, she’s all coiled muscle, tightened around your cock and meltdown imminent—you get your fingers under her chin and tilt her head to you.
“Gonna make you beg, Miyeon.”
“I… fuck…” Her voice gets locked up in her throat, choking back on something that turns into a wail when you adjust your angle, hit deeper, fuck harder—“I can’t,” she whispers, “I can’t,” but you keep fucking into her tight hole, nowhere close to letting up.
There’s just something so fascinating about a girl like this, a girl like Miyeon, with a gaze that inspires all this admiration and idolatry. It ought to pierce right through somebody like you and leave you for dead, bring you to your knees, but you’re nothing like she expected; you’re everything she hoped. So instead, as you watch her gasping mouth that was coyly smiling in your favor all afternoon; her small tits spilling forward when you lift up her bra; how she’s slumped back against the wall, relaxed and trusting you implicitly to carry her weight for as long as it takes; the shadowy place where your cock is drenched, glistening and disappearing between her thighs—oh, Jesus, is that a visual—it all clicks in your head: Miyeon is so, so astonishingly submissive.
Whether it’s the fingers at her throat, or the grip hooking under her thigh, the one thing that’s clear is this: you’re using Miyeon. Fucking her within inches of irrevocably falling apart. You, the hammer; her, the nail—pounding her further into the drywall until she’s quivering and moaning and gasping into your mouth. Oh, the places you’ll pin her. You’re relentless, merciless; it’s the fact that she gets off on it that’ll stick with you. For a long time.
“Gonna make you beg for it, princess,” you amend, lips now pressing into Miyeon’s ear, and she immediately shudders apart.
It’s filthy is the thing: you’re railing the girl with deep, harsh strokes, and Miyeon’s pussy is writhing in both protest and penury. She’s so creamed you can hear it through all the sounds of skin on skin, the percussive soundtrack of your thighs slamming up into hers. Each squelch, the wet sinful sound of it—it’s how you know your cock is making a total mess of her wrecked cunt. More and more each time it fills her and brings her that much closer to toe-curling-climax.
Let me, she breathes against you, barely held together. The hand you have under her asscheek is doing most of the heavy lifting. “Please let me cum, please, please, please let me fucking cum all over this cock, I need to cum on this perfect cock, oh my god—”
When Miyeon finally turns up at you, she’s biting down on her bottom lip again. Her head tilts a bit, something deep and pleading in those big, brown eyes, and it almost, almost makes you feel guilty. Nearly ashamed that this delicate little thing had fallen into your lap and your knee-jerk reaction was to fuck her so hard she started to wail, cracking at the seams.
“Your cock,” she blurts out, breath jagged and uneven, “is amazing. You are—”
Like you said, almost.
“—amazing.”
There’s nothing you can say to that, is there?
“Again… want to… again…” she demands of you, like she’s in any position to be making any. Her hands are all over you, finally undressing you, and all things considered, you don’t have the heart to tell her no. You’re hoping that never becomes a problem.
Miyeon scoops up easily enough into your arms after her orgasm had knocked the architecture right out of her legs, wobbling against the wall and almost sliding to the floor. And It all plays out again, just minutes later, after you set her on a barstool in your kitchen and slip back inside her. Sure, it’s a different setting, but you recognize it for what it is: the same story, with the same characters and the same ending, the one where you’ve got your cock fucking hard and fast into her cunt.
“Fucking, oh my god…” she rasps, just a waving white flag short of total surrender. “You’re going to make me fucking cum again. Yes, yes, yes—”
Until everything seemingly comes undone at once. And it quickly turns into stuttering cries of please and fuck and need it and all sorts of things you’ll have to promise you never heard, filth unfitting for a perfect mouth like Miyeon’s—the one now curving into that unforgettable shape while she chokes back on moans and mewls. It hits her like a brick, and her head rolls back as she groans, furrowing her brows and screwing her eyes shut.
You tell yourself it’s the fact that she’s so sweet, so docile, and all at the flick of a switch. Just moments after you’ve bottomed out in her pussy—after you’ve sent her higher and higher to where she’s reduced to nothing like the royalty everyone expects of her: needy, begging.
It’s whiplash really, from callous and cruel to caring and soft in a matter of seconds. Your foreheads come together while you catch your breath. That’s an image all in itself. And when she laughs slightly, there are the quiet tremors, the spasms of her diaphragm clenching around you. It’s hard to tell what’s going through her head, before she covers the exhausted huffs out of your mouth with a kiss that lives in the gray area between sweet and harsh and consuming. Fuck. You’d stay here forever.
(Forever ends up being a hell of a lot shorter than you expect. Because Miyeon takes to cumming on your cock like water takes to paper.)
“Wanna ride,” she tells you, breath having caught up to her and wiping sweat from her brow—something like an inciting incident, taking the two of you all the way to the living room.
She doesn’t outright tell you that she wants you to just hold her down and fucking use her, but she doesn’t last long on top of you either, leaning back from your lap with her hands hooked around your neck and dragging you forward, until you’re once again spilling over her, pounding her hot, sopping cunt like she needs.
You’re cautious, usually—responsible. It isn’t like you, really. The excuse you’ll settle into later is that Miyeon’s cunt is impossibly vice-tight when you make her cum a third time.
She’s in the midst of being swallowed up in the cushions of your sofa, the soles of her cute little feet pointed skyward, knees folded to her shoulders and pressed under your weight while you make sure she’s well fucked through the apex of it all.
“Good girl,” you tell her—the praise cutting straight to her final lifelines, tearing them to ribbons and leaving them for dead—and you’re shifting the angle, the depth to try and get her to scream the exact same way she did the first time. “Go ahead Miyeon—cum for me, princess. You’re going to fucking cum all over this cock again.”
And she does. Hard.
Quivering. Squirming even, she comes apart, fucked deep and hard into the springs of a chaise lounge and leaving stains on leather that won’t ever quite go away. Though it doesn’t manage to arrive with anything like an announcement, as it had before, heralded by curses and the elegant simplicity of meekly choking out the word cumming through a fit of gasps and hiccups. Her voice now is so fragmented, so utterly debauched and ruined, that she only manages to husk out a pathetic whine.
“So fucking pretty, Miyeon,” you rasp, watching the blush sear right across her nose, “so gorgeous when you cum for me. And god, this fucking pussy…”
The hands on the clock spin out, numbers running forward and back, and you’re long past the point of temperance. Each stroke in and out of Miyeon’s tight, throbbing, well-fucked cunt twists further at the knot in your stomach, the edge of your own, eager to indulge your fair share of recklessness: “Miyeon, sweetheart, I’m gonna cum.”
Miyeon understands immediately. She’s whimpering, nodding, sinking her fingers into your back—it’s not even a question. “Inside me,” she repeats, several times, until you’re hilted completely in her pussy. It’s hot, sweltering, perfect, and you can’t bring yourself to care that you’re pressing a handprint into her thigh so hard that it hurts. That the sounds leaking out of your throat aren’t anything particularly becoming or that you’re fucking your cum deeper into her cunt with each waning thrust or that you’re not sure if you ever had a better fuck.
“Fuck,” you groan, slumping on top of her petite frame once you’re completely finished. So thoroughly milked and drained.
Miyeon brings her small hands up and cups your face. Just stares like you’ve got something stuck to it. Her gaze drops to your lips—and you’re left thinking for a moment that she’s going to kiss you again, though it never does arrive.
“Hey,” you say finally, panting. Both of you are heaving restless. Everytime her chest rises into you, you’re acutely aware of how her small breasts feel against you, her heart still racing as your softening cock is still warm inside her. “You’re staring.”
“Well, I was going to mention it earlier,” she starts, fluttering her lashes and pressing her lips to the crook of your neck, “but you’re kinda my type too.”
-
The least unusual thing happens.
And if you end up thinking for even a moment that Miyeon is being sincere when she suggests you exchange numbers, you haven’t been paying attention. “You know,” she says, sitting in your lap and tapping her number into your phone, “for work.”
“Ah, of course,” you answer, willing to be fooled, if only just a little, “for work.”
-
Narratively, it’s all out of order: the banal text messages, the playful back and forth, the coy innuendos, the precarious game of being interested without asking too many questions. Both of you are quite content to play your cards close to your chest as though she doesn't know how good your fingers feel in her cunt or that you’re somehow not aware of the small freckle on the seam of her pelvis, another on the inside of her left thigh. That’s just how it goes. But it’s fine, you figure. Especially when you compare it to the alternative: of taking things too fast and careening straight off a cliff. To where, historically, you've burned up in a violent supernova of messy hookups and drunk calls and regrets you’ll carry with you into the next life.
A nice change of pace, if nothing else.And it’s hardly anything unusual either, or at least until you’re standing in the grocery checkout line a few days later. Miyeon decides enough with all that about the rules of engagement. She’s going to call you:
“I was planning on swinging by in a bit to grab my watch,” she starts, and you can make out another voice, maybe a friend? A roommate? in the background of the call, getting shh’d by Miyeon before she continues, “I left it in your bathroom. I think. Maybe on the bedside table.”
“Yeah, I was going back and forth on deciding whether that was purposeful or not.”
“Accidental. I swear.”
“Still a little convenient though, isn’t it?”
“Nothing convenient about not having my watch.” She laughs out loud. Maybe it’s a bit of vanity on your part to make assumptions, but you’ve got her pieced together, at least a little. Everyone else already reveres and adores her—it’s the fact that you’ll level with her, that she loves a proper challenge.
“Well, I won’t be back for quite a bit. I’m running a few errands.” You smile at the lady at the register. She’s halfway into figuring out who you are.
“Why don’t you do me a favor then… bring it with you to the press event on Friday?”
“Now that’s a surprise,” you tell her. “I’d figure you’d take the chance at face value, to get yourself back over to my place either way.”
“Look, if you’re going to make me need an excuse to sleep with you… let’s put our heads together and come up with something later.”
Oh, of course. Let’s, she says, really leaning into the plurality of it, hoping it’s something you can get used to. And given the fact you figure that Cho Miyeon has never been hard pressed to be anyone’s favorite anything, she is incredibly optimistic you’ll see just how sweet of a deal that all is.
You’re answering the woman behind the register first: “paper bags are fine.”
“Are you at the grocery?”
“I am.”
“Sounds fun.” she says, after a considerable pause—the length of which tells you she’d rather dip into the mundane with you than hang up. “What’d you get?”
“Breakfast cereal, bananas,” you tell her, staring straight into the conversational deadend. If only you knew any writers. You clear your throat, but Miyeon beats you to it, pulling the emergency ripcord: “What would you do if I was there with you?”
“Dunno,” you start, “take you to the bathroom maybe. Go down on you until you cum.”
At this point the cashier has put it all together. She recognizes you, and is unsure whether to be shocked or disgusted or what, so she just hands you your receipt as you shoot your near-award-winning smile back at her and gather your things.
Miyeon laughs. “Has anyone ever told you you’re horrendous at phone sex?”
“I’ve never had phone sex,” you tell her, “seems like a waste of time when you could be instead, you know–”
“Okay,” she interrupts you, “first off, it’s like the first rule in the geneva convention of phone sex: you’re supposed to ask me what I’m wearing. And just for your information, I’m wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt.”
“What color?”
“Yikes. So bad at this; you’re supposed to tell me to start taking it off. It’s a gray shirt, the pants are blue. What are you wearing?”
“A pair of khakis. And a sweater.”
“Great. Take them off, slowly.”
“Miyeon, I’m in the middle of a parking lot.”
“Okay prude, then you tell me what to do.”
You end up listening to Miyeon from the front seat of your car for almost half the hour. There’s a wistful hum from the other end of the phone every time you tell her what to do with her hand, walk her through every area of her body you want her to touch and how. You let her know about the finger you’re tracing over your own pants and she can’t help but let a soft noise out at the thought of it.
“If you invited me over for dinner right now,” she says after she cums, slightly out of breath, “I wouldn’t say no.”
You stifle a laugh. It’s folklore at this point, but there���s wisdom in it surely, so you’ll lean into that old rite of passage and play hard to get. Love is all about the complications, all the ways it can go wrong: endless rules and customs to observe, obstacles you’re determined to put in the way.
“Oh princess,” you start, knowing exactly how it’ll land in her ear, what it’ll do to her. “I’ll see you on Friday.”
-
The press event itself is simple and straightforward. There’s only ever going to be a singular moment during a movie’s production where no one in the cast wants to murder someone else and it’s in that brief period of time before filming starts. So grab onto that by the horns and show the media what a fun time this is all going to be. Go team, go.
It’s the same series of questions as always: how did this cast come together, what do you think of the scripts, how is this going to be a challenge for you, what are you looking forward to, etc.
You’ve been through this song and dance enough times now to keep your answers evasive and beguiling, because at the end of the day, it’s the most productive way to do anything in this industry. It’s routine. It’s practiced. But the thing you notice almost right away, is just how infatuated the press is with the girl at the end of the table, how they heel almost immediately to her every gesture, the way Miyeon answers questions all with the confidence of someone’s who’s been at it for ages, but with the doe-eyed blinking naivety of a starlet ready to bare it all. You have to consider that part of the reason the media ends up so hot on Miyeon’s trail is all that god-given wit and charisma and charm. She’ll make fun of herself and her group mates and her co-stars and the staff, and she’ll tease the press and give them shit in a way that makes you feel as though there’s this cool, gorgeous, very important girl who’s noticing you and liking you enough to give you shit. Then sometimes she’ll wink for no reason at all, or she’ll get that flip of her hair over her shoulder just right that you think to yourself: wow, that’s an idol.
It doesn't mean a whole lot to you now, though you’ll be wringing your wrists about it later, but the takeaway here is this: Miyeon is universally loved. Full stop.
Please root for me, she says, again and again. All the stuff she’s supposed to say. I’ll do my best to make everyone happy. And she looks down the table, right at you, when she says: “My co-stars are all so wonderful and I’m so lucky to have them here with me, I’ll go ahead and thank them in advance for taking such good care of me.”
-
The press release is worth nothing to anyone with only the opinions of a bunch of attractive people paid to be on television. What it needs is photos. Specifically the ones where Miyeon hangs off your arm like you two are just a little bit more than meets the eye.
Sex sells. Suggestion is priceless.
So you’re standing there, grinning, wide and open, practiced and sure, toward the army of photographers. You look good. You know you look good. You’d know you look good even if Soyeon hadn’t crossed paths with you behind the stage just a few minutes ago and said, “wow, you look hot,” and “if I was any bit straight, I’d bang you right here.” Though it definitely helped. The exact shade of charcoal on your suit jacket is engineered to make your skin glow, and your hair is coiffed just right so that it sits effortless. You didn’t grow up imagining you’d have hairdressers or a stylist or for god sakes ever be wearing tailor-fit suits that cost someone else a fortune, but that’s how this all works. A rag-tag militia dedicated to making it look both like you’d just rolled out of bed and that’s only how things were ever meant to be—it’s your whole deal, all with the comprehensive appeal of a mischievous smile.
The first flash, and you can feel your whole soul dilate in response.
Hey! Look over here for me.
Click. Click. Click.
Raise your chin—hands at your sides—hold that for me—perfect.
Click. Click. Click.
It’s calming in a way. All the piercing lights, the clattering of camera shutters. The feeling that never grows stale is seeped in the familiarity of it all; your roots are here. It’s home. And there’s something unique about the blur of lights, something hard to put your finger on exactly, that it feels like the perfect backdrop to just zone out in. And the fact that you can’t really hear those anxious, gnawing thoughts in your head over all the shouting, the chattering, the commotion—boy, that feels good too.
Though what you can hear is all the cameras turn, in unison. Something like a premonition.
It’s not the first time you’ve seen Cho Miyeon. You know how she looks in and out of her underwear, the way her blonde hair sits on her porcelain shoulders, how she’s all curves and pointed angles in the right places; you’ve seen her up close. Hell, she’d already taken your breath away, which in some regards is completely unfair, now considering that you haven’t any more breath to give.
She doesn’t care; she’ll leave you asphyxiated, with a smile. Perfectly. It makes it feel like every smile you’ve seen before are just failed attempts. Like this is the real deal.
Click. Click. Click.
The thing that has you lost for words is that it’s hard to know where exactly to start. Not only is Miyeon drop dead gorgeous, but here she is, pretending that she’s finding all that out for the very first time, blush burning across her cheeks like she’s not used to the attention. Her hair is pinned up, delicately placed into a perfect bun, wispy blonde strands falling aside her ears. And a pair of long, dangling earrings reflect the camera flashes aimed in her direction, scattering the light in every which way. Then it’s the fucking dress: it’s skintight, champagne, which is a good color on anyone, spectacular on her. You can’t let your eyes dip down all the way through the plunging neckline or you’d be staring at her midriff and thinking just how badly you want to undo the whole thing; pull gently on the tie at the back and let it all slump to the floor; get on top of her and have her cursing. Make her hot and flustered and moaning your name until you shoot a hot load all over that fucking tummy. Jesus. Fuck.
“Hey stranger,” she says, with restrained delivery, still smiling at the wall of flashing lights as she hooks her hand under your elbow.
“You’re late.”
Maybe—just maybe—if you can somehow manage to find anything to be at fault, you can keep your thoughts as innocent as her doe-eyed countenance. She tilts her head, pulls back her soft, sweeping hair over one shoulder, and when she gets her eyes on you… god, it’s a tall order.
“Do you have any idea?” she asks, starting in half sentences because there’s not a lot of time between poses. Everyone’s looking at her, looking at the combined-unit, the you-and-her, and demanding more. “Just how hard it is to slip into something like this? I swear to god, I think I’m still holding that first breath.”
“Hey,” you whisper, clasping your fingers together. “You look great.”
“Of course I do.” Her other hand is at your waist, gentle and misleading, much like the rest of her. “Just about any girl would look good next to you.”
Falling is just not the correct term, to be precise. Too clumsy. Hardly does what’s going on here any justice. This is a meticulous process wherein Miyeon delicately binds and traps your heart into love—maybe even the platonic ideal of the femme fatale, and you’ll take twenty, thirty paces into quicksand before you realize you’re trapped, waist deep, unable to move, totally and proper fucked.
“Here,” she says, tugging gently on your arm until you’re hunched over slightly, ear sitting perfectly at her lips where they begin to part, whispering: “This will drive them crazy. Just this little private conversation. They’ll be guessing what I’m telling you here, right now, for weeks.”
