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wttcsms · 9 months

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balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 3.9k synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course).

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at.

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with.

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him.

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him.

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work.

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about.

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru.

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard.

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.”

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.”

Ouch.

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less.

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.”

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him.

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes.

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.”

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects.

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.”

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself.

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional.

“I would, but I have standards.”

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum.

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him.

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?”

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is.

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge.

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.”

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating.

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.

“I could commit if it’s you.”

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came.

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.”

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.”

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage.

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.”

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides.

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?”

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously.

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him.

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships.

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.”

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.”

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh.

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.”

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are.

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle.

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug.

“Done.”

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second.

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.”

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick.

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier.

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort.

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.”

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.”

“Maybe I’m her blessing.”

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it.

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted.

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it.

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job.

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.”

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?”

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.”

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko.

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out.

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing.

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has.

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best.

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #fluff #one shot #jjk x reader #smut #fic series: balancing act

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year

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♡ 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕖𝕣𝕖 "ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤" ♡

♡ Mature Content! Minors DNI! Warnings below the break ♡

♡ Pairing: ot8!boyfriend!ateez x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: A nice, calm, wholesome movie night with your boyfriends except I lied and nothing but absolute filth happens.

♡ Genre: smut with a sprinkle, a smidge, a barely visible flake of plot

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: (issa lot happening so pls lmk if I miss anything) masturbation (f), use of toys (f receiving), oral (f & m receiving), anal penetration & eating (f receiving), unprotected sex (ya'll know not to do that irl!), creampies, edging, double vaginal penetration, things get rough, scratching, gagging, pet names (good girl, bad girl, slut, le usual)

♡ A/N: I wrote this with the intention of writing this soft, romantic piece but my mind got lost in the gutter and built a home there so here we are. Thanks to @anyamaris for supporting me in my nonsense as she always does.

Even with the air conditioner on, a wave of heat washes over you. Two fingers---your fingers---press firmly against your clit. You know your body better than anyone in this room. Every flick of your wrist makes your walls clench around the vibrator Hongjoong’s fucking you with. The ultra-soft silicone curves to rest its flat tip directly on your g spot. He keeps it at medium speed, the low hum of the toy a hypnotizing instrumental to the weakened moans leaving your lips. “You’re so beautiful” he whispers, delicately kissing your thigh. And you are.

Lying in the middle of your living room floor on a pile of the fluffiest pillows, you’re the prettiest thing any of them have ever seen. The plan had been to watch a movie. Horror---comedy---who cares? How could they watch anything but you? Legs spread wide. Pussy weeping, begging you to keep going just like that. Your panties, moist beyond measure, are looped around your ankle. The tight plaid mini skirt you wear is pushed up, not denying them a bit of your plush belly. Your nipples are two, tightly beaded indentations in your black crop top. They brush against the cotton each time your chest rises, turning you on even more.

It’s getting harder to play with your clit. Your muscles are tensing like a rubber band stretched near its breaking point. Your wrists are going limp. Your legs are shaking, causing your thighs to jiggle so deliciously that Hongjoong can’t resist nibbling at them. What he loves, what gets him off the most, is simply to watch you make a mess of yourself. “Mmm, Joongie. I’m gonna cum---” you gasp, arching against the pillows. Hongjoong’s laugh is nearly undetectable but you hear it, oozing lust. He’s happy with himself and with you. Pulling the soaked vibrator from your core, he pushes three fingers into you.

“Cum for me, princess. Cum around my fingers.” Hongjoong moves your hand away from your clit, wrapping his lips around it in a small O shape. Your arms fall above your head, your head turning to catch Yunho staring at you from the couch. Yunho looks spaced out. It’s as if his mind is off somewhere far away but that couldn’t be further from the truth. His mind is on you and no one else. It's fixated on the way your eyelids flutter when Hongjoong suckles at your clit. It’s committing to memory that sweet little smile you shoot him right before you lose control of your body.

Hongjoong’s been edging you for an hour all for this moment when he can finger you hard and fast, tonguing your clit as pleasure rips through your body. You’re grabbing at nothing---at anything---to ground yourself but it’s no use. “Hongjoong. Fuck” you whine, struggling to find your breath, “I can’t. Too much. Too---fuck.” Wooyoung rises from his spot on the recliner to kneel above your head. “Let me help” he coos, kissing you on the forehead. His fragrant sable locks dance around your cheeks like curtains, shutting out the rest of the world.

