#sighs this is.. i have mixed emotions on it actually
Text
Make Or Break
Gojo x reader
Genre: Angst to Comfort
Words: 925
Synopsis: You get into an argument with Gojo
Masterlist
You and Satoru Gojo had always shared an unique dynamic. Banters were numerous, but actual arguments were a rare occurence. However, today's argument had escalated beyond your usual disagreements. The tension in the air was thick and overwhelming, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere in the room.
It started with a simple misunderstanding, a miscommunication that had eventually snowballed into a heated exchange of words. Gojo's piercing gaze bore into you as he argued his point vehemently, his words cutting through the air like a knife. Your own frustration bubbled to the surface, and soon, you were both caught in a whirlwind of accusations and harsh truths.
"Is it so hard for you to understand, Gojo? You never listen!" you snapped, your voice rising to match his intensity. "You act like you know everything, but you never take the time to truly understand how I feel!"
Gojo's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Maybe if you were clearer about your feelings, I wouldn't have to play guessing games all the damn time!"
The room seemed to shrink as the argument intensified, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Hurtful phrases were exchanged like rapid-fire, each one leaving a deeper wound than the last.
"You're impossible to be with, Gojo. I can't keep up with your constant need to be right!"
"Oh, please. Maybe you just can't handle someone who challenges you for once."
The words hung in the air, a painful reminder of the growing rift between you. The initial spark that had drawn you together now felt like a distant memory. The raw emotion in Gojo's eyes mirrored your own internal turmoil.
In the midst of the chaos, neither of you noticed the tears that welled up in your eyes. The realization of the damage done sank in, but the anger still lingered, preventing either of you from taking a step back.
"I need space," you declared, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness.
Gojo's expression hardened, but he nodded in reluctant agreement. "Fine. Take all the space you need."
With that, you stormed out of the room, leaving Gojo alone in the echoing silence. The weight of the argument settled on both of your shoulders, the once vibrant connection now strained and fragile.
The aftermath of the heated exchange left a bitter taste in your mouth, and only time would tell whether your relationship could cross these hurdles or if it would crumble under the weight of unspoken words.
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Days passed since the explosive argument with Satoru Gojo. The silence between you two hung heavy and the tension was a constant presence in the air.
It became a silent game of avoidance, with both of you trying to find solace in the absence of each other. However, as time went on, the longing for resolution grew, and the desire to fix what was broken became too strong to ignore.
One evening, the realization hit you like a ton of bricks - you couldn't let the argument be the end of everything you'd built with Satoru. With a heavy sigh, you decided to take the first step towards reconciliation. As you approached your shared room, your heart raced with a mix of nervousness and determination.
You knocked on the door, and after a moment of tense silence, Gojo opened it. His eyes met yours, revealing a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. Without saying a word, you stepped inside, and he closed the door behind you.
The room felt charged with unspoken emotions as you both stood there, unable to look directly at each other. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quiet but resolute. "We can't keep avoiding this, Satoru."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know, okay? But what do you want from me?"
"I want us to talk. Really talk. Without the yelling and the accusations," you replied, your gaze meeting his. "I miss us, Satoru. I miss the connection we used to have."
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, me too."
You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I know we both said things we didn't mean. I just… I want to understand you better, and I want you to understand me. Can we try to find a middle ground?"
Gojo sighed again, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. "I don't want to lose you, you know? But sometimes I feel like you're pushing me away."
The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord within you. "I'm not trying to push you away. I just need you to listen, really listen, and not just assume you know what's best for me."
There was a moment of silence, and then Gojo nodded. "I can do that. I want to do that."
The air in the room shifted as you both acknowledged the need for change. It was a small step, but a significant one. You spent the next hours talking, opening up about your fears, frustrations, and desires. Slowly, the walls that had built up during the argument began to crumble.
As the night wore on, the conversation shifted from the heavy weight of the argument to the lighter, more tender aspects of your relationship. Laughter replaced the tension, and the genuine connection you'd feared lost began to resurface.
By the time you both decided to call it a night, there was a newfound understanding between you. A mere argument can't demolish the bond that was built from years of knowing each other.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#gojo#satoru gojo#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#jjk gojo x reader#jjk satoru#gojo fluff#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo fluff#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru fanfic#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojo x reader
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Sorryy I completely forgot to specify 😭 Harry from Love Actually 🫶🏻 thank you btw 🫶🏻
Title: Inappropriate
Summary: You were his secretary, he was your boss, and yet, in that moment, none of it mattered
Pairing: Harry (love actually) × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Boss-secretary relationship, masturbation, pervert and smut.
Author's Notes: Well, here we go again! Thanks for throwing this request my way. Gotta admit, I had a similar draft collecting dust in the corners of my brain, but with a totally different character. So, I had to do some serious rewriting. Hopefully, what I've cooked up here hits the spot for you, but fair warning: I might've made Harry a tad bit pervy in this one! 😅 As always, feedback is welcome and highly encouraged!
Anon's request here
As you stepped into the elevator with Harry, your stomach churned with guilt, the memory of your mistake weighing heavily on your mind. You apologized profusely once again, but Harry ignored it, sighing irritably as he waved off your concerns.
"It's fine, really," he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation, "just forget about it."
But you couldn't forget about it, not when the consequences of your error were staring you in the face. Deep down, you knew it wasn't entirely your fault. You were sure you had booked two hotel rooms for the conference in New York, but somehow, there had been a mix-up, leaving you and Harry stuck with only one room.
As the elevator doors closed behind you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling over you. It was like something out of a cheesy romantic movie or one of those fanfics you read late at night in bed. Except, instead of swooning over your attractive boss, you were stuck in an awkward situation with a man who seemed to see you as nothing more than his secretary.
Harry stood beside you, his tall frame towering over yours, his hooked nose and glasses giving him an air of sophistication that only added to his allure. Despite your best efforts to focus on the task at hand, you couldn't help but steal glances at him when he wasn't looking, marveling at the way his tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and chiseled jawline.
But as attractive as Harry was, there was a tension between you that made it difficult to enjoy his company. Sometimes, you got the impression that he despised you with how much he avoided talking to you since he hired you. It was like he couldn't stand being in the same room as you, let alone having to share a hotel room for the duration of the conference.
As the elevator ascended to the room, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the pit of your stomach. You had hoped that the conference in New York would be an opportunity to prove yourself to Harry, to show him that you were capable of more than just fetching his coffee and filing his paperwork.
But now, all you could think about was how to navigate the awkwardness of sharing a hotel room with your boss, a man who seemed to barely tolerate your presence. You dreaded the thought of spending the next few days in such close quarters with him, the tension between you only adding to the discomfort of the situation.
And as the elevator ascended to the designated floor, Harry kept his gaze fixed on the blinking numbers, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He felt a mixture of frustration, attraction, and guilt, all bubbling beneath the surface as he tried to maintain his composure in front of you.
The memory of your mistake and the awkwardness of the situation weighed heavily on Harry's mind, but beneath it all, there was a deeper undercurrent of attraction that he couldn't deny. Despite his best efforts to push it aside, he couldn't shake the magnetic pull he felt towards you, his secretary.
As the elevator doors opened and Harry stepped out into the hallway, pulling his suitcase behind him, he couldn't help but steal a glance at you standing beside him. You looked nervous and guilty, your eyes darting around anxiously as you followed him closely.
Opening the door to the hotel room, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw the sofa positioned beside the bed. It looked comfortable enough to sleep on, but before he could offer to take the sofa, you spoke up, volunteering to sleep on the couch without hesitation.
Harry hesitated for a moment, torn between his desire to be a gentleman and his own selfish desires. But ultimately, he saw no reason to oppose you if that was what you wanted. With a nod of acquiescence, he stepped aside, allowing you to make yourself comfortable on the couch.
As you sat down, working to take off your heels, Harry found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you. He watched as you exposed your legs in that pencil skirt, the fabric clinging perfectly to your shape, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through him.
Damn, why did you have to be so beautiful? Harry shook his head, forcing himself to look away before he did something he regretted. "Well, um, I guess we should both try to get some rest from the Jet Lag," he said awkwardly, attempting to break the tension that hung between them.
You nodded in agreement, looking at him with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Harry cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "I'll, uh, take a shower before bed," he stated, his tone a little more confident now, "and then you can have your turn after me."
You nodded again, offering him a small smile. "Sounds like a plan," you said, your voice tinged with relief.
With that, Harry retreated into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Alone at last, he leaned against the cool tile, his mind swimming with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
As the hot water cascaded over him, Harry couldn't help but replay the events of the evening in his mind. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way about you, his secretary, but try as he might, he couldn't deny the attraction that burned within him.
With a frustrated growl, Harry shook his head, determined to push aside his desires and focus on the task at hand. But deep down, he knew that the night ahead would be anything but restful, as he struggled to resist the pull of temptation that threatened to consume him.
As Harry emerged from the bathroom, clad in comfortable pajamas, he found you waiting patiently outside, ready to take your turn. You exchanged a brief nod before you disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Harry alone in the dimly lit hotel room.
With a tired sigh, Harry made his way to the bed, feeling the weight of jet lag settling heavily on his shoulders. He crawled beneath the covers, sinking into the plush mattress with a grateful sigh. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, the bed felt like a sanctuary after a long day of travel.
As Harry drifted off to sleep, his mind still swirling with thoughts of you, he found himself succumbing to the sweet embrace of slumber. It didn't take long for exhaustion to claim him, pulling him into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Hours passed in blissful silence, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the air conditioning. And then, slowly, you emerged from the bathroom, your eyes heavy with sleep as you made your way to the sofa.
But as you settled down on the beautiful but uncomfortable sofa, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of regret that gnawed at the back of your mind. You cursed yourself for offering to sleep on the couch, knowing now how much you would come to regret it.
As you tossed and turned, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, you couldn't help but envy Harry, sleeping soundly in the bed just a few feet away. It wasn't fair that he got to enjoy the comfort of the mattress while you were stuck on the sofa, feeling every lump and bump beneath you.
You sighed heavily, resigning yourself to the uncomfortable reality of the situation. Life wasn't like the movies, you realized, and sometimes you just had to make the best of a bad situation.
With a weary sigh, you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, the gentle rhythm of your breathing gradually slowing as exhaustion claimed you. Hours passed in blissful silence, the darkness of night enveloping the room in a peaceful embrace.
But then, slowly, you began to stir, your dreams giving way to the hazy fog of consciousness. As you blinked sleepily, trying to make sense of your surroundings, you were surprised to find yourself lying in bed, the soft warmth of the covers cocooning you in comfort.
Confusion clouded your mind as you glanced around the room, trying to piece together how you had ended up in the bed. Your gaze landed on Harry's sleeping form beside you, his features softened by slumber, and you hesitated, unsure of what to do next.
With a hesitant hand, you reached out and lightly poked his shoulder, calling his name in a soft whisper. Harry grumbled sleepily, his baritone voice thick with drowsiness as he questioned what was wrong.
You furrowed your brow, your confusion deepening as you struggled to comprehend the situation. "Harry, how did I end up in the bed?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Harry sighed tiredly, turning to face you with a sleepy gaze. "You were tossing and turning on the sofa," he explained, his voice a low murmur, "and I thought you'd be more comfortable here. It's a king-size bed, plenty of room for both of us."
You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his words, the intimacy of the situation not lost on you. This was highly inappropriate, you realized, and yet, there was a strange comfort in being nestled beside him, sharing the warmth of the bed.
With a grateful nod, you settled back against the pillows, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you closed your eyes and let sleep claim you once more.
The next morning, you awoke to the soft chime of the alarm, the sound jolting you from your slumber. Blinking sleepily, you sat up in bed, stretching your limbs as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.
Harry stirred beside you, his gaze bleary as he reached out to silence the alarm. "Good morning," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," you replied, offering him a small smile. "Thanks for letting me sleep in the bed last night. That was really kind of you."
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze flickering away. "It was no trouble," he muttered, avoiding your eyes. "Besides, it's not like either of us got much sleep anyway."
You nodded in understanding, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. "So, what's the plan for today?" you asked, trying to change the subject.
Harry glanced at his watch, his expression thoughtful. "Well, we have breakfast downstairs at 7:30, followed by the first session of the conference at 9:00," he explained, his tone businesslike.
You nodded in agreement, mentally noting the schedule. "Sounds good," you replied, swinging your legs out of bed and reaching for your suitcase.
As you both got ready for the day ahead, the awkwardness of the previous night lingering in the air between you, you couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the conference had in store. But for now, you pushed aside your doubts and uncertainties, focusing instead on the task at hand.
The rest of the day went smoothly, with you buried in work tasks until lunchtime. However, once you and Harry sat down for lunch, he surprised you by giving you the rest of the day off to explore the city on your own.
Thrilled by the opportunity to discover New York, you eagerly accepted Harry's offer, thanking him profusely before setting off to immerse yourself in the vibrant energy of the city. Harry, on the other hand, opted to stay behind, citing a need for some extra rest after the long flight.
As you navigated the bustling streets of New York, your senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. From the towering skyscrapers to the eclectic street vendors, every corner seemed to offer a new adventure waiting to be discovered.
With Harry's encouragement ringing in your ears, you set off to explore the iconic landmarks and hidden gems of New York. From Central Park to Times Square, you marveled at the city's rich history and vibrant culture, snapping photos and collecting souvenirs along the way.
Meanwhile, Harry returned to the hotel room, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he collapsed onto the plush bed. With a tired sigh, he kicked off his glasses, placing them on the bedside table before burying his face in the soft pillows.
But as he inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of you lingered in the air, filling his senses with an intoxicating mix of desire and frustration. He cursed himself for allowing his thoughts to stray to you, his secretary, when he should be focusing on more important matters.
With a frustrated growl, Harry pushed aside the tempting thoughts that threatened to consume him, reminding himself of the boundaries that he had sworn to uphold. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the memory of your presence beside him, your warmth seeping into the very fabric of the pillows.
Closing his eyes, Harry tried to clear his mind of you, but your smell on the pillows tormented him, that sweet scent that drove him crazy because he couldn't identify it. Was it jasmine? He didn't know, he would only know if he felt it up close, maybe burying his nose in the crook of your neck. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Harry groaned in frustration, feeling the desire stir inside him.
Turning away from the bed, Harry sat down heavily on the edge, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for allowing his thoughts to wander into dangerous territory. It was just a perfume, he reminded himself, nothing more. He shouldn't get excited; it was inappropriate. You were his secretary, damn it!
As he abandoned the buttons on his shirt and kicked off his shoes, Harry's frustration grew, manifesting in careless actions. Without meaning to, he flung one of his shoes aside, narrowly missing your travel laundry bag on the sofa. With a curse, he watched as the bag fell to the floor, spilling its contents in a messy heap.
"Shit," Harry muttered, scrambling to gather up your belongings and shove them back into the bag. But as he reached for a lacy black bra and matching panties, his hands hesitated mid-air. Was that what you wore last night? The thought sent a jolt of electricity through him, his heart pounding in his chest as he held the delicate lingerie in his hands.
With a shaky breath, Harry swallowed hard, his resolve wavering as temptation beckoned. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this, but the allure of your scent was too powerful to resist. Convincing himself that you wouldn't be back anytime soon, he succumbed to his desires, letting curiosity and excitement guide his actions.
Carefully unclasping your bra, Harry's pulse quickened as he held it up, admiring the delicate lace and imagining the softness of your skin against his fingertips. And when he reached for your panties, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through him.
It was inappropriate, he knew, but in that moment, all Harry could think about was the intoxicating thrill of indulging in forbidden desires. With trembling hands, he pressed your panties against his nose, inhaling deeply as he surrendered himself to the heady rush of arousal.
He felt like a fucking pervert, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when the excitement was taking over his mind, blinding him to everything else. With each breath, he drank in your scent, his imagination running wild with fantasies of what could be.
And as Harry held your panties against his nose, inhaling deeply, he felt a surge of desire coursing through him, his cock straining in his pants, begging for release. It had been a long time since he had indulged in such forbidden pleasures, and now, with the opportunity tantalizingly within reach, he found it impossible to resist.
With a shaky breath, Harry rose from the floor, still clutching your underwear in his hand. His heart pounded in his chest as he moved with purpose, undoing his belt and pants with trembling fingers. As he stroked himself through his underwear, he couldn't help but imagine you here with him, begging for him, your small hand replacing his big one, your touch igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole.
Harry crawled onto the bed, still clutching your panties in his hand. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. What was he doing? This was wrong on so many levels, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop.
With a shaky breath, Harry took off his shirt and underwear, throwing them aside in a careless heap. He lay back on the bed, the softness of the mattress enveloping him in comfort as he held your panties against his nose once more.
Closing his eyes, Harry inhaled deeply, letting your scent wash over him like a tidal wave of desire. He caressed his chest with his free hand, tracing lazy circles over his skin as he slowly went down, creating the mood while indulging in the intoxicating aroma of your underwear.
With each breath, Harry's imagination ran wild, conjuring up vivid fantasies of you here with him, your touch igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole. He imagined you straddling him, your soft curves pressed against his chest as you rode him with fervor, your moans of pleasure echoing in his ears like a sweet symphony.
"Oh, fuck," Harry groaned, his voice thick with desire as he imagined your pussy wrapped around him, hot and tight, squeezing him with every thrust. He could almost feel the heat of you, the slickness of your arousal coating his cock as you rode him hard and fast, driving him to the brink of ecstasy.
With a shaky breath, Harry pressed the panties against his nose once more, his fingers trembling as he imagined your moans of pleasure, your breathless gasps mingling with his own. "God, I want you," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural rasp of desire. "I want to feel you, taste you, fuck you until you're screaming my name."
As Harry continued to indulge in his forbidden fantasies, his arousal grew with each passing moment, his cock throbbing with need as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating allure of you. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this, but in that moment, all he could think about was the overwhelming need to have you, to possess you, to make you his in every possible way.
And as he lay there, lost in the haze of desire, Harry couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever found out about his secret fantasies. Would you be disgusted? Shocked? Or would you embrace them, surrendering yourself to the same forbidden desires that consumed him?
With a shaky breath, Harry pushed aside his doubts and uncertainties, focusing instead on the overwhelming need that burned within him. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but in that moment, nothing else mattered but the sweet release that awaited him, just a few strokes away.
With each stroke of his hand, he imagined you here with him, your body pressed against his as he fucked you senseless, your moans of pleasure driving him to the brink of ecstasy.
"Oh, fuck," Harry groaned, his voice thick with desire as he imagined the taste of you on his lips, the feel of your soft skin beneath his touch. He could almost feel the heat of you, the slickness of your arousal coating his cock as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.
With each thrust of his hips, Harry's arousal grew, his need for release reaching a fever pitch as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating allure of you. He wanted you, needed you, craved you with every fiber of his being, and nothing else mattered but the sweet release that awaited him.
But then, as Harry's fantasies reached their peak, he heard the sound of the door opening and closing, his heart freezing in his chest as he realized that he wasn't alone. With wide eyes, he turned to see you standing there, your shopping bag dropped to the floor with a thud as you took in the sight before you.
For a moment, you both froze, your eyes locked in a silent exchange of shock and disbelief. But then, as reality sank in, you began to apologize profusely, scrambling to find the door handle behind you as you tried to escape the awkwardness of the situation.
But Harry's hand stopped you, his touch firm and commanding as he reached out and closed the door, trapping you between his body and the door. His chest heaved with exertion as he stood before you, his gaze burning with intensity as he held your gaze captive.
"Shh," Harry whispered, his voice low and husky as he silenced your apologies with a single command. "Be quiet."
You obeyed without hesitation, feeling a familiar tightness in your pussy as his dominant tone washed over you, sending a shiver down your spine. But then, as you glanced down, you noticed something in Harry's other hand, something that made your breath catch in your throat. Your panties, the delicate lace fabric clutched tightly in his grasp, evidence of his forbidden desires..
God, he was masturbating with your panties, using them to fuel his fantasies of you, and the realization sent a surge of arousal coursing through you. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sight before you, mesmerized by the raw desire that burned within him.
With a shaky breath, Harry stepped closer, his body mere inches from yours as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. "You shouldn't have come in without knocking," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural rasp of desire, "but now that you're here, there's no turning back."
You swallowed hard, feeling a flush of heat spreading across your skin as Harry's words washed over you. Despite the guilt and shame that gnawed at the pit of your stomach, you couldn't deny the overwhelming arousal that pulsed through your veins, urging you to surrender to the forbidden temptation that beckoned.
And as Harry pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss, his hand tightening around your panties, you knew that there was no going back. You were his now, completely and utterly, bound by the intoxicating allure of your shared desires.
But as Harry broke away from the kiss, his breath ragged and his chest heaving, he kept his eyes closed, almost as if he was ashamed of his own inappropriate behavior. He knew he had crossed a line, indulging in forbidden desires that should have remained buried deep within him. And yet, as he stood there before you, his arousal still burning hot and fierce, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
With a shaky breath, Harry opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and desire. "I... I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion, "I shouldn't have done that. It was completely inappropriate, and I understand if you want to leave. We can pretend it never happened, and I'll keep my distance from now on."
But as you looked up into his face, studying his handsome features and the vulnerability in his eyes, you knew that this was your chance. Your chance to walk away and pretend that none of this had ever happened, or your chance to seize the opportunity that lay before you and indulge in the forbidden temptation that beckoned.
And the choice was obvious.
With a hesitant breath, you reached out, your hand trembling as you tentatively wrapped your fingers around Harry's erect member, feeling its firmness and heat pulsating beneath your touch. Harry groaned at the sensation, his head lowering to watch the movement of your hand as you explored him with newfound curiosity.
As you touched him, slowly discovering what he liked and how he responded to your ministrations, Harry's desire surged to new heights. But it wasn't enough. No, he wanted more. He wanted to feel you, to taste you, to fuck you senseless against that very door.
"God, yes," Harry groaned, his voice a low, guttural rasp of desire as he reached for you, his hands roaming over your body with a primal urgency. "I want you, need you... Fuck, I need to feel you wrapped around me, begging for more."