You laugh as you watch everyone with a camera scoot to the edge of their seats, expecting something unexpected. On the off chance they’ll get lucky and catch the shape of that murmur out your mouth:
“And what exactly is it that you’re telling me here?”
“I’m curious,” she starts, “how bad do you think I want you right now?”
Oh. You register your whole body shifting its weight onto the other foot. Twice, the muscles in your legs tensing when she wets her lips with her tongue. A problem, maybe. Your eyes dart about because you’re in front of all these witnesses, and the instinctual urge from somewhere deep and unruly in your head amounts to something like a death wish: to get your hands on her in public, to throw caution to the wind and let her have access to you under all this scrutiny. It’s automatic; you’re leaning back on old habits; humor’s never failed a face like yours. “What, like on a scale of one to ten?”
She leans back, takes both your hands in hers and just grins. “I heard there’s sort of an afterparty later. You going?”
You swallow, collect yourself. “I am.”
“Yeah?” Miyeon’s lip pulls up at the corner, smirk cocked, ready to fire, and her eyes are sparkling, literally; every flash of a camera fills her dark irises with a sharp glister of gold. It’s actually kind of mesmerizing. “Me too.”
“Maybe I'll see you there,” you tell her, leading her to the stage exit.
“Hm, maybe,” she says, and she rubs a few circles into the back of your knuckles. “Though it’d be a sure thing if we go together, wouldn’t it?”
-
Truth be told, you never make it to the afterparty. You get sidetracked. You get distracted.
“Feels so good, oh my god.” Miyeon’s jaw clenches, teeth together so tight you can feel her body tense up. “So deep, so good, so, fuck—”
What Miyeon is ultimately trying to do in the backseat of your car is ride you hard and fast to the point where she’s mixing up her words, gasping for air, and blathering filth and obscenity from her pretty lips. Until her legs lock up and her eyes shut tight before cumming all over your waist. So yeah, the charcoal slacks end up being a little fortuitous.
She bucks into you hard, holding her weight with two hands on your chest, though she can’t bounce up and down on your cock like she’d much prefer. The way her clit rubs against you as she ruts into your hips like a wild animal feels awesome, even better for her, you reckon, but that’s no substitute for the heavensent sensation she gets running down her spine when you fill her starved cunt repeatedly with long, deep strokes. It’s cramped and awkward and your knees and elbows knock and scrape and she’s taking that frustration out on you. As best she can without hitting her head on the ceiling of the car.
You can certainly appreciate the irony of it. Because you’ve got the poster girl for a disney princess in a state of half-dress (half-undress? under duress? it’s not entirely clear), the champagne hem of that dignified gown bunched up around her hips, furling in supplication, and she’s fucking you in pretty much the least elegant fashion possible.
“God dammit,” she spits out before sinking her teeth into her lower lip, as you offer to help her grind on top of you with two handprints sunk firm into the round of her tight little ass.
It’s clumsy and uncouth, though still, riding you amounts to a religious experience for Miyeon, given the way her cunt is quivering, torrentially wet, and so, so, so hot. Clenching on you in something like worship, in adoration. She should probably be more embarrassed about some of the noises she’s making. They’re high-pitched, whining, desperate even. You can’t quite hear what she’s saying—not over the hollow echo of your sex through the small cabin of the car—but there are only so many iterations of, oh my god, please, fuck, faster, harder, need it, right there, faster, I, ah, ohmygod.
“Baby,” you whisper, wrapping an arm around Miyeon's waist and sinking you both further into the seat. “Fuck, I cannot believe this pussy; you’re so tight, fuck—”
She’s still smiling, though it’s absolutely devilish. Maybe that’s the praise she lives for. Everyone’s already telling her she’s gorgeous, that she’s talented, that she's beautiful inside and out, but she just simply can’t get enough of it: how you’ll slap her ass so hard she yelps and growl against her throat, cum in her cunt and tell her she’s perfect.“Want your cum, baby,” she murmurs, cheeks aflame, lips again parting open, “I want to watch you cum in me.”
“Miyeon,” you groan, “such a good fucking girl for me,” and she just nods, like a fantasy come to life.
She lifts herself up again. Comes crashing down. Good fucking god. Every little roll of her hips is a touch more agonizing than the last; she feels so fucking incredible around you that it all betokens danger. You’re buried so deep inside her that if let go of the breath you’re holding you would drown in the heat of her cunt, the velvety touch of her skin, the fact that she smells fucking amazing—all worked up and starting to sweat.
“Can you?” she asks, propping up the tall heel of her shoe onto the seat and trying to ride up and down your shaft just a bit faster, a little harder. You pull at her dress again, twisting it in your hand until you can see where your cock disappears between the creases of her thighs and into the warm embrace of her cunt. She’s fucking you reckless and sucking sharp gasps of air past her teeth, asking, “do you think you can cum like this?”
“You want me to finish in your pussy that bad, Miyeon?” you ask, shifting slightly in the space beneath her.
“Want it so much, want to feel it,” she starts to pant, words disappearing in wet exhalation every time her thighs come spilling onto yours. “Want to feel your cock throb in my pussy, want to feel you fill me up.”
Even accounting for the fact that she’s so small on top of you and even easier to manipulate with nothing more than the firm grasp you have on her waist, it’s a whole ordeal to maneuver about the cramped backseat. Especially considering Miyeon would rather die than feel your cock leave her cunt. She lets out a needy whine, like you’ve done her some sort of injustice, when you find a hand under her shoulder and start to move.
“Please…” she groans, grabbing desperately at the collar of your shirt. Searching hard for the unrealized potential of the tie around your neck.
You twist and turn, slide and shimmy until you’ve got Miyeon’s arms pinned behind her back, wrists trapped in your fingers and her svelte frame arching into you. It’s a little precarious, and it takes a few tries to find any sort of rhythm—holding her in place and gliding up into where she’s soaked and aching—but the moment you start slipping your cock up into her cunt, it dawns on you: you can absolutely cum like this. She’s so mind-numbingly tight, so hot, so easy to use; it’s not a challenge. Not in the slightest.
“Oh my god.” She cuts off those incredible noises, breath hitching in her throat. She doesn’t have an inkling of how to react; there’s no way around it. Not when you’re fucking her—truly fucking her—within an inch of her life and pulling her small body down onto your cock harder, faster, faster. Again, again.
Miyeon’s hair is the first thing begging to be ruined. Delicately fixed and pristinely manicured. Gentle waves tumbling over her shoulder as you trace your fingers up the curve of her spine, knead at the back of her neck, and thread into a handful of those ash-blonde locks.
“Fuck.” Her whole body melts into you, and her voice is seeped in lust and need and want: “right there, right there, right there—”
Your fingers tighten in her hair, grip, pull.
“Feel good?” you whisper into her neck, all this soft pale skin begging for a press of your lips.
“It feels—I, fuck.” Miyeon just stutters, eyes watering and chest heaving through all these incoherent breaths as you drive her to silence. Fuck her to submission.
“Princess,” you start, bringing your other hand up to her cheek. It’s the small details that truly send her: the thumb wiping away at the small tears on her long lashes, how you tuck a few misplaced wisps of golden hair behind her ear, dominance soft and doting—it’s not just the fact that you’ll pull her apart; it’s that you’re the one putting her back together. That’ll never be a secret she keeps from you, you figure, because she’s reduced to a whimpering, shuddering mess when you take her lips softly in yours. A chaste, gentle, unscripted kiss. Unbecoming of the reality that has you currently fucking raw and senseless into her creaming cunt.
“Tell me what you want, Miyeon.”
Sure, you’ve got in your hands the script of sin and innocence, and you’ll settle into an assigned part, a role to play. Though to be truthful, you just simply can’t help yourself. She’s delightful. The whispers out your mouth sink once more against her skin, sweaty and red and hot to the touch. She whines like your words cut right to the bone, lethal. Your hips come up, hilting deep in her cunt, and it’s enough to shake an earring loose and into the depths between the seats; you’ll spend a literal lifetime looking for it later. Her breath hitches, regressing to huffs and sharp draws of air when you drag your cock just along the right spot, apparently.
“Please, please, please,” she begs finally, sputtering with the waning energy of air escaping a balloon.
“I want to know what you need from me,” you tell her, letting your voice come out in such tantalizing fashion that it’s the kind of thing that could coerce the truth out of anyone.
“You,” she rasps, “all of you.”
How quick she turns to putty, muscles softening and tensing all at once. And you’re generously allowing her to take more, capitulating to her pleas of right there and harder please, pushing in as deep as you’ll go. You soothe her when she shudders and quakes—just a broad hand at her back—helping her adjust to you.
“Shit, Miyeon, you look perfect like this,” you mutter, watching the small tears that come from the corners of her hooded eyes. “Can’t get over how gorgeous you look taking me.”
Those small hums and moans leaving through closed lips are all she can muster. She clutches ahold of you even tighter, feeling the sharp bloom of everything trickle closer and closer like a dam about to break.
“Is that what you like to hear, princess?” you ask, fucking her right through her own orgasm and realizing it’s hopeless; you’re going to fall in love again and again with that pink stain in her cheeks. “Do you want to be my cumslut? Let me use your pussy whenever I want. You’re so tight and wet for me, Miyeon. You want my cock all the time, don’t you?”
Some of it—maybe all of it—hits hard. She starts to shake. You’re fucking her cunt, steady and resolute, even as she fucking collapses, and her lips part like she’s going to wail, though never makes a sound.
“Words,” you order, breathless.
“Oh…” It’s slow at first, that steady stream of fuck and please spilling out of her—curses flowing as easily as the air she breathes. You’ve got her at your complete control, a seeming extension of your will, and she presses her forehead to yours, gasping, “want to feel you fucking cum in me. Please do it, do it, I need to feel you, I want your fucking cum in me so bad. Please, please, please fucking make me yours. Do it, need you to use this little pussy and cum.”
You’re deep inside Miyeon, clutching hard around her waist and pulling down on it as you vault over the proverbial edge. Breathing heavy into her chest as you fuck all this hot cum into her cunt. She keeps rolling her hips, slowly, as if by instinct, to ride everything out of you, until you’re yanked back to the here and now.
“Oh my god,” she coos. Because it’d be impossible to not notice, leaking out of her and onto her thighs.
“Miyeon.” The next sound that comes out of you is near indescribable: gravelly and plucked from deep in your throat.
“So, so much for me,” she adds with a hint of exultation, running her fingers through your hair.
Some part of you expected her to perhaps be more resilient, put up some semblence of a fight, but this is Miyeon, you realize—the roughness in your voice, the gentle touch of your fingers, the severity of an open palm, your lips at her throat—she loves it. Her hands are soon again cupping at your face, tongue reaching into your mouth. And she shudders at the way your cock slides out of her pussy.
“Messy,” you murmur into her kiss, quietly, and you hear her swallow when you skate your finger over her hips and down her stomach, tracing gently at the place you were pressed together, thoroughly covered in your cum, her slick.
“Uh.” Miyeon makes a face. Wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”
“Oh please,” you say as she cuddles up to you as far as the backseat of your car will allow. “You know you love it.”
-
Here’s the thing you fail to realize about a girl like her, a girl like Miyeon:
She’s more than just the physical, than the sum of her parts. She’s a feeling.
Oh, there’s plenty about the ways you touch her, the way her hand fits into yours, her hair running silky smooth between your fingers—how you can leave bruises on her thighs and marks on her neck, or reduce her to a whimpering mess with nothing but a firm grip. She laughs and it’s something that moves you to your core. She’s easy to admire from afar. And even easier up close, where you can appreciate the mastery in those brushstrokes.
But pay attention to how your blood drains from your cheeks, how the world stutters on its axis when you look at her. Because you can’t help but feel like you’re living life the way it’s portrayed in fiction when you do. Like you’re slipping into a world where no matter how insurmountable the odds, the good guy always wins.
-
“It’s all bullshit, that’s what it is,” someone is telling you with an almost unsettling confidence, even though their voice is shaky and ever-so-slurred with drink.
You’re sitting there, slightly listless, on one of the stools at a four-top, busy zoning out at the neon smirnoff sign behind the bartender like it might move if you look away for even a second. Your fingers are tapping on the table, and the fact that you can’t taste the kick in your heavily doctored gin and tonic means you’re already drunk. Probably. You’ll have to thank Miyeon later.
“Hey,” the someone starts again, “are you even listening to me?” It’s a little deep, raspy, but it sounds like it belongs to a girl.
No, you think.
“Sorry,” you say after blinking a few times and pulling yourself away from the sign. The girl sitting next to you frowns. “Have we met?”
“Yuqi,” Miyeon says, handing her a beer and setting her own drink down on the table. It’s pink and full of ice and in a ridiculous looking piece of glassware.
It goes without saying that you couldn’t show up to the main event—late, attached at the hip, and with Miyeon’s hair all disheveled and half-repaired like you two were fucking in secrecy—so Miyeon pitches the idea to you while you’re in the middle of wiping cum off your pants with napkins from the glove compartment: If you’re interested, there’s a bar nearby. My friends are there, it’s quiet but it’s nothing too pretentious.
“And you met Sana earlier,” Miyeon adds, lifting her chin in the direction toward the girl buried in her phone, tapping away furiously at a series of text messages—the way she hasn’t looked up in minutes and how her drink is nearly untouched implies some sort of drama.
It’s kinda weird—you’re realizing you might have a type: they’re all some sort of blonde. Shockingly easy to look at too. With bodies that could fill a nighttime of fantasy, and supposedly somehow they’re best friends? Look, you’ve never seen two pretty best friends; it grinds against cosmic law, ain’t one of them supposed to be not so pretty? (Though maybe the rules are different when you land on odd numbers? If it isn’t all a little perplexing.)
“Know each other from work,” Miyeon explains, holding her hair back from her face and barely touching her lips to the rim of her glass.
“Uh.” Yuqi pops the top of the bottle off against the side of the table. “And we live together.”
“Roommates?” you ask, carefully trying to keep your tone from sounding judgemental, and Miyeon gives you a solemn nod. There’ll be time to pry later.
“Look,” Sana says, only after finally putting her phone face down in front of her. There’s a story there. Maybe you’ll hear the end of it. “I’m not saying I’m proud of this attitude, okay, but that’s the truth: I make judgments based on what drink people order.”
She fixes her eyes on you, and god, she’s gorgeous. It’s a different kind of beauty, a lot less subtle, way more in your face, and she knows she can get away with it. (Though it’s the patented hundred-megawatt smile of hers that’ll stick with you.)
“Like if you were drinking a cosmo or whatever the hell it is Miyeon’s got—”
“What?” Yuqi scoffs, and her eyebrow turns when she sees Miyeon wrap her arm around yours. “And just like that he’s not sexy or sophisticated, smart or virile? Is that it?”
“I suppose…” Sana twists her lip between her teeth. “Maybe it’s context?”
“No, that makes sense,” you say, and you dab at a ring of condensation on the table with a bar napkin. “Like I wouldn’t hesitate to take a cosmo if I was stranded in an airport in February and the planes are getting de-iced and the pilots are deciding whether to take off or go home.”
“I’d order a double,” Miyeon says, and you swear she’s closer to you each time you check.
“So then tell us, what’s the quintessential manly drink then?” Yuqi asks, skeptical, and a little disappointed to even be entertaining the question. “If pink cosmos are on one end of the spectrum…”
“Dunno.” Sana crosses her legs, and rubs at her chin. “I suppose anything that comes in one of those squat, burly glasses.”
“The kind that real men hurl across the bar at another man’s head,” you deadpan.
“Oh my god.” Sana springs forward in her seat, and her gaze pins you to where you’re sitting. “You get it. Do I know you from somewhere? I swear you’ve got a face that’s familiar.”
“Maybe I just got one of those faces,” you tell her, and Miyeon squeezes her fingers gently around your knee.
“Maybe.” Sana tilts her head, letting out a mostly unentertained chuckle, dry and humorless. You can see the gears slowly churning in her head.
Yuqi’s got her bottle turned up nearly perpendicular to the ceiling, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand—it’s all oddly charming—and she just lets out a wistful sigh. “Someone should make a movie, an old western maybe, where someone flings an oversized martini glass. You could start a movement.”
You’re not really thinking about anything in particular when the conversation ebbs and flows, except that you’re content; buzzed with the bitters in your drink; and the ephemeral touches of the hand in your lap, gentle, curious, teasing. There’s something laid back about being in Miyeon’s company that draws you in, something effortless, like the world seems less maliciously unfriendly, even if she ends up managing to embarrass you in a game of billiards.
She finds the table at the end of the bar and readies a flip comment while rubbing chalk into the end of a pool cue. You watch as it leaves white streaks all over her chic dress, and you’re kind of enamored by the fact she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re sure you’ve played before?” she ribs, pulling a hairpin from her clutch, and clipping it to the hair at one temple to keep it from interfering with her game.
“Aren’t you a wealth of talents,” you say, in admiration.
“Do you mean, appearances can be deceiving?” she asks while sizing up a shot, grins—a smile that suggests mischief, which is normal, except that this one invites you to be part of it.
“I think you might be putting words in my mouth.”
“Oh,” she says, and with her lovely, slender, fingers pressing onto the green baize, she sockets three shots in a row. Misses on the fourth. “So now you don’t like me putting things in your mouth, is that it?”
“Hm,” you say, ignoring the obvious bait and lining up a shot. “This is going to be a weird question.”
Miyeon drops her arm and tilts her head quizzically.
“What do you think of the script?”
“The one that has us heartbroken and lost and wandering until we rediscover love is right where we left it?”
“That’s the one.”
Miyeon covers her mouth to laugh when you take your shot and it misses in such grand fashion that you can’t help but hang your head. “It’s the dress shirt,” she says to comfort you.
“I’ll take what pity I can get.”
You’re watching Miyeon in action—hair carefully swept back, earrings sparkling, and heels set firmly on the floor—all together rather enchanting. She makes several more shots, aimed with perfect precision and seriousness, before finally answering you: “dunno, seems a little psychotic.”
“I mean that’s the thing about romance,” you begin, “there’d be no story if the writers weren’t at least a little psychotic.”
“Oh by the way.” Yuqi’s voice booms at that moment, with all the subtlety of a bulldozer: “I’ve gotta take Sana home. She’s late to getting plowed by her new manager. I’ll catch you later.”