Smooth hands massage their way up your arms, loosening your muscles as they tighten. Fingers press into your shoulders---tickle your collarbone---traverse the arches of your breasts to circle your nipples. Woo slips your shirt up, laying his hands flat on your breasts. He kneads them, pinching your nipples in his palms. “Woo---” you moan, “Joongie---ah.” You mindlessly writhe beneath them. Hongjoong’s knuckles are grinding against your slit. His fingers---they’re so deep---spreading you open even wider.

Woo smiles down at you and there’s something so genuine about it because it is. “He’s right---” he says, “You’re so beautiful.” Woo drags his tongue across your lips just as Hongjoong’s tongue swirls between your pussy lips. There’s an audible squelching sound when his fingers pop out of you, the suction of your walls holding onto him for dear life too relentless to let him go quietly. Hongjoong gets up on his knees, sucking at his fingers, and admires the way you’re still clenching for him. He’d edge you more---keep you like this all night---but he knows he has to share.

With one last kiss which he plants on your lower belly, he leaves you in Woo’s capable hands. Woo reaches over you to run a finger across your slit and you giggle at how much it tickles. When he leans forward you get a clear view of how hard he is and catch yourself salivating. You bring a hand up to rub against his bulge. A groan emerges from somewhere deep within him, “Bad girl.” Still a tad loopy from your orgasm, you fumble your way up onto your knees. “But you love it, don’t you?” you tease, your hand reaching down to rub against him again.

Woo nibbles at his bottom lip, pulling you closer to him. You run your fingers through his hair, tucking a rogue strand behind his ear, “Up.” One word spoken in the singsong voice of an angel such as yourself has him up on his feet without question. Just as you reach for Woo’s zipper, strong arms grab you from behind, locking you in their embrace. “Choi San!” you gasp, admiring that dimpled grin of his, “I’m kinda trying to focus here---” San kisses down your neck, dipping one hand between your thighs.

His other hand cradles your chin, fingers pinching into your cheeks, and turns your head back towards Woo where a throbbing cock, arousal moistening the tip, waits for you. “Then focus---” San says, lightly squeezing your cheeks. You let your tongue fall free, resting it on the underside of Woo’s cock. Rolling it around his sensitive tip, you collect the warm salty liquid on your tongue. San lets go of your cheeks, giving you the room to bring your hand up and grip Woo’s base. You glance up at him and he’s already fixed on you. They stay that way as your fingertips trace the veins traveling up his shaft, stroking back to his base and starting all over again.

San raises your ass enough to slip his cock between your thighs. Somehow he’s even harder than Woo and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You wanna fuck me, Sannie?” “Hmm, is that how we ask?” he growls into your neck, grinding against you. Poking your ass out, you lay your head back onto his shoulder, “I want you to fuck my tight little cunt, Sannie. Please.” San grips you by the hips, sinking into you with zero patience. A vibrator has nothing on San’s cock. Woo tangles his fingers in your hair, sliding his thickness between your lips.

Bobbing your head back and forth, you suck your cheeks in---fan them out---mimicking the exact thing your pussy’s doing to San’s cock. It’s a flawlessly choreographed dance between the three of you. San bucking his hips, feeding you every inch. You rolling back against him, taking him like a--- “Pretty little slut---” San’s panting, the slobber dripping down your chin from sucking Woo off making you look like exactly that. Woo holding your head steady while you pump his glistening length, your hand and mouth working together to put his stomach in knots.

With Woo stuffing your cheeks, your screams are muffled when San picks up his pace. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” he says, slapping you on the ass. “Mmpphh” is all you can manage, Woo’s cock hitting the back of your throat. Woo and San bounce you back and forth, whispering praises that have you back on the edge in no time. Your hips stutter, cluing San in that you’re close, and his pace becomes unforgiving. Woo scoops up one of your breasts, pinching your nipples, feeling their weight in his hand. “Don’t stop---shit---y/n. So good. Don’t---” Woo twitches between your lips, pumping his seed directly down your throat.

Never one to be wasteful you drink him down, massaging his balls with your free hand. “Fuck---pussy’s so good y/n---gonna cum” San hisses and you’re cumming again. He cums with you, ropes of white painting your insides from the other end. Woo leans forward, kissing your puffy lips, “I’ll get you some water.” “And a popsicle please.” Woo and San look at each other---back at you---at each other---back at you. San straightens out your skirt, “What for?” Your gaze dances over to Seonghwa and the two of you immediately begin to blush. “We---uh---” Seonghwa stutters, “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeosang politely moves Woo and San away from you. “Excuse me. Sorry” he apologizes, moving between them to sweep you up into his arms, “We’ll get the water.” It’s not that you don’t know Yeosang can pick you up but every time he does you melt. Yeosang carries you toward the kitchen and Seonghwa’s right behind him. “And the uh---yeah.” Jongho hops up to follow them, pushing through San and Woo with zero of the politeness Yeosang offered. “Thanks though” he grins, patting Woo on the shoulder, “But not really.”