With a hungry growl, Harry seized you by the hips, pulling you closer to him as he pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue delved deep into your mouth, exploring every inch of you as he devoured you with reckless abandon.
You moaned into the kiss, your own desire burning brightly as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating allure of Harry's touch. With each passing moment, the tension between you grew, the air thick with anticipation as you danced on the edge of ecstasy.
But Harry wasn't content to simply kiss you. No, he wanted more. With a primal growl of need, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the door as he devoured you with feverish abandon. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and contour as he worshiped you with single-minded determination.
As you wrapped your legs around him, holding onto his shoulders for support, you melted into the kiss, your lips moving in sync with his as the heat between you intensified. Harry's hand roamed over your body, exploring every curve with eager anticipation. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.
But as much as you enjoyed the foreplay, you couldn't wait any longer. Breaking away from the kiss, you looked into Harry's eyes with a hunger that matched his own. "Forget the foreplay," you whispered, your voice thick with desire, "I want you inside me now."
Harry's breath caught in his throat at your words, his desire mirroring your own as he nodded eagerly. "God, yes," he breathed, his voice low and husky with arousal, "I've imagined this moment for so long, dreamed of having you like this."
With a primal growl of need, Harry reached down and pulled aside your panties, his fingers grazing your wetness as he positioned himself at your entrance. You gasped at the sensation, the anticipation building to a fever pitch as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you braced yourself for what was to come.
And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Harry pushed inside you, his cock stretching you in the most deliciously sinful way. You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of being filled by him.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Harry groaned, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deep inside you. "I've wanted this for so long, imagined it in my darkest fantasies."
You moaned in response, the sensation of him moving inside you sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. With each thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge of ecstasy, his girth stretching you in all the right ways as you clung to him, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire.
"Harder," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you urged him on. "I want to feel all of you, every inch of your cock inside me."
Harry growled in response, his movements becoming more urgent as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. You clung to him, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you chased the blissful release that awaited you both.
As Harry continued to thrust into you with abandon, his movements becoming more urgent with each passing moment, you found yourself lost in a haze of pleasure and desire. With each stroke, he filled you completely, his cock stretching you in all the right ways as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you braced yourself against the door.
"Oh, God, Harry," you moaned, your voice thick with desire as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. "Yes, just like that. Harder."
Harry growled in response, his hands roaming over your body with a primal urgency as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension reaching a fever pitch as you chased the blissful release that awaited you both.
And then, as you opened your eyes and looked over Harry's shoulder, you saw the reflection of the two of you in the mirror on the other side of the hotel room. The image seemed almost mocking, you fully clothed while Harry was naked, pressing you against the door as he fucked you with abandon.
Your legs were wrapped around him, your blouse partially unbuttoned as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries that clung to your skin, you couldn't help but feel a surge of arousal coursing through you.
Strawberries. That was the scent that had driven Harry wild with desire, the sweet aroma that had ignited his passion and fueled his forbidden fantasies. And now, as he breathed it in with eager anticipation, he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over he, knowing that he had finally discovered the source of his obsession.
With each thrust of his hips, Harry's arousal grew, his need for release reaching a fever pitch as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating allure of you. He wanted you, needed you, craved you with every fiber of his being, and nothing else mattered but the sweet release that awaited him.
It was so inappropriate, so taboo, and yet, you loved every second of it.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," Harry groaned, his voice thick with desire as he continued to thrust into you with abandon. "You're driving me crazy, you know that?"
You smirked, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the effect you were having on him. "Oh, I know," you teased, your voice dripping with seduction. "But I like driving you crazy."
With a hungry growl, Harry pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as he devoured you with feverish abandon. You melted into the kiss, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure that consumed you.
And as Harry continued to fuck you senseless against the door, you knew that this was only the beginning of your forbidden affair. The thrill of the taboo, the excitement of being caught, it all added to the intensity of the moment, fueling your desire with every passing second.
You were his secretary, he was your boss, and yet, in that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming need that burned between you, driving you to the brink of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself to the forbidden temptation that beckoned.
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Little miracle ♡ | cl16
Summary: You and Charles have been together for years and have always talked about starting a family.
Warning: none, just fluff.
a/n: It's a little long, but I hope you like it as much as I did !!
The afternoon sun streams through the living room window, casting warm light across the plush couch where you lie curled up. A magazine lays forgotten on your chest, your brow furrowed in concentration. You take a deep breath, wincing slightly. The dull ache in your lower abdomen has been there for a few days now, and you can't help but wonder...
With a sigh, you push yourself up and head to the bathroom. You open the cabinet and reach for the lone pregnancy test tucked discreetly in the back corner. It's been there for months but only in case of emergencies, a silent reminder of what could be, a possibility you both discussed but never truly dared to hope for.
Your hands tremble slightly as you follow the instructions, the silence of the apartment amplifying your racing thoughts. What if it's positive? How will Charles react? Excitement? Fear? Uncertainty? The image of his bright smile flashes in your mind, but it's quickly overshadowed by a wave of apprehension. After a couple of minutes the alarm sounds and with great care and trembling hands, you review the test...
Two pink lines: positive. A wave of different emotions takes over you, you are very afraid and at the same time hope that perhaps this has not gone as planned, but it's something incredible, a small miracle growing inside you.
After a couple of hours, the scent of Charles' cologne fills the air as he bursts through the door, his usual infectious energy bouncing off the walls. He throws his bag on a hanger, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.
“Hey bellissima! How was your day?” He says while having a grin on his face.
You manage a small smile, forcing yourself to appear relaxed. “Good, just relaxing. You seem in a good mood today!”
“Just had a great afternoon with the team, preparing some things in the simulator... So, what's for dinner? You know I'm starving!” He said while chuckling.
You lead him to the kitchen, the aroma of your carefully prepared pasta filling the air. As you set the table, you steal glances at him, his animated chatter a stark contrast to your swirling emotions.
“Hey, is everything okay baby? You seem a bit...different.” He asks as he notices your quietness.
You hesitate, then decide to plant the first seed.
“Actually, there is something I need to tell you. But I think it's better if we wait until after dinner.”
His smile falters slightly, replaced by a furrowed brow.
“Is everything alright? Is it something serious?”
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Just...something we need to talk about.” You said while taking his hand.
He squeezes your hand reassuringly, the worry lingering in his eyes. Dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and stolen glances. With dessert cleared away, you both settle onto the couch, the weight of your unspoken secret hanging heavy in the air.
”Charles, remember that talk we had a few months ago? About...you know...” You take a deep breath.
He nods slowly, his gaze intense and understanding. “Of course darling.”
“Well, there's a chance...a big possibility...that things might have changed.”
His eyes widen, a flicker of hope battling with trepidation.
“You mean...?”
“I took a test. And...it's positive.” You whisper while you show the test to him.
The silence that follows is deafening. You watch Charles' face, searching for any hint of his reaction. His initial surprise gives way to a slow smile, spreading across his features like sunrise.
“Oh my god, baby! Oh my baby...” He said with his voice thick with emotion.
He pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. You can feel his body trembling, his laughter mixed with choked sobs.
“This is incredible! We're going to have a baby!”
Relief washes over you, warm and sweet. The fear that had been gnawing at you melts away, replaced by a surge of joy and anticipation. You cling to him, both of you lost in the wonder of this new chapter.
As you pull back, Charles cups your face, his eyes shining with love and excitement.
“This is the best news ever! I can't wait to be a dad! We're going to be amazing parents!”
You nod, a smile blooming on your face. The future, once uncertain, now stretches before you, filled with promise and the beautiful mess of creating a family together.
As you pull away from the embrace, the weight of reality settles in. While you're both ecstatic about the news, a wave of anxieties washes over you. You take a deep breath and voice your concerns.
“Charles, I'm happy, truly. But...there's a lot to think about. Parenthood is a big change, and I can't help but worry about how it will affect everything.” You say a little shy.
He takes your hand, his gaze warm and understanding. “I know, amore. It's natural to feel nervous. But tell me, what's on your mind?”
“Well, there's my career. Taking time off for the baby, especially with your career in the spotlight, feels daunting.”
“We'll figure it out together, like we always do. You're incredibly talented, and I know you'll find a way to balance motherhood with your dreams.” He squeezes your hand.
He pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours.
“It's not just that, you know? It's the fear of the unknown. Being a parent is a huge responsibility, and I'm scared I won't be good enough.” You sigh.
He leans back, holding you at arm's length, his eyes searching yours.
“Hey, you'll be the most amazing mother. You're kind, compassionate, and have so much love to give. You'll be incredible, just like you are with everything else you do.”
A tear escapes your eye, and he brushes it away with a gentle thumb.
“We'll learn together, step by step. And we'll have each other, always. This is a journey we're going on together, as a team.”
His words soothe your anxieties, but a flicker of worry lingers.
“What about your racing? The media, the pressure, the fans...will this change things?”
He contemplates for a moment, then smiles reassuringly. “It will change things, of course, but not in a bad way. It'll give me something even more to fight for, even more to achieve. I'll be racing for our family, for our future together.”
His confidence reignites your own. You both share a laugh, the nervous tension easing.
“Now darling imagine our little Leclerc cheering me on from the stands!” He said with a smile on his face.
The image brings a joyful warmth to your chest. You lean in, sharing a kiss filled with hope and excitement for the unknown adventure ahead.
****
ynusername
liked by carmenmmundt, f1, kellypiquet and others.
ynusername something's in the way 🫣
tagged charles_leclerc
lilymhe omg!!! Congrats babes 🥹🥹
ynusername 🥹🥹🥹🩷 thank u sm bby
user1 mY PARENTS ARE GOING TO BE PARENTS?!?!#?! OH GOD 🥺😭😭
landonorris so... That explains why you threw up the cookies I sent to you both last week...
ynusername can you get over the cookies did I threw up last week? Thanks ☺️
charles_leclerc lando those cookies were horrible, I even threw up them too. 🤷🏻♂️🤷🏻♂️
landonorris I didn't need to know that, but thanks for clarifying that my cooking skills suck.
charles_leclerc you are welcome bro 🫂
scuderiaferrari do we already have the future champion on the way? 👀❤️❤️
ynusername yup team!!
user2 oh my goodness, congrats to the best paddock couple 🤍🤍
charles_leclerc I love you my future baby mama 💗
ynusername I love you too papa to be!! 🥺🩷
user3 okay but they are using pink emojis, they defo know something WE DON'T OH GOD
Days turn into weeks, and your apartment becomes a haven of anticipation. You pick out tiny baby clothes, decorate the nursery with love, and lose yourselves in the joy of choosing names. Charles, usually focused on his racing career, surprises you with his attentiveness, researching baby gear, learning about childbirth, and excitedly planning for paternity leave.
For your part, breaking the news to your parents was not exactly what you expected or had in mind. They took the news in a very bad and ugly way, which made you feel hurt, since you thought they weren't going to take it that way. The disapproval still lingers, but it no longer holds power over you. You share your happiness with friends and Charles' family who offer genuine support and celebrate with you.
You and Charles create a photo album documenting your pregnancy journey, filled with silly selfies, ultrasound pictures, and heartfelt notes to your future child.
One evening, as you relax on the couch, Charles pulls out the photo album.
“Look at how far we've come amour!” He says, his voice filled with pride. “We may not have everyone's blessing, but we have each other, and that's all that matters.”
You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. You turn to him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude.
“We do, amore. And we'll be amazing parents, together!”
He kisses you softly, the promise of a future filled with love and laughter hanging in the air. The disapproval from your parents may remain, but it fades into insignificance compared to the radiant joy you and Charles share.
****
charles_leclerc
liked by domi.nahmias, ynbff, georgerussell63 and others.
charles_leclerc baby mama is looking fine as always 😍😍 I love you so so much and our little one 💗💗
tagged ynusername
ynusername oh my babyyyyyy 🥺😭😭 I told you I looked so awful in that pic :(
charles_leclerc nonsense! You're looking gorgeous each day chérie ;)
ynusername okay!!! If u say so 🥹🥹
landonorris you're simping over a baby? Iugh 🤢
pierregasly lando stfu please 🙄🙄
ynusername thank you uncle Pierre 🙏🏻
arthur_leclerc UNCLE PIERRE? WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT‼️‼️‼️
lorenzotl I hope this is a joke
charles_leclerc oh god, guys get out of my comment section please
leclerc_pascale Je vous aime tellement, je suis si heureuse pour vous mes enfants 💗💗 (I love you so much, I am so happy for you my children)
ynusername Aww, merci maman 😭🥹🩷🩷 (aww, thank you mom)
charles_leclerc Merci maman!! nous t'aimons aussi 🩷🩷 (thank you mom!! we love you too)
user4 NOT THE PINK HEARTS AGAIN, THEY KNOW SOMETHING‼️‼️‼️‼️
ynbff I want to be the cool aunt okay sir?! 🫵🏻🫵🏻
charles_leclerc noted 📝
ynusername
liked by lilymhe, ruthbuscombe, lewishamilton and others.
ynusername we can't wait to meet you little Mills 💗💗💗 your papa and I are so excited to hold in our arms and love you unconditionally 🥹🥹 📸 by the one and only charles_leclerc
tagged charles_leclerc
kellypiquet oh my god 🥺🥺🥺
georgerussell63 now we know who to spoil in the paddock
logansargeant the official F1 baby
danielricciardo the official F1 mascot
charles_leclerc I don't want my baby to wear merch from all the teams above and below.
ynusername you know that she would be sticking to Ferrari, right guys??? 👀👀
charles_leclerc our little miracle is so loved 🩷🩷🥹 I love you so much chérie, thank you for giving me the best gift of all 🩷🩷🩷
ynusername ohhh baby, you're making me cry 😭😭, I love too babe!! I promise to be the best mama and girlfriend I can be🥹 I promise!!
charles_leclerc babe, you already are the best mama and wife our little girl and I could ask for!!🩷🩷
user5 excuse me??? WIFE???!? SIR COULD YOU EXPLAIN????
user4 omg a little girlyclerc, congrats!!! 🥺🥺💗
lewishamilton congrats lovebirds!!!
ynusername thank u lew <3
charles_leclerc thank you mate ❤️
scuderiaferrari we can't wait to see her in a race car. congratulations guys ❤️❤️
oscarpiastri a new little one to spoil with papaya merch
charles_leclerc ABSOLUTELY NOT
Weeks melt into months, your belly growing bigger with each passing day. You and Charles revel in the little miracles of pregnancy: the first flutter of movement, the tiny heartbeat on the ultrasound, the shared excitement of picking out names. Your apartment transforms, adorned with tiny clothes, a miniature crib, and countless teddy bears.
One sunny afternoon, you and Charles are sprawled on the couch, giggling over a particularly stubborn hiccup emanating from your belly.
“Do you think she'll be a fast car fan?” Charles asks, tracing your swollen belly with a finger.
You laugh, “Only if she inherits your love for race cars, but if she wants to be a driver like her papa, we will always support her!”
He smiles innocently, a playful glint in his eyes. “But of course love! We will be her number one fans, her big fans.”
Suddenly, a sharp pain jolts you upright. You gasp, eyes widening. Charles is by your side instantly, his face etched with concern.
”What is it, babe? Are you okay?”
“I think... I think it's time Charles.” You manage, voice shaky with a mix of fear and excitement.
Charles throws on his coat, his movements efficient yet tinged with nervous energy, He quickly looked for a briefcase that they had prepared in recent weeks in case this moment came, which was near the door. “Let's go, amore! It's time to meet our little miracle.”
The hospital is a whirlwind of activity. Nurses bustle around you, checking vitals and offering reassurances. Charles holds your hand, his grip tight yet comforting. He whispers jokes, sings silly songs, and recounts stories about his childhood, distracting you from the growing intensity of the contractions.
Hours later, after pushing with every ounce of your strength, a tiny cry fills the room. A wave of relief washes over you, followed by an overwhelming surge of love. Charles beams, tears glistening in his eyes as he cuts the umbilical cord, welcoming their daughter into the world.
Holding your newborn child in your arms, the world melts away. You and Charles, a team united by love and parenthood, gaze in awe at the perfect little face nestled against your chest. The initial disapproval from your parents feels miles away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of joy and accomplishment.
The nurse bustles around, cleaning your newborn daughter and wrapping her in a warm blanket. You watch, exhausted yet exhilarated, as the tiny form stirs and lets out a sleepy gurgle. Your gaze flickers to Charles, his face alight with a mixture of awe and nervousness.
“Mr. Leclerc.” the nurse says, her voice gentle. “Would you like to hold your daughter first, skin-to-skin?”
Charles' eyes widen. “Me?”
“Absolutely!” the nurse smiles. “It's called kangaroo care. It helps regulate her temperature, breathing, and heart rate, and it promotes bonding between you and her.”
He hesitates briefly, then nods eagerly. ”Of course!”
The nurse carefully places your daughter on his bare chest, her tiny body nestled against his warmth. Charles' eyes well up as he looks down at her, his fingers gently brushing her soft cheek. You watch their silent communion, a wave of love and tenderness washing over you.
“There you go, little one.” Charles whispers, his voice husky with emotion. “Meet your daddy.”
Your daughter seems to respond. She quiets, her eyes fluttering open and meeting his with a gaze that seems impossibly ancient and wise. A faint coo escapes her.
Charles laughs, a joyous sound that fills the room. “You see chérie? Millie loves me already!”
You chuckle, your heart brimming with joy. The initial fear and doubt Charles harbored about fatherhood seem to melt away, replaced by a raw, instinctive protectiveness. He holds his daughter close, rocking her gently, his eyes filled with an unspoken promise to love and cherish her always.
Millie, still slightly pink and whimpering, nuzzles closer to the warmth of his skin. He cradles her awkwardly at first, then instinct seems to take over. He holds her with a tenderness that belies his usual energetic persona, stroking her tiny hand with his thumb, whispering soft reassurances in Italian.
You watch the scene unfold, your heart swelling with pride and love. This man, your partner, the one who speeds around racetracks with fearless abandon, now holds your daughter with such delicate care, such profound reverence. It's a side of him you haven't witnessed before, and it's breathtaking.
He looks up at you, his eyes shining with emotion. “Oh my, she's perfect.” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Just like her mama.”
A laugh escapes you, shaky but genuine. Tears well up again, this time tears of pure joy. You reach out, and he carefully transfers your daughter to you, placing her skin-to-skin on your chest. The warmth of her tiny body against yours is instant comfort, a connection unlike any other.
In that moment, everything else fades away. The pain, the exhaustion, the initial anxiety about how Charles would react – all vanish. All that remains is the three of you, an incredible bond forming in the quiet hospital room. This is the start of your journey, a journey filled with challenges and triumphs, but you face it together, a family united by love.
****
The weeks that follow are a whirlwind of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and the constant wonder of watching Millie grow and change with each passing day. Charles, true to his word, throws himself into fatherhood with the same passion he brings to racing. He learns to swaddle like a pro, sings lullabies in his surprisingly off-key voice, and develops a sixth sense for anticipating her needs.
The initial challenges you anticipated regarding his racing career never materialize. In fact, having his daughter seems to fuel him further. He dedicates his wins to her, to both of you actually, her tiny name adorning his helmet, and the fans seem to love the image of the champion racer who's also a devoted dad.
Of course, there are bumps along the road. Juggling parenthood with demanding careers takes its toll. Sleep deprivation becomes a constant companion, and arguments erupt over who gets to hold the baby during the rare moments of peace. Yet, through it all, your love for each other and Millie remains the anchor. You learn to compromise, to communicate openly, and to find humor even in the midst of exhaustion.
One evening, as you sit huddled on the couch, nursing Millie to sleep, Charles turns to you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp.
“Remember when we were worried about how things would change?” he asks, a chuckle in his voice.
You smile, memories of those early anxieties flooding back. “Yeah, we were pretty naive, weren't we?”
He nods, pulling you closer. “Absolutely babe, but now looking at her, I wouldn't trade this chaos for anything in the world.”
You gaze at your daughter, her peaceful breaths filling the silence. “Me neither.” you whisper, leaning your head against his shoulder. “She's our little miracle, our perfect storm.”
He kisses your forehead, his lips warm and tender. “And we're her team, amore. We'll face whatever comes our way, together.”
The weight of his words rests upon you as you watch Millie sleep. A comfortable silence descends, punctuated only by her rhythmic breaths and the soft hum of the nightlight. You feel a surge of pride, not just in Millie, but in the family you've built together.
“Remember when her first smile was just a tiny twitch of her lip?” Charles asks, his voice hushed and reminiscent.
You laugh softly, recalling the hours spent trying to elicit a response, the sheer joy when that tiny smile finally appeared. “And how she cried for an hour straight when we tried to give her a bath for the first time?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Chaos incarnate, love.” he says, his eyes twinkling with affection. "But wouldn't have it any other way.”
You nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Me neither. These sleepless nights, the endless diaper changes, it all feels so insignificant when she looks at us with those big, curious eyes.”
Suddenly, Millie lets out a soft coo, her eyes fluttering open. She fixes them on you, a gummy smile spreading across her face.
“See?” Charles whispers, reaching out to touch her cheek. “Millie knows how much we love her.”
He lifts her gently, cradling her close, and you watch as their daughter nuzzles into his chest. A lump forms in your throat, a mixture of love and gratitude washing over you. You've faced challenges, navigated uncertainties, but the core of your bond has remained strong.
“We're doing alright, aren't we?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
He looks at you, his gaze tender. “More than alright, amore. We're building a life, a family. And it's beautiful.”