“That isn’t—” Sana huffs, pinches at the bridge of her nose, and stops herself short, before reapproaching it in a more bracing way. “I’m telling you he gets all worked up whenever I’m out drinking this late.”
“Worked up, huh?” Yuqi grins at a parody of a smile, and turns to you, laughing. “That’s how she likes him.”
“Yuqi,” Sana groans.
Miyeon rests her cue up on the table and crosses her arms, smirking in your direction. “Life imitates art, right?
-
“You’ve got a girl here, don’t you?” Minnie asks, at nine in the morning and standing in your living room. It reminds you of the fact that you have a meeting on your calendar on today’s date between you and your agency’s lawyer at nine in the morning.
She's not some expert sleuth. At least, not as far as you're aware. It could be one of any number of things that tips her off: Miyeon’s heels are in your foyer, her champagne dress folded neatly over the back of your couch, or maybe it’s the pair of underwear that landed perfectly on the corner of your television. What it is not, however, is the reddening outline of Miyeon’s lips on your Adam's apple; you’re doing a pretty good job of coyly covering that up with your palm.
“I mean yeah, I suppose you could say that.”
“I don’t know if you could’ve answered that more ominously.” Minnie laughs, shuffling past where you stand in the door frame and setting her bag down on your kitchen island, surveying the mess in your apartment. She stands before you, wearing all black and looking down her nose at you.
(She’d pretty much cornered the market on wearing all black and looking down her nose at you, and you always take a moment to marvel that anyone could live on the earth only twenty-some odd years and manage to wear all black and look down their nose at you with such timeless self-assurance.)
“If you need her to sign an NDA, I’ll have to swing back by the office to pick up the proper paperwork.”
“I don’t need her to sign an NDA,” you say, turning on water from the faucet and filling a kettle. The hand you have running through your hair helps you remember that you are still very poorly put together: a mess of bedhead, t-shirt, underwear, and only a singular sock to your name. Not that it matters, you suppose. Minnie’s seen you worse.
“Wow. Things must be getting serious, huh.” Minnie drums her fingers on the counter. “Well whatever it is, I’ve got stuff for you to sign.”
“I thought we walked through all the contract boilerplate already.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Contracts change.” The pen she has in her fingers, scanning over a stack of papers, is poised. Her slow nod studious, blandly puzzled. “That’s why you need me.”
“Now if that isn’t an unfortunate truth,” you say, and Minnie raises an eyebrow. “Good change or bad change?”
“Depends. Have you met Cho Miyeon, the other lead? She’s cute, blonde.” Minnie hovers her hand an inch in front of her nose. “About yea high.”
“A few times,” you answer, sorta truthfully.
Minnie tilts her head, and licks her thumb to flip through the first couple pages in the stack. “Well, the producers want you two to be seen. Together. Somewhere high profile and suggestive.”
“Okay.” You’re pouring hot water from the kettle over coffee grounds and a filter when you realize you have no idea what that’s about. You voice as much: “I have no idea what that means.”
“Well, here’s the general thought: they figure they can get some free marketing, brush up a little media buzz, get people talking about this movie if some paps snap some pictures of you two where it looks like you’re—”
“Where it looks like we’re dating. Okay, sure, wonderful.”
“Your words, not mine—or the producers, legally.”
You fall silent, thinking: there’s no such thing as fairytales, it was bound to happen, a trip up, a snag, a snare. You know, in essence, it’s trouble.
“Um.” Your shoulders drop. “The producers want a scandal, Minnie.”
“Again, I’m not legally allowed to call it that.” She shakes her head, before putting something down on a lined memo pad with great industry. “And if that’s your assessment, you came to it all on your own with no help from me.”
But yes, she mouths to you silently. You got it, aren’t you clever, now play along.
“Does this not feel like shaking a hornet’s nest?” you ask her. “Surely there’s a better way to go about receiving death threats; she’s a damn idol.”
“She certainly is,” Minnie says, passing you the pen and giving you her practiced professional-but-still-definitely-sardonic-smile that always manages to emote, please don’t be difficult. If she’s hoping it inspires confidence, it does not. “Sign the new contract.”
You’ve got plenty of reasons to have reservations, but here’s a fun fact not a lot of people know: there’s a part of you perfectly content shutting up and doing what you’re told. Maybe it’s something about pretty girls with dark eyes, long legs and a curl in their lip that upstages anything like subtlety—an Achilles heel of sorts. Except instead of your mother forgetting to bathe your feet in the river styx, you’ve just got some mother issues in general.
“There,” Minnie says, watching you initial on the dotted line. “Was that so hard?
Someday, you’ll look back and think, yeah, that’s where it all goes to shit.
-
Three weeks into filming, you make good on your promise.
It would have been neater, perhaps, if all the sneaking around and impropriety caught up with you and used this moment as a catalyst: if, filled with embarrassment, you owned up to everything that was going on between you. Might’ve saved you some hurt.
You watch Miyeon’s hand shoot up to her mouth only to find whimpers leaking out from beneath her palm.
What if all those cameras had instead gotten pictures of you and Miyeon here, in the restroom of a cafe that Miyeon swore up and down would be crawling with paparazzi—where Miyeon had dragged you by the wrist halfway through a bottle of dry chardonnay, locked the door behind her, and flicked the skirt of a her floral dress up over her hips. Imagine the way it would look: you on your knees, face buried between Miyeon’s legs—
“I swear… your fucking mouth,” Miyeon murmurs, fingers running through your hair.
—all you know is that it would have been a different kind of disaster.
“Oh,” she moans, and you swallow heavily at the sight of her above you, following the movement in her face: every wince, every flinch, pleasure absolute and wringing her dry. She’s pretty as always, eyes dark and twinkling under the cool fluorescent lights. It’s that damn blush again, and you’re convinced eating Miyeon out feels like the most normal thing in the universe, like you’ve done it a million times before, and you’ll do it a million times more.
Just listen to how Miyeon’s breath stutters when you lap softly at the heat between her lips, lifting her hood and swirling her clit once, twice, before bringing the narrow point of your tongue back to the shallow depth of her aching entrance. She shudders at all how you tease her, slick pooling in your mouth, down your chin; a pinched off moan filling the bathroom when you add another finger inside her.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she says, gasping out on top of an embarrassed little sigh each time time she bucks against the touch of your hand. You spread her lips, get your tongue flatter, deeper, and she drops her shoulders, laughing in that high-pitched skittery way she does when she’s struggling not to cum all over you with her eyes clenched shut.
It’s a sight to behold: Miyeon twisting her brows and biting into her lower lip—chewing off all the lip-gloss you know she just put on because you watched her make a show of it at the table like it was the most delicate thing in the world. She looks soft, docile even, and hums out a wistful note when you squeeze your hand into her thigh. Swallows back a moan when you reach up and knead at her chest. Yeah, she is soft. Tender and malleable and perfect. How easily you keep her pinned in place with just a flex of your wrist.
“Now would you look at that, princess,” slips out of you, totally carefree, lifting your lips from her pussy and wiping the wet from your chin. She sways slightly, and you’re leaning into her space, voice nearly coming out breathy and flooded as hers, asking, “You’re so wet, Miyeon. How do you want me to make you cum? On my fingers?”
Miyeon just sighs, lust and need glittering in her eyes. If there’s anything you’ve picked up from all of this so far, from all the raunchy sex, every manner in which she’s puddled in your grip, all the times she’s begged for you to hold her down and rail her—more than anything else, Miyeon loves, loves, loves to be teased.
But it’s the way her smile stretches, just perfectly, or even just one glance from those doleful eyes—fuck, goddamnit, one day I am really going to fucking die written into the shy curve of her lips—you’re never quite that cruel. Her panties are dropped to the floor and hanging around her ankle, soaked, ruined, but that doesn’t mean she needs to be too; you bring your lips back to her pussy. Fingertips curling up against that spot that drives her up the wall and your tongue running laps around her swollen clit.
“Oh, like that,” Miyeon whines, barely able to make any noises louder than a whimper, “just like that, please, yes, like that—”
And then you catch the aching swell of her clit between your lips. Slowly, start to suck.
“God,” she breathes out, still writhing from the fingers you have inside her, your thumb rubbing against wet, slippery skin, right how you’ve learned she likes it. And she gasps, head rolled back, brows furrowed up: “Oh, yes, oh God, you — you’re perfect. It’s — ”
That really never gets old.
Everything stills for a moment. Everything besides your fingers fucking her quietly while her orgasm quakes through her. She’s catching her breath, staring at you—skin dewy with sweat and chest heaving. Her warmth wraps around you, surrounds you, and you’d be content to stay like this forever, pressing kisses into her stomach and never, ever letting go.
That is until she looks at you, lashes fluttering, as if she’s trying to gauge your emotions. Until she speaks.
“I want it,” she gasps, breath steadying, “I want your cock.”
She knows you, right down to the basics: you can never deny her anything.
-
(You’re being cautious—covering your tracks, you convince yourself—but then there’s all this evidence to the contrary, no shortage of close calls, times where you’re so nearly caught: Miyeon’s lithe, tight body grinding desperately against yours in a costume closet or her dressing room or in the backseat of your car; the way she keens when you slip your fingers inside her, how she wails in delight when you really fuck her in earnest; you cutting off those unabashed moans with your mouth or your hand or even just two fingers shoved between her lips so she might have something to bite down on.
It’s this whole thing, the sneaking around, the indiscretion—Miyeon loves it. And the danger of it all become something like a siren’s call, you are just as attracted to the idea too, that you’re masking who you are in the dark, just past drawn curtains and under fitted sheets.
“Wow, I never noticed, but you guys are, like, weirdly close,” Soyeon says once, sometime near the beginning, and perhaps when you’d begun to stare a little too obviously as Miyeon was tying her hair back. It has you both laughing off the observation as something trivial, like Soyeon was the odd one out for noticing anything at all. But fast forward a few hours, and you’re sprawled out on a set of hotel linens, having a laugh again all while Miyeon fucks herself on your hard cock, delighted at how easy it is to conceal everything in plain sight.)
-
“Um,” Yuqi says, walking into the living room of Miyeon’s apartment with her laptop precariously perched on her forearm.
You’re out there on a Wednesday, hanging out, kissing Miyeon every now and again, but talking mostly. The rationalization is that you’re practicing and memorizing lines, ironing out kinks that aren’t really there. Which is all how you know things are getting out of control, if not among the other hints: Miyeon’s added a spare toothbrush in the cup on your bathroom vanity, a pile of women’s laundry atop your washing machine that never grows any smaller, beauty products under the sink, and there’s all those damn bobby pins that show up in every corner of your apartment. “It’s just casual”, you overhear her say once, on the phone with Sana, and you do your best to never, ever think about it.
“You idiots, you’re trending.” Yuqi sits down on the sofa next to you, not at all disconcerted that you’ve got your hand in the ends of Miyeon’s hair or that she’s practically sitting in your lap. You learn pretty quick that Yuqi feels like she belongs anywhere. In some ways, that’s her charm.
“And?” Miyeon asks, dismissive.
“Are you both insane?” Yuqi turns her laptop around so you can read her feed.
There’s a series of pictures on the screen attached to a headline that starts with breaking in bold capital letters, like its only true purpose is to fuck up the internet. Your eyes start on Miyeon first, the tilt of her chin, her fingers floating across her collarbones, smile radiant—looking at you the way she always does when she’s mentally undressing you. Fortunately, she’s still perfectly made up, hair tied up above her shoulders and the mascara under her eyes not quite yet running; this photo is before you made a mess of all that, gotten her moaning your name in the restroom. You’ve got your hand at the back of your neck, and you’re laughing. The glint in your eye screams complicity.
Miyeon says emptily, “you’re overreacting.”
Yuqi’s frown deepens fractionally, but you’re putting the pieces together. It’s pretty unhinged.
“Christ,” you start, “get a look at some of these retweets: I’m just thinking of what those kids would look like, the genetic payout; fuuuuuuck I need to see that sextape.” You laugh. “Look, this one just says: sex.”
Miyeon leans forward in your lap, cheek nearly pressed against yours. “Here’s one: how much do you wanna bet Miyeon tops when they—”
Yuqi bursts out laughing, clearly almost snorts, and you both raise an eyebrow at her. “What? This girl here isn’t topping anyone.”
“Shut it.” Miyeon rubs her hand at her chin, turns her eyes up at you, and without an ounce of irony continues, “How much do you wanna bet? That these are your fans.”
Yeah, probably not, you think. “I’m sorry. Do you have any idea how my demographic skews? Not like your fans who are…”
Miyeon’s face lights up. “Are delightful?”
“Have a sock at home with Miyeon’s name on it?” Yuqi chimes in, grinning.
“I mean if somebody wants to make a puppet of me,” Miyeon says, practically huffing out the words, “that’s not really any of your concern.”
Yuqi makes a face. You watch as she slowly twirls one of those long waves of pink hair around her finger (strawberry blonde, Miyeon called it, and you don’t know shit all about that, but it does sound pretty, so that fits, you guess). It goes all the way down to her waist, and you’ve noticed, possibly for a second or third time, that she looks killer in a pair of high cut jeans—what all with the long legs and an ass that more than plenty fills them out, she could be peddling denim on a Levi’s catalog.
“What should be your concern,” Yuqi says, “is that the internet thinks you’re getting railed on the regular.” It’s quick—blink and you’d have missed it—her eyes lingering for a moment on your expression before she lifts her chin and laughs, dryly, almost nervously to fill the silence. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
-
Yuqi’s expertise, first and foremost, is talking. Go ahead, take a moment to consider how wildly dangerous that is, for a girl with a face like hers and a body like that to be good at talking. Every so often you catch her staring at you with her huge, beautiful eyes, these deep pools of pure anthracite; the sort of charming that keeps you smiling and laughing without even knowing why. She’s equal parts badmash and coquettish, you realize, and somewhere in the seamlessness with which she swaps between the two is a hint that both are facades.
(That there exists a third Yuqi, the one who determines which mask is appropriate for which occasion but who is otherwise veiled, obscured, entirely impossible to know.)
Whatever your theory for it, the charm, the innuendos, the suggestion, it all gets dialed up to eleven.
Yuqi suggests you stay for dinner in a way that is impossible to refuse, and Miyeon grumbles something inaudible, but you think you’re able to piece it together: this is a regular thing for them. Miyeon and you haven’t talked numbers or cleared up the bodycount, haven’t talked about anything serious at all—the most incriminating thing between you being Miyeon laying her head on your chest, cunt still full of your cum, saying, I’m really glad I met you—of all of Miyeon’s princes-in-waiting, you’d be a fool to think you were the first. And you’re willing to wager Yuqi’s done all this before.
“Hey, how do you take your whiskey?” she asks, pouring olive oil over a bowl of cherry tomatoes and chopping a sprig of fresh basil. If Miyeon wasn’t glaring at her, the quirk in Yuqi’s lip has you swearing she would’ve thrown a wink in your direction. Just for good measure.
“Neat is fine,” you tell her, and Miyeon rolls her eyes.
-
It’s actually not true that Yuqi kisses you first. Not the whole truth anyway.
“Hard to explain it in words, huh?” she asks, leaning into your space and nearly pushing you over the back of the sofa. Her knee is between your thighs, pressing up on your crotch in a way that feels good and threatening. She knows that’s the only thing she needs to keep you in place, so she leaves her hands at her chest, fingers toying with the top button of her shirt—ruminations of whether to unbutton it herself or wait for you to finally tear the whole thing off her.
(There’s a million different ways you could do this, but you’re perfectly content seeing how this plays out.)
“With just a few of them that is,” Miyeon says, drying her hands with a towel at the kitchen sink.
“Oh,” Yuqi starts, and her lips twist into an approximation of a smile. “You’re saying you two don’t have a label.”
“We’re coworkers technically,” you tell her, faux-casual, like it doesn’t beg twenty more questions.
“I don’t know; the internet thinks you guys are in fucking love.” Yuqi’s fingers come to a decision: slipping the button out of place with a little effort and resting at the next one down. Her neck is pale and tender and you’re only pulling away long enough from the glint in her big gorgeous eyes to know you want to get your lips on it. “And you’re telling me you wouldn’t be jealous—even a little—if I started sucking his cock.”
She gets jealous easy, is how Yuqi explains it to you, freeing an ounce of soft cleavage, a sneak of black lace with another button. Look, it’s just chemistry—you have it with everyone. Who can fault you for it?
“Hm.” Miyeon shrugs, looking put upon, and leans back against the counter where she spends a long moment with her arms crossed, before running her thumb across her chin. “Can I mention something?”
“Anything for our princess,” Yuqi says, finally touching you. Just two fingers at your sternum. “Right?”
“Why is it you’re never the one bringing anyone home?”
“I’m not a slut,” Yuqi says, straight-faced, and Miyeon’s whole expression goes awry. That’s probably where she seals her fate.
Not that you think for a second Yuqi had recused herself from the attention of boys, girls—none of it in short supply—and for all her “fidelity”, you refuse to believe the things she does with her words are unintentional, that her talent for seduction is somehow innate, something god-given.
“How can you be so sure?” you ask, fingers threading through Yuqi’s hair until she tilts up her chin and smiles.
Eventually there comes a moment where Miyeon meanders around the kitchen island and gets a hold of you. Figuratively and literally; eyes hardened on you in a way you’re not sure you’ve seen before.
Mine, is what she’s telling Yuqi in no ambiguous terms, hands hooking into the waist of your pants.
“Tell me something,” Yuqi starts with your name on her lips, “does she beg for it? When you’re fucking her, does she whine and cry until she’s collapsed and panting? Really, I’m curious. Does she look at you with those pretty eyes and plead for you to pump her full of cum?”
“Yuqi,” Miyeon says, kind of sharply.
To be clear, you’re not totally without blame here either, seeing the opportunity as it appears, seizing it for yourself—and you say the words as you think them: “it’s kind of her thing, I guess.”
“Total cumslut, right?” Yuqi’s hands are all over your arms, your chest, and you’re spread in both directions, reaching around Miyeon’s waist, and toying at the tight fit of Yuqi’s jeans. She leans forward a little, side-eyeing the way Miyeon’s lip ever so slightly curls when she enters that anxious proximity a breath's distance away from you, whispering: “I’m nothing like that, I’m so much better.”