“Oh my---that’s---that” you gasp, pleasantly surprised at how much you enjoy the sensation. Seonghwa bending you over your dresser and swirling a popsicle in your asshole wasn’t on your 2023 bingo board but he has you wondering why it never was. The chill of the popsicle is calming in a way. You were overheating for a bit there but now? You feel tingly all over. With the popsicle melted and your thighs coated in drips of sticky, strawberry syrup, Seonghwa goes to work licking it off of you. His long tongue trails up your left thigh---down your right thigh. It comes back up to your ass, nibbling at the plush cheeks and making you squeal. He stays there for a second kissing them, massaging them, tickling them with the tip of his tongue.

“Hwa---mmph” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he tongues your candy-coated asshole. Imagine having an itch. Not just any itch. One of those itches that makes it difficult to focus on anything else. One of those itches that refuse to be ignored. But you can’t reach it. No matter how hard you try, your arms just aren’t reaching until---oh god---you finally do. You scratch it and it’s so good that your legs could give out. Nothing, not a single thing, compares to how uniquely amazing that feels. That’s what it feels like to have Seonghwa making figure eights in your ass like his tongue's a professional figure skater.

While you’re bent over seeing stars, he maintains a shaky hold on his cock. Each stroke is slow and deliberate, in sync with yours. “Fuck, you taste so good” he mumbles, fully prepared to smother himself if it means tasting as much of you as possible. You hear a moan you’ve heard a dozen times before. Seonghwa tries to suppress them when he cums even though you wish he wouldn’t. Usually, he hates being messy but his cum has already glazed over his hand and the afterglow is heaven. “Fuck it,” he says to himself, falling across the bed. Spinning around you come face to face with Jongho. “Hey ya cutie” you beam, poking his cheeks.

Sometimes people say that he’s scary, mean even, but when you look at him all you see is your cuddly bear. You drape your arms over his shoulders for support, “Your turn?” Jongho effortlessly lifts you onto the dresser, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it. And he has. “My turn.” He presses the head of his cock against your clit and there they are again. The hot flashes. That thin layer of perspiration on your skin. Jongho grabs your arms, pinning them behind you, and drives into you. “You’re still so wet.” “Not still” you whisper, “This is just for you.” Jongho thrusts into you and you’re full again, his cock much thicker than you remember.

Your exhausted muscles can hardly hold up to being fucked this hard but you don’t have to worry about that. In his arms, you don’t have to worry about anything besides feeling good. He could keep you steady all night if Yeosang weren’t snatching you away, tossing you on the bed. “Yeosang!” you shout, sliding back on the bed, “You can’t just throw people around like that!” Yeosang climbs on top of you, pushing your shirt up, “I can’t?” He brushes a thumb across one of your nipples, lapping at the other as his fingers massage your breast. “You can---shit---do it again” you surrender between shallow breaths.

Yeosang slips into you, his cock pulsing in time with each rise of his hips. His defined arms slip beneath your body, hands locking just behind your back. When he flips you over on top of him, it’s like your whole world’s been turned on its side. He bounces you up and down in his lap, the tremors traveling far behind your core. Just as he picks up a rhythm Jongho tears you away from him, propping you up against the wall. You’d make some smartass comment about Jongho not being good at sharing. If only there were time enough for that.

His arms are already tucked behind your knees, supporting your weight as he fucks you against the wall. “You’re such an addictive little slut, you know that?” he says, and your heart flutters. You just love when he sweet-talks you. The angle he has you at is perfect for stimulating your g spot. He’s bumping right up against it and you’re clamped down around him, as addicted to him as he is to you. “Can I borrow this?” Yeosang asks, peeling you away from Jongho and tossing you back onto the bed.