He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the soft breaths of baby Millie sleeping, you know that the journey ahead, though filled with its own challenges, will be an adventure worth taking, hand in hand.
charles_leclerc
liked by ferraristyle, maxverstappen1, sebastianvettel and others.
charles_leclerc mama and little millie 🩷🩷🩷 oh ma petite fleur, you don't know how happy you have made us with your arrival, you are the prettiest and smallest thing we have ever seen!! I promise to take care and protect you both, because you deserve it 💗💗 ynusername you have made me the happiest man in the world, thank you so much my baby love 💗💗
tagged ynusername
ynusername you will definitely make me cry 😭😭🥺 Oh love, it's nothing, she has a little piece of both and that makes her perfect 💗💗💗
charles_leclerc okay now I'm the one who's going to cry 😭😭 I just love you my sweet baby
scuderiaferrari welcome to the team Millie 🩷🩷🩷 we're going to spoil you a lot!!
landonorris so... They can spoil her and not the F1 grid?
ynusername yup, it's like this 🤷🏻♀️
user3 not her using Charles' quote, she knows
pierregasly aww, she's so pretty 🥺🥺 congrats bro 💗💗
leclerc_pascale aww, ma petite étoile 🩷🩷 (aww, my little star)
ynusername maman!! nous t'aimons tellement, Millie veut te rencontrer 🩷🩷 (mom!! we love you a lot, Millie wants to meet you)
leclerc_pascale Je parie que tu le fais, chérie 🩷🩷 (I bet she does, honey)
user5 oh god, all of them using pink hearts, they are so so cute 🥺🥺💗💗💗
#formula one x reader#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles x reader#charles x mom#f1 x you#dad!charles leclerc#charles leclerc
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hello miss bee 🐝
if you're in the mood to write for joel id love to ask one where he and reader just had a baby of their own and ellie starts to feel left out but they both comfort and reassure her that they won't treat her differently since they already unofficially adopted her anyway 🫶🤲
AN | There may be a new baby on the way, but that doesn’t you’ll ever love Ellie any less. She just needs to be reminded of that💕
Pairing | Joel Miller x Pregnant!Reader
Warnings | None
Word Count | 3.3k
Masterlist | Joel, Main
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“I hate this,” you plopped down in the chair on the back patio with a loud huff. You heard a snort of amusement from behind you and turned around to find Joel watching you in amusement. Your lips pulled into a pout and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “this is all your fault.”
“Hmm,” he raised an eyebrow before going back over to the makeshift grill to check on dinner, “pretty sure that’s only half true, sweetheart.”
“Well,” you crossed your arms over your chest and frowned at him, “it’s still partially true. Being pregnant is the worst. Especially with this heat. I should have gotten pregnant in the summer so the worst of it would have been in the winter.”
“Think of it this way,” the way you raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested you were anything but amused, “we’ll have a fresh baby for the holidays.”
“I’m still hoping for a halloween baby,” you grinned, rubbing your belly that seemed to be growing by the day, “how cool would that be?”
“The coolest,” Joel teased as you laughed, an actual laugh that went straight to his heart, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“The real question - do you think we’re going to have a boy or girl?”
“Girl,” he insisted without hesitation, “I’m always going to have my girls. I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” you took a sip of the fresh lemonade and let out a soft sigh, “but I have a feeling you’re going to be wrong!”
“Oh yeah? You wanna bet on that?” Joel stood there, hands on his hips as he watched you closely. You stuck out your tongue at him, causing both of you to laugh.
What you hadn’t realized was that Ellie was in the kitchen, getting some plates ready to bring out, listening to the two of you. She loved you, she loved you both immensely. She knew that you and you knew that. But she couldn’t help the pang that settled in her stomach and the way her heart seemed to constrict. It was a feeling that hadn’t left her since you’d told her you were pregnant. You and Joel had been so excited to tell her and despite the shock of the news, she’d been excited too. Ellie Williams was finally going to have a baby sister or brother. Her family was growing.
But as the weeks passed by and your pregnancy became more visibly obvious, the worse she started to feel. And it felt like it was eating her alive. It was a mix of emotions that she was struggling to handle and cope with. She was excited for you and Joel and your entire little family but it left her feeling…lost and confused.
Ellie knew that both of you viewed her as your daughter and she viewed you as parents. She wondered what it would like when the baby came. Your baby - your and Joel’s flesh and blood. Once you had your own baby, would you no longer care about her? Would she be pushed to the wayside as you welcomed and loved your actual child?
These types of thoughts had been plaguing her for months now. It was stupid, so fuckin’ stupid, she’d be the first to admit, and yet the feelings remained. Realistically, she could have gone to either of you and asked in order to alleviate her fears or get some simple reassurance. But that seemed silly too. What was she supposed to do? Come up to you and ask ‘hey will you still love me once the baby is here?’ That felt ridiculous.
Instead, Ellie internalized her feelings, deciding to push them away and act like nothing was wrong. You’d noticed that something was off with your girl recently. Things had just seen so crazy lately, with getting ready for the baby and Joel being off for a while with work to do, it hadn’t been easy. But Ellie really had been your rock and you hated the idea that you were neglecting her in any sense.
“Ellie?” the girl almost dropped the bowl of salad she was holding when she heard you call out to her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears before heading into the backyard. Your entire face lit up when you saw her and she felt bad for a moment for ever having doubted your love and affection for her, “there you are, Ellie Bean! Everything okay?”
“Y-yeah,” she set the plates and bowl onto the table and nodded softly, “just got caught up cutting the…tomatoes.”
“There’s no tomatoes in the salad, baby,” you gave her arm a gentle squeeze, “we gave the last of them to the Meyers the other day. Are you sure you’re alright?”
She looked away and nodded, staring into the distance as she pleaded with her heart and mind to remain calm and collected. Joel clicked his tongue and caught her attention, giving her a questioning look. Sometimes he hated how well he knew her and how he seemed to see right through her.
“C’mere,” he motioned for her to come over and she obliged, walking over slowly with a heavy tread. She stopped in front of him and he put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down slightly so he was closer to eye level with her, “what’s wrong, baby girl?”
“Nothing,” she replied through gritted teeth. Joel knew that something was up but he didn’t want to push her and possibly cause her to pull away from him. He sighed softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead. It had become such a reflexive action that he didn’t even think about doing it any more, “you’re being gross and showing too much emotion.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he teased and that caused her to smile slightly at him, “‘cause it sure ain’t going to be you right, is it? You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” she whispered, “not right now.”
“Okay,” he nodded lightly, “I’ll be here and ready to listen whenever you’re ready.”
“I know, old man,” she pushed his arm before turning on her heel and walking back over to you. She sat down next to you, her gaze drifting for a moment to your belly. You reached up and touched her face, gently stroking her cheek, “you’re both such saps.”
“It’s only because we love you,” you beamed at her. She felt her cheeks growing warm and pink as she stared at the bowl of tomato-less salad, “you wanna help me make some dessert while the food’s cooking? I was thinking pudding…ooh or maybe some sort of pie?!”
“Sure,” she perked up at your enthusiasm, unable to deny the appeal of spending time with you and making a dessert, “let’s do it.”
Ellie decided that she’d figure out the rest later. Right now, she was okay and she just wanted the two of you to have some fun.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“I’m worried about her,” you closed your book and set on the nightstand before turning to your husband with a sad expression on your face. He followed suit and turned so he was fully looking at you.
“The baby?”
“I - no. And we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy yet so calm down,” you laughed for a moment before moving to sit crossed-legged - to the best of your ability anyway - and gave him a serious look, “Ellie. She seems so closed off lately and it always seems like she’s upset, but when I try to talk to her she changes the subject or finds an excuse to leave. I feel like my poor baby girl hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze before you laced your fingers together, “she could never hate you.”
“But something is wrong and I don’t know what it is and I can’t fix it,” a wave of emotion washed over you and tears stung at the back of your eyes. You sniffled, fully aware that you probably seemed ridiculous right now but you didn’t care, “I just want to make it better.”
“Honey,” Joel’s voice was soft as he put his hands on your sides and gently pulled you towards him. You easily gave in, soft and pliable, as he settled you in his lap. You felt pathetic as you looked at him, tears running down your cheeks. He tenderly brushed them away before taking your face in his hands and turning your face up to his, “she doesn’t hate you and she never will. Whatever she’s going through right now, she’ll come around. She’s still guarded and sometimes these things take time. She’ll come around, she always does. We just have to keep on loving her.”
“Promise?” you whispered as he nodded softly. You leaned into his touch as he rubbed your back soothingly, “I don’t know what I’d do if…I don’t know. If she stopped loving us.”
“That ain’t happening,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I have a feeling I know what’s going on with her.”
“Oh?” you looked at him in surprise and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of your confused expression. The fact that you were so pouty and pregnant made you even more adorable to him than before. He had to fight back a laugh at your expression, opting instead to kiss you softly, “what do you think it is?”
“The baby,” he answered, putting a hand on your belly and rubbing it gently, “I think she’s worried about the baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think she thinks that we’re just going…to stop loving her?” the waterworks started again and this time you couldn’t hold back the tears, “she thinks we’re going to replace her!”
“Oh honey,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and tried to hug him as best as possible. You huffed as you buried your face into his chest and he softly cooed at you, “I don’t think she thinks we’re trying to replace her. I think she’s worried that we won’t have as much time and love for her."
"That's not true," you hated the fact that that thought even crossed her mind, "that's like…the farthest thing from the truth! She's my baby too. Nothing is ever going to change that."
"I know that," he gently brushed his fingers along your jaw before resting his hand on your cheek, "you know that. I think she just might need a little reassurance."
"Yeah," you sighed softly, "I can do that. I will do that."
"I have no doubt about that either, honey."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Ellie startled when she heard your enthusiastic knocking on her door. She groaned as she looked at the old school alarm on the bedside table and saw that it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.
"Come in," she rolled onto her side so she was facing the door. You almost threw open the door in your excitement, already fully dressed and ready for the door.
"Hi my love!" Her eyes widened at your cheeriness, "good morning, Ellie Bean."
"It's early," she groaned as you leaned against the doorway, causing you to laugh softly, "why are you so awake?"
"I've been up for a while…couldn't sleep well," you shrugged it off, "but I thought it would be fun if we spent the day together, just the two of us!"
"O-oh," she slowly sat up, heart almost constricting with emotion, "are you sure?"
"Duh," you teased, "its been a while since it's just been the two of us and I figured we could have some fun!"
"Okay," she looked at you, an eyebrow raised in question. You clapped excitedly and she offered you a tentative smile in response, "w-wait, am I in trouble?"
"Of course not," you walked over to her and held out your hand to her. She took yours and slowly slipped out of the bed, "I just want to spend some time with my favorite girl."
"Alright," a little bit of a flush crossed her cheeks as she offered you a smile, "yeah, that could be fun."
"Let's go then slow poke, no time to lose!"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Your day had been filled with doing anything and everything that Ellie wanted - within reason of course. As the day bled into night, the two of you were at the lake, sitting on the dock, feet dangling into the water.
"Can I ask you something?" You finally couldn't take it anymore and needed to clear all the air. Ellie paused before nodding slowly and turning towards you.
"Sure…"
"I feel like lately…things have been different," you put your arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze, "and I want to make sure you're alright. You've been off lately, and I want to know if you're okay and if I can do anything to help."
"Oh. Oh," Ellie swallowed thickly; she thought she'd been better at disguising her feelings, "umm…it's…just. I don't know. Things have just felt different since you've been pregnant."
"Yeah?" You asked as she turned to you with a sad little smile and a nod, "oh, Ellie."
"I just…it feels weird that…umm. Like it's you and Joel, you know? And now you're having your own child and it makes me feel like…where's my place?"
"Baby," you tried to keep your own emotions at bay but it was hard when all you wanted to was to wrap her up in a big hug, "your place is with us - it'll always be with us. We're family. Nothing is going to change that."
"But if you love the new baby more than me?" You hated that she even thought anything like that. You wished you could convey just how very much you loved her, "I keep thinking about…what if you don't want me anymore."
"We will never not want you or love you," you took her hand and held it tightly in yours, "that will never change. Nothing could change how we feel about you. You're our girl, Ellie."
"Are you sure? The baby-"
"The baby doesn't change anything," you pulled her into your body as much as you could, "its another person we're bringing into our family that we can love. It doesn't mean any of us is going to get less love. Okay? I swear on my life. And Joel's life. All of it."
"Every time I've gotten close to people they've been taken from me," Ellie sniffled brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand, "my parents, my family, my friends…I almost lost Joel. I don't want to lose you too and the baby. I'm not sure if I'd make it if I did."
"Ellie," you softened at the young girl, "you are so young and you've been through so much. More than anyone ever should. And I know the world is scary and we don't know what the future holds but we can't let that dictate how we feel about the present or how we act. You're not going to lose us or your brother or sister. Never. And maybe me just saying that doesn't make anything better but I'll show you and I'll keep showing you that we mean it. Honestly, I don't think I'd survive without you. You are the world to me, Ellie."
"Being pregnant has made you so sappy," she laughed through her tears, "even more than normal. Its kind of gross."
"It's because I love you so much, kiddo," you grinned at her, brushing away her tears, "but the hormones definitely aren't helping! Luckily it won't be too much longer before the baby is here."
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified," you confessed with a sheepish grin, "but I know I'll be okay. I've got you Joel and you. Everything will be okay."
"Yeah," she nodded, a bit of confidence oozing back into her, "we'll be okay. I'm excited to meet the baby."
"Boy or girl you think?"
"Girl," she seemed so confident that you were almost convinced of that as well, "Joel's meant to be surrounded by girls."
"Funny, that's exactly what he said too," you shook your head in amusement thinking about the two of them. They were too alike for their own good, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"Whatever," she playfully rolled her eyes, "we all know we're right!"
"Mhmm," you slowly stood up and held out your hand to her, "come on my love. Let's go home and annoy Joel."
She took your hand eagerly, "I love you too, just so you know."
"Yeah," you promised her softly, "I know. I love you more, kiddo."
-
Ellie approached you slowly, almost unsure if she should be coming over. You beamed at her, motioning for her to come closer. She stole a quick look at Joel, who offered her a small smile and nod of reassurance.
"Come here, my love," you held out your hand to her and she came over, staring at the bundle in your arms in awe, "I hate to admit it, but Joel was right. You've got yourself a little sister."
"Wow," she reached over and gentle stroked her chubby little cheek, "she's so small. What's her name?"
"Well, we don't have a name picked out yet," you smiled softly, "we were hoping you'd help us by picking her name."
"Me?"
"You! If you'd like to that is," you could see her eyes watering up, and your heart felt so full, "you can take a bit to think about it-"
"Daisy," she stated softly, looking between you and Joel to gauge your reactions, "I like Daisy."
"Me too," you gave her a hand squeeze, "Daisy it is. It's perfect. Do you want to hold her, Ellie?"
"I-I don't know," she swallowed the lump in her throat as the baby cooed softly, "she's so small and I don't wanna…hurt her."
"You won't," you promised, straightening up as she stepped closer, "hold her to your chest and make sure you're supporting her head, okay?"
"Okay," she reached over gingerly, as though the baby was made of glass. She took her from you and did as you said, holding the small baby protectively. Daisy made a few sounds before yawning and snuggling into Ellie. The girl watched her in amazement, "she's so cute and little."
"Just like you," you teased, reaching over and giving her arm a squeeze. You turned to Joel, who was watching the scene unfold with nothing short of heart eyes, "look at that, Joel. Look at our girls. They're the best."
"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of Ellie's head, "they are. But you know what else?"
"Hmm?"
"I was right - it was a girl," he threw you a cheeky grin as you snorted in amusement, "wouldn't change it for the world."
"Yeah, me neither," Ellie piped up, "I guess we're a pretty cool family. Daisy and me anyways. You guys are alright."
"We love you too," you sighed contentedly, happy to have your little family all together, "both of you. Lots and lots."
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#pedro pascal#tlou
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we shouldn’t
2.9k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | one-shot
Warnings: 18+, no outbreak AU, alcohol, smut (but nothing too graphic), smooching, reader being a menace, fluff & the tiniest bit of angst
Summary: Joel holds your hand after a night out. It makes you feel things you don’t want to feel.
A/N: This little one-shot was very emotional for me to write, and I hope it’ll make you feel something, too. Can be read alone or as a prequel to part 1 within the fwb!Joel AU. Enjoy and let me know what you think! I love talking to you about these two! 🖤 series masterlist
“If I don’t catch you before the light, I’ll do that little dance you like so much.”
“Naked?” you ask with wide eyes.
He chuckles at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, na–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you’re running—clumsily, but fueled by an eagerness that outshines the haze of your drunkenness.
“–ked.”
– – –
The neon lights of the city blur into a kaleidoscope as Joel and you stroll down the crowded streets, the remnants of laughter and clinking glasses still echoing in your ears from the bar you just left. It’s a beautiful night—alive with a buzz, a mix of the city’s energy and the warmth that comes from a few too many drinks.
You’re giggling uncontrollably at something Joel said, your hands clasped over your belly as your sides hurt from laughing. You don’t even remember what he said that was so funny, but that doesn’t matter.
You’re having fun—as always when you’re with him.
Joel glances over at you with a lopsided grin, his eyes slightly glazed but still sparkling with mischief.
“You’re such a lightweight, darlin’,” he says, his words laced with genuine amusement. He chuckles as you continue to giggle, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “No more Long Island Iced Teas for you.”
You playfully roll your eyes, trying to catch your breath, and delicately wiping away the happy tears spilling over.
“Oh, come on,” you quip, turning to him with an infectious grin. “Could a lightweight do this?”
Determined to prove him wrong, you theatrically hold out your arms and set one foot gracefully in front of the other, your pretend sobriety test turning into a whimsical dance along an invisible line on the floor.
“See?” you say excitedly—and perhaps a tad too loudly—before your own enthusiasm sends you stumbling over your own feet. Lucky for you, Joel’s reflexes kick in, and he effortlessly catches you before you can faceplant and hurt yourself.
“Easy there, baby,” he teases with a grin, his strong arms steadying you before pulling you into a tight embrace. “You’re just having too much fun tonight, huh?”
“S’not fair,” you slur against his chest, giggles bubbling up from deep inside you. “The world is spinning.”
Joel looks at you, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “That’s not–” he begins but stops himself, chuckling. “Well, actually, yes, you’re right. The world is spinning, baby.” He presses a soft kiss against your temple. “I got you though.”
Giggles subside into a contented sigh as you rest against Joel’s broad chest, the fleeting touch of his fingers brushing against your back.
“Thank you,” you murmur, taking in his warmth and his scent. “Mmm, you smell nice. How do you always smell so nice?”
Lifting your head, you gaze into his eyes with honest bewilderment and curiosity, your brow furrowed, as if this is the most perplexing mystery that needs unraveling.
“Reminds me of when we met. My clothes smelled like you when I got home that night.”
Joel’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you with a genuine sense of adoration, his heart warmed by the sincerity and carefree spirit that your drunken honesty radiates.
He’s obviously not going to tell you that he’s made sure to only ever use the aftershave you complimented him on the first night you spent together, but he’s secretly delighting in the fact that you still like it.
“Well, aren’t you sweet, darlin’,” he coos, an amused smile gracing his lips. “You were such a brat not even twenty minutes ago and now look at you. Tame as a little kitten.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” You bite your lip and put your hands on his chest, your pupils so dilated your eyes are black.
You can still feel his fingers inside you.
Joel runs his hands up and down your back, a sensation that makes your knees weak. He bores his eyes into you and raises an eyebrow.
“I’m talking about you acting like a whore in that bar just so I’d make you come on my fingers.” His hands wander down to your ass, groping you, pulling you closer against his body. “You knew I’d fuck you when we got to your place, but you just couldn’t wait, huh?”
“Hmm, you love it,” you chuckle, pressing a soft kiss on his warm lips. “Don’t act like you’re not a total perv yourself. ‘Cause, you know, you are, and that’s why you just fingered me in a crowded bar. And that’s why you almost came in your pants. And that’s also why we get along so well.”
Joel grins at you, savoring the lingering sensation of your lips on his. “Touché, you little smartass.”
Your eyes drop to his mustache, perched proudly on his top lip. He’s shaved off the rest of his facial hair, and tonight’s the first time you’ve seen him like this. It suits him.
“You see something you like, baby?”
“I love your mustache. It’ so fucking hot,” you murmur, mesmerized, gently touching the little hairs above Joel’s lip with your fingertips. “Makes you look like an ‘80s pornstar.”
“You’re into that?” he chuckles, noting the particular fixation your inebriated brain has chosen this time—last time, it was the curve of his nose. You’re adorable.
“Fuck yeah. The only thing missing are assless chaps and a tight mesh shirt.” You wrap your arms around him and look into his beautiful brown eyes.
“Mmm, you never cease to surprise me, darlin’,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear before nibbling on your earlobe. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of my ass.”
You giggle and squeeze his cheeks to make a point, pulling away a bit to lock your lidded eyes on his. “Oh, you have no idea. I’ll tie you to your bed next time and show you if you want. Fair warning, though, I won’t be gentle.”
Joel’s eyes widen, his erection straining against the harsh fabric of his jeans.
“Careful, darlin’,” he growls into your ear, “if you can’t behave yourself, I’ll have to put you in your place. And I promise you, I won’t be gentle either.”
You can’t suppress the little moan that escapes your lips as Joel’s words go straight to your pussy. His scent, his deep voice, his broad body against yours, his dark eyes—it all has you melting in his arms, craving his touch. Badly.
“Can we go, please?” you plead, your tone carrying the unmistakable hint of neediness Joel loves to hear so much.
“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he murmurs, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against his groin with a possessive grip.
You playfully roll your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m a bad, bad girl that needs to be punished—yada yada yada. Can we go now? Please?”
You pull away from his embrace with a cheeky smile and start tugging on his arm, urging him to move. Joel snorts at your impatience, thoroughly entertained by the frustrated little noises you make when he doesn’t budge.
One eyebrow raised and hands on your hips, you glare at him defiantly. You’re swaying a little now that he’s not holding you anymore.
“I’ll fucking run home and get myself off if you don’t get your ass in gear right now.”
“You still haven’t grasped the concept of asking nicely, huh? And after all this time I’ve tried to teach you,” he chuckles, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and can’t wait to fill up that pretty little pussy of yours.”
He tilts your chin up with his thumb and index finger to search your eyes. To his satisfaction, he finds pure hunger in them. Your brain has completely shut off any and all functions except for imagining Joel taking you roughly in your bed. Or on your sofa. Or on the floor.