“You’ve got a real mouth on you,” Miyeon tells her, watching her shirt fall down her petite shoulders. “You know that?”
Yuqi’s eyes are flaring hot, dripping with untoward intent, and they stay on you just long enough for her to make certain you’re paying attention before she turns to Miyeon. “I know you love this mouth.”
You realized it long before dinner, it’s true, probably long before today: Yuqi likes you, which, at present, is pretty obvious. She likes it when you smile, likes it when you rub your hand at the nape of your neck and laugh at her witty one-liners, likes it when you ruffle your hair just like you’ve done in front of the camera your whole life. Yuqi likes you just as Yuqi likes Miyeon, and she’s twisting her hand at your shirt tighter yet, hoping one of you might just kiss her.
“Miyeon,” you say after an inhale, commanding tone right where you left it, and it’s comical how fast both girls heel. Isn’t that good to know. Filing it away in a mental folder of sorts, you straighten yourself onto your feet, slowly. The thing that ends up flipping the table—the thing that has Miyeon’s expression of general discontent rally to something a little more impending—is just how much taller you are than Yuqi. And when that hits her, swallow visible through the hollow of her throat, there’s a waver in that deadly expression of hers, a weakness, something you can exploit. Your hand finds purchase under Yuqi’s jaw, gently, and you tilt her face toward you like you’re about to kiss her. Only instead, you run your thumb across her lower lip and say, “I don’t blame you, her mouth is gorgeous.”
“And?” Yuqi finds her composure quickly. “What do you want this mouth to do?”
“Oh, Yuqi,” Miyeon says, malice hidden under a voice tender and semi-sweet, before you can think to prepare an answer. She’s twisting Yuqi’s bra strap between her fingers as it comes down around her shoulder. “I want you to get me ready for his cock.”
“I,” Yuqi starts—
“Hm?” Miyeon asks, and that’s a pitch in her voice you’ve never heard. You’re looking over both of them enigmatically, ready to walk away from this with a clear picture of who Yuqi is, obviously, but then it’s the expression on Miyeon’s face—so unbothered, so lewdly satisfied, you have to know more.
“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m just gonna watch.” Yuqi reaches up on her toes before Miyeon can react.
Kisses you right in front of her.
-
It’s not really clear to you who, if anyone, is piloting this thing, only that it’s moving at near out of control speeds. And even though Miyeon’s bed isn’t even quite big enough to hold you all, that ends up doing little to slow either of them down.
Miyeon is between your legs, preening a few strands of glossy hair back behind her ear that have real determination to keep falling in front of her face. You’d offer to help, to get your hands in it and pull tight, but you’ve come upon an acquired taste for the blowjob Miyeon’s barely giving you right now. A masterwork in its own right: a certain finesse in each flick of her tongue, the soft cushion of her pouty lips, the way every gentle kiss finds you that much fucking harder in her fingers. She drags her tongue up, tastes the pre-cum weeping from your cock. Just smiles like she knows how bad you want hold her tight and fuck her throat. The glint in her doe-like eyes tells you that you will.
She gets it. Terror lives in anticipation, not the bang. That sanguine expectation of pleasure becomes pleasure in of itself. Her instincts tell her to tease, tell her to kiss and lick; only when you’re finally shuddering a wet breath through your teeth, does she part her lips around the head of your cock and start to suck.
She takes in an inch, maybe another. Slides her tongue slowly under your cock, and christ, her mouth feels fucking amazing.
You sigh like you’re stepping into a hot bath, and Miyeon’s satisfaction is equally palpable: corners of her mouth stretching around you into a pretty little smirk, something you’re more than happy to feel running up and down your cock until she slacks her jaw and takes you in full, past her soft, wet lips.
Though when finally you look up, you realize Yuqi’s barely on the bed actually—just one knee and it looks precarious—unfazed that she’s spilling off the end; working her hands into the bottom of Miyeon’s skirt like she’s done it a thousand times. She drags her underwear down her thighs, and Yuqi reminds you that she’s got the exact kind of wicked streak that’ll never let an opportunity go to waste:
“Oh,” she says, head up over Miyeon’s ass, blinking in admiration, “she’s even buying new lingerie for you, huh? I didn’t realize how head over heels—”
“Jesus Christ.” Miyeon’s lips are still half complicating themselves with your cock; she pumps her slender fingers around you in consolation, and murmurs, “do you ever fuck? Or you all tease.”
“Well if you insist,” Yuqi purrs, a mean tilt to her voice—because in the end, she knows that she wants to; that with her small body right between you, like this, there's plenty of her to share; that when it comes to Miyeon, there always is. “Hm,” she hums, slipping a finger or two inside Miyeon’s pussy. Your vision of it being the way Miyeon’s face twists delightfully, eyebrows sewn together in a perfect discord with the rest of her angelic features. “Baby, you’re so wet—”
“She loves the attention,” you say, and Miyeon’s eyes track yours while she lowers her lips slowly down your shaft once more. “If I had to guess, the only thing better than me fucking her perfect little cunt, is if there’s an audience there to watch it.” Your hand rests below Miyeon’s ear, fingers kneading at the back of her neck and guiding her just enough so that her tongue is flat and slick where you want it. “Isn’t that right, princess?”
Yuqi separates her lips from Miyeon’s asscheek, that heavy, open-mouthed kiss at the curve of creamy skin coming to an end just long enough to catch you smirking. She’s fucking the girl’s cunt open with her fingers, slowly, reminding Miyeon that she doesn’t have it confused—that she knows she’s nothing like the princess everyone believes her to be, that she’s so much more. “Always such a good slut, baby. Go on, show me how you take that cock.”
“How about you come over here,” you tell Yuqi, before looking back at Miyeon’s eyes, innocent and blinking like she isn’t taking you in and out between her tightly-sealed lips. “Help me cum in her throat.”
At that, you feel Miyeon’s jaw slack open even further, and the fingers she has corkscrewing around you find room at your hips instead. It’s hard to get over how perfectly submissive she can be, the way this always plays out; you’ve never needed anything like safewords, because Miyeon trusts you implicitly. Trusts that you’d never, ever hurt her. Trusts that you’ll get your hard cock in her and fuck her until her knees are wobbling and she’s practically unable to walk. Trusts that you won’t even hesitate when she asks for more.
Yuqi lands a few more kisses at Miyeon’s cunt, along her ass, and then, without warning, sinks her teeth into all that soft, pliable skin. Miyeon winces, something you can feel, a sharp moan becoming sealed in against your cock and leaking slightly between her lips like it’s the drool running down your shaft. Apparently the image of you firing off a salvo of cum deep in Miyeon’s throat is as hot as it sounds, because Yuqi is grinning like a cheshire cat as she slides off the bed. “I just hope you realize you’re on the docket for quite a lot here.”
“What’s that, high expectations?”
“A lot more than a throatpie,” Yuqi says, hopping onto the bed next to where you’re sitting, where you’re slowly fucking Miyeon’s mouth. Each time you lift her face up and down the length of your cock, you feel the back of her throat, start to catalog the noises she makes as she starts to slobber onto you.
“Yeah,” you say, fisting a second hand into Miyeon’s hair. “I was kind of counting on it.”
“Go figure.” Yuqi’s voice is low and raspy, right into your junction where your shoulder meets your neck. She reaches an arm around you, leaving ephemeral kisses at your jaw, your cheek, getting her lips right next to your ear, where she whispers, “you’re actually kinda depraved.”
“Well, welcome to showbiz, I guess.”
“Hm,” Yuqi says, watching you shudder as her fingers arrive around the base of your cock, fucking you with them in tandem as you sleeve yourself in out of Miyeon’s hot mouth like she’s some toy to be used, to be fucked, to be ruined.
Your mouth opens and closes, twice, before sputtering, “I’m actually—”
“One of the normal ones?” Yuqi tightens her grip. She’s picking up all that slick drool and precum where it threatens to leak onto your waist, and it makes her touch every bit as life-endingly-incredible as the tight fit of Miyeon’s mouth. The combination of which has you groaning audibly.
“Yeah, sure,” you breathe, “something like that.”
“And a narcissist too.” Yuqi pulls at your face to unstick your gaze from the sight of your cock disappearing between Miyeon’s soft, pretty lips. You recognize the touch of her hand as it wanders down to your balls, gently, but still very much present. And right after the silence stretches, just a little too far, she says, “aren’t you two just perfect for eachother.”
Yuqi kisses you hard. These sweltering, stinging, asphyxiating kisses that grab at your lips with no intention of letting go, and everything becomes oddly quiet. All you can hear, outside of those messy, strangled sounds from Miyeon’s throat as you fuck your cock into it, is the dull pulse of blood rushing through your head. It’s as if the two of them are pleasure in resonance, channeling onto the same wavelength: Miyeon’s tongue is doing just about fucking everything each time you pull your throbbing cock out of her throat, and she slips it past her lips—starts lapping—when you weave your fingers in her hair even tighter. She gets messier, sloppier, her composure fading like it’s the mascara beneath her eyes. You can feel the flutter of her lashes against your waist right as you pull her mouth back down your shaft. It’s hot and wet and you don’t even realize you start bucking your hips, dragging Miyeon’s lips around your cock quickly, quicker, quicker—
“God,” you mutter, final threads torn apart, and that’s the exact reaction that has Yuqi smiling against your teeth, whispering into your lips, can feel you fucking throbbing. Cum in her for me, cum in her throat. Cum.
Mnnph.
Yeah, that’ll push you right to the edge, teetering. In freefall, actually, jaw snapping shut first—fingers shortly after—you tug hard at where you’ve gathered slipshod pigtails of shimmering, silky-smooth hair, and Miyeon quite nearly chokes as you release everything into her mouth, deluge-like. You’re going to make a mess, you think. You’ll make more.
Mmnnppph.
Okay, it’s filthy is what it is; the sounds of it alone are fucking filthy. That seal of soft lips around you starts to break, leaving you with the flood of cum and spit spilling down your cock and into Yuqi’s fingers as Miyeon gasps at an overwhelmingly desperate draw of air. The struggle to swallow you down is beyond unreasonable, but she brings her mouth back onto you again—closes her eyes and sucks.
“All of it,” Yuqi whispers still. That’s the kick, and your whole body commits to sighing as she jerks your cock into the wet heat of Miyeon’s mouth. She twists gently, pumping, pulling, fucking every last bit of tension out of your muscles and draining it thoroughly into Miyeon’s throat.
(So that’s what you like, is how you think Yuqi says it, eyes studying your torn expression in equal parts apathy and awe.
She licks your cum off the sharp edge of her knuckles, from between her fingers, and she glances down at where Miyeon is still lapping her tongue at sensitive skin and sucking and cleaning you between her lips. Her lipstick is smeared, makeup running, with tears visible at the ends of her lashes, her cheeks still burning hot and embered. Miyeon looks perfect in many ways, but only flawless in one.)
“Good lord.” Yuqi’s eyes are creased in laughter near the end of your recovery, lighting fast and pulling you over Miyeon’s delicate frame. It’s the kind of laughter that’s genuine and contagious. Sweetly harmonic.
Calling you to join in while you glide your cock between Miyeon’s thighs and press the small of her back into her mattress until she’s practically prone to the bed, tight little ass angled up, proffering, and simply begging for you to pound away.
“And I mean this in the most respectful way possible,” Yuqi says, with a hair tie between her teeth and fixing back her long waves into something more manageable, hoping it might be something you can pull and yank. What’s the saying—a brave man dies once, but a coward ought to know that Yuqi will always, always, always get what she wants.
“You two are actually really fuckin’ weird.” Her eyes are smoldering, lips quirked into a careless little grin. “I love it.”
-
“Alright, I’m going to have to ask,” Miyeon says, “do I need to be worried about this?”
Someone probably should be. The realization you’re hurdling into is that there exists both a waking up with Yuqi and a waking up with Yuqi, much in the same way there exists both a sleeping with Yuqi and a sleeping with Yuqi.
The three of you do first wake up together, just this ridiculous tangle of limbs that really only has one realistic conclusion, and when Miyeon reminds you—bent over the bathroom sink minutes later and cumming on Yuqi’s fingers—she has to be at the studio in an hour to refilm a few of her over-the-shoulders shots, and it’s not fair that you get to laze around all day, and that her manager is literally going to be here to pick her up any minute, Yuqi and you do the most natural thing in the world. You continue waking up.
You wake up in the shower, on the kitchen island, back again in Miyeon’s room since it’s already kind of fucked up anyway; Yuqi wakes you up all while her knuckles turn white around the door handle of the refrigerator, the back of the living room sofa, and it’s not really that convincing when she turns to Miyeon, one eye shut tight, and tells her, “no, not at all.”
Because when you try to voice something similar, your words get caught pretty deep in your throat, stuck and unmoving. That's become pretty familiar. It’s all pretty fucked, actually.
Yuqi’s on her knees in front of you, fist tight around your cock and jerking all this hot cum onto her face. There’s sin tucked everywhere into these pages. Particularly on her nose, her lips, her cheek, bisecting one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. You have your proclivities. The tendency toward destruction, toward ruin, and what is Yuqi if not a gorgeous masterpiece begging for someone, anyone to be just a little destructive and ruinous. She flinches every time it hits her, pumping her fingers around your cock again until a rope of creamy white flies right into her pink hair.
We’re fine, is what you tell Miyeon, huffing and repeating yourself: “We’re fine, I’ll catch you later.”
Miyeon crosses her arms, and that’s when it becomes a little clearer. The juxtaposition here is striking and immediate: black heels, black leggings, pencil skirt, prim and pressed white-collared shirt, the cute little suit jacket that fits barely over her dainty shoulders—she’s dressed head to toe in business casual like she’s about to put in eight hours hole-punching or making copies or writing emails and it’s so effortlessly sexy that the only thing that could possibly distract you from it—
“He’ll be fine,” Yuqi says, not even chagrined in the slightest that she’s fucking covered in cum. You watch her stand up, wipe her eyelashes free of mess with the back of her forearm, and start leading you to the window with her wrist still flexing out tiny motions around your cock. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Just a reminder,” Miyeon shouts, even-pitch and tone slightly indignant, which makes a lot of sense. “You promised you’d sit in for my line reads.”
“And I will.”
It’s almost idiotic—here you are, the expert in the room, a professional in spinning ludicrous little lies, purveyor of fantasy and fiction and fuck if it’s not obvious that you’re planning on fucking Yuqi’s pretty little cunt until you’re both forgetting how to function. Miyeon reads that from across the room. From where the stench of sex is so heavy it’s probably hitting her too.
“Oh relax princess,” Yuqi says to her, and her lips slant to something more mischievous. Her shoulders are slumped back against the pane of glass and she’s rubbing the head of your cock through the soaked folds of her pussy. Neither of you are in search of ideas, for inspiration. Want for nothing. You’ll fucking ruin this little cunt—get me screaming and so addled I can’t speak straight, Yuqi’s telling you with just the corner of her mouth, curling.
You grab hold of Yuqi, grappling with her for a moment before you spin her around in your hands—until her tits are plastered onto the window. It’s a show of force, a drill in shock and awe admittedly, but also you’ve got two perfect rows of bite marks above your collarbone. Honest to god, a full dental record, right in your shoulder. You sense the inspiration in it. Yuqi fucks like there’s inspiration in it, like she’s trying to kill you, in a way, but you’re paid for maintaining an image just a tad more wholesome than that. Ideally with a little less blood where a camera could catch it.
“Jesus christ,” Miyeon says, tapping away at her phone. “You guys are gross.”
“He promised. Didn’t he?” Yuqi mutters against the pane, the condensation in her breath fogging immediately. If that isn’t a perfect preview of what you’ll do to her. Perfectly premeditated by the way she fucking keens when you slip back inside her tight cunt. And Miyeon is very unimpressed with all of it: “Yeah okay, whatever, I don’t care, stay hydrated or something. I’m going to wait downstairs.”
“Told you,” Yuqi purrs, grinning all over you, in the breadth of quiet that the door leaves slamming shut behind Miyeon—stage exit, fade to black; you know that sometimes the magic of film isn’t what’s shown on camera, but rather what isn’t.
“Told me what?” you ask, still enthralled by how Yuqi is so small underneath you, how when you’re both reaching for control, you don’t really even care if she beats you to the draw.
She gets jealous, Yuqi’s trying to explain, in between the sounds of you fucking her open and raw. You hesitate. Like you haven’t always had that effect on people, blossomed into blessing, complexed into curse. You reach your hand up Yuqi’s ribs, her chest, around her throat, and let your words bite at her ear: “oh, I think you will too.”
-
“I get hate mail,” you tell Miyeon. You’re on set the following week, ducking out of the path of a mic boom that is swinging way too fucking low, and there’s this story trending that heavily suggests you and Miyeon are knocking boots and it has a few disheartened fans absolutely outraged. “Like physical hate mail, in envelopes and stamped and everything.”
“It’s because of the stubble,” she says, rubbing a finger under your jaw. The girl in charge of costuming is adamant that beard prosthetics are lazy and cheap and you are neither. Even if you need it for only one scene. “It makes you look…”
“Uncouth?”
“Rakish,” she says, blinking. And as an afterthought: “Like, of all your thoughts, the one you have of pulling my shirt up and kissing at my tits until they’re sore is somehow the least vulgar.”
Her shoulders pull up into the slightest shrug. “I mean I’m into it,” she adds.
“That’s not fair,” you tell her, “I’m not considering anything like that.”
Miyeon pulls you aside and up one of set’s staircases to nowhere, fingers warm at the crook of your elbow, and says, “well, it’s all I can fucking think about.”
-
Take a second for some personal reflection: you’ve never really tried to make a habit of anything and at the same time been successful. When it happens, it just kind of happens. We are what we repeatedly do.
In a way, it all started in public, this thing between you and Miyeon. Your roots are here, out with the blurs of passing people, daring to be seen, to be recognized, to be identified. You had long thought—and think, you do, particularly when doing the unthinkable—that a girl like Miyeon would steer away from the prospect; fucking you instead in private, comfort realized in the security of drawn curtains and shuttered blinds. A stark contrast to the part of your lives lived out in the open, subject to scrutiny and skepticism, unguarded from microscopic observation.
She only has everything to lose, you understand. And you aren’t more than a few paces behind her either. Reckless, she’s muttering while you sink to your knees and get your fingers up her skirt, so reckless—like this whole thing isn’t her idea.