This time you’re on your knees. All fours is simply out of the question with how completely destroyed you are. “Are you just gonna toss me around all night?” you whine, burying your face in the blankets. Seonghwa lays his head beside yours, nuzzling up to you. “Of course not” he assures you, his voice warm and comforting, “I won’t throw you around when I have you. A light roll maybe---”

“Pirates! Cowboys! Biker gangs!” you mumble incoherently, jolting awake. Shaking off those incredibly strange dreams, you realize that you’re still in bed. Judging from how dark it is in your room, it’s well past midnight. You must’ve fallen asleep after what your aching muscles are telling you was a wrestling match with a bear. A barely awake Yunho tightens his arm around you from behind, “Cowboys? I’ll do anything for you but I am not putting on a cowboy costume.” “I will,” Mingi yawns, cuddling up closer to you from the other side, “I get nice boots. Probably a cool jacket. Ooh, some guns---”

“There are no guns!” you interrupt, “When did you two even get in here?” Yunho shrugs, “A few hours ago. You never came downstairs and we missed you.” The “we” he’s referring to is obvious when you notice how hard he is against your back. “You fell asleep on us” Mingi pouts, a hand running up your thigh to squeeze your ass. You drape a leg around his waist, smooching him on the nose, “Don’t do that.” “Don’t do what?” Mingi pouts even more, knowing how soft you go for him when he does this. “That! You guys are both being so---” “So?” Yunho asks, his long fingers reaching between your legs to stroke your pussy.

You shiver at the contact. Having Yunho behind you, his cock pressing into the small of your back, his fingers teasing you, makes your heart race. Mingi spreads your thighs, giving Yunho more than enough room to curl his fingers into you. “Finish what you were saying.” “I---uh---” “Uh---uh” Mingi mocks, petting your cheek. You move to playfully slap him but he grabs you by the wrist, kissing you before you can even consider trying anything else. Yunho eases a third finger into your core, “You like it when I play with your little cunt, don’t you?” “Mm-hmm” you hum, lidded eyes glossing over.

Yunho stays focused on tapping your sweet spot while Mingi hypnotizes you with his lips. Mingi has you so drugged, so completely entranced, that you don’t even notice when one of Yunho’s fingers is replaced with his. It’s not until there are four of them inside of you, two of Mingi’s and two of Yunho’s that you feel the difference. Feel the intensity of the stretch. “I think she likes it” Mingi grins, rubbing his thumb against your clit. Yunho follows suit, slipping a thumb into your ass. “Fuck---yes---Yunie---Mingi---mmm!” you cry out, so overstimulated that your eyes begin to water.

They grind into you harder, forcing out screams louder than any you’ve made tonight. “Please---inside of me---wanna feel you. Both of you” you whine, so lost in how badly you want them that you don’t realize what you’re asking. Mingi slides his hand out, smearing your juices between your folds, “Aah, she’s adventurous tonight. You sure you can handle that?” “I-I can. Ah, shit. I need it.” Yunho spreads his fingers in a V, rolling them around inside of you, stretching you from every angle. Mingi brings the head of his cock to splash in the juices leaking from your needy core and Yunho pulls out of you, focusing instead on freeing himself from his pants.

For a fleeting moment, it occurs to you how fucking insane you are. Mingi and Yunho at the same time? It’s not only the thickness, it’s the length. You wonder if you have a death wish. Mingi guides himself into you, only the first inch, sending shockwaves through your system. If this is how you die, you figure, at least you’ll die happy. Yunho spits into his palm, moistening his length before he brings it to meet your already occupied slit. Mingi slides in another inch or two, keeping his cock flush against the roof of your walls. Yunho raises himself into you, taking his time to watch for any signs that you’re uncomfortable, “Let us know if it’s too much, okay?” You make a little squeak to acknowledge how nice it feels to be protected, even when he’s in the process of tearing you in half.

He begins to slide up into you, pausing to let Mingi push in a little more, then taking his turn again. It’s a toe-curling, lip-biting back and forth to get them both inside of you. Once they are, you're falling apart, screaming, digging your nails into Mingi’s arm. Pulling his shirt up over his head, he gathers the material and shoves it in your mouth. “We don’t want them to think we’re killing you.” You’re so full, stretched beyond your limit, that only one of them can fuck into you at once. There’s no room for anything---or anyone---else. You belong to them. “You’re always worth waiting for but shit” Mingi grunts, his length throbbing, as much as it can given the space.

There’s moisture on your cheeks. You’re crying. Not from pain. No. That initial sting gave way to pleasure once they were both finally inside of you. You’re crying, drenched in your own tears, because parts of you are shifting that you didn’t even know could. Every stroke has your ears ringing, your heart in your stomach. You feel heavy and weightless all at once. The darkness of the room swallows you while somehow managing to be blindingly bright. There’s an explosion somewhere inside, releasing the building pressure. You’re at your peak again, legs kicking like you’re dangling high up. It hits you hard. So hard that you’re not breathing. Breathe, girl, breathe!