“Tell you what, you brat. You get a ten-second head start, and if I catch you before you reach that traffic light over there, you’re not allowed to touch me once you’re naked.”
“And if you don’t catch me?”
Joel needs to hold back his laugh at the ridiculous idea that you’d be faster than him.
“If I don’t catch you before the light, I’ll do that little dance you like so much.”
“Naked?” you ask with wide eyes.
He chuckles at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, na–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you’re running—clumsily, but fueled by a determination that outshines the haze of your drunkenness.
“–ked.”
The night air that envelops you is alive with laughter and the distant hum of the city as you stumble towards the traffic light, your unsteady steps dictated by the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your brain can’t decide between giggling and breathing, so you’re left with a side stitch and gasping for air after a few short seconds.
At least you had enough foresight to choose comfort over sexiness when you put on your sneakers tonight instead of your heels.
Joel’s eyes track you, captivated by the rhythmic sway of your legs beneath the hem of the short dress you’re wearing. Oh, how he can’t wait to feel your naked skin pressed against his. You’re always so soft, so warm, so receptive to his touch…
He snaps out of it, realizing the very real potential for a clumsy misstep, and joins the chase. His steps are more purposeful, not wanting you to trip and hurt yourself, especially not on his watch.
A few meters shy of the traffic light, he catches up, arms wrapping around you from behind. You squeal in surprise, a mixture of laughter and exhilaration bubbling up from deep inside you. Joel joins in, his laughter harmonizing with yours, as he triumphantly murmurs, “Got you” in your ear.
He sets you down gently and pulls you close as your heart is still racing, and presses his lips on yours in a deep, lingering kiss.
“Not fair,” you mumble against his lips with a pout. “And I don’t wanna live in a world where you don’t dance for me.”
Joel sighs deeply, succumbing to the irresistible charm of your big puppy eyes.
“How about this, baby. You’re good and do what I say without talking back, and I’ll dance for you until you’re dizzy. Hm?”
“Okay, sounds fair,” you murmur, wanting nothing more than to get home quickly and rip his clothes off. Riling him up in the bar and coming all over his fingers was nice, but you’ve had far from enough.
“Good girl.”
As the traffic light shifts to green, Joel’s hand instinctively finds yours, not wanting to let you stumble across the street without him holding you. You don’t think too much about it, assuming he’ll let go once you’re on the other side.
Surprisingly, though, his grip persists, and he intertwines his fingers with yours.
It’s a gesture so simple, yet it simultaneously sobers you up and sends a ripple through the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your emotions. Confusion colors your eyes as you steal a glance at him, and he meets your eyes with a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.
You don’t like it.
This isn’t the casual arm around the shoulder or the hand on your hip. This feels like…more. Like something you’d only do in a relationship. Joel’s touch is warm and electric, and an unsettling realization dawns—the casual arrangement you’ve shared with him suddenly seems more complicated.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
“What are you doing?” you ask, feigning nonchalance, although your heart is doing somersaults.
“What do you mean?” Joel smirks, giving your hand a playful squeeze. “Just trying to keep you from stumbling into the bushes, baby. I’m a gentleman, you know.”
You scoff and roll your eyes, but the butterflies in your stomach tell a different story. The truth is, you’ve been here before—caught in the crossroads of friendship and something more. It’s a delicate balance, and one you don’t want to upset.
Joel’s the best thing that has happened to you in a long time, and you don’t want to lose what you have. But you also care for him enough that you’d let him go if your arrangement didn’t make him happy anymore.
As you finally reach your apartment building, a nervous flutter sets your heart pounding in your chest. You clear your throat and subtly allow your fingers to slip away from Joel’s, feigning the need for both hands as you rummage through your purse in search of your key.
You follow Joel inside, deliberately averting your gaze, your eyes fixed on the glowing buttons as you summon the elevator. As you step inside the confined space, a wave of memories floods your mind, recalling the last time you’ve given in to your desires when the brief elevator ride felt too long to resist.
Joel knelt in front of you, skillfully drawing an orgasm out of you with his tongue while your fingers were tangled in his dark curls. Once he had his fill, he proceeded to throw you over his shoulder and fuck you in front of your living room mirror. You’ll never forget how he forced you to look at yourself with his hand wrapped around your neck.
You’re abruptly pulled back to the present as you feel Joel’s hand finding yours once again, trying to reassure you that he’s here if you need him. You look at him with a conflicted expression, torn between appreciating his caring gesture and the fear of disappointing him.
As you shuffle to your apartment door, Joel finally breaks the silence, his voice low and soothing, “Are you alright, darlin’? Do you feel sick?” His eyes search your face, concern evident in his furrowed brow.
“Nah, just a bit tipsy,” you reply automatically, your tone light as you lean against the wall.
However, when he starts tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, you’re unable to suppress the growing unease any longer. Tightness settles in your chest, accompanied by a fluttering sensation that dances beneath your ribcage.
“It’s just…I, uh,” you murmur, “I didn’t expect you to hold my hand is all.”
“Oh.” Joel’s gaze softens, and he releases your hand, the connection severed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, darlin’. I should’ve asked if you were okay with it, I’m sorry.”
You shake your head vehemently. “No, no, it’s not that I didn’t like it. It’s just...it felt–” you cut yourself off and sigh deeply, turning around to open your apartment door. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Joel nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I understand, darlin’. Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m sorry,” you switch on the light in your living room and throw your purse onto your sofa. “I know it’s weird, but I really…we–we shouldn’t and I…I can’t–”
“Darlin’, hey,” he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “There’s no need for you to apologize, or explain for that matter.”
You turn around and take him in for a moment. His warm eyes, his soft smile, the cute little movements his hand makes when he’s nervous—he’s just so…sweet. You’re not used to a guy being so considerate of your boundaries, and it’s incredibly hard for you to believe that he actually means it and won’t use them against you once he’s tired of you.
You know it’ll happen at some point, but you’re okay with that. This isn’t meant to last.
“Do you, uh, still wanna stay for a nightcap?” you ask him with a hopeful smile.
“Of course I do, darlin’,” he says, tilting his head and looking at you curiously.
You open your arms, silently inviting him to draw you into a comforting embrace. You’re relieved when his response is immediate and eager.
“We’re on the same page, right?” he asks, a genuine smile on his lips as his dark eyes search yours. “We have fun, and I like spending time with you, but I want you to feel comfortable, too. If this,” he gestures between the two of you, “ever becomes more than you’re comfortable with, we talk about it. No pressure, no expectations. Just us, enjoying each other’s company.”
He pulls back slightly to gauge your reaction, his hand still gently resting on your waist.
“Sounds perfect, Joel,” you coo in response, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now, would you please shut up and kiss me already.”
“Alright, alright, you brat,” Joel chuckles and cups your cheek with his warm hand, before leaning in and sealing the agreement with a lingering kiss to your lips.
“Mmm, I’m so happy I met you, darlin’,” he whispers. “You’re something else, you know?”
You look into his eyes, and there’s a sincerity in them that catches you off guard. You know you shouldn’t have sex with him right now, you know you should tell him to leave.
And yet, as soon as you feel his lips on yours again, more fervently this time, his hands exploring the contours of your back, drawing you close, the rational part of your mind fades away.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he breathes out before switching to kissing down your neck, the sensation of his soft lips on your sensitive skin making you whimper.
“I want you, Joel. I want you.”
– – –
Thanks for reading, guys!! 🤍
part 1 || series masterlist || main masterlist
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#fwb!joel miller x f!reader#fwb!joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller au#series: you wanted this#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fic#the last of us fic#joel miller smut#joel the last of us#tlou fic#joel miller x f!reader#pedro pascal characters
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period pain
OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader
A/N: This is the Zoro period one-shot I mentioned in my previous post.
"Luffy, if you take a single thing off my plate I will stuff you in a fucking blender."
An inhuman growl left your lips as you shot a withering glare at your captain, pulling your plate closer to you. The younger boy looked taken aback by your threat, his hand retracting slowly in slight fear. Usopp and Sanji stared at you with their jaws dropped, Zoro raised an eyebrow, and Nami looked unfazed.
"What are you guys looking at?" You snapped, turning your glare on the rest of them.
They all looked away, mumbling apologies, except Zoro. You rolled your eyes, grumbling something about him being so stubborn and tough. He would have said something about it, but his feelings for you stopped him. He's seen you angry, but this was something else. And he'd rather not risk saying something regrettable to you while you were clearly bothered by something.
"(Name), can you please..." Usopp gulped, "Pass me the salt."
You practically threw the salt shaker in the poor guy's hands, your deathly glare not leaving your face. You ate your food aggressively, attacking it like it was the reason for your anger. The rest of the crew sat in silence, even Luffy not wanting to aggravate you more - and that was saying a lot. Nami was trying her hardest not to laugh, which confused the boys, who didn't understand why such a situation would be funny. But she knew what it was.
"You guys are idiots," she snorted when you'd left the table.
"And why's that?" Zoro asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Do you know what's wrong?"
"It's so obvious," she confirmed, then backtracked, "Oh, wait. You guys really don't know?"
Their blank, clueless expressions made Nami sigh.
A little while later, you hobbled into the kitchen for dinner. But this time you weren't mad, you were groaning and clutching your stomach tightly, earning concerned glances all around. But because of earlier, everyone was too afraid to say a word. Except Zoro.
"Go back to your room."
"W-what?" Your eyes widened, then glossed over with tears.
He instantly cursed himself and his monotonous voice. He hadn't meant it to sound harsh or anything, but from the way you looked at him he knew you had taken it the wrong way. And when the tears actually fell, guilt ripped through him and he felt an unusual pain in his chest.
"Zoro-" Nami started.
"No, it's okay," you said quietly, turning around, only to feel that familiar feeling of something wet down south.
"You're bleeding!"
Embarrassment washed through you and you instantly turned back around, trying to cover it, but the blood soaked the front of your shorts as well. You instantly regretted wearing such light-coloured shorts, but you hadn't expected your period for another two days. But now, seeing them all staring, you felt humiliated and ashamed, and the tears fell faster.
"Someone get her a damn blanket," Nami practically growled at the gobsmacked men, before coming over and helping you to the counter.
You refused to look at the green-haired swordsman, but you soon realised he was no longer in the room. You internally groaned, then began crying even more because you felt as if you had disgusted him. Nami tried to comfort you, but you barely heard her as you felt the sadness of impending rejection mixing with your already unstable emotions.
What happened next was beyond anything you could have imagined.
You felt a blanket being draped across your shoulders, seconds before you were lifted into a pair of familiar, strong arms. You quickly covered your tear-stained face with the blanket, not wanting to meet his eyes as he carried you to your room.
"Don't do that."
"What?" You choked out, your voice still weak and soft.
"Don't hide," Zoro clarified. "I want to see your face."
"Why?" You slowly removed the blanket from your face.
"You're pretty."
Your heart hammered in your chest when you heard that, sadness immediately dissipating. You couldn't believe what you had just heard, but it made your heart swell knowing he really thought that. You felt your cheeks heat up, and the familiar feeling of butterflies that you always got around him.
"I'm crying. And bleeding."
"Nami told us what's wrong," he looked down at you, and his eyes gleamed with concern, "It's natural."
Before you could say anything else, he set you down. In a hammock. With a start, you realised he'd brought you to his room instead. You opened your mouth to say something, but he was already walking away to his closet. Your words died in your throat when he pulled out his own clothes and offered them to you.
"Change. I'll wait outside."
He started towards the door, but you stopped him, sniffing, "Thank you."
He felt his own heart swell when he saw how happy his actions had made you, and it sparked some hope in him that maybe you felt the same way. Not knowing what to say, and also wanting to hide his oncoming blush, he just nodded and quickly exited to let you change. You looked down at his clothes, your own blush dusting your cheeks. As you changed into them, you realised you'd need underwear.
"Z-Zoro?" You called, blushing harder.
He was in the room in less than a second, his eyes widening when he saw you pants-less but with the blanket covering your lower half. He coughed, trying hard not to blush, "Yeah?"
"I need...underwear," you said quietly, feeling more embarrassment come on.
"Oh."
You started to get up, thinking you'd rather get it yourself since he was clearly uncomfortable, but he stopped you, "Stay. I'll ask Nami to bring it for you." Then he reached down to grab your bloodstained clothes, and your eyes widened.
"No! You don't have to-"
"(Name)," he sighed, looking up at you, "Shut up and let me take care of you."
You would have probably burst into tears again if anyone else had told you to shut up, but the words that followed it were enough to comfort you and make you relax back into the hammock. You bit your lip, flustered and embarrassed but feeling much better already knowing he was going to - and he wanted to - take care of you.
A while later, you were dressed in his clothes and relaxing in his hammock, your heart thundering as you looked around his room. He hadn't decorated, being the simple man he was, but just the fact that it was his brought you more comfort. You felt calmer here, like the room itself was reducing your stress and pain. Your cramps had subsided, but that was because of the hot soup that Zoro had brought you which he had aggressively demanded Sanji make. The man in question had disappeared somewhere, but came in just as you were starting to wonder where.
"How you feeling?"
"Better," you admitted. "Thanks to you."
He sat down next to you on a chair he'd brought in, "Stop thanking me."
"But-" You were cut off by another wave of cramps, groaning loudly and curling up into a ball.
He shot up again, "What? What's wrong?"
"More...cramps..." You managed to get out, whining and whimpering in pain.
"Should I get more soup?"
"N-No, just..." You blushed at the idea you had, wondering if he would really do it. "Could you...maybe lie down with me?"
Instantly his cheeks warmed up. Unlike many people would think, Zoro was easily flustered by requests like that coming from you. He'd long dreamed of laying with you in his hammock, you on his chest with his arms around you, but he hadn't ever expected it to really happen. His heart was beating faster than it usually did, as always when he was around you, but he happily obliged despite his nervousness in doing so. You shifted to give him space, letting him slip onto the hammock beside you.
"You might not be comfortable with it, and it's totally okay if you, arent, but-" You groaned in pain, then continued, "Can you please put your hand here?" You placed a hand over the spot, and he almost choked on air when he realised how far down it was. You saw his expression, and your eyes widened, "I-I'm sorry, you don't-"
His warm hand settled over that spot before you finished, "I want to help."
You blushed, "Well...your hand might help better inside."
His eyes widened, but he slowly slipped his hand in and settled it over that same spot, and was about to ask if that was right when he looked at your face and saw you visibly relax. That gave him his answer. When he started rubbing slowly, the pained look on your face completely disappeared.
"That feels really good."
He smiled, then guided your head to his chest as he slowly relaxed as well. You closed your eyes, mumbling something about how you never knew such peace existed during your period. Another unusual bout of pride swelled in his chest, knowing he could help without words, because those were not his strong suit.
"Can I kiss you?"
He was surprised to hear you ask, and looked down to see your eyes on his lips. He leaned in without saying anything and captured your lips with his own, kissing you slowly and softly. The kiss was much gentler than you expected it to be, but you weren't complaining because his lips were soft and warm, and you leaned into him even more, deepening the kiss. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered around wildly, but this time you didn't try to calm them because you loved the way he made you feel. He pulled away too soon, but pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
"You should sleep. You look tired."
"I am tired," you complained, "But I don't want to sleep. What if I wake up and you're gone? And I'm in my own bed, and this was all a dream?"
He chuckled, finding it adorable how sleepy you sounded, "I promise I'll be here when you wake up. You and I are both staying right here."
"Okay."
That 'okay' was so innocent and childlike, making you much cuter to him. You yawned once, before closing your eyes again and getting comfortable on his broad chest. He held you close, and you fell asleep knowing you had the best caretaker watching over you.
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Girl for one get that glass of water! andddd this is a loose request but I LOVE knight Luke and we just gotta see them have that cinderella live action ball scene like romantic dancing maybe the secret garden as well but either way we gotta see these gals at a ball! Have a great day you're an amazing writer!
under the moonlight
fic about the ball
pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader
a/n: thank you so much for this request it is so fucking cute lmao. i changed it a bit to make it work with my vision (bc they wouldn’t really be able to dance at a ball) but the core is that they're dancing together!!! and it is much more intimate and personal lol. here is the cinderella scene that the ask mentioned (and that i took inspo from because it's a beautiful scene lol)
wc: 2.5k
warning(s): basically all fluff
as usual, a mix of hcs and traditional fic!
ALRIGHT LAST TIME WE LEFT OFF princess was dancing with princes during the ball and luke was sulking at his first ever ball accompanying you as a knight
and thankfully, that all goes okay.
You don’t get murdered, Luke only goes slightly insane, and you don’t fall head over heels for any royals.
All in all, a pretty alright night in retrospect.
But post-ball is rough on both of you.
You complain about how much your feet hurt from your heels and how uncomfortable your dress is and how your cheeks ache from smiling so much.
To your surprise, as Luke follows you down the halls, he laughs.
You stop in your tracks as you whirl around. “And what do you find so funny?”
“Nothing,” he says with a slight smile, almost private. “Just… good to be back with you, princess.”
A small smile of your own starts to creep on your lips. “It was only half the night, Luke.”
“And you have no idea how much I missed you,” he muses.
You just shake your head and continue walking. “You’re funny.”
(he’s not joking. he’s just going through it now that he’s not training 24/7 and actually has time to feel emotions again)
You finally get back to your room—thankfully, you got out of any post-ball events with any princes by citing exhaustion, and it’s very rude to demand more of an exhausted lady—and Luke shuts the door behind you as you sink into the edge of your bed.
“God,” you groan as you immediately peel your heels off, letting out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those.”
“If it’s any help, you looked very regal out there,” Luke says.
“It is my duty,” you say as you smile inwardly. “You looked very knightly out there.”
“And that’s my duty,” he says in kind. He gets a chuckle out of you.
You begin to take everything off—you undo your hair from whatever elaborate style it was in, you strip your wrists and fingers bare of bracelets, bangles, and rings (though you leave a certain necklace on), you undo parts of your dress. When you take your nightgown from your chest and go behind your folding screen, Luke clears his throat.
“Princess,” Luke says, “do you want me to—?”
“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t mind.”
And Luke, idiot that he is, gets all in his head.
(Does she not want me to leave because she doesn’t even see me as someone who could like her like that???) (We’ve been friends for so long, does she just see me as an older brother???) (Does this mean she trusts me or sees me as like. a painting on the wall.) (what the fuck)
It’s not any of those, poor boy. it’s just that you feel more comfortable around him than anyone because you’ve been around each other for your entire life—he knows you better than anyone. What’s the harm in him being in the room when you’re separated by a folding screen anyway?
but Luke is dramatic and also so fucking insecure when it comes to your feelings for him lmao
and he has a reason to be i guess?? because at this point while he knows that he has feelings for you (hasn’t fully realized he’s in love) you haven’t realized your own. you just think you have a lingering childhood crush on Luke and it’ll go away as you get older and start being courted
(spoiler alert: it will not go away.)
so he gets all weird and silent, giving one word responses as you talk with him, and when you come out in your nightgown you immediately stare him down.
“Luke,” you said, “what’s wrong?”
He blinked, as if he wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Nothing.”
“Luke,” you repeated. “Come on.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated as well.
You crossed your arms. “Don’t act like I don’t know every single thing about you.”
“If you do, then you should know that nothing is wrong,” he countered.
You stared at him for a moment more, then you held out your hand. “Dance with me, then.”
That actually seemed to throw him off guard as he frowned. “What?”
“Did you go deaf back there?” you joked. “I want you to dance with me.”
He managed a smile, though it was slightly awkward. It only made your smile grow. “I don’t dance, princess.”
“Which is why I’ll teach you,” you said with a nod. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“And I have none.” Luke gestured at his armor. “I’m not exactly suited for it, either.”
“You can take off your armor,” you said. “It’ll make it all much easier. And a lot quieter.”
“My job is to protect you, princess.” Luke laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I can’t exactly defend you if all the armor’s gone.”
You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. He really did worry too much. “Nothing’s going to happen here, Luke—not now. I’ll even let you keep your sword with you if it matters that much.”
He still didn’t seem sure. You inclined your head and took another step forward, still holding out your hand.
“I’ll count you through it all,” you promised. “And if you like, I can hum one of those orchestra tunes they played earlier tonight. And I promise it’ll make you feel better.”
“...Fine,” Luke relented, and he started undoing his armor. “But you don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” you remarked.
It took a fair amount of time for Luke to get his armor off, but it took just as long for you to get every layer of your ball gown off earlier—and besides, you had endless patience reserved especially for him. The toned forearms revealed as he rolled his sleeves up certainly helped.
“Are you ready?” you asked as you held out your hand again.
Luke took it uncertainly. “I feel as if I’m the one meant to be asking you that.”
“You can lead next time we train together,” you said with a smile. “For now, you’re in my domain.”
You put Luke’s hand on your waist and reached for his other one, adjusting until it was right, then you looked up at him. “Does that feel alright?”
His eyes were startlingly dark this close, surprisingly intense. He nodded.
“Good. I’m going to teach you a few basic steps so you can get used to it.”
Luke nodded again. You wondered why words seemed behind his grasp.
yeah girlie I wonder why
Luke is. not a great dancer
You’re not surprised, and you don’t say a single word about it as you teach him the basics. he spent his childhood swinging a sword around, and you spent yours learning etiquette and ballroom dances lol
He steps on your foot about ten times and apologizes like a freak every time, you just laugh and smile and tell him you’re fine. Sure, your slippers don’t provide much protection and Luke’s boots aren’t great against them but you honestly don’t even feel it. you’re too busy getting lost in his eyes lol
And for someone who spent two years training like an insane person, he gets frustrated very easily when things don’t go his way.
“How do you do this? It’s impossible.”
“I learned this dance when I was twelve, Luke.”
as much as you jest while you’re teaching him the basics you’re encouraging him the entire time because he’s your best friend above all else!!! and you honestly believe he can do anything lmao
And he’s a quick learner! He didn’t become the youngest kingsguard in history by learning slowly. So soon enough, you’re actually dancing together.
Luke’s hand on your back feels like the most natural thing in the world, and you can tell he’s actually starting to get a little into it.
You didn’t have to count your steps off anymore, so you’d switched to humming one of your favorite symphonies from the musicians back in Aurelda.