The crazy part about all this that you actually do get caught. Not just one time either.
You’ll bring it up in discussion with Soyeon later, when you run into her at the movie’s premier event and you’ve realized the value of having a good confidant:
“I literally told you one thing,” she’ll say, hands on her hips and looking like the mother that has to call the school, has to call the parent of the window you’d shattered with a baseball. It’ll all be highly disappointing. You are unbelievable—is what she won’t be able to say, even though she’ll really, really want to—I told you not to sleep with Miyeon and you slept with Miyeon why would you sleep with Miyeon you absolute moron.
-
There’s the time on set: in a fucking storage closet of all places. You’ve got Miyeon laid back on a table, fucking her slowly. Her panties are in her mouth, and the toes of her foot are curling against your cheek. It starts with a kiss, which most people might consider poetic, just your lips against a heel, the narrow bend of her arch to where she’s got her delicate toes perfectly colored in pastel white; Miyeon’s too cock-addled to do anything like comment on the fact you take them between your lips, slowly, and again, sucking, kissing her feet until she laughs at the way it tickles.
“Oh my god,” a voice says. One of the production assistants. “Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry.”
-
There’s the time in the woods near where you’re shooting a few of the outdoor scenes. You’re stepping out of a tall brush, and Miyeon’s cheeks are so red, glistening in sweat and cum and there’s a technician running an extension cord to god knows where to hook up more lights to the rigging.
“Um,” he says, just staring and unwinding more cord.
“We were looking for her earring,” you tell him.
“In the fucking woods?” He laughs out loud, just this self-amused grunt of a laugh. “Did you find it?”
You actually can’t look him in the eye, and Miyeon is just standing there, mortified. Your forehead creases a puzzled line and you say, with absolute conviction: yes.
-
“Jesus christ, Miyeon.” You swivel on your stool in your dressing room. Think possibly to kneel, but you know what might happen if she sees you on your knees, supplicating.
Let the record show, you and Miyeon are on day six of your self-imposed moratorium—the ban that prohibits the two of you fucking eachother at work, so it’s not like it’s the fastest capitulation in the world either.
Miyeon does a spin, pleated hem of a navy blue plaid skirt flaring out to the sides—how do I look?
There are answers in your throat, no doubt—like sin, like fantasy, like a submissive, fuckable fantasy. Like it should be illegal.
“Uh—I mean,” you nearly stammer, massaging your thumb into your temple. It’s certainly not natural for you to be here, on the back foot, and it has Miyeon’s mouth slanting into a predictable smirk. In an almost inexcusably banal act, she puts a fingernail to her teeth and shimmies her waist so that you’re lost to the moment, tracking how the skirt’s fabric ruffles between her legs.
Is it the fact that some maniac in costume has gone and put her in a school uniform?
Yes.
That's a great deal of what’s going on here, which is a whole fucking lot. Is it the way her shoulders vanish in a tailored blazer with a nostalgia-inducing insignia above the breast pocket—her fingers poking out from the cuffs and toying at the lapels? Is it that the dress shirt beneath it is made of the cheapest cotton one could find (because the thing doesn’t really need to hold up over multiple washes) so you can see how her stomach flattens, that gentle rise in her chest, the sharp angle of her collarbones, all when the light catches it just right? There’s the stockings, dress shoes, a fucking ribbon in her hair and you’re ignoring the fact that the tie around her neck is a little loose and you might be able spin it over her shoulders and tighten your grip and—
“Cute, right?” She skips across the room and perches on your knee. Really selling it.
“I’m curious,” you say, looking for a narrow gap, something to stow away into, something that might take your mind off the fact that when you look at Miyeon, you’re transposing and overlaying images of an eleventh grade crush, and that’s not a mood you were prepared to be whipped into at just the flash of blue plaid and a charcoal blazer. “When was the last time you wore a ribbon in your hair?”
“Oh gosh.” One corner of Miyeon’s mouth frowns, ruminating. She hovers her hand up to her ponytail, twisting it gently until it bounces back into place. “It’s been such a long time actually, I don’t know, seventeen, eighteen years old?”
Okay, that’s certainly not helping. A more direct approach, perhaps: “what are you doing, Miyeon?”
“Oh,” she says, nonchalant, because isn’t it obvious, “I’m here to get fucked.”
This is trouble, and among other things, a perversion, you think, but your mouth is too dry to say any of that, and Miyeon leans in and places her fingers beneath your jaw. Tilts your chin and presses her lips to yours, gentle, feather-light.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand. Four one-thousand.
Shifting slightly, the inside of Miyeon’s thigh presses to the outside of yours, only ever the slightest movement, and it has you sighing into her mouth. It’s impossible to decide whether you ought admire her confidence or find fault with her gall. She’s a delightful lapful—and a handful, and a mouthful—so you’ll flirt with danger, abandon those last vestiges of inhibition, and lean into the former rather than the latter.
Miyeon’s breath lands against your lips, hitching as the kiss breaks.
“Look,” you say, lip smacking back into place when she finally lets it free. There’s a response, bubbling up from your gut, because on one hand, this is the exact kind of impropriety you were hoping to avoid. And on the other, well, nothing ventured, nothing lost—you suppose. Your eyes are flicking to the top buttons of her shirt, collar agape and that gentle invitation of cleavage snuck behind it.
“Oh my god,” Miyeon says, inches from your face, and she starts to laugh. “You have grays in your beard.”
“No there aren’t.”
“I’m serious.” She wraps her hand around your cheeks, and twists your face to the vanity mirror, like it’d be helpful. “Look,” she says, twice, pulling her lip between her teeth and staring at your reflection.
“Those are stress grays,” you amend, before turning back and shifting her weight more comfortably into your lap, soft thighs straddling yours. “Just to be clear, I’m barely any older than you are.”
“Older,” she says, smiling.
“Don’t have to dwell on it.”
“I mean there’s a silver lining to that though.” Miyeon’s fingers are spread across your face, thumbs gently rubbing into your cheekbones. She’s close enough for you to forget her manager is going to come looking for her at some point or another. “Just means I can call you daddy, and it won’t be weird.”
“Uh.”
“You know,” she adds, sliding her fingers over your ears and pressing a kiss into your jaw, “while we’re doing it.”
“No, I understood that part.” You give her another once over and firm your hands on her waist to stop her from grinding her hips any further into yours. “I’m not sure it’s age that potentially makes it weird.”
“Come on,” she says, letting her voice slip into that slightly deepened register that suggests not only will she disobey you, but you’ll love every second of it. “I know you love to play with me.”
“It’s not a trick question. What are you asking for here, Miyeon?”
“Sex,” she says.
“Yes,” you answer, blinking back at her, expression skeptical. “I was there for that part of the conversation. It was about sixty seconds ago, if I recall.”
She lifts your chin, looks straight in your eyes, and asks, “and?”
“I’m just trying to puzzle out what you're telling me.” You slide your fingertips past the waist of her skirt and onto her ass. The quiet hum of satisfaction in Miyeon’s throat says you’re getting warmer. “What it is you want.”
“Any ideas?” she presses again, the lilt in her voice filling you with hundreds—the countenance behind it providing even more. Her hips grind into you further, bucking toward your waist and silencing the anxious distance between you.
“Do you want me to touch you?” Your hand snakes around the curve of Miyeon’s ass, down to where her underwear feels hot and unmistakably damp, where you can feel the shape of her lips through the fabric and the heat smoldering between them. There’s a tiny wanton whine from her throat when you circle your fingers; a sharp draw of air past her teeth when you apply a little more pressure. “Want my fingers inside of you? Hmm?”
Miyeon nods almost immediately.
You kiss her. Slide your mouth over her lips and recognize the strawberry in her lip gloss and hold onto your exhale, breathing the same air. Her eyes open first, lashes brushing yours. “You want me to fuck you, Miyeon.”
“Want you to tell me what to do,” she says, and without even running the word experimentally around her mouth, without testing its taste or the way it feels on her tongue, she fixes her dark brilliant eyes on you, saying, “want daddy to tell me what to do.”
You’ve got all this about nature and nurture running amuck in your head to the backdrop of the sound of a large cable snapping. It’s dangerous. It’s not like you, you’re not the type, you’re telling yourself, and a lot of other rubbish that isn’t concerned by the fact that Miyeon’s here, fucking dressed like this, ponytail bobbing, ribbon in her hair begging to come undone—
Lock the door, you say to her, and she does. Turn around. Take your jacket off, and she pauses first, before twisting her arms from the sleeves and folding it neatly over the back of a chair. You’ve got a hand outstretched as she walks toward you; your panties, hand them over, and she reaches down beneath her skirt, rolling her underwear down her smooth thighs, her calves, eyes never once leaving yours—watching you watch her.
Sit.
Touch yourself.
Slowly; slower—
It’s almost ridiculous. You’ve hardly even laid a hand on her, and she’s got her eyes looking up at you like you’d just set all her biological clocks an hour forward, cranked up to ten-minutes-to-midnight, and replaced all her coherent thoughts with just one simple thing: how bad she needs you to cum in her cunt.
She’s settled at the front of the vanity counter, feet against your chest, head tilting back against the mirror, and she’s gently slapping her own pussy with the pads of her fingers, covered and wet in her own anticipation. Your hands are nothing like hers—these slender, delicate things—and it’s driving her up the wall. You’re spreading her thighs, opening her up, bringing the roughness in your fingers, the heel of your palm so close. Miyeon can’t help it.
“You’re such a slut,” you tell her, watching her shove one, two fingers past the glistening lips her pussy—biting back a laugh as she starts to fuck herself slowly for you. “And already this fucking wet.”
Miyeon just smiles, eyes hooded and looking at you with such perfectly sinful intent. “I thought that’s how daddy likes his little girl.”
(Don’t get it confused: it’s never been a challenge to play a character, to be someone you are not, to emotionally identify and aspire to the details of a part. But this is different. This is seamless. This is you leaning into that space, living in it, loving it. A physical part of you. Genuine and true.)
You grapple Miyeon’s wrist, pulling her hand away from the want of her pussy, denying her all of that friction. She whines, but puts up little to no fuss when you bring her hand to her face and clear your voice of anything that doesn’t inspire authority—deliver an order, sternly, with her fingers in her mouth, suck.
“Here’s a lesson.” You click your tongue as she closes her eyes and sets her jaw in motion to clean her own slick off her nails, her knuckles. “The only thing that goes in my princess’s cunt, is daddy’s cock.”
“In that case,” Miyeon says around her fingers still between her lips, a smile spreading across all of her perfected features—voice lilting, reeling you in, sinking its teeth into your skin: I think daddy’s going to have to punish me.
Oh, you’re one step ahead of her, thinking of all the ways how, and the sound of your zipper coming undone makes Miyeon's eyes go wide with want, with need. Her petite, perfect, fuckable body still locked away behind fabric, she starts hiking her skirt even higher up her hips, lazily unfastening the buttons of her shirt.
You tell her to put her feet together, wrapping a grip onto her stockings and pulling her legs closed—twisting them to the side and letting her heels clack together over your shoulder. The gentle motion of your thumb between her thighs gets her sucking a sharp draw of air. Always so vocal Miyeon is at the slightest provocation.
Your cock is harder than it’s ever, ever been; harder yet as you tease it at the folds of Miyeon’s entrance, pushing it against sensitive skin and earning you pleased little chirrups from deep in her chest, repeating, “yes, yes, yes—”
She’s only halfway down the buttons on her shirt, collar gaping open and lolling to the sides of her soft shoulders, sliding partway downway her arms, and then it’s that fucking tie still loosely hanging around her neck—so impossibly irresistable. The motion is practiced, near effortless: you slip right into the tight embrace of her creaming cunt. When she makes it through the length of a heavy breath through pursed lips, you sink even in further.
“Oh, this pussy is fucking incredible,” you sputter, voice come to reckon with the fucking bind that is Miyeon’s body, coiling beneath your weight the deeper you cock reaches inside her. “I don’t know that I could ever punish you. Maybe I should just spoil you, princess; get on my knees and make you cum on my mouth instead—”
“No.”
“What was that?” you coax, fucking into her cunt slowly, and your little girl growls at you. You can’t help but chuckle, making a tight grasp of the tie around her neck, and start to twist.
Miyeon’s flushed all over, eyes glassy, but emblazoned still, a spark of defiance in those deep shimmering pools that makes her all the more alluring. Her lashes flutter—whole body tensing in response—as your thighs crash into her, cock deep inside the tight grip of her cunt.
She feels amazing.
“Yes, please,” she tells you, huffing out the words and changing her tune as you begin to let her have you, let her revel in the determined rhythm of you fucking her like she’s come to expect. “God, yes, daddy please…”
It’s so easy to fuck Miyeon—muscle memory and learned behavior—so easy to sink your fingers into her ass, her thighs, her tits, wrap your arms around her waist and start fucking her so quickly it has her pussy so wet it’s not even slowing you down in the slightest when you pull harder on the tie around her neck, draw her writhing body into you, and start to use her.
“You’re fucking, god, you’re fucking tearing me open,” she tells you with her brows sinking over eyes screwed shut, “it feels so fucking good—tell me, do you like fucking me? Do you like fucking your little slut?
“Fucking love it,” you whisper against her ear.
It doesn’t even cross your mind for a second, whether she wanted to be fucked like this, wanted to be used and choked and pounded so hard her legs buckled and her muscles ached and she could barely remember her own name—she landed in your lap, flirted with this danger, both of you immediately aware of what all it entailed.
Miyeon didn’t just invite it, the girl fucking craves it.
Just like this, she’s muttering, voice barely rasping into anything audible under the weight of your grip, fuck your little slut just like this—bathing your cock in the delicious cream and slick of her pussy so that you might fuck it all back into her. When she starts moving like this, body shaking in quakes and quivers, voice woven into her mewls and moans, you know she’s so fucking close, only in want of a little encouragement—
“There you go, good girl,” you breathe against her lips, kissing them abruptly, before letting her weight fall back to the vanity counter with just the slightest release of the tie in your fist. “Cum for me, princess, I know you want to—know you want to cum all over daddy’s cock. You’re practically sobbing for me, baby. Go ahead, just cum.”
Sheltered somewhere in quiet of those sloppy, wet, lewd sounds, the score of your cock sliding in and out of Miyeon, is the strangled cry that sneaks out of her throat, gasping: “cumming, I’m fucking cumming, please, I—god.”
Accentuated by the fact that her arms are still halfway trapped in the cotton of her shirt, she can’t do a thing from underneath you. She’s near trapped under the weight, the sheer tempo of at which you’re ruining her cunt. You’re ripping your name in moans and prayers off her lips and she can hardly move beyond that slight squirm in your arms, writhe in the way you mold her to you, overcome in pleasure at how she’s left so full, perfectly remade to the shape of your cock.
Her fingers are splayed across your ribs, holding you, bracing against you, and none of it’s anything you haven’t told her before—so pretty, take it so well, your cunt’s perfect, you’re perfect, so good sweetheart—but in aggregate, taking the length your cock, taking all of you, she shatters apart.
Your hands are on her cheeks, thumbing strands of tousled hair ever-so-gently back into place, and you’re feeling the way her skin burns bright red, feeling the way she gasps for air in shallow pants, feeling her cunt clench hard around you. It’s the moments like these, where she’s delicate to touch, soothed only by your lips pressed to the tip of her nose, her forehead—finding comfort in the arm she swings over your shoulders—she’s so wildly beautiful.
“So fucking—” She lets her voice even out, and after multiple attempts, gets the words she wants in the right order: “so good, how do—so fucking good baby, how do you want? Cum. How do you want to cum?”
“Could fucking paint your pretty face,” you tell her, moving your hips back to life and fucking into her soaked, messy cunt slowly. The way you push a kiss into her soft lips—now wet and slightly swollen from how she’d been biting them—is a little at odds with the suggestion.
“Ha. I think I get it,” Miyeon starts, the shy smile filling her mouth taking over the shape of her ragged huffs and pants, “we throw daddy around a few times, and suddenly you’re afraid to cum inside me, is that it?”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s not it at all.” The fact that she’s recovered an ounce of resolve, chip steadily reappearing on her shoulder, is nothing more than a facade, and you’re drawing back the curtain, finding her body still wracked, plenty malleable, puddied and easy to manipulate with a firm grip around her waist. “Let me show you.”
“And just what is it that I’m—”
Miyeon’s voice breaks almost immediately as you turn her over in your hands. Her knuckles hit the vanity counter and her legs wobble where they land precariously on the floor. She’s so wet and well-fucked that the mess you’d made of her cunt is effortless to slip back into. You allow her more, pushing in as deep as you’ll go, faster than she can blink, faster she can think to protest. It’s the angle that makes her back arch with surprised, sudden pleasure. The depth that makes her eyes shut tight, a gasp not quite making it past her lips.
Watch.
She can see it all, in the perimeter of fluorescent bulbs, reflection staring back at her. The way her porcelain skin lights aflame. There’s sweat beading across her forehead, blonde hair darkening at its roots. Her lips are parted slightly, tender swell cushioning the bite of her teeth—her eyes are hooded, chin tilting, and she’s watching herself moan and curse as you start to fuck her. She’s perfect, and she knows she’s perfect.
You pull her skirt forward over the round of her ass, fingers sunk into the soft skin, and fuck her harder, until the counter is shaking with it, until she’s crying out, any concept of shame or embarrassment long forgotten.
“Oh, please,” she starts, settling into your cadence, feeling delighted at the way you fill her.
Her fingers are white-knuckled as she clings to the edge of the counter, and in between breathless little noises, these sharp gasps and whines or another, between the unyielding motions of your cock in her cunt, she writhes.
“Please, please, please, please make me cum again,” she barely manages, blathering and stuttering over her own words. “Please use this little cunt, fucking use me, fuck me, fill me—”
“Anything for my princess,” you say, and after pressing a long row of kisses into the curve of her spine—a heavy kiss of your lips into the sharp edge of her shoulder—you bring a hand to the back of her neck, the slippery-smooth locks of hair already bundled and begging for your fist, becoming your grip.
“Oh my god,” Miyeon mutters, watching her body bend to your will, arching backward into your cock and becoming flush all over. Her eyes flick up to yours, begging you to fill her deeper, fuck her faster, fuck her harder. “Daddy please…”
The way her cunt sleeves onto your cock is so hot, so wet, so unbelievably tight, especially when the fingers woven in her hair flex taut—and so does she—how could you ever think to do anything but?