Just as you catch your breath and think that you’re maybe---maybe---coming down, Yunho's filling you up like a donut. Mingi pulls out, tapping his head against your clit as warm cum sprays against you. Correction: Filling you up like a glazed donut. The three of you collapse, unable to do much else besides make a series of broken noises. “Hmph mmm mm hmph,” you say? Scream? Mumble? Mingi throws his arm across his chest, understanding your incoherent huffs, and takes the shirt out of your mouth. You pat him lovingly on the head, “Thanks.”

Readjusting yourself on the toilet, you rub the partially melted popsicle between your legs. This is nowhere near sexual in nature. You’re just in desperate need of relief from how sore you are after the day’s events. “Aah, yup, that’s the spot” you sigh, “Seonghwa really was onto something.” “Was I?” Seonghwa asks, rubbing his eyes. You jump a bit, startled by his sudden appearance in the doorway. Seonghwa stretches, dragging his feet into the bathroom.

As adorable as he is in his pajamas, his hair a complete mess, seeing him right now isn’t ideal. He shakes off the sleep, taking his time to process what’s going on. “Is that a---” “Ssh, if you tell anyone---” Seonghwa’s cheeks turn rosy, a smile spreading across his face. He takes you by the hand, bringing you to your feet, “Come on.” “Hwa, hold on, do you think? I wasn’t--no. No!” You reach back to drop the popsicle in the sink but Hwa pulls you along. “Hold onto that.”

#ateez smut #ateez x you #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez oneshot #hongjoong x y/n #mingi x y/n #jongho x y/n #yeosang x y/n #yunho x y/n #seonghwa x y/n #san x y/n #wooyoung x y/n #chubby reader

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

apple pies & break-ins ; tangerine.

pairing ; tangerine x assassin!spouse!reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; tangerine comes back home just as you're about to leave.

words ; 1.9k

themes ; pure fluff, mild comedy, established relationship (married), assassin au

warnings / includes ; blood/injuries/weapons, slightly suggestive, tangerine has a potty mouth, lemon cameo, tangerine being clingy and sappy

main masterlist.

The entire house smelled of cinnamon, apples, and buttery pie crust. You sliced up another apple, taking care to carve out its core, before tossing it in the sugar syrup and popping the chopped pieces of fruit into the crust to bake in the oven. As soon as you bumped the door shut with your hip, the front door creaked open, followed by a familiar jangling of keys.

You glanced up with a warm smile, glad that your husband was finally home—except it was quick to melt away when you took in his disheveled appearance. There was blood all over him, dribbling down his hairline, splattered over his neck, staining his once-pristine clothes.

Despite his haggard state, he sent you a tired beam, his mustache twitching with the smile.

“‘Ello, love,” he greeted, making his way to you behind the kitchen counter. “Close your mouth, darlin’, you’ll catch flies.” With a cheeky smirk, he slotted a finger beneath your chin, effectively snapping your lips shut. He mildly winced when he noticed he accidentally left a faint print of sticky blood on your jaw, but wisely decided not to tell you.

You fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “Jesus, Tan. Is that your blood?”

“Not sure, honestly. It’s coming from all over—some of it’s bound to be mine. Don’t worry about me, love. I’m fuckin’ peachy. Speaking of, it smells really good in here. You bakin’ something for me, darling? I’m flattered,” he hummed, leaning forward to kiss you.

Before he could, you ducked away from him, pushing his face to the side with a wrinkled nose. “Ugh, go shower first, you’re getting blood everywhere! To be honest, I would’ve felt better knowing it was yours.”

“Ouch,” he murmured, though his grin still lingered by the corner of his mouth. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

Relenting, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “There. You happy?”

“Very. Thanks, love.” He sent you a playful wink before slinking off to the bathroom, whistling a peppy tune under his breath on the way. You rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself, before turning to clean up the mess of flour and sugar and apple cores you’d made on the kitchen counter.

When your husband finally slunk out of the bathroom, a thick white towel hanging low around his waist and another ruffling at his damp curls, he made his way back into the kitchen.

“Put on some clothes, Tan,” you scoffed when he pressed against you from behind, sprinkling a bit of cinnamon sugar on the apple pie you had just taken out of the oven.

“Hm, you don’t like me like this?” he queried, verging on a whine since you weren’t paying him the least bit of attention. “Naked and at your disposal?”

Amused, you finally turned around in his arms, trapped between him and the counter. The blue of his eyes were hooded and lustful, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. You, however, smiled sweetly at him. “You’re not naked.”

“Well, that can easily be remedied—”

Before he could reach down to undo the towel around his waist, you stopped him with your hands gripping both his wrists, quirking your brows. “As much as I’d love to, I have to call in for a job soon. I’m running late already. I was baking the pie for you in case you got back while I was gone.”