Luke is still focused on landing every move, but your lead and the music gives him confidence in this that he didn’t really know he had. He spins you, and you get an idea as you twirl your way to the balcony door. You open it and look back at him.
“Princess—” Luke starts as he takes a few steps towards you, but you just shake your head with a grin and hold out your hand.
“Trust me.”
And he does, somehow.
You didn’t know what part of himself Luke had to get to in order to actually go along with this, but he allowed you to fully take the lead. His eyes never left yours as you guided him through one of your favorite dances—sometimes you called out whatever move that was coming next, and he would do it perfectly. His instincts and reaction time, sharply honed by his training, actually came in handy.
“And lift!”
Luke braced his hands on your waist as he raised you into the air without missing a beat, and you found yourself actually laughing with pure glee as you landed. You grinned at Luke who had a smile smaller than yours, but that you knew meant the same. He glowed with exertion and the light of the full moon shone down on him.
Angelic was the only word you could think of to describe him.
“Princess,” he said, bringing you back to the real world, “are we done?”
“I see no reason not to end while we’re ahead,” you said, slightly out of breath from his lift. “You’re a natural. Are you sure you’re not a prince?”
Luke’s smile didn’t fully reach his eyes for the slightest moment—he covered it up before you could fully analyze it. “Thankfully, I’m not. Otherwise I would have had to do that all my life like you.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” you said offhandedly. “Especially when you’ve got such a great partner.”
Luke suddenly lowered himself into a bow, his arm held in front of his chest as he bent over. You couldn’t stifle your laugh in time, but he was smiling when he rose.
“The only proper way to truly end a dance, so I’ve seen,” he said. “I wouldn’t be such a great partner if I forgot that.”
You grinned as you took the skirt of your nightgown in your hands and bobbed into a curtsy. “Thank you for the reminder, my lord.”
A shiver ran through you and Luke’s eyebrows creased. “You should get back inside. You’re not dressed at all for this weather.”
“It’s simply a night chill,” you said, and you walked over to the railing and rested your forearms on it. “And it’s too beautiful a night to ignore.”
“It truly is.”
You heard Luke walk up next to you, so you glanced over. His gaze was only set on you.
You felt your cheeks flush and you bit back your smile as you stared back up at the stars. For a moment, you stood together in comfortable silence.
“Thank you for tonight,” you finally said.
You could hear his frown in his words. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” You leaned a bit closer to the railing, shifting your balance. “Your presence always… calms me. And I was a bit nervous for tonight.”
When Luke finally responded, it was more restrained than usual. “Why?”
“Well, I was nervous tonight because you put the idea in my head that I was going to get murdered,” you said wryly. “And your presence calms me because it always has.”
“So… I made you nervous and calmed you down for what I made you nervous about?” Luke shook his head. “I’m sorry, princess.”
“Why are you apologizing?” You finally turned to look at him, the smallest smile on your lips. “Anytime I got overwhelmed on the floor, or felt as if I was going to keel over from boredom, I just searched around until I found you.” You shrugged. “The sight of you alone was enough to get me through the rest of it.”
“And of course,” you tipped a shoulder as your gaze drifted back to the stars, “you danced with me for no reason. That gives you all the good will you need from me.”
“It wasn’t for no reason,” he said. “It made you happy. That’s reason enough for me.”
The chill in the air was a blessing as you felt heat rise in your cheeks, and your smile grew just so.
“Besides.” You could feel his eyes on you as he continued. “This was my first ball. Anytime I got overwhelmed, I would find you in the crowd, and your confidence got me through it.”
You chuckled as your gaze fell to the marble railing. You didn’t know if you’ve ever felt less confident at a ball—but knowing that Luke was looking for you the same way you did him made butterflies arise in your stomach.
Warmth spurned all through you, and the fingers on your forearms felt bumps rise on your skin. You didn’t exactly know what possessed you as you cleared your throat and started back towards your room.
“It’s late,” you said, perhaps a bit too hasty. “We— we should turn in. It’s going to be a long ride back to Aurelda.”
You paused at the door, waiting to hear Luke’s footsteps or his voice, and it took a few seconds for him to do anything.
“...Yes,” he eventually said. “I apologize for keeping you so long.”
You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you opened the door and walked back in. Always so noble—it was no question he had knight’s blood in his veins.
“It’s not your fault, Luke,” you said. “You were just meant to drop me off—I got you to stay.”
You sat on the side of your bed as Luke put his armor back on. There was no point in it, but he refused to let the implications of him leaving your room at this hour in his underclothes fester.
“I chose to stay,” he said. “I know better.”
“You can give it a rest for a night, Luke,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m your princess, aren’t I?”
“Certainly.”
“And you are my knight.”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t see how anyone could have a problem with my knight spending time with me.” You smiled as you leaned forward, meeting his eyes. A smile twitched on his lips for just a moment before he continued to get dressed.
Soon enough, he was ready to go. Luke paused at the door, fingers on the handle, and met your eyes.
“Thank you again for tonight, princess,” he said. “I…”
His breath caught for a moment. His eyes flickered down to your neck. A millisecond later, they were back at eye level, and you allowed a knowing smile.
“I enjoyed it,” he murmured. “Goodnight, princess.”
“Goodnight, Luke,” you said softly.
And you got one more smile out of him before he closed the door behind him.
#IF I EVER DO NOT DO THE “IT'S BEAUTIFUL” “YEAH IT IS” *LOOKING AT THEM* TROPE THEN I AM DEAD I AM DEADDDD DO YOU HEAR ME#posting at midnight because i once again have no self control#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan fic#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan headcanon#luke castellan au#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#pjo x reader#x reader#knight!luke#sadie writes
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hey my love, happy valentines 😻 can i make a request?
it's actually kind of based of a fic that i saw a few days ago but it was for wanda, where reader tries to be dominant with her just to prove she can, but then reader eventually gets lost and gives in because she wants her mommy to take care of her. could you do that with sugar mommy nat please? i would love that 🩷
Control | N. R
Sugar!Mommy Natasha x Sugar!Baby Reader
MINORS DNI 18+!
Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 37 and reader is 21), oral (n receiving), subspace, strap on (r receiving), begging, Mommy kink, choking
Word count: 1,4K words
A/n: Thank you Anon for this request, I really enjoyed writing this <3
Natasha and you lay tangled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room. Natasha's fingers traced lazy patterns down your arm as you both enjoyed the afterglow of your lovemaking.
Suddenly you changed, a determined look in your eyes. “N-Nat?,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the night. "I want to try something...different tonight."
Natasha raised an eyebrow and her lips curled into a playful smile. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"
Your cheeks flushed as you gathered your courage. “I..want to be in control tonight,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.
Natasha's expression softened as she thought about your request. “I’m not sure, darling,” she began intravenously. "It might feel...unfamiliar."
But you're not deterred, your eyes begging Natasha to give it a chance. “Please, Natasha,” you pleaded, your voice filled with new determination. “I want to show you how much I trust you, how much I love you.”
Something flickered in Natasha's eyes as she looked at you, a mix of surprise and admiration. She gave in with a sigh, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Okay,” she murmured, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then show what you’re made of.”
Your heart raced with anticipation. You leaned closer to Natasha, your lips touching her ear and whispered, “Trust me, Mommy. I will make it unforgettable.” You learned from the best
Holding back her grin so as not to unsettle you, Natasha leaned further against the bed and nodded, allowing you to take the lead.
With renewed determination, kisses trailed down Natasha's neck, eliciting a soft sigh from her lips. You caress her skin with gentle touches, exploring every inch of her with reverence.
With a tender kiss you began to explore Natasha's most intimate parts, your movements slow and deliberate.
Natasha gasped as waves of pleasure washed over her, her fingers gently tangling in your hair as she gave in to the feeling. Despite your initial reservations, she felt lost in the moment, consumed by the raw passion you ignited within her.
However, you hadn't realized how much input you had to put into the whole thing. Why hasn't she come yet? Why does it always happen so quickly for you? All the hustle and bustle, your wetness and the great passion were a bit too much for you. You slip deeper and deeper into subspace and lose control of your surroundings and your own desires. Your breathing became ragged, your heart racing as you teetered on the edge of an overwhelming sensation.
As Natasha sensed your descent into subspace, her instincts sharpened. With a firm but gentle touch, she recognized the change in your dynamic, gaining control and guiding you back from the brink of insecurity.
"Stay with me, darling," Natasha whispered, her voice a firm anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. "I have you."
As Natasha took the wheel, her dominance was unwavering, guiding you both back to the peak of pleasure with masterful precision.
She shove two fingers straight into your pussy and twist them so your eyes roll back in your head. Natasha grins at you. “Do you have anything left for me?”
“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes.. anytime..Please..”
Natasha’s fingers push in, push up. Meanwhile, she rubs your clit so hard that you gasp for air. “Come on,” Natasha growls. “Ask for it, Y/n.”
“please..,” you force out, “please, please, just, do something, please..”
Natasha’s eyes narrow and she lets her hand slide back; you feel empty, exhausted and empty, and you swallow, your eyes burning and your chest tight. But Natasha wasn't going anywhere, or, more accurately, she was going exactly where you want her. She grabs your wrists and squeezes them tightly, and once you're pinned down, once Natasha's sure you can't go anywhere, she takes one hand back, adjusts her fake cock, and starts thrusting in slowly.
When she's fully inside you, you quiver beneath her, trembling, and Natasha places her hands on your wrists again. “Again,” Natasha growls down at you.
And you know what she wants to hear, you know that growl inside and out by now. "M-Mommy..please! Make me cum.."
“Mine,” she whispers. “I fucking own you and you know it, you want it, you fucking get it.”
“yes! yes..” you close your eyes and grit your teeth; With Natasha inside you, with Natasha growling at you and telling you to beg her for it, how the hell are you supposed to hold back? “You are my little toy, and don’t forget that.”
You could barely get the words out. However, inside you were in ecstasy. Trying to speak and keep your eyes open while your whole body vibrated took all your concentration. She rammed into you again. "Oh yeah. So tight, so wet. God, Y/n..” she had no rhythm left, thrusting randomly into you and feeling her own orgasm coming slowly and steadily
“You’re doing so good,” she breathed as your eyes opened and locked on hers, “so I’m going to reward you. Do you want to cum?”
“Y-Yes!”you gasp, so turned on that you didn’t care about anything other than finding a way to cum.
"Good girl," she whispered, taking up temp. You kept your eyes open as she wrapped her hand around your neck, constricting your airway just enough for the intensity to increase. Your mouth was open, but no sound came out. Everything stopped and all you could see were her eyes looking at you transfixed as you cum.
“Oh, Y/n, oh fuck…” As she came, she made a noise, like a moan, but cut into little pieces, like confetti. Her eyes remained on yours, but she looked through you unfocused. Then she collapsed onto you, releasing her hold and exhaling loudly.
"Are you all right?" She was panting, her mouth just over yours, your lips brushing against hers with every breath. “I didn’t think it would be so tiring.”
Natasha noticed your disappointment, “Detka, it was your first time and you did very well for it...still,” Natasha hugged you and pulled you closer to her, “I'm responsible for everything in bed, do not forget that."
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#natasha x reader#natasha smut#natasha romanoff#dom!natasha x reader#natasha romanov x reader#nat x reader#natasha romanov smut#natasha romonova#the avengers#natasha
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*stumbles in and door slams into the wall* Ding-dong💘
Soft Love
Alastor X Chubby Reader
Warnings ⚠
⚠ food mention-desserts and strawberries, hurt/comfort, italics=thoughts, insecurities, mentions of murder, mention of cannibalism, slight implied/suggestive ⚠
Life in Hell was hectic.
Love in Hell? Nearly impossible to find.
Especially if its real.
Alastor knew you as the kind, soft demon that everyone got along with in the hotel staff.
Kind even to him.
Your work at the hotel was mostly in the arts. The Princess has you in the therapy area to help sinners express their emotions with different mediums.
Such an interesting demon you were with many hobbies. Painting, singing, dancing, baking, designing, cooking, knitting, photography, drawing. The list could go on possibly for a while, you haven't shared all of them.
He was curious, wondering exactly what damned you to Hell.
"Alastor!"
Speak of the devil, you called.
"Yes dear?", he looked up from his book.
He sat on the lobby couch that was just across the bar, patiently waiting for you to speak.
"Could you try something for me? I made some lava cake for desert but I want to make sure yours is the right amount of bitter."
Yes, you were also very considerate and attentive.
"Of course dear!", he stood from the couch and whisked his book away into the shadows. "You know I always look forward to your baking."
He followed behind you, smiling a little wider at the pep in your step.
The Radio Demon knew that he had feelings for you. It took him a while to come to terms with it but let it happen anyway.
You were also the only person that he touched (respectfully) often. Holding your hand, linking your arms together, squishing your cheeks, holding you close for a dance. All excuses just to feel your warmth and softness.
Sure, he's let his friend Rosie touch him but she knew that he didn't like physical contact too often unless it was needed for dancing.
"I made your cake less sweet too!", you turned to look back at him with a smile.
"I appreciate it."
Once both of you entered the kitchen, you showed him the cakes and got out two different chocolate mixes.
"The lighter one is the sweetest, and the darker one is quite bitter.", you placed the bowls on the counter. "I actually want to try it with strawberries too.."
"Sounds appetizing!", he stepped closer and placed his hand on your lower back, leaning forward. "I wouldn't mind having a bite."
You blushed and avoided his gaze.
How adorable.
"I'll get a spoon for you to try the chocolate.", you said before walking out of his hold and over to the drawers near the door.
One thing he noticed was that when it came to his touch, you'd shy away. When he gave you compliments regarding your appearance, you would brush him off or put yourself down.
It upset him greatly.
Somewhat impatient, he swiped up some of the dark chocolate with his finger and tasted it.
"Alastor!"
Like a child, he quickly held his hands behind his back as if to hide something.
"Yes?"
You sighed and got a napkin before walking up to the red man.
"No use in hiding what you did.", you held out your hand.
"But I'm not hiding anything.", he shows you his hands by placing them on yours. "See?"
You hum and pull him down by his hands. "You've got chocolate on the side of your lip deer.", you point out and laugh.
He let's you clean him up with the napkin.
When you pull back, he stops you by taking a hold of your hand with the napkin. Calling your name, the Radio Demon looks you in the eye.
"I have a question for you"
"What is it?", you ask.
"Why is it that whenever I give you a compliment, you disregard it?"
In a second you stiffened and stared at him wide eyed.
"W-what? I don't do that..", you tried to pull away.
Alastor places a kiss on your fingers, still not letting go of your hand.
"Don't lie to me my dear, I always remember everything about you."
You look away with a sigh.
The frown on your face makes his unbeating heart ache.
"I don't like to talk about it.", you say and pull away.
Instead of leaving, you move the bowls and hop onto the counter to sit. Then you take a moment before speaking.
"I wasn't always treated right because of how big I looked.", you said with a sad smile. "I wasn't beauty standard perfect, or had a body that someone could ogle."
The red demon listened.
"When I did get into a relationship, it wasn't good. I was belittled, abused, and cheated on. But I still loved with my whole being..", you moved your hands onto your lap. "I was stabbed to death by them."
Alastor had to hold back his anger.
He wanted to find the person who dared treat you like nothing. To torture and rip them apart. To eat them alive.
"Silly, isn't it?", you smiled sadly, staring down at your hands. "Its what got me killed in the first place but yet I'm still chasing after it."
The Radio Demon slowly took your hands and gently rubbed them.
"You just put your heart in the wrong hands.", he said and lifted your hands to kiss your knuckles. "If I was the one who you loved, you wouldn't have to worry about any affairs."
He kissed the inside of your wrist.
"I'd compliment you everyday."
You were blushing madly at this point, too shocked and flustered to stop him.
He kissed your shoulder.
"I would never hurt you.", he says and kisses your cheek before whispering. "Unless you asked me to."
"Alastor-", you got one of your hands out of his hold to cover your mouth and some of your red face.
He leans back a bit to get a good look at you.
"I don't know how they couldn't see you for who you are. You're absolutely divine and worth so much more than anything anyone else could offer me."
You were tearing up at this point, still covering your mouth.
Carefully, the deer demon moved your hand away and caressed the side of your face. Wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.
"I love you."
You start tearing up more and he sees them start running down, some wetting his hand.
"I love all of you.", he smiles genuinely. "And if anyone dared try to insult or belittle you again, I'll make sure to torture them a million times over until you ask me to stop."
You've begun to quietly sob, wiping your tears as best as you could with your free hand.
"May I kiss you?"
You laugh at that.
"I'm a mess!", you say with a breathy laugh before sniffling.
"No, you're adorable.", he kisses the top of your head.
He let's you take a minute to calm down and helps you wipe your tears and snot away.
"Can you ask again?", you give him a shy smile.
"May I kiss you?", his smile widens.
"Yes please."
Both of you share a soft but long kiss.
I found the merch!
~Seline, the person.
Taglist@
None for right now until I can fix how to add more tags.
ML for Alastor🎙
Extra:
You confess to Alastor that you've had a crush on him for quite a while.
"How long?", he asks, deer ears perked up.
"Uh..haha.", you look away with a blush. "After a week of joining the hotel.."
Doing the math, he realized that you've fancied him four months before he started growing feelings for you.
"Is that why you would ask what my favorite meals are? And how much sweetness I could tolerate?"
You nod.
"I can't believe how oblivious I've been. You've been gifting and making things for me.", his deer ears droop down and his brows furrow. "I must make up for all the time you spent on me."
"It's alright love.", you smiled.
"No, you can't change my mind.", he says and steals a kiss. "I'm going to spoil you."
🫀
#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor the radio demon#x reader#gn reader#the radio demon#alastor x reader#fanfic#happy valentine's day#💕#🥰#chubby reader#x chubby reader#soft love#because fuck yeah!#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin fanfic
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You belong to me| Spencer Reid
A/N: The rest of my uploads this week will be ones that have being requested, as I have a few waiting to be posted and I feel bad for the people waiting for their requests:) Jag älskar dig 🫶🏼
Summary: You and Spencer had called it quits on your “relationship” when Spencer refused to commit himself to you fully. However, Spencer didn’t realise how much he would hate seeing you flirt with somebody else. Happy ending(I promise).
Content: Smut and angst. Fem!reader. Dom!Spencer and Sub! reader. Possessive and to an extent asshole Spencer. Oral (F! receiving). Vaginal penetration. No mentions of contraception. Creampie. owning/claiming kink. overstimulation. 18+
Masterlist| Requests are open| Navigation
You stood in Spencer’s hotel room, filled with anger. Spencer had made it clear he didn’t want to be in a relationship with you, you had also seen him happily flirting with other women. So, why did he have a problem with you flirting with a man who was very clearly into you.
“Spencer, last time I checked you didn’t want to be in a relationship with me. So, you do not get to tell other men to back off when they are flirting with me.” You stated through gritted teeth.
Spencer's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he absorbed your words. His silence was heavy, thick with the tension that hung between you. The room seemed to shrink, suffocating you both in a cloud of unresolved emotions.
Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and possessiveness. "It's different, okay? I mean... I didn't think you'd actually go out and find someone else so quickly," he muttered, his gaze avoiding yours.
Anger surged within you at his audacity. "Oh, so it's all about your ego then? You want me to pine away for you while you have your fun? Newsflash, Spencer, I have needs too. I deserve to be happy."
His eyes flickered with regret before hardening again. "I never said you didn't deserve to be happy," he rebutted defensively.
Your voice dripped with sarcasm. "Right. So, when I find happiness elsewhere, you suddenly have a problem with it? Sounds like double standards to me, Spencer."
Spencer's face flushed with frustration, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "It's not about double standards," he argued, his voice growing louder. "I just... I didn't expect to feel this way. Seeing you with someone else, it hurts."
“Oh, but you didn’t think how I would feel seeing you flirting with other people. God why is everything always about you?” you sighed; frustration etched into every line on your face. Spencer's words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the tumultuous nature of your relationship.
Spencer walked over to you, his steps measured and deliberate. He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The touch sent shivers down your spine, a reminder of the undeniable chemistry that had drawn you together in the first place.
“Not everything is about me. But I can’t let what’s mine flirt with somebody else.” Spencer's words hung in the air. Your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air, an intoxicating mixture of possessiveness and longing. The intensity of his gaze locked you in place, his touch branding your skin, igniting a flicker of desire deep within you.
“Spencer, you don’t get to say that anymore.” You tried to pull away from his grasp, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. The pain shot through you, mingling with the remnants of anger and desire that swirled in your veins.
"I do get to say it," he growled, his voice thick with a mix of dominance and desperation. "Because no matter what we've said or done, I can't shake this feeling that you're mine."
Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Spencer's possessiveness was suffocating, but a part of you couldn't deny the thrill it ignited deep in your core. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, melting your resolve with every passing second.
But you refused to let him dictate your happiness any longer. With a surge of strength, you wrenched yourself free from his grip, stepping back and putting some distance between you. The pain lingered on your skin where his fingers had dug into you, a stark reminder of the toxicity that had seeped into your relationship.
"No, Spencer," you said firmly, your voice trembling but resolute. "I am not yours to claim. I deserve freedom, happiness, and someone who respects me enough to let me make my own choices."
His face contorted with a mix of anger and hurt; his breathing ragged as he struggled to regain control. "You don't understand," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. You're all I think about, all I want. And you're just throwing it away for some cheap fling."
"No, Spencer," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "This is not a cheap fling. This is me reclaiming my worth and refusing to settle for less than I deserve."
"You're mine," he repeated, his voice filled with a mixture of desperation and frustration. “You’ll always be mine. You’ve just got to accept it.”
Spencer’s lips than found themselves on yours. You wanted to protest, to pull away from the kiss. But you couldn’t, this is all you ever wanted. You just wanted Spencer, and you knew you were just flirting with that officer to see if Spencer would get jealous.
The kiss was electric, a collision of passion and longing that left you breathless. Spencer's lips moved against yours with a fervour that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling inside both of you. As his hands roamed your body, igniting a fire that had never fully extinguished, you couldn't help but succumb to the seductive pull of his touch.