You pull harder on her hair, tension building in the curving bow of her body, arching further and further into submission. Her face is close enough for you to kiss, to lean into her ear, to whisper, “Miyeon, baby, I’m going to make you cum again. Gonna make you cum all over my cock. Be a good girl for me and take it.”
Miyeon’s voice is flooded, drenched and soaked in meek cries. More so by the minute. She’s whining and gasping and fighting for air like she hasn’t been coached a thousand times on how to keep a clean image. Beyond the curses and filth, the nonsensical string of obscenities falling off Miyeon’s lips, it’s gratitude: “thank you, thank you, thank you, please keep fucking me, please just use me—”
It’s obscene, filthy, it’s practically pornographic–-all framed for her to see. Miyeon’s costume is still barely clinging to her tiny frame, coming off in pieces. And you’re sliding your hand across her smooth stomach, up her ribs and hooking fingers between the cups of her bra, until it comes down far enough around her waist that it simply unclasps and falls to the floor. Every time bring your hips forward, fuck your cock harder into her cunt, you track the movement of her body in the mirror: shoulders lurching, mouth gasping, tits shaking—Miyeon recoiling.
Even the ribbon in her hair can’t stand against the intensity of it, untangling from her ponytail and falling to the counter, defeated.
Beauty is a picture in motion, and Miyeon is nothing if not elegant. You slow your pace to admire her, hands at her breasts, her waist, still holding firm around her hair and curling her body into your control. She whines louder when you kiss her temple, rasping against the sweat building in her hair. “Make yourself cum for me baby, fuck your little cunt on my cock until you cum again.”
“God,” Miyeon rasps, nodding slightly against you with her eyes carefully fixed on her reflection, and she starts to roll her hips—fucking herself and choking back a whimper every time she finds where it’s mind-numbingly sensitive, where she’s wet and needy and begging for the hard shape of your cock. It’s unbelievable how desperate she ruts against you, grinding her way to her own release.
“Such a good girl for me.” You’re reaching a hand down to her cunt, the hot mess between her legs, and you’re slipping your fingers around where your cock is inside her, skating your thumb across her aching lips, barely touching her clit—
“I’m gonna cum,” she moans out, breathless, “you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”
A final kiss at the hot skin beside her temple, your nose in her hair—drowning in the sweet stench of her sweat, her sex—you’re telling her, “I know I am princess,” and when you release the grip you’ve made of her hair, Miyeon collapses, palms flat over the countertop.
It’s hard to miss, all written on Miyeon’s reflection in front of you, cheeks exquisitely red, lips slacking as she cums, brows twisting together and eyes heavily lidded—and that’s just what you can see. You fuck her quivering cunt, thrusts coaxed into this reckless chase as she spasms around you—holding tight to her waist, fucking her faster and faster until your cock is aching and you’re hunched over her, telling her what she’s been dying to hear: “I'm so close to cumming in your cunt sweetheart, you'll be so filled up and perfect that way, princess.”
There’s no mistaking it. Pleasure palpable in the reflection in front of you, eyes smoldering and holding onto you. The hold she has on your cock, the vice that is her cunt around you—it shouldn’t even be possible to feel this fucking amazing—is far and away too good for you to do anything else: you grab her hips, fuck hard and fast into Miyeon’s sopping cunt, and on a thrust deep and unrelenting, you let go. You can barely even register the way your cock pulsates, firing shot after shot into her tight hole.
Miyeon’s still stuttering and gasping for breath when she feels your cum pool inside her. Even like this, wracked, writhing, and barely held together, she’s breathtaking.
“God, fuck, it’s so good,” she cries out, face still spun in pleasure, in ecstasy, feeling you spill more and more inside her. “Can feel you cumming so much, daddy.”
And that’s how you stay, pouring want and jittery contentment into the air by way of your ragged breathing alone, for the remainder of the minute, the hour, what ultimately ends up feeling far too short.
Her knees buckle and if you weren’t still pressing bruises into her hips, she’d sink to the floor, a hot mess, a real meltdown of a girl. So she remains right where she is as you soften slowly inside of her, until she has to nudge you off. And as you finally pull out, there’s cum still leaking from your slit, and you catch a glimpse of more leaking out from between her soft, reddened thighs, just a few drops that land on the floor, enough to make something inside you tighten with want.
You kiss her one last time, and say, “c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”
-
“You need to come up with a better excuse than I needed to get fucked for when you show up like you are to costume,” you say a few minutes later, dabbing at Miyeon’s forehead with a handtowel. “They won’t be too thrilled with me messing up their handiwork.”
Miyeon leans forward in your lap, reaching around your shoulders and placing kisses into the broad shape of your shoulder. “I love the way you mess me up.”
You almost open your mouth again, to lodge a complaint, but nothing comes out.
(You’ve long avoided looking backward, the introspective stuff, the kind of thinking that makes your heart begin to ache in all sorts and manners of cliche. It’s difficult to look straight at the image, to take it in all at once—so full of regret and missed chances.
But for the first time in as long as you can remember, you believe in the things you’re afraid to say. As though you’re more than the weight of all your memories, that the darkness can remind you of where light can be. This is not the end of you, you remember, this is the beginning.
As though you fell so you could land next to her.)
-
It hits you in the middle of a workday. Nothing cathartic or dramatic about it like you’ve come to expect. Dramatic lighting, theatrical score, the meticulous scripting from a team of writers—there’s none of that; which is how you know it’s real.
Miyeon’s watching herself on the monitor.
And there’s a part of it, you’ve come to understand, that never quite goes away, like listening to how your voice plays back on a recording, the uncertainty, those pangs of doubt—but you wonder, if perhaps, Miyeon can manage to enthrall and captivate even the greatest cynic, quiet her own insecurities and enchant even herself. She nods every now and again, wets her lips with her tongue when she hears her delivery, and furrows her brow.
It’s not like that.
The sort of girl whose kisses can spin straw to gold—taste of liquor when she’s not even had any to drink—Cassis, juniper berries, gumdrops, sugar cane and molasses, all soft and steamy and sugary sweet. Quote, unquote. That’s what you said.
Don’t—
Please look at me when I tell you I love you. Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed, you will never be lovelier than you are now, we will never be here again.
The whole studio is watching it: the triumph of your lips on hers, holding her softly and kissing her like if you closed your fingers she might shatter into a million pieces. All they did was hold the camera, and it saw what it saw.
Miyeon looks at you, rubs your knuckles with her thumb and says, “you don’t like it.”
Something’s off.
“You think we need one more take?”
(It doesn’t really make sense—the fact that you can’t put a finger on it is bothering you more than anything else. It’s clean, perfect even; smells like a swimming pool: a bleached sea salt, a flower with chemical petals; and not in a good way. Looked at from another perspective, the scene is just as it’s written, as it was rehearsed, but you’re hesitating. And you don’t know why.)
“You think we need one more,” Miyeon says again, inquisitive.
You make a face, and Miyeon squeezes your fingers.
“Yeah. Okay. You think we need one more.”
“I suppose,” you say mildly, “if it’s not too much of a hassle.”
It’s not as simple as that. At least the way you see it. It rarely is. A better guy could probably recognize what it is you’re feeling and put it into words, but you are not a better guy. Spend too much time living on the words of characters and in the confines of a scene, you start to lose sense of the bigger picture. There’s you—outside of the frame, strangely unfamiliar at times, unknowable right now. There’s Miyeon, and she’s not just gorgeous and perfect like everyone knows her to be; she’s gorgeous and perfect to you.
“Here’s what I think,” Miyeon starts, staring straight through you, a pulsing rush of longing—the whisper, irresistible, magic that could make the sanest man go mad. You just want to hear me say I love you one more time.
Everyone’s eyes are glued to the monitors, witness to the story that is you and her, but you’re looking at Miyeon, directly at her, for once not even lost in the details—simply lost in everything, like a stone down a well. It does scare you. That of all things, she might be right.
-
The incident, as it will later be known, is more realistically a sequence of events, but no one has ever been interested in anything other than how it ends.
(It's always the changes we don’t ask for that change everything.)
There are just a handful of scenes and shots that need to be filmed on location on an island in the Maldives, one that is just about everything you’ve grown to resent. Garishly extravagant resort, beaches of white sand so combed and manicured they yearn to be trampled, and the only locals in sight are either changing sheets or caked up in makeup and hanging around the hotel bar from the twilight hours of the evening and into the early morning. A real lovely place, you admit, maybe you’ll come back never.
It’s as if the universe cashes in on your bad karma all at once via the series of unfortunate events: your flight’s delayed, a storm turns a three hour layover into a two day nightmare, your bags get lost. And the moment you step onto the tarmac, the heat punches you right in the gut, and upon curling over in defeat, the humidity figures it’ll kick you right in the head—this all, by the way, before you find out the air conditioning in your room is fucked beyond repair and the hotel staff have no interest in helping you fix it.
When a series of mistakes has you shooting a scene over and over until you’re pretty sure it’s fruitless—that the exhaustion has brought you to your knees—you quickly find yourself starting to slip.
Miyeon’s standing next to the director, watching the scene playback, and hearing her say, “that’s better,” while everything that could ever go wrong in the history of linear time is happening is the best part of this whole debacle, if anything, for its raw comedic value.
The absolute worst of it, however, is the gaggle of bumbling entertainment journalists (the lowest of the low) following in the production’s wake. There’s a lot a ground to cover: the movie’s nearing completion, the premieres, the fact that everyone thinks you’re screwing Miyeon, the fact that you actually are—
How has working with your co-stars, Miyeon in particular, bettered your understanding of what it means to be an actor? The insinuation, if it’s even an undertone enough to call it that, you do find insulting.
Though it’s hardly the question that trips you up. It’s trifling. And when you force a smile, everyone takes your pandering at face value. Now whether it’s out of envy, confusion, plain old cynicism, possibly a mixture of the three, or just because the part of your brain associated with temperance and self control is melting at the current head index of a million and two, is unclear.
But you fuck up.
It’s under your breath, out of the corner of your mouth. It’s not even directed at anyone in particular. The challenge here—the thing that will come to ruin you in about one media cycle—is that the damn microphone clipped to your shirt is still absolutely live, and it’s broadcasting every thought that should stay quiet:
Acting? From Miyeon? Hah. Swallowing cum maybe… but acting?
You fuck up bad.
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The guy coming home to me ✭ Carlos Sainz
Summary: Investing in a F1 team in the middle of your worldwide tour was very outrageous and threw many questions at you. But of course they didn't know that you happened to date one of the drivers in the team, until a concert in Singapore.
Warnings: None, I know it's so different of me.
Word count: 0.7k
A/N: Based off of this request.
You try to ignore all the camera’s that surround you, never getting a break whether you're picking up groceries or attending a big sports event. The voices behind the camera’s ask you questions that all revolve around the same thing– Your new sponsorship with Scuderia Ferrari F1 team.
It had come as a surprise to nearly everyone as you were halfway through your worldwide tour and decided to shake hands with a team in a sport you secretly loved. But they didn’t know that, and they also didn’t know about your months-long relationship with Carlos Sainz, one of the two drivers for the team.
The week of the Singapore Grand Prix had started and you had meticulously planned your concert in the same country and city as one of your favourite races.
So on the Thursday in which all the drivers did media work you sat in a stadium counting the hours until you could do what you love, with the person you love in the same premises. As you received free paddock passes they received concert tickets and tonight happened to be the day everything lined up.
It was a coincidence to people that glanced, but the ones that stared could have noticed it was more. Probably from the times I went to races and interacted with many people but disappeared with a specific someone or when my attention couldn’t be divided between both Ferrari drivers and stuck to one. The one with dark brunette hair and eyes that glisten the same colour. Full and plump lips that I enjoy against mine, compliment his smooth accent and delicate fingers that can show rough.
Apparently Carlos had been scrutinised about it as well, but listening to his P.R had paid off and he slid out of the situation easily. Therefore when you asked him to attend one of your concerts he accepted but with the company of a few of his fellow drivers. It was under one hour until you were to get on stage and the driver’s decided to give you a little good luck. You greeted them all with hugs, one lasting longer than others but they didn’t notice.
“You gonna do something special for us?” Lando asks jokingly.
“You gonna get a podium?” You ask in the same tone and manage to gain a chuckle from him.
You have to cut your conversations short and run off for final costume and makeup touch ups before making your way on stage. But not without Carlos sneaking his way through and wishing you a more personal good luck. He captures your lips in his and then mutter’s a few words against your skin. “Good luck Cariño, but I already know you’re gonna do great.” And in the time he leaves to get seated you stand at the back of the stage waiting for your queue.
It makes you beam at how the crowd screams when they capture your silhouette and even better when you actually emerge on stage. Through every song, you catch a glimpse of Carlos, his eyes always on you.
As it edges closer into the night you realise how fast time has gone by, in which you have reached your last song of this warm night–Karma. You put all of your last energy into this song moving from one end of the stage to the other.
As you reach the near end of the bridge you make your way to the end of the stage with your eyes stuck on Carlos’ it was more than obvious. “Karma is the guy on the tracks, coming straight home to me.” You point at him with a proud smile as red and yellow fireworks emit into the sky accompanied by the same colours of confetti and lights.
You continue singing but can’t hold back your laughter as the faces of everyone in the stadium alter, especially the drivers. They all start shouting and bunch around Carlos with wide grins on their faces, including hints of curiosity. Through the crowd you manage to catch a glance of Carlos and you couldn’t be happier with the expression he wears. His big smile as his friends jump around him and confetti covers them all. He catches your eye and mouths “te amo”, you mouth it back and let out a content sigh, happy that he is the guy coming home to you.
#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz#f1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fluff#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula one
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I had the time of my life, with you
Companion piece to the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au
✨Set in Abu Dhabi 2021, right before the race✨
A/N: So it turns out setting myself deadlines actually works lol. I still have a love/hate relationship with these pieces. But, I have a special place in my heart for this one because I had the title in my head since like the second week of the smau and I didn’t use it for any other chapter because of that. And also it’s an Easter egg because in the AD bonus part Y/N uses it as a caption for her Instagram post as an Easter egg for Max ;) we love a mastermind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little ramble.
You thought you knew tension. You thought, growing up like you did, you were more than familiar. The eerie silence, the glazed expressions as your mind tries to protect you from close the chaos is, the pit in your stomach, that heaviness of breath, that feeling of cold that goes down to your bones no matter the weather.
Fucking hell, were you wrong.
You’ve never known tension like this.
The garage is thrumming with energy. Everyone is going about their business quicker, deeper, quieter, than it seems like they ever have. The grandstands are filling up, music blasting over the speakers. There’s a palpable electricity in the air. You’ve been shivering all day, unable to get warm enough even in a jacket in the desert heat.
You wrap your arms around yourself as you wind through along the narrow corridors behind the garage to the small room that Max has been hiding in. For the first time in a while, you knock instead of going straight it.
You’ve barely seen him all day, he’s been pulled this way and that for a hundred interviews and briefings, ducking the Netflix crews who’ve never been so sycophantic. They made him a villain, and now they lurk like there’s blood in the water in case he becomes the hero. Selfishly, you’ve missed him, and when you’d said as much to Christian, he’d just nodded to the back of the garage.
“He’s taking a couple of minutes to himself,” Christian had said, fixing his gaze on you. “But you should go and see him,”
So you had. And as you heard a gentle “Come in,” over the noise of drills and loud dance music and stepped inside, you realised why.
This was tension, you thought as your eyes fell on Max. He was on the small couch, hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together almost as if he were praying. It’s like you can see every muscle in his body pulled taut under his fireproofs. He doesn’t even raise his head when you come in, but you suppose he glances at your shoes to know it’s you.
You close the door behind you, leaning against it. You’re not sure why, but it feels like you’ll bother him less from over here.
“Hey, champ,” you say, mustering a smile in case he looks at you. He doesn’t, at first. His eyes stay on the ground, and then, painfully slowly, his head lifts.
His eyes are still your favourite colour, his hair is still a bit too long, he’s still unshaven because he couldn’t be bothered even though he might be looking at pictures of this night for the rest of his life. He’s still Max.
“It’s a bit early for that,” he says, his half smile as delicate as yours. Yeah, still Max.
“Respectfully, I disagree,” you tell him crossing your arms over your chest as he looks up at you. “Since I can remember you’ve wanted to be a champion, and since I can remember, I knew you would be. That nickname is twenty years in the making,”
His eyes drop to his hands again and your heart drops with them. You’re trying so hard to say the right thing, but it was arrogant to think you ever had a chance. What experience in your frivolous existence would help you know what to say at a time like this. You wonder if you should just leave him to it as you fold your bottom lip between your teeth to chew at it as another shiver wracks your body.
“Twenty years,” Max says quietly, making you look over at him again. “It’s a long time,”
“Yeah, it is,” you reply, nodding even though he’s not looking at you. You edge closer to him, and when he doesn’t react, you take a seat beside him. Not as close as every cell in your body tells you you need to be, but as close as you feel like he’d want right now.
“You don’t understand,” he says with a sigh.
You don’t respond, because you know you don’t. You’ve never committed to anything, loved anything, lived for anything, like this. This dream of his has outlived marriages, outlasted memories, predated a friendship that feels like it has been going on forever. It’s the only thing Max has ever wanted. You’ll never be able to understand, because no matter how much you love him, he loved racing first.
“Tell me what to say, Max,” you almost beg as you reach towards him. You can’t even hold his hand, so you just place yours on his wrist, fingertips resting against his skin at the edge of his sleeve.
You glance over at him, naively hoping he will look over at you and tell you what he needs from you. Because you’d do anything.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “I’m sorry,” in a small voice the brings a lump to your throat.
You shake your head. “Don’t be. I know I don’t understand. No one can. Not me, not Christian, not Stan, not even your dad. You’ve outclassed your whole support system here,” you say this last part with a laugh, but it’s true. He’s alone now more than ever, he’ll stand on that top step alone, too. “We’re all so proud of you, you know,”
“I know,” he mutters, and it kind of breaks you how dismissive he is, even if you know why.
“Do you?” You ask him, leaning a little closer to him, but he doesn’t react.
He just continues staring at his hands as he untangles them, his left fingers curling backwards until they brush over your hand on his wrist, and you hastily slot your fingers into his as he lets out a heavy breath.