“Another job?” asked Tangerine, clearly upset at the turn of events. “Can’t you call off? I’m sure they can send another bloody assassin to do their dirty work.”

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before gently pushing him away so you could head off to your shared bedroom and get changed. To none of your surprise, your husband trailed along behind you like a sullen puppy. “It’s a lot of money, baby. Don’t think I could afford to keep skipping jobs just to laze around with you.”

With a disappointed grumble, Tangerine wrapped his arms around you from behind again, squeezing tightly and kissing down your neck. “How long will this one take?”

“I’ll be back tonight,” you reassured him. “Tomorrow at the very latest.”

“Alright,” he acquiesced, though not without a loud sigh. He sat down on the bed, watching as you shirked off your flour-covered shirt in favor of a dark button-up. “You remember how we first met?”

Of course you did. You remembered it as if it was yesterday. You crossed your arms, stepping in between his legs by the edge of the bed. Both of his hands went to your waist, fingers curling over your back and absentmindedly tracing loose shapes on your sides.

Looking up at you, he spoke between pressing soft kisses along your abdomen, over the black shirt you had donned, “I was on a mission with Lemon in Madrid… and we were in a tight situation. Bullets flying everywhere, my leg fucked up, and my gun jammed. Then, whaddya know, the most beautiful fuckin’ person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon comes flying through one o’ the windows. Took out three people with one knife, and took out another four with a bloody crossbow. You looked at me, covered in blood, and asked if I was alright. I told you that you were fucking gorgeous—and then you fell in love with me, right on the spot, and the rest is history.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter. “Hm, that’s not how I remember it. Need I remind you that I shoved you to the side because you kept getting in my way, asking if I’d like to have dinner with you? Gods, Tan, you were a pain in my ass. And your brother was laughing at you.”

“Cunt,” he grumbled at the mention of his brother. “Well, even if you didn’t fall in love with me right then and there—I did. I knew I had to be yours from the moment I saw you.”

You lowered yourself to a crouch, cupping his face and caught his lips in a feverish kiss. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his. “Are you telling me this because you want me to stay?”

A sheepish grin tugged at the corner of Tangerine’s lips. “Is it working?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. You pulled away, slinging a packed bag over your shoulder and heading out the bedroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. Love you.”

“Wait! You said you’d come back tonight!”

True to your word, you had returned home at midnight, stumbling through the door tired and weary. Thankfully, you weren’t too banged up, just a scratch on your shoulder from the graze of a bullet that you managed to patch yourself before coming back. You were greeted with Tangerine dozing on the couch, a shitty reality show glowing on the television screen, with the half-eaten apple pie on the coffee table in front. He startled awake when you flicked his cheek with a smile.

“Hey, sleepy,” you said, dipping down to kiss his forehead, sauntering towards your bedroom to get changed.

As expected, your husband scurried off the couch to follow after you, gathering you into his arms and kissing you deeply. “I missed you,” he murmured, accent thick and lilting.

“Come on, I wanna get to sleep,” you said, tugging him to the bed with a muffled yawn.

In no time, he was curled up behind you, his large arm thrown over your waist and hand splayed out over your stomach. His nose was buried into the back of your head, unable to wipe the pleased smile off of his features.

It was relatively easy to drift to sleep, given how exhausted the two of you already were.

Not even three hours later, with the two of you already deep in slumber, there came a loud crashing from the front of the house. Someone was breaking in.

Immediately, you sat up in the bed, slipping out from beneath Tangerine’s heavy arms and the blanket. The cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shiver spidering up your spine. You reached beneath your pillow to brandish a small emergency dagger you kept between the mattress and the headboard. Your husband also startled awake at the loud sound, eyes tired yet wide, grappling for a gun he kept beneath the bed.

“Stay in here,” he whispered, striding forward to the bedroom door, left slightly ajar.

“Like hell I am,” you quietly gruffed back, hot on his heels.

Knowing that there was no stopping you, Tangerine blew out a breath and the both of you crept closer, light on your feet. With no warning, Tan shouldered the door open and stepped out in one fluid motion, lining the gun up with the intruder.

A second later, he immediately lowered the weapon with a long string of exasperated curses. You peered over his shoulder, tense muscles loosening upon seeing Tangerine’s brother, Lemon, frozen in front of the broken window. His lips were twisted into a grimace and his eyes were as wide as saucers. There were shards of glass glimmering in his dark hair.

“What the fuck, man?” your husband erupted, immediately clicking the safety back on his gun and shoving it into the waistband of his sweats. “Are you daft? The fuck did you break my window for?”