Spencer's lips curled into a predatory smile, sensing your surrender. His grip tightened even further, bordering on painful, but you found yourself oddly drawn to the discomfort, craving the mix of pleasure and pain that only he seemed capable of providing.
You melted into his touch, your body responding eagerly to his every command. The familiar dance of dominance and submission played out between you, the lines blurring as pleasure mingled with the lingering pain from his earlier grip.
Spencer pulled away from the kiss, his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered darkly, "You may think you're your own person, but deep down, you know it's different between us."
Your heart raced in your chest, conflicted, and torn between the intoxicating desire that Spencer ignited within you and the boundaries you were determined to set. His words sank deep into your subconscious, stirring a primal need to surrender to him completely.
“I’m yours Spencer, I’ll forever be yours.” The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend them, a whisper of submission that hung heavily in the air. Spencer's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and triumph, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. His hold on you tightened possessively, his fingers digging into your flesh as if marking you as his territory.
Spencer's triumphant smile sent chills down your spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through your veins. The possessiveness in his touch both thrilled and frightened you, but the undeniable connection between you made it difficult to resist.
Spencer’s hand found their way to your shirt, his fingers undoing the buttons slowly, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath. His touch was both deliberate and tender, his gaze never leaving yours as he explored every inch of your exposed skin.
As the fabric fell away, exposing your bare chest to the cool air, Spencer's eyes darkened with desire. His fingers traced a path of fire along your collarbone, down your abdomen, until they reached the waistband of your pants. With a quick flick of his wrist, he unbuttoned them, his touch igniting a trail of need that burned through you.
You could feel the hunger radiating from him, a primal urge that matched your own. There was no denying the raw connection between you, no matter how toxic it may have become. It was a dance, an intoxicating game of power and surrender that neither of you could resist.
Spencer's lips found yours once again, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The kiss was a maelstrom of passion and possessiveness, fuelling the fire that raged within both of you. His hands explored every inch of your exposed skin, igniting a trail of desire that consumed you both.
As his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a fiery path in their wake, your mind struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions raging within. Sensation mingled with uncertainty; pleasure intertwined with doubt. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that existed was the intoxicating connection between you and Spencer.
You hadn’t realised but Spencer was pushing you towards the bed, his touch guiding you with an intensity that made your heart race. The sheets beckoned, a sanctuary where the turmoil of your relationship could be momentarily forgotten. As you sank into the softness, surrendering to the desires that consumed you both, the world outside ceased to exist.
Spencer's eyes held yours, filled with a mixture of hunger and adoration. Each movement, each touch, was a delicate balance between dominance and tenderness, awakening a whirlwind of emotions within you. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.
The air brimmed with anticipation as Spencer lowered himself beside you on the bed, his body radiating heat. Your souls seemed intertwined, bound by an unspoken understanding that surpassed words. His lips found your neck once again, leaving a trail of kisses that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.
With a gentle touch, he traced a path down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. His lips worshipped at every inch of your skin, leaving no part untouched by his fervent desire.
As Spencer's lips trailed lower, his hands followed suit, caressing your thighs with a tender touch that made every nerve ending tingle. The anticipation built with each passing second, the air heavy with desire and the promise of unbridled pleasure.
Spencer's eyes met yours, you knew he was asking for consent, but you could sense he was asking for redemption. You hesitated for a moment, caught between the allure of surrender and the boundaries you were determined to set. The toxic history of your relationship with Spencer tugged at the edges of your mind, warning you of the potential consequences of giving in to his desires once more.
But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a glimmer of vulnerability beneath the seductive gaze. It was a plea for redemption, an unspoken promise that this time would be different. And so, with a mix of trepidation and newfound hope, you nodded, granting him the consent he sought.
Without hesitation, he lowered his head, his hot breath grazing against your sensitive flesh. His tongue delved between your folds, exploring, and tasting every inch as if committing it to memory. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, each lick and suck sending shockwaves through your body.
The intensity built with every passing second, reaching a crescendo that threatened to consume you entirely. Your fingers threaded through Spencer's hair, urging him closer, deeper. He responded with a primal growl against your skin, intensifying the sensations coursing through you. His mouth became a vortex of pleasure, his tongue expertly tracing patterns that drove you to the edge and back again.
You were lost in a symphony of ecstasy, the boundaries of pleasure and pain blurring as Spencer pushed you further towards the edge. His touch was both tender and possessive, his tongue exploring every inch of your intimate depths with a voracious hunger that left no doubt of his intentions.
The room filled with your gasps and moans; the air heavy with the scent of desire. Spencer's fingers joined in the dance, tracing maddening circles on your swollen bud, coaxing you closer to the precipice. The tension built within you, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.
And just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he plunged two fingers inside you, filling you completely. The sensation sent shockwaves through your body, pleasure spiraling outwards from the depths of your core. Your back arched off the bed involuntarily as he expertly curled his fingers, hitting that sweet spot that had always driven you wild.
The world faded away as pleasure engulfed you, every touch from Spencer a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through your body. The boundaries you had set were shattered in the wake of the pleasure he provided, replaced by an insatiable hunger for more. Your mind became clouded with desire as he continued his relentless assault on your senses, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.
Spencer's movements grew more intense, his fingers plunging deeper inside you, as if he was determined to claim every inch of your being. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, mingled with his low growls of satisfaction. The intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure heightened your arousal, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.
As the waves of pleasure crashed over you, each crest stronger than the last, you surrendered completely to the intoxicating abyss. Your body writhed beneath Spencer's touch, aching for release as he skilfully brought you to the precipice of ecstasy.
The tension built within you, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap. The room filled with your gasps and moans; the air heavy with the scent of desire. Spencer's fingers joined in the dance, tracing maddening circles on your swollen bud, coaxing you closer to the precipice. The intensity grew with every passing moment, until you were teetering on the edge of an explosive climax.
Just as you were about to tip over into blissful release, Spencer withdrew his fingers, leaving you panting, throbbing, and desperate for more. A whimper of frustration escaped your lips as he grinned wickedly above you. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and mischief.
"Patience," he whispered huskily, his voice dripping with promises of pleasure yet to come.
You watched as Spencer slowly shed his clothes, revealing every inch of his sculpted body. Your breath hitched at the sight, desire coursing through your veins like a wildfire. The hunger in his eyes mirrored your own, igniting a primal need that threatened to consume you both.
With a predatory grace, he prowled towards you, his gaze never leaving yours. The weight of his presence filled the room, intoxicating and overwhelming. As he reached the edge of the bed, his hands moved to grip your hips possessively, his touch searing into your skin.
"I want to taste every inch of you," Spencer growled, his voice dripping with raw desire. His words sent shivers down your spine, anticipation coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach.
His lips crashed against yours again, a fierce kiss that left no doubt of his intentions. His tongue tangled with yours in a dance as old as time, exploring and staking claim to every corner of your mouth. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady combination of desire and something deeper, something that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.
Spencer's hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. His touch was possessive, but tender, an embodiment of the conflicting emotions that filled both your hearts.
With a deft motion, Spencer pushed himself up so that he hovered above you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. There was a hunger there, but also a vulnerability - a vulnerability that mirrored your own.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I want to show you how much I love you." His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and the weight of past mistakes.
In that moment, you saw the truth in his eyes. His words weren't just empty promises, but a genuine declaration of love and desire. The toxic history between you and Spencer had been a tumultuous journey, filled with heartache and pain. But now, in this moment, there was a glimmer of hope, a chance for redemption.
You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to let go of the past and embrace the present. With a surge of courage, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands, pulling him closer to you. The taste of his lips ignited a fire within you, fuelling your hunger for him.
Spencer's hands roamed your body with a renewed passion, his touch setting your skin ablaze. Every caress was filled with purpose, a testament to the depths of his desire for you. You surrendered yourself completely to him, allowing him to explore every inch of your being.
As the world around you faded away, it was just the two of you locked in an intimate dance of love and lust. The room seemed to disappear as you and Spencer became lost in each other. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to the fire that burned between you.
His hands moved over your body with a reverence that spoke of the love he had for you. With each caress, he worshipped every curve and every inch of your skin. It was as though he wanted to memorize every detail, etching it into his memory forever.
You felt adored under his touch, cherished in a way you had never experienced before. It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel desired, beautiful, and wanted. In his embrace, you found solace and passion intertwining, creating a powerful connection that surpassed mere physicality.
The heat between you grew with each passing moment, igniting a hunger that consumed every fibber of your being. Spencer's lips trailed along your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. His breath was warm against your skin as he whispered words of love and longing, his voice husky with desire. You shivered under his touch, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.
With a fluid motion, Spencer eased himself inside you, filling you completely. The connection between you was electric, a fusion of bodies and souls coming together in a moment of exquisite pleasure. His movements were deliberate and measured, each thrust taking you closer to the edge of ecstasy.
Your hands clung to his back, nails digging into his skin as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. Every stroke, every collision of flesh against flesh sent shockwaves of delight rippling through your veins. The symphony of your moans and sighs mingled with his own grunts of pleasure, creating a harmony that echoed through the room.
The rhythm between you intensified, your bodies moving in perfect synchrony. You lost yourself in the dance, surrendering to the primal urge that consumed you both. The world around you ceased to exist as pleasure became your only reality.
Spencer's thrusts grew faster and more urgent, each one driving you closer to the edge of rapture. The room echoed with the sounds of your bodies colliding, a symphony of raw desire and ecstasy. The air crackled with tension as you both chased that elusive release, the anticipation building to a crescendo.
Your senses were heightened, every touch from Spencer igniting fireworks within you. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his devotion. You could feel the intensity in his movements, his need to bring you to the pinnacle of pleasure.
As his lips claimed yours once more, you felt that familiar coil of desire tighten within you. It was as if the whole universe had condensed into this moment, this connection between two souls hungry for each other. Spencer's name escaped your lips like a prayer, mingling with gasps and moans.
With each thrust, you soared higher, teetering on the edge of an explosive release. The intensity of Spencer's touch, combined with the overwhelming love and longing between you, sent your body into a frenzy of pleasure. The world around you blurred into a haze as your senses heightened, every nerve ending electrified.
Spencer's movements became more desperate, his thrusts reaching a fevered pace. He was so close, as were you. With each collision of your bodies, it felt like an eruption of pure bliss was just within reach.
Your eyes locked, the connection between you unbreakable. There was an unspoken understanding in that moment, a shared desire to push each other past the limits of ecstasy. You wanted to give him everything, to show him how much you loved him.
As if sensing your thoughts, Spencer's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. His breath mingled with yours in ragged gasps as he whispered words of love and devotion against your skin.
Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the symphony of your moans and the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. The tension that had built between you was unraveled in that moment, as you both gave yourselves completely to the pleasure that surged through your bodies.
Time seemed to stand still as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. You clung to each other, lost in the intense pleasure that consumed every inch of your being. The room filled with the sounds of your cries and moans, a symphony of passion and desire.
As your climax approached, you felt a surge of warmth intertwine with the pleasure coursing through you. It wasn't just physical release anymore; it was something deeper, something that transcended the boundaries of mere pleasure. It was a connection forged in love and vulnerability, a sacred bond between two souls.
In that final moment, bliss washed over you like a tidal wave. Your bodies trembled and convulsed together, locked in an embrace that defied explanation. It was an explosion of sensation and emotion that left you breathless and sated. The world seemed to fade away as you clung to each other, riding out the aftershocks of pleasure.
As your breathing slowed and your heart rates steadied, you remained tangled in each other's arms, basking in the aftermath of your passion. This moment, this connection, felt so different from anything you had experienced before. It was more than just the physical act; it was an affirmation of your love for one another.
Spencer pressed gentle kisses against your forehead, his touch filled with tenderness and adoration. You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in perfect harmony with your own. The room was filled with a blissful silence, a peaceful sanctuary created by your union.
In the tranquil aftermath, you and Spencer lay entwined, bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. Your fingers traced lazy patterns along his bare chest, revelling in the warmth that radiated between you. The weight of his arm draped across your waist provided a comforting reassurance, grounding you in the reality of your newfound connection.
As the room filled with hushed whispers and soft sighs, you marvelled at the journey that had led you both to this moment. The toxic history that had once plagued your relationship now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the raw love and desire that now bound you together.
Spencer shifted slightly, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss. His breath danced against your skin as he whispered words of affection, promising to cherish and protect what you had created. With each gentle word, he washed away any lingering doubts or fears, replacing them with a deep sense of security and belonging.
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Emotions of the Soul | knj
☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?
☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff
☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think
☆word count: 36.3k
☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3
☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!
☆☆☆☆☆
The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.
You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.
At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…
Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.
You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.
No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.
You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.
Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.
It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.
Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.
Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.
Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.
“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”
“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”
Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”
Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.
Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.
Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.
“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.
You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.
Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.
“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.
Could that have been Namjoon?
“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.
You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”
“No.”
You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”
At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”
“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.
You hated Kim Namjoon.
You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.
Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.
When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.
You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.
One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.
He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.
After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.
Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.
He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.
You could leave immediately after your speech, right?
“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.
You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.
It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.
The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”
You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”
“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”
“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.
You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.
Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.
Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.
The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.
You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.
“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”
The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.
“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”
The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.
You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.
Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.
While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.
It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.
All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.
Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.
You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.
“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”
Sooah could go to hell.
You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”
When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.
At least when he was a teen, he could.
“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”
You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?
“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.
“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.
“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”
Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”
“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”
“I do not remake pieces.”
Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?
“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”
It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.
“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.
It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”
You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”
At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.
You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.
“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.
Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.
Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.
Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.
Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.
She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.
Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.
Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?
*****
December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.
Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.
Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.
The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.
You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.
You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.
“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.
She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”
Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.
“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.
Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.
“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.
Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.
“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.
Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”
“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”
“I-“
“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.
“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.
“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”
You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”
“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.
But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”
She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”
You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.
“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.
Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.
“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”
You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.
“What the fuck?”
Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”
“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”
“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.
You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”
“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.
Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”
“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”
And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.
Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.
It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.
Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?
*****
Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.
You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.
Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.
You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.
You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.
Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.
“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.
You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.
Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.
“It really is you.”
You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.
“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”
You scoffed. “What do you want?”
This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”
You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?
You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.
“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”
He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”
The nerves on this man…
“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”
He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”
You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”
He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.
Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.
No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?
You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”
You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.
Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”
He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”
You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”
“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.
You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.
You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.
“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.
“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”
Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”
Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”
He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.
Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”
Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”
He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”
Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.
“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”
At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”
Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.
“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.
You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”
Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.
“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”
You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.
Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.
“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”
He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”
“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”
“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”
You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”
He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”
“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.
He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”
“You don’t remember?”
At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.
He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”
“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.
Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”
You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”
You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.
“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”
“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”
If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”
You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?
“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”
He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”
You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”
He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”
You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.
You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.
What the hell had just happened?
*****
Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.
Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.
This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.
And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.
The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.
They were the easiest ones, after all.
“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.
Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”
Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.
You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.
“What do you like so much about painting?”
You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”
You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.
You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.
“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”
You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.
And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.
To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.
“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”
You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.
“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”
‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.
“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.
His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.
He had been there after all.
“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.
After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.
“Everything okay?”
You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”
It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.
“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”
You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”
“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.
As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”
He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.
Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.
“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.
Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.
You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”
“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”
You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”
At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”
The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”
“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.
You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”
“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.
“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.
He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”
It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”
He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.
“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”
You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.
“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”
He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”
You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.
“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”
“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”
He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.
Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.
“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”
You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”
He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”
“What?”
He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”
That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”
The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”
You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.
“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”
“I will,” he said.
It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.
*****
“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.
Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”
“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.
“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”
She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”
“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”
“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”
You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.
“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”
Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”
You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.
“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”
“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”
Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.
“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”
She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”
You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”
“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”
You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”
He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.
“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”
“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”
Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.
You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.
She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”
“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”
Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”
“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”
You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”
Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”
You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”
“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”
“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”
You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”
“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”
You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.
You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.
You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.
“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”
You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”
Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.
“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”
“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”
“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”
The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”
You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”
“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.
“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.
They had allied against you, hadn’t they?
“Right,” you let out.
“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”
You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”
To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.
It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.
It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.
��Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.
Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.
“What did he say?” she asked.
You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”
Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.
“Consider it done!”
*****
You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.
Gosh.
You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.
Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.
You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.
But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.
Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.
He was an artist, too, after all.
Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.
“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.
Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”
He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.
Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.
“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.
You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.
You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.
Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.
He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.
You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.
“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.
“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.
A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.
“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.
You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”
That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”
Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.
“Were you?”
He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”
He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.
“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”
He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”
You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”
Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.
“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.
You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.
It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?
When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“Does this happen often?”
He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”
It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.
“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.
He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”
That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”
“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”
Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.
“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.
“Evidently not.”
A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.
“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.
He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”
“Trust me, it’s worth it.”
He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.
A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.
Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.
“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”
You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.
As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.
Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.
“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”
You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.
You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.
“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”
You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”
He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.
Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.
Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”
She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.
“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.
You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.
She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.
“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.
You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.
“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.
Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”
He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”
You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.
“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”
“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.
It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.
When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.
The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.
No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.
“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”
You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”
He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.
“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”
The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”
“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”
“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”
He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.
So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”
He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.
“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”
The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.
It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.
Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.
By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.
You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.
Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.
“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.
You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.
He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.
You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.
You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.
He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.
And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.
Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.
As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.
As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.
You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”
That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”
You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”
His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”
You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”
It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.
The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.
You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.
The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.
“Oh no,” he let out.
You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”
He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”
And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.
“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.
Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.
The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.
“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.
“You’ll have to show me the way.”
You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.
You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.
You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.
You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.
It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.
“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.
You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.
“I want you too,” you replied breathily.
You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.
Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.
“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.
You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.
This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.
He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.
“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.
He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.
His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.
Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.
He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.
The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.
“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”
You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.
And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.
He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”
For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.
If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.
He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.
“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”
You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.
The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.
“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.
For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”
“Yes, baby?”
You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.
“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.
He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.
“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.
His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.
“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”
“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”
“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.
“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”
Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”
He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”
You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”
That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.
Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.
You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.
Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.
“You okay?” he asked.
“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.
“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.
He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.
“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.
Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”
His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.
“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”
You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.
“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.
You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.
“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”
He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.
As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.
Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.
You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.
“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.
“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”
It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”
He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.
“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.
“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.
You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.
You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.
When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.
“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”
He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.
You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.
As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.
Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.
You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.
“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.
All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.
“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.
“Yes,” you answered.
He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”
“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”
Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.
“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.
He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”
You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”
He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.
Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.
“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”
A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.
“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”
He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.
He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.
It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.
“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”
He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.
He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.
When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.
As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.
“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.
He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.
“Shit,” you cursed.
“You okay?”
You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”
He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.
You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.
“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.
The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.
When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.
“Lie down for me,” he gently said.
You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.
When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.
Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.
“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”
You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”
He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.
You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.
“Can you pass me the shampoo?”
He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”
The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.
You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.
Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.
That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.
After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.
Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.
*****
You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.
Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.
You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.
Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.
But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.
That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.
Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.
So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.
You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.
You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.
It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.
Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?
The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.
Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.
Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.
Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.
You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.
You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.
Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.
The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.
You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.
Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.
It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.
You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.
You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”
He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.
“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”
Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.
“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.
“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.
This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”
He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.
“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”
He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”
“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”
Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.
It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.
“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.
Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”
The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”
“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.
You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”
He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.
“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”
It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”
As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”
In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.
“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”
This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”
“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”
And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?
You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.
And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.
Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.
“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.
You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”
He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”
“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”
He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”
A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.
“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”
“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”
He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”
His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.
“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”
“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”
You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”
His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.
“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”
You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.
Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.
Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.
“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.
That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.
“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”
He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”
“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.
He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”
His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.
One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.
*****
Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.
You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.
To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.
“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”
He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”
You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?
Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”
A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”
You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.
And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.
“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”
Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”
“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.
You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”
“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”
It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”
You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.
The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”
That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.
In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.
Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.
You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.
“I’m fucked,” you said.
She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”
You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”
“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”
Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”
“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”
You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.
No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.
“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”
“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”
“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”
See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.
“Shit.”
Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”
She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.
And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.
Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.
And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…
Almost.
*****
“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.
It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.
Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.
Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.
The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.
Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.
As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.
Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.
How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.
You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.
It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.
Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.
“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”
The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”
Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.
As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”
They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.
You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.
“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”
That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.
The smaller woman winced. “How high?”
“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.
“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”
You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”
The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”
They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.
When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.
You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.
You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.
It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.
I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out
For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.
You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.
“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”
“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”
There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”
“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”
Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.
And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?
You highly doubted so.
Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.
The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.
You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?
Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.
“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.
“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.
“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.
But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?
“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”
He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”
And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?
Could he be the solution?
“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”
You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”
He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.
Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?
A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?
“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”
You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.
“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.
“I know.”
But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.
“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.
“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.
He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”
You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.
“Yeah.”
“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.
From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.
“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”
“How have you been feeling?”
You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.
“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”
He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”
You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.
“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.
That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.
“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.
“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”
“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”
You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.
“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.
To touch you, you assumed.
“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”
You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.
Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.
“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”
“Still sucks that it did.”
You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?
“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.
You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.
“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”
Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.
“To escape?” he prodded.
You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”
“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.
It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.
“So I assume you must understand.”
He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.
“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”
Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.
“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.
“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?
“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”
“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”
You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”
Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.
“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.
You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.
“How?”
He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”
The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.
“What?”
He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”
Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.
“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”
Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.
“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.
“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.
And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.
It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.
The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.
You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.
“Namjoon…”
“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”
“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”
You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.
But you knew you were going to let him go.
“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”
Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.
“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.
He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”
“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”
He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”
“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”
At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”
Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.
A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.
“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”
The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.
But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?
That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.
Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.
*****
Thirteen years ago
You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.
You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.
Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.
To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.
So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.
Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.
Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.
“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.
“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”
His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”
Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”
“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”
You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”
He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.
“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”
“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”
“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”
“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”
As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”
“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”
“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”
He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”
It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”
“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”
He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”
You scowled. “Why?”
“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”
“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”
“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”
Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”
“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”
“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.
But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.
“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”
His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”
“No.”
The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”
“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.
“Clearly not.”
“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”
“Joon…”
“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”
“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.
He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”
You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”
“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”
It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.
He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.