“Yeah.” He says, sounding more resolute this time.
“And you know that we’ll be proud of you, even if-“ you can’t even bring yourself to say it. “We’ll be proud of you regardless.”
“I know,” he says, “but it’s not enough,”
Despite yourself, you let out a frustrated sigh. “Max, I know that it’s not a trophy, but-“
“No,” he says, squeezing your hand to silence you. “It’s not that. I mean that it’s not enough, to come second.”
You grip his hand tighter as he lets out a laboured breath, his head lifting so he can stare straight ahead where the Dutch flag is pinned to the wall.
“We didn’t do all this to come second.” His voice is low and reverent. “My mum, Vic, I took so much from them. My dad gave up his whole life for this. You put your life on hold for this. It can’t all be for nothing,”
He’s never really said it, but you know what he means - this win is owed. He owes his mother a marriage, his sister a father, and his father a career. And none of that is in his gift, but if he can weigh a championship against all that sacrifice, then maybe he will be forgiven. Maybe for the first time in a long time, he’ll race with a clean slate. Without wondering whether he was worth the life he cost those around him, and the life he cost himself. And you want that for him. God, you want that more than anything.
You reach for him before you can stop yourself. Space be damned. You cup his cheek in your free hand and force him to look at you.
“Max, It won’t be for nothing.” You promise him, your nails pressing gently into his skin as if you’re trying to hold onto him. Like he might float away. “Not to me. Not to anyone who loves you. Even if you don’t win today, even if you never do, even if you shunt on the first lap. I had the time of my life with you this year. Being there for you will never have been for nothing,”
He wants to believe you, you can see it. But even if he believes that you all think that, he doesn’t think that. How do you tell him it’s worth it, when you both know there’s only one way for him to prove it?
“Do you want me to drive?”
Your question catches him off guard so much as that he snorts his laughter. You feel the air against your face as he falls back against the couch.
“I’m serious,” you say, grinning as you watch him. “I’ll put on the suit and the helmet and do the race for you, like Mulan. I did the track walk, I know where I’m going. Vaguely, anyway ,”
You’re making a meal of this mediocre joke, but you’ll do anything you can to keep him as carefree as he looks right now. With his head thrown back and the colour returning to his cheeks as his shoulders shake.
“Engel,” he says, his head lolling in your direction, “You really think you have a better chance of winning than me?”
You reach over to move a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, and his eyes follow your fingers.
“No, I don’t,” you say, letting your hand slide through his hair to rest on his jaw. “Because you, Max Emilian Verstappen, know how to win races better than anyone.”
Your thumb brushed across his stubbled cheek and he leans into it instinctively, just like the cats. The smile you give him feels more like one you remember, and the ones he returns reaches his bright eyes.
“Alright,” he says with a shrug.
He gets to his feet in one smooth movement, pulling you with him towards the door by your entwined hands that you’d quite forgotten about. He must have, too, because when he notices he squeezes your hand to get you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time all day, you feel warm.
“I better go and win, then,” he says lightly, pulling the door open.
No one will you believe you, but you know then that you’ll be looking up at him on that podium tonight, when he’ll be a world champion.
“You will.”
Tag list
@somanyfandomsbruh @eugene-emt-roe @reidsworld @max3verstappen @laneyspaulding19 @elliegrey2803 @inthestars-underthesun @jayda12 @gaysontoast @baw-sixteen @wcnorris @motorsp0rt @obsessed-fan-alert @lifesuckslife @luciaexcorvus @dumb-fawkin-bitch @lickmeleclerc @goldeng1rl8 @trentwife @mynameisangeloflife @princessria127 @mcmuppet @hiraethrhapsody @toomuchdelusion @lxclerc @lpab @lordperceval-16 @larastark3107 @bangtanxberm @random-readers-world @bladestark @allenajade-ite @ironmaiden1313 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @charllleclerc @kachoooow95 @bellalilo @samywhale @satellitelh @leclercdream @jamie2305 @illicitverstappen @vellicora @honethatty12 @sociallyinepludi i @raizelchrysanderoctavius @bellewintersroe @taylorslovesswifties13 @tyna-19 @jquinnmunson
#f1#formula 1#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#max verstappen fanfiction#max verstappen x you#f1 imagine#f1 social media au
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.•Velvette HC!•.
•.~Velvette x model!reader
•.~WARNINGS: smut! Velvette being velvette! Fluff! Sickness
•.~Love vel she’s so perfect and she’s mother
•Velvette definitely favourites you over all the other models
•She’ll even say it straight up “What your my favourite out of all these snooze bags”
•She lets you help her pick the fabrics for her next line
•Definitely asks you if you wanna get coffee before work
•Same with the coffee thing she will definitely text you “What do you want? Your normal or somethin new”
•Makes you stay late because she’s “Not done for the night” but really wants to hang out with you more
•Let’s you do her hair and make up and feel lucky this girl doesn’t let anyone do her hair nor even touch it
•Nicknames: “Baby cakes”, “Baby”, “Princess”, “Sweetie”, “Peach”, “Sweet cake”, “My fashion baby”, “My little girl”, “Doll”
•Her contact name for you in her phone is “Model baby”, why your her model and her baby so
•Definitely makes you go everywhere with her
•NEVER EVER lets you around Val maybe Vox but vals to touchy and no one’s allowed to touch her baby
•She finds the way you let her move you around like a doll cute and adorable
•She’s definitely doesn’t mind letting you be a little bit more ruff with her BUT she prefers to dom you
•She likes feeling in power of you, she likes making you feel small and owned by her
•SHE GOES HEAVY ON THE HICKEYS “Why’s everyone staring at you?” “Idk velvette maybe cause im a human fuckin grape!” “Oh well not my problem huh baby”
•Velvette is definitely into bdsm, she likes tying you up, overstimulating you anything really
•Same with leaving marks she’ll tie the rope tight enough to leave rope marks, she finds them hot
•Definitely into using toys on you especially if your tied up
•She likes you to wear shiny leather clothes finds it super hot “damn did I make those, fuck baby you look hot” she definitely spins you around and bites her lip
•She’s that woman that destroys you until your makeups ruined your voice is no longer there you can’t even think straight and say things like “What baby did mommy fuck you dumb huh”
•Calls herself mommy, and totally has a mommy/mistress kink
•Likes to sit you on her lap at meetings she’ll look the people staring at you guys and just go “What?” In her bratty tone
•She finds it funny when you boss around people, she likes the way you stick your index finger out and put and hand on your hip and yell at whoever fucked something up
•She’s a waist mover if your in her way of something she’ll grab your waist and move you over “Sorry baby you were in the way”
•Quick kisses in the modelling room, I can totally see her sowing the dress on you and just casually give you kisses
•Likes when you leave lip stick marks on her especially black lipstick marks
•Post small little appreciation things of you on her social media
•Your the only model she posts on her media
Caption would be like “Best model there tonight” or “Stunning girl breaks the media again” always praises you in the posts
•Dates with her are always fun, amusement park dates definitely to loo loo land, but she also just likes to watch movies at home and bake cupcakes or something
•She LOVES coming home seeing you in her clothes all snuggled up in your guys bed she just loves seeing you look all fluffy and adorable “Awwwww sweet cakes look at you, so adorable”
•Velvette knows how to take care of you when your sick she makes you homemade soup and brings you water and medicine, she holds your hair back while you throw up and definitely puts your head on her chest after, your her best model and girlfriend she has to take care of you “Shhh it’s okay baby cakes I’m here don’t worry”
•She feels lost when your not there at the modelling studio your the only thing keeping her from snapping at the other girls
•Makes you playlist its titled “Perfect princess” your perfect to her no matter what you do
•She’s a thigh girl, likes seeing you in thigh highs makes your thighs look so juicy and delicious she could just eat you up “Ugh baby I love your look today, The thighs look delicious too”
•.~AND WERE DONE she’s finally done, I love velvette down on my knees for her
Also
Credit to my edited!: @chiiyuzz thank you for helping me edit so many of my things!
#velvette fanart#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel spoilers#hazbin art#hazbin hotel fanart#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel lute#hazbin charlie#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#velvette x reader#velvette icons#valentino hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel valentino#staticmoth#vox#the vees#hellaverse#hazbin#velvette headcanons#velvette hazbin hotel#velvette x you
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Family Affair
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, violence, humiliation, biting, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your sister surprises you with good news but you find it difficult to be happy for her. (older, short reader)
Character: Curtis Everett
Note: Happy Curtmas.
For @the-slumberparty Naughty or Nice Challenge.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
Chatter buzzes from the front room as you brace the wall and lift your foot to unzip your wedge boot. You’re late and the guests are already in the throes of their celebration. You wiggle off both boots and set them amid the clutter of many. As you stand straight and gather up your gift bags and purse, you’re met with an unexpected sight.
You lift a brow, slightly confused by the unfamiliar man. He’s tall, his hair is cut short, and dark stubble adds definition to his well-formed jaw. His eyes are a bold shade of aquamarine but are glossed over with an almost indifferent gleam. He doesn’t say a word as your eyes meet and he just as quickly turns into the front room, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans.
It’s been a few years. You’re sure a lot has changed. You head down the hall, past the broad archway of the front room, and into the kitchen. As usual, your mother is there, readying another tray of finger foods.
She looks up from her intent work and gives a wide smile, “you’re here!” She chimes, “I was half-waiting for a call saying you wouldn’t make it.”
Her arrow hits the bullseye of your guilt. You haven’t been the most reliable. You can make excuses; the divorce, work, depression. None of that can assuage her.
“Sorry, mom,” you go to put the gift bags down and she stops you with a tut.
“Ah, ah, you go add those to the pile and say hello,” she demands, “you’re not hiding in here.”
You look at her, almost desperate. You love her but sometimes you wonder if that feeling is mutual. As much as she’s right, you hoped she might have some empathy. She’s been through a turbulent split, she’s had to start again, but she expects you to do it flawlessly. As she has anything else.
“Love you, mom,” you give a sheepish smile.
“Love you too, hon,” she goes back to arrange the spiral of cocktail weenies, “make sure you say hello to your sister. She’s so excited to see you.”
You nod and a real smile breaks through. That was the one light at the end of the tunnel. Your baby sister was always your favourite. Despite nearly two decades between you, she’s your best friend. In a way, you feel like a second mother, taking pride in her like you would a child of your own.
The front room is filled to the brim. Aunt Geri and Uncle Val sit on a sofa with their son, Miko. A cluster of similarly aged cousins stand at the edge of the couch chatting. Aunt Maureen argues with Aunt Kaya, and the latter’s husband stands by the window with a glass in hand and his mind a million miles away.
You always found yourself out of place at these things. When you were a child, you were the youngest one in the room. Too immature to understand the dialogue of your elders. As you got older, the other cousins came along and were too young for your angsty teenage self. Now, you’re caught in the desert between the eras; the retirees complain too much and the coeds talk too loud.
You peer around. A set of broad shoulders draws your eye in the corner of the room. It’s that same man you saw before. He has his back to you as he maintains a casual posture. As he leans on one leg, you see your sister, Adeline, gabbing to him. Oh, he must be with her…
As you drop your gifts under the tree, you mull the revelation. You suppose the assumption wasn’t obvious. At first glance, he’s older than her, or maybe he just looks it. She’s still a sophomore in college but you suppose that makes even more sense. These are the years she gets to figure it all out.
You face the room and stop as Aunt Maureen latches onto your arm, blindsiding you with Kaya as they close in like hyenas.
“There she is,” Maureen slurs.
“Not too good for us after all, huh?” Kaya challenges.
“What? No, uh, Merry Christmas–”
“Where’s Benny?” Maureen interrupts. You blanch, nearly choking on your tongue. The mention of your ex-husband has you breathless.
“Maur,” Kaya hisses, “remember…”
“Probably with his new girlfriend,” you say tersely.
“Oh my,” Maureen lets you go and slaps her forehead, “I’m so sorry. The wine…”
“It’s… okay,” you shrug. “Not talking about it won’t undo it.”
“He was such a charming man,” Maureen hums mournfully. You blink at her.
“His loss,” Kaya pats your arm gently, trying to clean up her sister’s mess. You know they all think the same. You had a good thing and you blew it. Even if you told them he fucked his co-worker, you’d be the one who threw it all away.
“Pity you never got a kid outta him,” Maureen sighs.
“Really, divorce has been final for a year, I’m good,” you insist and shuffle past them, “I’m going to make the rounds.”
“Don’t forget to have some wine,” Maureen calls after you, “takes the edge off disappointment, you know?”
You growl and shake your head as you stalk away. You wave hello to your other aunt and uncle, hoping to avoid a similarly humiliating encounter, and weave through the sea of guffawing cousins. You come out on the other side as Adeline beams up at her guest.
Her gaze is drawn by your movement and her face lights up. She bounces in place and throws her arms out. She rushes past the man and has you wrapped up in a hug. It’s kind of ridiculous how much taller she is. You’re supposed to be the bigger sister.
“You’re here!” She rocks you in her embrace, “eek! I’m so excited.”
You croak out a breath as she squeezes the air out of you. She releases you with a giggle, apologising as she steps back. She wears a long tulle skirt and a beaded sweater. She’s beautiful. You could never pull something like that off, even twenty years ago.
“Oh, oh, you have to meet Curtis,” she snatches your hand and tugs you over the tall man as he turns to face you. Those same vague eyes fall upon you, “Curtis, this is my sister!”
“Curtis,” you repeat, “it’s nice to meet you.”
You look between them with a brittle smile. He offers his hand as he returns the sentiment. You shake, his palm rough and calloused. Adeline vibrates with joy.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.
“And I’ve heard nothing about you,” you grin at Adeline, “Addy?”
“I’m sorry,” she cups her cheeks guiltily, a sparkle on her ring finger. Your heart drops. “I didn’t know how to– the divorce and–”
“Ad,” you wisp and nearly sway on your feet, “what is that?”
You point to her hand and she quickly swipes it away, hiding it behind her back. “Nothing,” she gulps, the same way she did when she was a child and you caught her playing with your makeup.
There’s a tense silence as you gape in shock. Your mouth hangs open as you search for the words. Your eyes tinge with hot tears but you swallow them back.
“Congratulations,” you draw her into a hug, “really, I’m happy for you.”
She hugs you back, gentler than before. As you part, she looks nervous. Curtis clears his throat.
“Both of you,” you offer him a fragile smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little… shocked. Does mom know?”
Adeline nods as she clasps her hands together. You take a breath, and calm yourself. It’s not anything that she fears, you’re not jealous. You’re nervous, you’re afraid for her. It’s a big thing and she’s so young.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to share the good news,” you say, “I’d love to help, if I can?”
“We got it,” Curtis insists.
“Oh,” you wince, “I didn’t mean– I could help with the planning or the engagement part–”
“We’re eloping,” he crosses his arms, “we’re not wedding people. Whole lot of money and fanfare for nothing.”
You nod, holding back your surprise as best you can. Nothing? It’s marriage. Even if they don’t want a big ceremony, it means something.
“I could help pay for the trip–”
“I got it,” he enunciates each word as he sidles over to sling his arm around your sister’s back. She looks away meekly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. She’s my sister, I just want to–”
“If you wanted to help, you would’ve been around the last two years,” he interjects.
Adeline’s head snaps around as she gives him a look. She nudges him with her elbow and whispers his name. He glares at you as you wilt. You’re not sure what you’ve done or said.
“Well, I think maybe me and Addy can talk about that,” you look at your sister, “when you have a chance, of course. I don’t want to spoil the holiday.”
“Adeline,” he corrects you, “Addy is so juvenile.”
The benefit of the doubt splinters as his tone cuts through you. You bite your tongue. Perhaps a twenty-one year old is juvenile to someone his age. You’ll talk to Addy about that too.
“Adeline,” you force a smile, “I… I’m going to go check on mom.” You show a palm in deference as you excuse yourself, “we’ll catch up later.”
As you back away, your eyes meet Curtis’. He watches you with a scowl. You are taken completely off balance. How could she end up with someone like him? She’s so sweet and he’s so scary…
Maybe she’s afraid too.
🎄
Christmas Eve ends much the same as you remember. The elders sit around the dining table to play cards as the kids, now adults, disperse in the living room or outside to entertain themselves. There’s a vague stench near the front door that no one will comment on but everyone knows what it is as it wafts in from outside.
You find yourself in limbo, once more caught in the in-between. You hole up in the kitchen, staring at the kettle as you wait for it to tremble. You won’t be missed if you take a tea up to your assigned room without a good night.
You lean on the counter and sigh, your finger brushing over the brim of the white porcelain cup with the hen on it. Strange how your mother’s house never seems to change but your life is inextricably altered. Your melancholy dims the cheery decor around you as you wallow away from the voices of the merry.
“There you are,” Adeline startles you as she sweeps in, “oh, is there any of the hot choccy left?”
You smile at her question. Everything about her reminds you of the time passed, of her newfound adulthood, yet she’s just the same little girl you always knew. You turn and pull the tin forward, “one packet left, just for you.”
You pull it out and face her again. She pulls out a mug from the cupboard and sets it down. The kettle hums between you as it heats up.
She exhales as you linger in a tense silence. You both have so much to say but neither of you know where to start. She finds her words first. Despite being younger, she was always the more outspoken.
“Do you like him?” She asks.
You poke your tongue into your cheek, “well, I’ve barely spoken to him. He seems to like you though.”
Her cheeks bulb as she grins bashfully, “I love him.”
Your chest seizes as you recognize that glimmer in her eye. She’s genuine, she feels that love so deeply it consumes her. It’s a naive love but real nonetheless. The sort you can’t see for what it is until it turns sour.
“I can tell,” you reach forward to fix the bow on her headband, “I’m happy for you. And my offer still stands. Maybe if it’s not the wedding, a honeymoon, or help with a house…” you wet your lips and steady your voice, “I only want you to be happy, Addy– Adeline.”
“Oh, he’s just… he’s like that. I can’t even call him Curt. He balances me out,” she beams.
“Yeah,” you say noncommittally.
“What?” Her voice dampens.
“Nothing,” you distract yourself with the variety of tea bags in the wooden chest next to the breadbox, “it’s… a lot. I’m surprised, is all. I just hope it goes well.”