“I was looking for you! Never heard a peep from you two after your missions. I just assumed the worst!” he exclaimed. For a moment, Lemon’s dark eyes flickered to you. “Hi, Y/N. Look lovely, by the way.”

You crossed your arms, more amused than anything. “Hey, Lemon.”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ call us, then? Bloody fucking idiot! Going down and breaking my window like that,” he angrily muttered, stomping forward to inspect the damage. “You’re paying for this, you twat.”

Rearing back, Lemon snarled, “Oi! I did call you! Didn’t answer your phones, the neither of you. I thought something happened! Forgive me for worrying about my brother and my in-law!”

“The fuck you mean, I would get the fucking notification if you called me!” Tangerine hissed back, pressing the heels of his palms into his sleepy eyes. After a second, he reached down into his pocket, fishing out his phone. He pressed the power button once, then twice. A third time for good measure. “Well, fuck me. It’s dead.”

You hid a smile behind your palm. You married a complete, hot-headed idiot. With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you wiggled your fingers farewell and swiftly turned, yawning as you dragged yourself back into the room. “I’m going back to bed. You two behave yourselves.”

Both of them grunted goodbyes at your departure, before immediately carrying on with their arguments.

“Why didn’t you just call Y/N?”

A long pause. Lemon's eye twitched. “Didn’t think of that, to be honest with you… What are you, a fucking halfwit? Of course I called Y/N!”

"Oh, right, yeah, Y/N does put their phone on DND before bed. Right."

"Right."

Frowning, Tangerine barked out, “Still, you’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that? I could’ve shot you!”

“Alright, alright, calm your tits. D’you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

“What, are you bloody mental?” Another pause. “Alright, fine. Just take your shoes off. Don’t want you tracking mud all over the place.”

Half an hour later, Tangerine crawled back into bed, settling himself behind you. You had fallen asleep already, but shifted with a pleasant hum when he pressed a ticklish kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Love you,” he whispered, tugging you closer to his chest. You drowsily murmured something incoherent in response, and Tangerine contentedly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

#tangerine x reader #bullet train fanfiction #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you #tangerine fluff #tangerine imagines #tangerine drabbles #tangerine headcanon #bullet train tangerine #bullet train tangerine x reader

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luv4georgie · 11 days

Text

i bet on losing dogs.

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

in which formula one star, Max Verstappen, and his girlfriend, Y/n L/n, decide to trauma dump on each-other instead of bottling it up for years.

bit of a reflection because i don’t know who to talk to my past about and all of this (from readers POV) is 1000% accurate so enjoy my sad childhood

warnings: trauma dump, @buse, manipulative mother, traumatic childhood

prompt list

“tell your baby, that i’m your baby.”

it was a normal Saturday for everyone else, but for Y/n and Max it was filled with trust, honesty and betrayal. i know you’re thinking ‘what a funny mix of words!’. true. but here’s what happened that night.

it was winter/new years break for the world of Formula 1 and Max had just won his 3rd championship. Max and Y/n were thrilled of course, and the night of his championship was filled with a-lot of lust, if you know what i mean. it was a few weeks later and the couple lay soundly in their bed. Max was stroking Y/n’s hair and face and she fumbled with his fingers. they can’t remember where it first started but somehow they begun talking about their pasts. very traumatic to say the least. Max started with his. talking about the times when his father would get exceedingly angry at Max and the one time he left him at the gas station.

then it moved on to Y/n. she was scared to talk about it and almost backed out. but she knew max wouldn’t tell a soul. it started with when she was 5. “when i was 5 my mother was heavily pregnant with my younger brother. because my parents divorced a few months prior me and my older brother and sister went to my dads. one day my mum really didn’t want me to go to his and when he came to pick me up they were physically fighting over me.” she chuckled. “my dad had me by one arm and my mum had me by the other and were pulling me towards each-other. it was like one of those comedy films” she laughed but Max didn’t. “they were fighting and screaming over me on the drive way. i was scared but i got to my dads fine. a few months later i was at my mums and my younger brother had been born. i was upstairs playing with my monster high dolls and my mum was also upstairs, supposed to be looking after my brother. my older siblings were at my dads at the time. the gate at the top of the stairs wasn’t shut properly and my brother had crawled out of my mum’s room whilst she was watching TV.” Y/n’s face twisted with slight horror and sadness. “H-he fell down the stairs and i heard his cries and large thumps so i ran out my room to see what was going on, hoping my mother hadn’t of hit him. when i saw him lying at the bottom of the stairs i ran down and picked him up, i was struggling since i was only little, and i heard my mum follow me shortly after. she grabbed him from my arms and put him on the couch. thankfully he didn’t break anything or cut himself. i stared at my mum as she stormed towards me. she grabbed me by the arm and got up in my face shouting out about how it was my fault.” Y/n paused, tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered the horrific moment. “then she through me against the radiator. i was crying and scared not knowing why she did it. but i accepted it and let her be angry. the next day i woke up and she came and gave me a kiss. i was confused because i cried myself to sleep thinking she didn’t like me.”