☆☆☆☆☆
Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks
#emotions of the soul#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#namjoon fic#namjoon#knj smut#knj angst#knj x you#knj x reader#knj fic#knj#kim namjoon angst#kim namjoon smut#kim namjoon x reader#kim namjoon x you#kim namjoon fic#btswritersclub#life goes on series
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Angel Baby
Who would have thought that resident bad boy Sukuna would become your personal angel? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @reneeprika requested the song "Angel Baby" by Troye Sivan.
Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female)
Genre: fluff, College AU
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: None. Lots of fluff. I cried my eyes out writing this because it made me so emotional. Please listen to the song while reading it!! All characters are of age. My blog is 18+. Minors don't interact.
The sound of heavy rain hitting your window wakes you up in the middle of the night. You sigh and snuggle closer to the warm, muscular body next to you. Your boyfriend Sukuna, who has one strong, tattoed arm wrapped tightly around you, not letting go of you even in his sleep.
A sleepy smile wanders over your face. Sukuna and rain are a combination that will always fill your mind with fond memories.
It was a rainy night like this that brought him to you. When you ran from a party after a song started playing, that reminded you of your ex, who had just broken up with you a few days before. Your tears mixed with the rain, making you stumble half-blind into a solid chest, and two strong arms caught you before you could fall.
"Hey, easy there, princess."
His voice had sounded amused until his maroon eyes landed on your face, and he took in your tear-swollen eyes. You expected to be made fun of when you realized who you had run into. Of course, you knew Sukuna. The whole campus knew him. The bad boy with the tattoos and the smug smirk. A guy like Sukuna surely wouldn't be considerate of your feelings.
But he proved you wrong. His low voice was soft when he asked you what was wrong. His eyes were filled with worry when you muttered something about being sad because your boyfriend broke up with you.
You thought he would leave after that. But he didn't. He took off his leather jacket and put it over your shaking shoulders. He led you to a nearby portico and sat there with you on the stairs, refusing to leave you alone, telling you that your ex was an asshole, and making you laugh softly when Sukuna offered to punch him for you.
He waited with you until your friend with the car was ready to go home, and even then, Sukuna told you to keep his jacket so you wouldn't get cold.
"Just give it back to me next time, princess."
The next time was three days later when you invited him to coffee and cupcakes at your favorite coffee shop to thank him for the jacket and the company. And that next time turned into many more times.
That was two years ago, and now you can't even remember anymore how being heartbroken feels.
Everyone warned you not to get involved with Sukuna and told you he wasn't good for a girl like you. He was the resident bad boy. Arrogant and rough, with too many tattoos and a tendency to get into trouble. Someone who was infamous for being only good for the bedroom.
But instead of scaring you away, that was actually what made you drift to him. Sukuna seemed like a good distraction. Someone who couldn't break your heart because you knew from the start he would only be a little fling. Someone you could just have sex with when you felt like it. The perfect guy for someone like you, who had given up on love.
You weren't looking for a boyfriend anymore. Love was just a lie, lots of words that didn't mean a thing, because you knew everyone would just leave again after a while. You had given up on romance, on "forever" and "happily ever after."
But things turned out very differently. And you are so incredibly grateful for it.
Falling in love with Sukuna caught you off guard. You didn't expect him to treat you so well. Although that first night in the rain should have told you, he wasn't the way people made him out to be.
Sukuna was sweet to you. He was the type to glare intimidatingly at everyone around him and flip them off, just to turn around and smile a genuine, dazzling smile at you and call you his princess and hug you so tightly to his tall, strong body that you felt safe like never before in your life.
He was reliable. Something you would have never thought when looking at him. But he always remembered everything you told him. He remembered your birthday. He remembered when and where to pick you up. He remembered all your appointments and helped you with them. He was there for you when you were anxious, when you were sad when you were overwhelmed with life.
He looked scared when he told you he loved you, just as terrified of those feelings as you were. Two people scared of love. You because you had already gotten burned by it too many times. Sukuna because he had never felt like that before, and the sheer intensity of his feelings for you terrified him.
You both spent the following months learning that love didn't have to hurt or be scary. You both fell in love with so many little things about each other. The way he smiled, the way you laughed. His secret passion for cooking, your passion for books. You spent hours counting the tattoos on his skin and tracing them with your lips. He told you his secrets, trusting you with everything he was underneath his tough shell. Trusting you with a heart that was surprisingly soft, if only for a few select people.
You feel him stir, and his strong arm automatically tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. The warm feeling in your chest grows even more. You can't stop yourself from pressing a tender kiss to Sukuna's tattoed chest.
A soft laugh, raspy with sleep, fills the bedroom,
"Hmm, princess. Can't sleep?"
You smile as you nuzzle your face against his warm, muscular chest.
"The rain woke me up. But it's ok... I'm happy about it, actually. Do you know that rain always reminds me of you?"
He laughs softly and wraps both of his strong arms around you now, hugging you tightly to his firm, tall body.
"Yeah? Rain always reminds me of you, too. I'm glad you ran into me that night."
"Sukuna?"
You lift your head off his chest to look up at his beautiful tattoed face, smiling when his maroon eyes meet yours in the dim light of the streetlamp and the moon shining through the window. There's a lazy, sleepy smirk on his lips, his gaze unguarded, a look he only has when he's with you.
"Yes, baby?"
"You're my angel."
The smirk grows wider and turns into a laugh, even as his eyes sparkle happily,
"Didn't you mix something up, princess? Don't you mean I'm your devil?"
You shake your head, feeling a broad, happy smile spreading over your face,
"No, you are my angel. My angel baby. When I ran into you, I was at a point in life where I had given up on love. I thought true love just existed in books and movies but not in real life. But then you came into my life and showed me a kind of love I never knew before."
You feel happy tears well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks. Tears that immediately get gently wiped away by a warm, tattoed hand. And Sukuna's glittering maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours with a tender look in them that makes your chest feel incredibly full,
"And I never knew love before I met you, princess. You taught me how to fall in love and how to want to stay there. I think you are the angel out of us two."
You laugh happily as more tears spill from your eyes. You reach out to cup Sukuna's cheek, too, caressing the black lines under his eyes and on his jaw, looking at him with love written all over your face.
"I mean it, Kuna. Just because you look like a devil doesn't mean you are one."
He smiles at you, that beautiful smile that is only reserved for you, making him almost look angelic too,
"Then I'll be an angel just for you, princess."
I cried my eyes out while writing this!! Soft boyfie Sukuna hits so different for me, and this here really did things to me 😭💗 I hope it made you feel something too!!
Thank you so much for the super cute prompt!! The song is so perfect for Sukuna. I added it to my boyfie Kuna playlist too 💗💗
Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗
#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna#jjk x reader#jjk x you#sukuna fluff#jjk x y/n#ryomen sukuna
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Aventurine w a fem! bodyguard reader smut... 👀
Aventurine x fem! bodyguard reader
MDNI 18+ content ahead
A/N: thank you for the request! I really like the concept. I wrote it as a mix of headcanons and a quick drabble at the end. I hope you enjoy it <3
Word count: 2.7k
Content warning: Fem! Reader, slight exhibitionism, pet names, fingering, teasing, praise, needy lovestruck Aventurine, slight degradation, slight begging (on his end), pretty soft sex, Aventurine’s daddy kink strikes again, I have a lack of gun knowledge but just roll with it, not proofread
Headcanons
Let me make this really clear: HE’S not the one who needs protection right now; it’s YOU.
The second he met you he was sizing you up with that cute little smirk of his, making it pretty obvious that all professionalism was lost the very moment he saw such a pretty number was working for him.
You should have run then.
What was the IPC thinking when they hired you for this? Is this some type of wrath from the Aeons? What did you do to deserve this punishment?
From the very beginning, he’s a pain to deal with, but you don’t have the authority to talk back, only giving him tight smiles and apologetic words. He knows this and takes full advantage of the situation.
“Y’know, princess, if you’re going to be with me all the time, shouldn’t I have a prettier view? I don’t like having to leave everything up to the imagination. Do you think red or blue is more your color? Ah~ I’ll buy both.” And you’re sitting there seething as he taps away on his phone, seemingly oblivious to your displeasure. Was he just joking? What was he doing?
The VERY next day you see Aventurine holding up not one but two skin tight dresses with fabric only hiding your more intimate areas. It was more like lingerie than a dress like something you’d see on a stripper.
He evidently wasn’t just teasing you.
As politely as you could, you told him it would hinder your fighting ability if anyone were to attack, so you absolutely couldn’t wear it. He made some futile comment about how he’d love to see you try so he could get a peek up your skirt to, you know, “negate the traumatizing experience of him being attacked.”
In the end, you won the argument, and Aventurine threw a tantrum, muttering something about giving them to a woman who’d actually appreciate a gift like that. You told him straight to his face that he should just give it to the many women he brought to bed each night then.
The surprised and hurt look on his face will forever be carved into your memory.
After that, he actively stopped calling you by his nicknames which, deep inside, you missed, or it might just be the guilt of seeing his usually inalterable flirtatious self turn into a sad kicked puppy of a man. You held onto your pride though and forced yourself to bite back any apology or reconsiderations of his request you may have had. The man should have known your job was on the line, and his insensitive acts of fickle flirtation could not sway you.
The very next day he was up to his usual antics, and you got the impression that he only seemed upset to try to guilt you. Asshole. It only made you more upset with him. Did he like playing with your emotions?
Did I mention he loves it when you say his name? Sometimes he’ll ignore your presence just to hear you say “Mr. Aventurine? Boss?! Sir, I’m talking to you.” In your signature annoyed tone. It makes his heart melt. The only thing he can think of is imagining how your little pants and sighs of his name sound while he’s on top of you. How would you sound if you weren’t constantly annoyed at him? If he brought you pleasure?
Honestly, he was whipped for you from day one, and his actions might sound annoying and overly flirtatious, but that’s just how he shows love.
I could tell you so many things that this man has done for your attention, but that’d probably be the length of the Holy Bible. There are so many places this could go, but I think this instance of his sticks out the most amongst many akin to it.
—
You were used to casinos at this point. The loud blaring sounds of people playing the slot machines and thick, suffocating smell of alcohol were background sensations at this point. You couldn’t even bother to give them a second thought, not when a gun was pointed at the man you were supposed to be protecting. Safe to say the poker game was ruined. Champagne soiled the cards, shards of glass from the glasses littered the floor and table, and Aventurine, stupid Aventurine, had his hands raised in the air, his signature smirk pointed at the assailant like his own brand of deadly weapon.
“Hey, hey, now. This isn’t the place to have one of those, is it? Look, you ruined the cards!” Adventurine laughed, making a circling motion with his hand as if trying to gesture to the table of cards which were now soaked a yellowish brown color. Your hand rested on your gun, ready to fire at any sign of him about to pull the trigger. “Can’t we talk this out? I’m sure with a little persuasion you be happy to hand over-“
Your pistol fired later than his. Shit.
All that registered in your mind was the crying of two men, and Aventurine hunched over with a pained expression as he gripped his stomach. You were trained for this, but in your state of panic, you ran to him instead of making sure the attacker was dead. You scooped him up, struggling to carry him with your gun pointed at the now surrounded shooter while retreating from the casino. You wished you could make sure he was dead, but attending to Aventurine’s injuries were your first priority.
“You idiot. I told you to stop provoking people and look where we are!” You scolded him, Aventurine now quiet and clinging to your shoulders. You were too panicked to question his unusual behavior after just being shot in the stomach. “..If you’re worried, you won’t die. I got you.”
“I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Princess.” He laughed, setting his chin on your shoulder. Sensing something was off, you turned down an alleyway and skidded to a stop. He wasn’t screaming in pain nor were his cheeks stained with tears, even the adrenaline wouldn’t keep him from crying out, right? “I’m surprised it took you this long to catch on. No, I’m not-“
Before he could finish his sentence, you dropped him to the ground before crouching down and lifting his shirt up. No wounds in sight.
“Getting rather intimate, aren’t we? You should give me the chance to do this to you.”
“Shut up! What did you do, Aventurine?!” You demanded, yanking his shirt back down before leaning back on your haunches. He looked satisfied with himself as he shuffled to lean against the alley wall. His hat and glasses were gone, probably from the scuffle. He’d have her go get them later.
“Uh-uh, remember who you’re talking to, beautiful.” He smiled, running his hand through his hair and covering his right eye, the other one illuminating his face well enough to be able to see his features in the darkness. “But since you haven’t figured it out, I simply hired someone to shoot me with a blank which, by the way, hurt like a bitch still. I might still need you to kiss my booboo.”
He saw you were about to open your mouth again and placed a finger to your lips, shushing you. “And before you ask: I replaced your bullets with blanks too, so you didn’t shoot an innocent man. I’m not that cruel.”
“You’re cruel to me.” You murmured, knocking his hand away from your face. He smiled and gave you a little shrug, just like a mischievous toddler who was proud when he colored on the walls. “You're impossible. I can’t believe I was actually worried for your life!”
“Worried? I make crazy bets all the time, princess. Gambling my life is no strange feat to me, you should know this.” He smiled again, this time actually touching your lips with the tip of his finger. Your lips parted, the fabric of his gloves sending you spinning. How soft were his actual fingers? What did they look like under those gloves? Were they long, slender, and delicate, or did they have some edge to them, all calloused and rugged? You imagined the former; Aventurine didn’t do much. “But, I have a pretty good hand right now. I bet you won’t stop me from playing it and showing you my cards.”
“But you’re gambling with my feelings too. That’s different. I don’t like being used.” You steadied yourself against the wall, trying to rid your mind of thoughts about his hands. Wait, when did he get so close? You were backed against the wall now, Aventurine caging you there with his lanky form.
“And I’ll make it up to you, just relax, babydoll. I just needed to be close to you. I couldn’t take it anymore.” He placed his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut. His hand fit perfectly with her cheek as if their bodies were crafted for each other. You weren’t so sure, but the way you were feeling right now wasn’t professional.
“Let me take care of you instead for a chance.” He left featherlight kisses on your forehead, trailing down the side of your face. Each kiss grew longer than the last, his lips unable to pull away from you. He cupped both of your cheeks, his lips nearly touching yours as he spoke. “You aren’t pushing me away. I did all this for a moment alone with you, away from prying eyes. Now the IPC can’t punish you if you indulge a little. Please, pretty girl, let me have this. Let me have you.”
You shuddered from his warm breath on your mouth, months of his teasing and antics festering inside you. Defeat was so easy in this moment, the taste of another person’s lips a fleeting memory ever since you got this job. His constant advances would only get worse the more you rejected him. Aventurine always got what he was due. Always. Whatever it be you warming his bed one night or taking you in the back of an alleyway, he’d get it. Deep down, you loved being chased, but now the hunter finally cornered its prey.
“Not again. Never again after this, okay? One time so you make it fucking count.” You grabbed him by his shirt collar, smashing your lips against his, the taste of champagne filling your mouth. He knew what he was doing and held the back of your head, tangling his fingers with your hair. Your actions caught him off guard though; he prepared for the crushing reality of you pushing him away, but you didn’t. Now he just needed to act like he knew you wouldn’t all along.
The softness of his lips lulled you into a daze, your hands aching from how tight you held onto him. Each time he pulled back for a breath, you didn’t give him much time to rest before your lips were on his again, asking for more which he provided with no hesitance. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, taking the delicate flesh between his teeth and playing with it before letting his tongue mold into yours.
“Someone’s a little needy. I could tell by the way you act that you’re pent up, but this is bad.” He fully pulled away with his face flushed, binding your wrists together and holding them above your head with one hand. He left open mouthed kisses down your neck to your chest. Not bothering to waste anymore time, he used his teeth to free your chest from the buttons of your blouse. “Fucking me in an alleyway like this? You must have wanted me from the beginning. Please say you’ve always wanted me, pretty girl. Please… please… fromday one, I’ve always needed you…”
He pulled down your bra with his teeth, kissing and sucking at your breasts with a hunger similar to that of a starving man. His tongue flicked over your delicate buds, moaning at the feeling of your warmth in his mouth. You were starting to think he was right. He acted like he really did need you. As you saw him buried in your chest, eyes filled with lust and desire, all your second thoughts faded to dust.
“Mr. Aventurine…” You tugged on his hair, blond locks soft as the finest silk. Of course he was soft and so delicate; he felt like he could break with one wrong move from you. How was he so torturous and annoying yet the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?
Aventurine’s heart stopped at the sound of your whiny cry of his name. The sound he’s been craving was more beautiful than he could have ever thought.
“I got you, my princess. You’re so beautiful, so fucking gorgeous.” He held up his free hand to his lips, biting at the fabric a few times before getting a hold of the glove and slowly pulling it off. He kept eye contact with you as he did, giving you the impression he was trying to be seductive about it. Before you could say anything about it though, he was already back to your body, hands roaming down to the waistband of your pants.
Within moments, your pants and undergarments were bunched at your knees, and Aventurine got straight to abusing your clit, your already slick folds acting as the perfect lube. “You’re so wet for me. What a naughty, naughty girl you are. So bad, you couldn't hold back that professional facade for long. Were your panties always dripping when you got home? Did you touch yourself and think about me doing this? What a fucking slut.”
He chuckled and collected the slick before shoving a single finger into you, letting out a louder moan than you. He loved the way you felt around him, how tight you were squeezing just one finger. “Fuck… so tight. Can you even take another?” He managed to get another finger into you, stretching you out as he twisted deeper inside of you. He worked at a slow pace while also kissing your neck and chest, selfishly leaving marks in his wake. Eventually, he sped up, losing himself as he pounded into you with another finger.
Your body convulsed, hiccuping in pleasure. “Fuck! Fuck! S-sir-! Shit, I’m gonna- gonna...” You leaned your head on his shoulder, biting down hard to silence your moans and other noises. What had been but five minutes, and you were already falling apart.
“So fast and easy. Cum then, you fucking whore, cum all over daddy’s fingers.” He demanded, slamming his fingers deeper inside of you. You threw your head back, crying out profanities you hope nobody passing by heard. Your walls clenched around him, a wave of pleasure crashing through your body as you coated his fingers in your pleasure.
“There you go, just like that. You feel so good squeezing my fingers like that, good girl.” He pulled out of you after helping you come down from your high, his long, slender fingers covered in your release. He didn’t waste any time in getting rid of the evidence, moaning at your taste as he licked himself clean. “So good, I love you…”
He hoped you didn’t hear that last part, biting his lip to silence the words he just spoke. Thankfully, you looked too dazed to care. If you brought it up later, he’d tease you until you didn’t think it happened.
He let go of your wrists and embraced you, cradling your head against his chest and letting you put yourself back together. He kissed your forehead, mumbling any praises he could think of in your ear. He wanted to savor this moment because in a few minutes, he knew he’d be pushed away again. No matter how good he made you feel; you’d make it clear to him that you’d never fall for one of his traps again. That’s just the woman you were, and he didn’t make bets he knew he couldn’t win.
A/N: this kinda got out of hand, and Aventurine bangs his bodyguard turned into Aventurine becomes a menace (again). If anyone likes this, I’d be happy to make a part two with more detail on how they got together. I apologize to the requester if this isn’t what you had in mind, but I still hope you enjoyed it! <3
Requests are open!
#hsr aventurine#hsr x reader#hsr x reader smut#hsr smut#star rail aventurine#aventurine x reader smut#aventurine smut#aventurine x reader#aventurine honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader smut#honkai star rail smut#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#smut#18+ mdni#mdni
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Treasure (Rafayel x MC)
Rafayel used to have all your attention, but now a rival has arrived. Who would have thought that the most formidable rival he'll ever get is his own flesh and blood?
Warning: None
Pairing: Rafayel x Reader
Tags: Fluff
Rafayel was truly happy when he found out he was going to be a father. I mean, a child is a combination of a small bit of him and a small bit of you, right? He was genuinely ready to become a father despite whatever nonsense Thomas was spouting. But what he wasn't ready for was you focusing all your attention on the half-merman toddler the two of you had created.
Rafayel glared at the small being splashing in the swimming pool in the middle of the baby room. The water in the pool was actually seawater and at the same temperature as the deep waters. Normally, Lemurian children could withstand the temperature above the sea, but babies and toddlers can't. It was all thanks to the protocore technology that they were able to create a baby room appropriate for a half-Lemurian and half-human brat. Brat. That's right. That's what he called his own spawn.
The toddler giggled as you tickled him, making Rafayel pout more. Why was he getting all your attention? The first few months after the baby was born were fine, but he's already eight months old! Isn't it about time for you to turn all your attention back to him, the father?
"At what age will he be able to learn to change his tails to legs?" you asked, not taking your eyes off your son. See? You can't even spare him a small glance, even though you're asking him questions!
"Around three or four. I still need to teach him how. But it's still up to him if he'll be able to master it or not. Not every Lemurian is capable of doing it. Only the talented ones," he replied sullenly.
Noticing that familiar tone, you turned to look at him, and for the first time, you realized he was pouting.
"What's the matter?" you asked him.
"Nothing," he turned away and stomped out of the room.
You look back to your son who was playing around the pool, oblivious to his father's mood.
Days turned into weeks, and Rafayel's frustration lingered. His days were now filled with a mix of responsibilities and longing for the attention he once had. The house echoed with the occasional splash from the baby room, where your son continued to explore his aquatic abilities under your devoted guidance.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found Rafayel brooding in the dimly lit living room. The soft glow revealed the depth of his emotions, and you couldn't ignore the strain on the relationship.
"Rafayel, we need to talk," you said, settling beside him. He sighed, reluctantly turning to face you.
"It's just... I feel like I've become a background character in my own story. Our story," he confessed, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability.
You took his hand, reassuringly squeezing it. "I understand it's been an adjustment, but our son needs our attention. We can find a balance."
He nodded, but the ache in his eyes lingered. The following days, you made a conscious effort to involve Rafayel in the daily routines with your son, trying to bridge the emotional gap that had grown.
However, the problem with Rafayel was that he's very stubborn, and no matter how hard he tried, it was difficult for him not to be salty about how much attention his son was getting from you.