She sniffs and lets her breath out long and heavy, “I’m sorry, I knew– he kinda said you’d probably be upset. After Benny–”
“This has nothing to do with him,” you narrow your eyes at her, a bag of chai in your hand, “this is about you. I only want what’s best for you.”
“He’s so good to me, you don’t have to worry.”
“I can worry, you’re my baby sister,” you insist, “and…” You shake your head, refusing to let the thought escape.
“And what?” She challenges, her pitch squeaking.
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me. I can always tell when you’re dying to say something. What?”
You shrug, “it’s just… how old is he?”
She scoffs, “wow.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“It’s not like he’s old enough to be dad,” she pouts and crosses her arms.
“I know, I didn’t mean– Ad–Adeline, I just— you have time to figure it out. So I hope you’re not rushing this.”
“I’m not,” she snips, an uncharacteristic edge in her voice.
“I believe you… but what about him?”
She’s quiet as the kettle clicks, signalling the boiling point. You turn and drop the tea bag into your cup and pour the water. She tears open the packet and empties it into her own mug.
“Sorry,” you utter, “forget it. I… I don’t know him so maybe I need to get to know him. I’m here, Ad, and I will always be here for you.”
She nods and reaches for the kettle, not looking at you.
“Really, I trust you. I just worry about you,” you clap your hand on her shoulder, “you’re my lil teddy bear.”
She chuckles and looks down at you, your statement made absurd by the difference in your heights.
“And you’re the big grizzly, scaring off the wolves,” she kids back.
“Adeline,” the deep rumble thunders in ahead of the man, making both of you jump. You pull back your hand as Curtis strides in, “hey, I’ve been waiting on you.”
“Oh, sorry, baby,” she preens at him, “I was just–”
“You said we’d call my family after dinner,” he interrupts.
“I forgot,” she squeals, “oh, I’m so sorry.” She glances over at you, “I did promise.”
“Go on,” you try to smile but you’re not sure it’s showing.
She spins and flits over to Curtis. His eyes meet yours over her shoulder. His brows arch as his jaw is set in stone. A chill runs up your spine at the ice in his dark pupils. He grabs Adeline’s hand and drags her out.
You’re left in silence. You look over at the unmixed powder floating in the steaming water. You chew your lip as you stare at it. It’s just hot chocolate but there’s something about her abandoning something she loves so much for him. You try not to let your own failed marriage echo over her relationship, but it just feels off.
Well, Benny always did say you never did handle change very well.
🎄
The night before Christmas is rarely a restful one. Even without the childish belief in Saint Nick, you find yourself awake, anxious but not for presents. You keep replaying the night through your head; not the awkward interactions with aunts and uncles, or the silent judgment from the younger crowd, but Adeline and Curtis. Let it go, it’s none of your business.
You huff and roll on your back. Sleep eludes you. You sit up and bend over the side of the bed. You hold your head. You’ll sneak out the bathroom and hopefully an empty bladder will help.
You drag your feet across the floor, the legs of your pajama pants too long and trailing down your feet. You open the door and yawn as you enter the hall, only to collide with another unexpected barrier. Before you can react, you’re being forced back into the guestroom, stumbling as your fingers claw at the door frame and slip off.
A hand smothers your mouth, rough against your lips, as a foot kicks the door shut with a sharp click. You murmur into the calloused flesh as an arm loops around your back, trapping you as you’re urged further into the dark. You grasp at the cotton clinging to muscular shoulder. You’re kept off balance by your attacker’s certainty.
“I fucking heard you,” Curtis’ silty grit seeps into your ears, “you think I’d hurt her?” He snarls as he stops you at the foot of the bed. His shadow looms over you, breath puffing from his nostrils as he growls like a beast, “I wouldn’t, but I’ll hurt you.”
He pushes you back so your legs meet the side of the bed. You teeter and clasp your hand around his wrist, squeaking as he easily takes you down onto the mattress. He pins you, your legs hanging off the end, kicking weakly as his other hand curves around your throat.
He bends over you, straddling your chest heavily. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds until your ears throb. Your temples pulse violently and your throat dries to a sandy scrape.
“Stay out of my fucking business,” he snarls, sliding down your body.
You whimper into his hand as he drops his knees off the bed, holding himself over you. He squeezes your neck, choking out your voice as he drags his hand from your mouth. He feels along your chest and flicks open the top button of your shirt. Your eyes wet in horror.
“Fucking show you…” he sneers as his breath scours over your flesh.
Another button undone as his lips tick along your shoulder. You squeak once more as he sinks his teeth into your flesh, biting a mean pinch until you spasm. The pain is unbearable. You feel the skin break as the hot flow of blood mingles with his spit.
He detaches only to bite you again. You can’t make a noise as his grip grows tighter on your neck. Even if you could scream, you’re too terrified and confused to understand what he’s doing. He’s like an animal tearing you apart.
He lays a tortured path down your chest, lingering on the rise of flesh, gnawing into the tenderness there. His nails dig into your side, pushing up your shirt as he scratches hot lines into your skin. You push on his shoulders desperately but he’s too strong.
“Stop filling her head with your bitterness,” he growls before he bites into your nipple.
You shake and beat on his head, shoulders, and back. You writhe and wrestle, trying to free yourself from him. He continues on, down your stomach, lingering on the soft flesh as his fingers hook into the elastic of your pants.
Your panic overflows with your tears. This can’t be happening. Why would he do this? He could talk to you? You would listen. You didn’t say anything wrong, you just want Adeline to be careful.
The very thought of your sister throttles you. Does he do this to her? Is this why she’s so defensive? The idea makes you sick to your stomach.
He lifts himself, his weight centering on your neck. You think he’ll crush your windpipe as he looms over you, snarling in the blackness. He pushes you higher onto the bed, forcing your legs open with his knees.
“Don’t make a fucking noise or I’ll make sure you can’t,” he threatens, giving a last squeeze before slowly slackening his grip.
You hold your breath. You believe him. Your body goes limp and you close your eyes. The bed shifts as he sits back on his heels. He pulls your pants down your thighs and you whine. He hushes you, a harsh tap across your cheek to get his point across.
You let your head drift to one side as you clench the blanket beneath you in tight fists. He keeps your legs trapped in your pants, knees bent as the fabric strains across his stomach. He tilts and movies around, his fingernails scratching the back of your thighs.
“Bet the husband couldn’t stand your fucking mouth,” he snarls as he pushes roughly against your cunt. “Didn’t know how to train you.” He jams two fingers into you, jolting your entire body, “dry bitch like you, he was probably thirsty as fuck.”
You seal your eyes tight, tears trickling through as a sob bubbles in your throat. You want to tell him to stop. You want to ask why. You want to scream. You can’t do anything as your body locks up.
He fingers you meanly, pulling his fingers out only to ram them in again, each time his knuckles hit you painfully. He keeps it up, growling with each intrusion as your muscles knots and pathetic noises rise from your throat.
He forces your legs higher, tearing his hand away from your pelvis. He adjusts his knees and you feel something else against your cunt.
“No…” you whisper right as he ruts into you.
He splits you apart around him. You let out a holler and he quickly silences you with a crack of his knuckles. The back of his hand snaps off your cheek and turns your head to the other side. You gulp and sob, choking back any noise that threatens to bubble over.
He holds himself as deep as he can. He puts his large hands on your shoulders and pins you flat. He bucks, agony rippling up your spine. He snaps his hips, again and again, each time harder than the last.
“This is what you need. So fucking jealous, aren’t you? Dried up old bitch,” he pumps into you as his breath picks up, “why kind of sister are you, huh? Fucking your baby sister’s man. Fucking slut.”
You cover your face and heave. You’re drowned in pain and humiliation. You’re disgusted with him for doing this to you; and yourself for letting him.
“You don’t wanna hurt her, do you?” He growls, “that’s why this is happening… cause you wanna keep her safe, right?”
He puts his hand against your head and pushes it down into the bed, fucking you into the mattress. The frame pounds the wall, matching his furious rhythm. You reach to brace his thick arm, begging silently for it to end.
“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” he rasps as his hand once more frames your throat, “fuck, you got me ready to blow quicker than I thought.” He puffs, each thrust rattling your bones, “I love how weak you are.”
#curtis everett#dark curtis everett#dark!curtis everett#curtis everett x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#one shot#snowpiercer#au#christmas#naught or nice
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Text
Number Neighbors Pt.29
Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader
Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?
----
There’s nothing like the warmth of a home-cooked meal. Especially in comparison to the mediocre meals you were cooking for yourself. You like to think it heals a little part of your soul with each bite you take.
Your mother doesn't question why you suddenly accepted her offer home after months of refusing but you have a feeling she might know. She’s always had weird physic mom abilities. At first, you thought you could get away with acting normal but the look she gave you when you got in her car at the airport told you you’d been caught.
Since that moment your mother has been doing an exceptional job at distracting you and you’ll never be able to express just how grateful you are for her.
The few days that you’ve been home your mother’s been parading you around town, showing you what’s new and telling you stories of all the crazy things you’d do in every building, playground, and park. When you're home, your mother finds excuses to give you small brushes of physical affection and you don’t realize just how lonely living by yourself has gotten until you woke up to waffles and a kiss on the forehead.
You have a small inkling that she’s behind the occasional disappearance of your phone as well but you don’t comment on it. It’s a welcome break from the chaos of social media but you know you can’t avoid your problems forever and reality hits one afternoon when your mom is out grocery shopping and your phone dings with a notification.
You pick it up to see multiple news outlets blowing up about the upcoming press conference the government will be holding to explain what happened to the Avengers and you all but rush to turn the news on the TV.
There are a few unfriendly-looking government officials in suits and balding hair standing in front of a podium full of microphones and before any of them have even spoken there’s a flash of cameras from somewhere behind the camera.
One of the taller white men steps forward and the room goes silent. You’re on the edge of your seat with anticipation and you’re sure everyone else watching is as well. The man in the suit looks less than excited to be there and you can already tell by the look on his face that you’re not going to like what he has to say. Your stomach sinks in.
“I know this has been greatly anticipated by the public and I’m sure you all have a lot of questions so I'll get straight to the point.” Another camera shutter clicks. “ Around a month ago we approached the Avengers group about the amount of destruction they left behind after their battles. We felt the damage was too significant to let it continue happening, so we came up with the proposal that the Avengers agree to government supervision and limitations to minimize the damages.”
You let out a low hiss through your teeth as murmurs fill the conference room. You’re sure most of the Avengers wouldn’t have taken kindly to that situation. If you’re honest you’re surprised a full-out fight hadn’t started. It only makes you more nervous for what’s to come.
“Unfortunately, a few members of the group didn’t agree with our terms and have since fled to avoid responsibility” Your blood boils at the way he’s talking about the world's greatest heroes, like they’re teenagers who broke the neighbors' window. You’re sure they’re purposely leaving out details of their contract to make the Avengers look bad. “Due to this circumstance,” A woman steps from behind him and hands him a file and he opens it and begins lifting picture after picture “The following Avengers are now considered wanted felons. If you see any of them please contact your local authorities-”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as the room erupts into chaos. Reporters are shouting, cameras are flashing left and right and questions are being flung at the uncomfortable-looking officials.
You practically shoot up from your seat in outrage. The Avengers are wanted felons? What was the government thinking? Just because they wanted control over the world's strongest and smartest? You hated to think what the world would descend into now that criminals not only didn’t have to fear the Avengers, but could call to get them arrested as well.
Security steps in and the room calms a little but reporters refuse to let the subject go, raising their hands to question such an idiotic decision.
“With the Avengers gone, what are you going to do about the influx in crime?” One asks, and another white man steps up to the podium to answer.
“We will be doubling the police force in every state to ensure the crime rates go back down” The reporters don’t seem satisfied, another raising a counter-question
“What about supernatural criminals and weapons?” The man swallows nervously and you’re sure a cartoonish bead of sweat is about to trail down his forehead when he speaks up with less confidence than before.
“Rest assured our officers are being trained to handle any possible situations, and we will be arming them with state-of-the-art weapons” You practically groan at his words, and your phone dings with notifications from various sites. Your friends from the Stark party are texting you about their outrage, news outlets are blowing up, and your mother wants to know if you want any cereal.
You text her yes and respond to your other texts, tuning out the bullshit coming from the TV until pictures of the ‘wanted felons’ appear on the TV. Over half of the Avengers pictures are on the screen with the words “Wanted” under them and your eyes unconsciously drift toward Nat as a woman speaks
“We haven’t been able to get a hold of any of the aforementioned Avengers so if you have any information about their whereabouts please call-” you practically scoff at the TV. Of course, they couldn’t get a hold of Natasha Romanoff, if she wanted to disappear you’d never see or hear from her again-
Your head spins. A dangerous thought sneaks into your mind and despite your best efforts you can’t block it out. The government official had said they tried to make this deal around a month ago- around the same time Nat stopped responding to you.
With your heart leaping to your throat, you immediately rush to grab your computer. It wasn’t like you hadn’t considered Nat’s name being Natasha but you hadn’t wanted to plaster Natasha’s face onto this total stranger, and you definitely didn't want to project your feelings for your celebrity crush onto a real person who had nothing to do with her.
You never let yourself go down that hole, especially because the more you talked to Nat the less she seemed like the stoic Natasha Romanoff you knew of.
You still refuse to believe it until you can prove it though, so the only thing you can think to do is pull up every single publicized mission the Avengers have gone on and open your phone to Nat’s contact. You ignore the painful jerk your heart gives as you scroll past your pleading and Nat’s last “I’m sorry” text until you find the last time she said she had to go away for ‘work’.
She’d been gone for two weeks but still managed to send you a quick ‘goodnight’ text on one of those days. It made your whole week that she’d been thinking of you even while she was working and still chose to text you even though she could get in trouble for using her phone.
You scroll through the missions until you find one with a similar date. A mission in Eastern Europe that took the three of the Avengers two weeks to complete. It doesn’t state which Avengers so you brush it off as a coincidence and scroll up further, searching for another ‘work’ message.
Half an hour later you have at least fifteen ‘coincidences’ that line up almost perfectly with when Nat would leave you on delivered. You want to believe it but you’re at war with yourself.
Something joyful tugs at your heart and you shake your head to try and get rid of the images of Nat smiling on the other side of the phone.
The other part of you is astonished you’d even believe such a thing. Why would Natasha continue texting you? There was no way she’d trust something as childish as ‘number neighbors’. And if she did believe that… why wouldn’t she just block your number?
Although you suppose she did try and get you to stop texting her, you just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Suddenly all of her threats feel a little more serious.
For a split second, there’s relief. The weight of the fear that she’d ghosted you because she was tired of you lifted from your shoulders. The fear of never knowing her face or what she sounded like was gone. Instead, it was replaced by anxiety. The woman you loved was a wanted criminal AND an Avenger. You don’t know if it’s better or worse that you can read all of the texts in her voice now.
Your brain is screaming at you while your heart is frolicking in a field full of flowers.
The woman you’ve had a fictional crush on for years is actually the woman you fell in love with online, surprise!
Still, you’re worried you’re getting a little ahead of yourself so you try to calm down and scour the internet for more proof. You find an old video from when the Avengers did a live slumber party for charity and zoom in on Nat’s pajamas. Yep, the same gray as the photo of her pants she’d sent you from way back when you first met.
The first photo she ever sent you and it was truly a gift to receive but big deal- lots of people wore gray to bed!
The thought of gifts reminds you of the surveillance footage the restaurant promised to send you months ago when Nat bought you dessert. God, you really should read your emails. After scrolling through work emails and companies advertising their sales you find a very old email from the restaurant with the footage from their back alley.
You can’t believe you forgot to look at this.
Sure enough, as the waiter had said, you can only see a hoodie from that angle but you’ll take anything you can get. You pause and play the video at every millisecond until a sliver of a design is visible and you reverse image search until a picture of that exact hoodie pops up.
You pull up every single member of the Avengers’ Instagram's until you see a picture of Clint Barton wearing what seems to be the same hoodie only two months ago. It’s a stretch, you’re sure anyone could own that hoodie but at this point, you’ve already fully convinced yourself it’s her. You feel like an FBI agent with how deep you’re digging for evidence and the thought reminds you of one of the first things you ever said to her
“What, are you an FBI agent or something?”
“Something like that”
You were truly the world’s biggest idiot at this point. Natasha had been trying to tell you at the Stark party, hadn’t she? You knew the joke sounded familiar.
A sort of mirth sparkled in her eyes as she spoke her next sentence “Well I’m no FBI agent” It feels like an inside joke and you're trying to pinpoint where you remember it from but after a few seconds you shake it off and blame it on the alcohol.
Not to mention how hesitant she’d been to talk to you in the beginning. She was a super spy! Of course, she wouldn’t believe you got her number by coincidence. Did that mean that she knew who you were from the beginning? She probably knew everything about you from your apartment number to your first pet.
But…if she knew everything about you and still chose to stay and talk to you then maybe there was the smallest, tiniest chance she liked you back the way you liked her.
Why else would someone like her spend every day putting up with your antics?
All this time you’ve been wondering who she was and why she left you and now you have an answer you have no idea what to do with. It’s not like she’d be at Avengers Tower right now, nobody knew where she was. And she hadn’t responded to any of your messages. How could you tell her you knew? How could you tell her that you weren’t mad anymore? Will you ever be able to confess how you feel to her in person?
You don’t even realize you're crying until a drop of water lands on your computer. You were overwhelmed with so many different emotions; joy, worry, love. The idea of loving Natasha Romanoff was scary but loving Nat? Loving Nat was easy. And you have to keep reminding yourself that they’re the same person. That The Black Widow was a persona while Nat was her real self.
The sound of the front door doesn’t register in your mind until you hear your mother calling your name. You turn to look at her with your tear-stricken face and her expression softens as she takes you in.
“Y/n, what’s wrong?” she drops her groceries and makes her way over to you, wrapping you in her arms immediately. The way she says your name with so much love reminds you of the last time you heard Natasha’s voice-
“Take care of yourself, Y/n.”
The sentence only makes you cry harder and your mom soothingly rubs up and down your back. She doesn’t know you’ve just had the discovery of a lifetime or that you accidentally fell in love with a superhero. She just comforts you as you cry in her arms.
“Oh honey, it'll be okay”
You hope she’s right.
Pt.30
A/n: This chapter took a lot longer to write because I wanted to really get Y/n's reaction right- sorry it's late! ~ Starry
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