One day, you were suddenly called into a mission. Normally, Thomas takes care of your son when you're away, but Thomas is away for now, and calling a babysitter is obviously not an option. After all, you can't let anyone know about your half-Lemurian child. Left with no choice, you have to leave the child in Rafayel's care.
"Rafayel, please take very good care of him," you said, looking at him with a comically desperate expression.
Rafayel gave you a very offended look. "What do you think of me?! Incapable of taking care of my own child?!"
The conversation you had regarding what he was feeling about your child having all your attention lingers in your mind, but you decide to shake it off. Rafayel dislikes cats, but he took good care of one for you back then. What more if it's his flesh and blood? Despite what he was feeling, he wouldn't be irresponsible, right?
You nodded and planted a small kiss on the child's temple before leaving.
Rafayel stared at the doorway with an offended and exaggerated expression of shock.
"She didn't kiss me goodbye!"
The toddler giggled, making Rafayel turn to glare at him.
As Rafayel continued to glare at the toddler, the little mischief-maker seized the opportunity and splashed a handful of water in Rafayel's direction, prompting an unexpected reaction.
Rafayel dramatically recoiled, clutching his heart with mock horror. "Assaulted by a baby! This is outrageous!"
The toddler found this uproarious and burst into giggles, thoroughly enjoying the water-based escapade. Rafayel, however, continued his theatrics, staggering around the room as if gravely wounded.
"You've wounded me, my aquatic progeny! I'm a victim of watery aggression!" Rafayel declared, sinking to his knees in a theatrical display of defeat.
Your son, finding this turn of events entertaining, crawled over to Rafayel and patted him on the head. Rafayel seized the opportunity to cradle the toddler in his arms, feigning weakness.
"Ah, the betrayer himself consoles the wounded party. What a world!" Rafayel exclaimed dramatically, earning more giggles from the toddler.
The baby room transformed into a stage for this impromptu comedy, with Rafayel playing the role of the aggrieved victim. Despite the initial frustration, the absurdity of the situation broke the tension, and laughter echoed through the house.
Rafayel sighed after a few moments. "I wonder if your mommy still loves me. It's unfair! I'm the first! Why does it seem that she loves you more?" He whined as he poked the baby's nose, making him laugh. "Yeah, keep laughing at me. Pour more salt on your father's wound." He sighed. "I don't really hate you or anything. I mean, how can I? You're my son. Your mommy's and mine's son. But it really makes me sad how I ended up being shoved aside when you arrive in our life."
Just then, the child dragged himself off his father and slowly pulled himself towards the drawer. Rafayel watched him and mentally compare him to a seal.
The baby then looked at Rafayel, then back to the drawer, babbling.
"What is it?" Rafayel approached his son questioningly.
The child babbled as if trying to communicate with him.
Rafayel sighed. "I really don't have any idea what you're trying to say."
Pouting with a pout that resembles his, the child tried to reach and pulled lower the drawer handle.
"Hey, don't!"
Rafayel grabbed him away from it, making the child look at him in displeasure.
Rafayel groaned. "I guess Thomas is right. You really do look like a spitting image of me, especially when you're unhappy. Fine. You want to open this?"
Rafayel pulled the bottom drawer open, where he saw a book. He took it out and inspected it.
"What's this?" he muttered as he sat on the couch with the baby on his lap. He flipped the first page and realized it's like a diary. Only, it was a diary of your pregnancy.
When you were pregnant, you decided to write all your thoughts in it and how you felt at that time. Rafayel was unaware of it.
He started to read what you wrote.
"Rafayel is always childish and insufferable. He always annoys me, and sometimes I really want to choke him..."
"What the heck?! Is this all about her complaints about me?!"
The baby chuckled as if understanding what his father was saying.
Rafayel glanced at him. "Your mother... Seriously..." He shook his head and flipped to the next page, reading the contents.
More complaints about him were written. The farther he got, the harsher her words became. By the time he was halfway, he was more than ready to burn the diary. But then...
"Rafayel might not be the most mature guy out there, but he is really trying. Despite my mood swings and weird cravings, he was there, never leaving my side. Even if he always ends up receiving my anger, he never retaliated. Well, after I cried when he talked back once, he stop with his sassy remarks. I guess my cries traumatized him. Haha. If you gave me a chance to exchange him with someone else, I'll never do it. Because he's the only man I ever loved and will always love. He is also the one who gave me my treasure. My child."
As Rafayel read the diary, the realization dawned on him that, during your pregnancy, you had poured your heart onto those pages. The entries spoke volumes about the emotional journey you went through, and he found himself becoming a central figure in the narrative.
In the heartfelt words, you described how Rafayel was your pillar of support, always there to ease your fears and celebrate every milestone. The diary chronicled his late-night runs to satisfy your sudden cravings, the countless moments of reassurance, and the joy he brought into the preparations for the baby's arrival.
As Rafayel continued reading, a mix of emotions played on his face—astonishment, gratitude, and a touch of humility. It was a revelation that he had been a vital part of your pregnancy, more than he had realized.
He glanced at the baby in his lap, who seemed fascinated by the unfolding drama. Rafayel couldn't help but smile, a newfound warmth settling in his heart.
"I had no idea," he murmured, a genuine appreciation for the role he played during those months.
The entries continued to paint a picture of a loving partnership, with Rafayel actively participating in creating a nurturing environment for the upcoming addition to the family. He discovered how, despite his initial grumblings, he had been a source of strength for you.
Closing the diary, Rafayel looked at his son with a newfound understanding. The baby, sensing his father's softened demeanor, reached out and touched Rafayel's cheek, as if acknowledging the unspoken connection.
He hugged the baby. "If she consider you a treasure that I gave her, it makes sense how much she cares about you." He kissed his son's temple. "I also care about you but I guess I just felt so left out, I started seeing you as a rival. I promise it will never happen again."
With the diary in his hands, Rafayel felt a newfound appreciation for the bond he shared with you and the significance of his role in your life. As he embraced his son, a sense of warmth enveloped the room, dissolving the remnants of frustration that had lingered.
In that moment, the past frustrations and perceived rivalries faded away. The baby room became a sanctuary of reflection and realization. Rafayel embraced the depth of his role, not just as a father in the present but as a constant support throughout the journey of bringing their child into the world.
_____
After the particularly challenging mission, you returned home, exhausted yet relieved to be back. Opening the door, you realized it was too quiet.
"Rafayel?" You called out, worried about your husband and child.
You receive no reply and so, you went to the baby room.
Just then, you were greeted by a scene that melted away any residual weariness.
In the dim light of the baby room, you saw Rafayel peacefully sleeping on the pool, the baby nestled on his chest, both in a serene slumber. The sight was heartwarming – a testament to the newfound understanding and unity that had blossomed in your absence.
You couldn't help but smile at the peaceful tableau. Gently, you approached the sleeping duo and planted a soft kiss on Rafayel's kiss. He stirred, slowly waking up with a dazed expression.
"Welcome back," he whispered, his voice still heavy with sleep.
You nodded, savoring the tranquility of the moment. "What happened while I was away?"
Rafayel grinned, gesturing to the peacefully sleeping baby on his chest. "Well, we had a little water-based escapade, a dramatic showdown, and a realization that we're all in this together. Oh, and I read your pregnancy diary. Turns out, I played a more significant role than I thought."
"What?! Where do you find it?!" Your cheek reddened in embarrassment. You almost forgot about that diary.
"Well, a little fishy showed it to me," Rafayel gently shifted, allowing you to join them on the poolside. You gave him a look, annoyed that you wanted to get in the pool and have your hunter outfit get wet.
Sighing, you got in the pool.
"It's my real feelings, by the way," you said, referring to the diary's content.
"Yeah. Sorry for being so childish. I guess I just got used to having all your attention. I mean, I'm used to having everyone's attention. As a child, everyone fawned on me, and even when I became an adult, being the artist that I am, everyone looks up to me. So now, having another being get the attention of the person that I love the most made me anxious. I promise I'll never try to compete with my own son for attention."
"I also want to apologize, Rafayel. I guess I really did neglect you." You kissed his lips, as if apologizing for the times he felt neglected.
"It's fine. But promise me, once our child is old enough, I'll be the number one again."
You chuckled at that and snuggled to him.
"I promise."
"And I'm sorry for being a bit of a drama king," he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes.
You chuckled, "Well, I wouldn't have it any other way. Our story may be a bit dramatic, but it's uniquely ours."
The three of you shared a moment of quiet happiness, basking in the love that bound your unconventional family.
With your son sleeping peacefully between you, the challenges of the past were replaced by a sense of unity and understanding. As you leaned in to share a tender moment with Rafayel, you knew that every twist and turn in your story had led to this beautiful chapter of shared laughter, love, and the promise of a bright future together.
As the moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow on the room, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the journey that had brought you to this moment.
END
MASTERLIST
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VICIOUS! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: arthur leclerc likes a certain type of woman: smart, neglects intuition, and not as good as him.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: set in 2021, during echo's formula 3 season. they're both jerks to each other here :/ based on vicious by sabrina carpenter (emails i cant send pretty much defines their relationship). this is short but it's important for her future relationship with a certain someone | i used echo instead of y/n here, but tell me which one you prefer
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 2.09k
"I TRIED TO LOOK FOR THE BEST IN THE WORST BUT LIKE, FUCK ME, THAT CAUSED A COMMOTION."
As the evening progresses in Austria, the bustling noises of the city begin to fade into the background, replaced by the occasional murmur of distant conversations and the gentle swish of car tires on the damp pavement. The scent of rain lingers in the air, mixing with the subtle aroma of pine carried by a cool breeze from the nearby mountains. The warmth of the day still lingers, but it's now more tolerable, just a faint reminder of earlier heat.
Arthur paces back and forth on the soft carpet beneath his bare feet, his footsteps creating a restless rhythm that echoes in his mind. Every so often, he runs his fingers along the curtains, feeling the delicate and cool fabric against his skin. But it's as if he's only scratching at the surface of the problem consuming him.
The third stage of the Formula 3 championship went off without a hitch for the three races. Arthur claimed the fastest lap in the second race, while Y/N took home first place in that same race. Prema and Art teams were locked in a heated competition for points during the first half of the championship, with the French team ultimately taking the lead after Frederik Vesti's win at the last race in the Red Bull Ring.
Throughout that weekend, Arthur barely spoke to her. Despite being swamped with commitments such as hectic meetings, exhaustive tests, and endless interviews, they used to make an effort to connect even if it was just a quick call. However, her messages were always met with prolonged periods of silence before receiving a brief and unenthusiastic response, leaving her feeling confused and frustrated. Every attempt to call resulted in reaching voicemail without any explanation or apology for his absence.
Despite her victory in the second race, he was not one of the people who congratulated her. He also did not attend the podium ceremony for the third race, where she secured an important second place for her team. She had sent him messages, but he only responded with a short "thank you" for her congratulations on earning extra points for setting the fastest lap. He completely ignored her invitation to join her and some other drivers in a celebration.
She finally couldn't take the silence any longer and broke it with frustration. "Can we at least talk? We're not kids anymore, Arthur," she said, sitting on his cluttered bed.
"Are you leaving for France tomorrow?" Arthur asked quietly, still refusing to look at her as he packed his suitcase.
"No. Fernando wants me to go to Madrid and then Silverstone with him during my break. The team doesn't need me at the factory, so I have some free time," Y/N replied with a heavy sigh, feeling the tension between them.
She received only a grunt as a response, which was enough for her to know that it was time to speak up. "Are you going to turn around and actually use words, or are you going to keep grunting like some kind of primitive?" Her voice held a mix of determination and disappointment, reflecting her growing frustration with the lack of communication between them.
Arthur spun on his heels and made his way slowly towards Y/N, his face betraying a medley of conflicting emotions. She stood up from the bed, keeping a close eye on his expression in anticipation of what might happen next.
Their relationship was still new; they had met at a party thrown by a mutual friend who was also one of her teammates. That night, everything seemed to align perfectly for their chance encounter, and the initial spark of attraction quickly grew into something more profound. Through casual touches, shared smiles, and intimate conversations about their interests and preferences, they were building the fragile yet promising foundations of their relationship.
He paused, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the perfect words to express himself. She watched with curiosity, waiting for him to speak.
"Why didn't you let me overtake you?" Arthur asked, sounding unsure.
The girl furrowed her eyebrows, trying to comprehend his question. She repeated it in her head, trying to understand the underlying meaning. "What do you mean?"
Arthur seemed annoyed by her confusion and scrunched his face in response. "In yesterday's race. I was right behind you, but you wouldn't move out of the way."
Her arms automatically crossed in front of her chest, her tone becoming defensive. She didn't like where this conversation was headed. "Why should I let you pass, Arthur? I don't remember breaking any rules to earn my spot."
Arthur released a frustrated sigh, feeling the tension between them escalating with each word they exchanged. He closed the distance between them, hoping to find some understanding in her eyes.
"I'm not accusing you of breaking any rules, cherie." His tone softened, attempting to diffuse the situation. "I just want to know why you didn't make room for me to pass. It seemed like you were intentionally blocking me."
Y/N felt the weight of Arthur's words as an accusation, and it only added to her growing frustration. She couldn't believe they were having this argument now, when there was so much at stake for both of them.
"Of course I was blocking you! We're competitors, remember?" Her voice was firm, but she laced it with a confused laugh. "My team needs those points. I need those points. Why would I let you have them?"
Arthur took a step back, caught off guard by the intensity of Y/N's response. He looked both surprised and disappointed, struggling to process her strong emotions.
"I just thought you would understand," he muttered, his voice trailing off as if he regretted speaking at all. Unable to meet her gaze, he turned away.
She felt a surge of anger within her, a mix of frustration and sadness. She was taken aback that Arthur would question her integrity on the track, especially considering their intimate relationship off of it.
"Understand?" She repeated, each word dripping with disbelief. "Arthur, I want that title just as much as you do. It's not my responsibility to make it easy for you or anyone else. You know that."
There was a tense moment of silence between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city outside. Y/N felt a pang in her chest at the feeling that something was unraveling between them, something that might never be fully repaired.
"I know," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of weakness. "But I thought we were more than just competitors."
Her expression softened briefly, a flicker of sadness crossing her features before she steeled herself with determination.
"Arthur, I can't sacrifice my career for our relationship," she said, her voice softening slightly. "We both knew what we were getting into when we started dating."
Arthur's voice turned defensive as he tried to justify his actions. "Don't you think it would have been better if I had won?" He glanced at his girlfriend, his eyes pleading for understanding. "You're still new to this category; there will be other chances for you."
She raised her eyebrows, her gaze unwavering and intense. "So, you're saying it would be acceptable for me to lose simply because I'm a rookie?" Her tone was sharp, like a blade cutting through the air.
Arthur paused, searching for the right words to explain himself. "No, that's not what I meant," he stammered, but Y/N cut him off.
"Did you give the same speech to all the other rookies too?" her sarcasm evident.
Arthur's discomfort flickered across his face before he turned back to meet her unwavering stare. "The other rookies aren't in a relationship with me," he retorted with a hint of harshness.
Y/N fell silent, digesting his words. Then, she stepped closer to him, locking eyes with determination.
"Tell me honestly, Arthur," she began calmly yet emotion thick in her voice. "Did you want me to let you win because I'm a rookie or because I'm your girlfriend?"
Her question hit Arthur like a punch to the gut, leaving him struggling to find the right words. He couldn't hide from the truth any longer.
"I…I'm not sure," he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper as uncertainty and vulnerability seeped through. "Maybe it's a bit of both."
Her expression hardened, her eyes showing disappointment and frustration in equal measure. She had expected more from him, hoped that he would acknowledge his own flaws and confront them head-on.
"So you don't trust me as a competitor, as a driver?" she asked, her voice betraying a slight tremor of emotion that she was trying to contain.
Arthur's heart raced as he met her intense gaze. He knew his words had hurt her and shattered the trust she had in him.
"That's not what I meant, cherie." He struggled to find the right words, but they sounded hollow even to his own ears. "It's just…I don't know how to handle the fact that you're better than me."
She was filled with conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to scream at him, to tell him that his insecurities were not her responsibility and she couldn't sacrifice her own ambitions for his approval. But at the same time, she felt a twinge of empathy for him, understanding that his insecurity came from a place of deep vulnerability.
"Arthur, I can't change who I am because of your doubts," she said firmly. "And I won't apologize for excelling at what I do."
Arthur's voice took on a smooth, almost patronizing tone, a subtle edge of superiority laced within his words. "You must be feeling quite pleased with yourself, wouldn't you agree?" he mused, his tone carrying a delicate sting. "Stepping onto the stage as a rookie and quickly grabbing the spotlight. Impressive, definitely, but experience and dedication? Those are qualities that develop over time, babe."
Her brow furrowed slightly, a mix of disbelief and hurt flickering across her features. "I just want us to understand each other," she started, her tone gentle yet resolute. "I'm not trying to belittle what you've achieved. But it's not about placing blame. If you truly have the experience and talent you speak of, shouldn't overtaking me come as second nature, without needing to ask?"
Arthur's cheeks flushed with a sudden surge of anger, the tension between them palpable. "You underestimate what it takes to rise to the top," he retorted sharply, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Talent is one thing, but true success in this realm requires more than just skill. Experience is the key that sets winners apart from the rest."
Her eyes narrowed subtly, a flicker of impatience dancing within them. "What makes you assume I lack dedication and experience?" she questioned calmly, her tone holding a hint of challenge. "Just because my journey in this sport hasn't been as long as yours doesn't diminish the effort I've put in."
Arthur emitted a dry chuckle, his resentment barely concealed. "You've had quite the advantageous start, haven't you?" he remarked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You believe your familial connections and wealth entitle you to success? Reality doesn't operate on such privileges."
Her hands tightened into fists, a surge of defiance coursing through her. She refused to let his patronizing remarks undermine her accomplishments. Her voice remained composed yet firm, slicing through the tension. "Privileges? It's ironic coming from someone who's thrived under their brother's shadow," she countered, her gaze ablaze with determination. "You stand there, relying on your average talent to compensate for the countless doors opened by your surname."
Arthur's complexion deepened with a flush, a blend of shame and anger twisting his expression. He despised the constant comparisons to his brother, weary of residing in his sibling's imposing shadow. This resentment fueled his determination to establish his identity.
"I'm not my brother," he snapped with intensity.
She met his gaze steadily, her defiance unyielding. "No, you're not. And that's the problem," she countered sharply, her tone slicing through the air.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, the air crackling with unspoken animosity as they stood facing each other. Her eyes burned with fury, her hands clenched tightly by her sides. She was done playing nice.
"I'm not carrying anyone's burdens," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I have my own stuff to deal with. You don't like the fact that your girlfriend is better than you? Consider this problem solved."
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#f1 imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 imagines#f1 imagines#f1 fanfic#formula one imagines#formula one imagine#f1 scenarios#f1 x reader#fem!driver reader#f1 x fem!driver#fem!driver#formula one scenarios#formula 1 scenarios#arthur leclerc x reader#arthur leclerc imagines#arthur leclerc scenarios#⋆⠀᰷ ֹ 🍙 ˓ the echo ﹗
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Aziraphale never said yes
I’m not sure if anyone has pointed this out yet but i haven’t seen anything about it so here goes. Buckle up folks, cuz this is gonna be a long one.
After Metatron’s and Aziraphale’s conversation, Metatron told him to “take all the time he needs” to think on his offer. Aziraphale says he’s not sure how to respond, and the Metatron encourages him to inform Crowley.
Following this, Aziraphale immediately runs to Crowley (obviously—Crowley’s his best friend, not to mention Metatron suggesting it) and tells him all about the deal. His offer. At this point he has not given Metatron a definitive answer.
He goes to Crowley, and he tells him about the offer with such excitement. Crowley (obviously) does not mirror his excitement. Misunderstandings and miscommunications follow, the finale of which is the final break up.
Aziraphale is emotional, to say the least. He is distraught and incredibly vulnerable in this moment. And who comes waltzing in directly after?
The Metatron.
He comes strutting in conveniently as soon as Crowley is gone, almost as if he was waiting for that—waiting for it all to go tits up. And what does he do? He asks if Aziraphale is “ready to start”. As if he hadn’t told him 10 minutes ago to take all the time he needs for the decision.
Aziraphale tries to avoid; he distances himself from the Metatron and uses a flimsy excuse about how the bookshop needs running, to which the Metatron already has a response: he’s given it to Muriel. Even tho Aziraphale still hasn’t ACTUALLY said yes.
Aziraphale tries to make a rebuttal, get a word in edgewise—but the Metatron doesn’t let him. He cuts him off with “anything you need to take with you?” Aziraphale responds automatically with no, and then pauses to think as Metatron walks away. Just then he reasses his answer and tries to take it back, chasing after the Metatron with “I think I—“ and then stopping again.
He keeps stopping to look at something outside, or perhaps for someone. Is he looking at Muriel, presumably still outside the bookshop? Is he looking for Crowley, hoping he might still be there and that he can, in fact, run off with him?
I think it might be both. He sees Muriel and how happy they are to be getting the bookshop, and would feel terrible if he had to disappoint them. He sees no Crowley, which means no final excuse or last-ditch way to escape what he has gotten himself into.
And so, he follows the Metatron out. He asks about the Great Plan, and Metatron answers that it is “the second coming”. Not even a second after that the music swells dramatically, and there’s another sound mixed in with it—a sound we as the audience have become familiar with, because it is the sound that accompanies miracles.
Aziraphale looks at the Metatron, who is now in the elevator to heaven and gives him an “are you coming or not?” look. He looks back at Crowley who is standing by the Bentley, stone-faced.
And Aziraphale walks into the elevator with Metatron, who gives a relieved sigh, as if he wasn’t actually sure Aziraphale would come.
He’s relieved because he knows that he manipulated Aziraphale into the Supreme Archangel position. He knows Aziraphale never actually formally or verbally agreed to it.
Whether or not he actually did the miracle that we heard in front of the elevator, he still manipulated Aziraphale beforehand. He was manipulating him from the moment he stepped into his bookshop, and he’s just relieved that it actually worked.
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