Y/n finished her story with a tear going across her nose bridge due to her lying down and Max was surprised. they hugged all throughout that night sharing kisses and praises between each-other. they were the same, yet they were so different. alas, they were in love.

sorry it’s so short. i just wanted to put something out here because i don’t want to not be posting anymore. i do NOT support anything that has happened in this fic and do not condone it. hope you all have a beautiful day or night. love you so much ❤️

#f1 #f1 x reader imagines #spotify #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #nolan hansen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #Spotify

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wlntrsldler · 5 months

Note

Hiiiiii!!!! I love Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine!! Can I get Jamie Tartt to apple pie?

apple pie | jamie tartt

based on the song apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

description: jamie gets insecure sometimes, but having you with him helps.

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (f!reader she/her)

warnings: lots of kissing, self-doubt, insecurities, mention of jamie's dad

word count: 2631

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

When Jamie first got into a relationship with you, he knew that both of your busy schedules would pose a problem down the road. With his football career seemingly reaching new peaks every season and your acting career taking off after being cast in what is being called “the film that revived the dying genre of romantic comedies,” the amount of time you get to spend with each other decreased significantly since the start of your relationship.

You first met Jamie halfway through his returning season at AFC Richmond. You met him at a birthday dinner party for a friend of a friend where you relentlessly teased him for his ridiculous, but outstanding performance, on Lust Conquers All. You had originally praised him for it when you were fully under the impression that he was putting on an act. You didn’t find out that he was just being his prick-ish self, albeit his younger prick-ish self, until about four months into your relationship when he embarrassedly admitted it to you. That’s how you found yourself rewatching the entire season together on his couch until 2 hours before Roy knocked on his door for his training session.

At first, Jamie thought you were making fun of him. His insecurities would still peek in here and there and sometimes he couldn’t help but worry that you’d see him as nothing more than a dumb footballer like everyone else does. He quickly realized, though, that while you were losing your mind laughing at how he acted in the show, making fun of him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Why’d ya wanna watch this shit anyways?” he grumbled, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “It’s just poopy. ‘M not even like that anymore.”

“I know,” you sat up, pausing the show when you heard his voice crack. You knew the tone of Jamie’s voice when he was cracking jokes and when he was happy, and this voice wasn’t one or the other. You turned your body to face him, “I know you aren’t like this anymore, I just thought it would be funny.”

“I dunno, I suppose it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?” you questioned. “Why I want to watch it?”

“Yeah,” Jamie replied. His eyes were looking at everything but at you. He was playing with the threads of the blanket loosely draped over his legs. He rubbed his nose with his balled-up fist. “Why does it matter how I was before you? I’m better now, yeah? Unless you don’t think so...”

“Oh, love,” you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. You were so engrossed in the episode on the TV that you didn’t realize how uncomfortable Jamie was feeling about the whole situation. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention to how you were feeling about this. We can stop watching it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He hummed, tugging on your hoodie to pull you closer to him. “I just don’t want you to see how I used to be and realize you don’t want to be with a prick like that, even if I have changed, you know? I don’t know… I just thought that with ya, I’d have a fresh start.”

“Jamie Tartt, enough of that now,” You took over being the big spoon, which made Jamie nuzzle into your neck contently, “You have changed. You’re an amazing man and the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. I only wanted to watch this show because it’s such a shitty show that it’s nice to just unwind. When I watch this Jamie on the screen, my brain can’t even comprehend that it’s you.”

“You don’t think I’m a prick anymore, yeah?” Jamie asked again, hoping that he’d get a confirmation, “Like you wouldn’t leave me over that?”

You’ve learned over the past few months things about Jamie– one of which is that he needs to be told positive things or else he’d spiral. The thing is, if you could go into his mind and turn off that control box that spews self-doubt and insecurities to him, you would do it in a heartbeat. But since you can’t, you were more than happy to shower him with love and adoration in hopes that your voice can drown the rest of them out.

“Never,” you placed your lips on his in a soft kiss. “You’d have to work a hell of a lot harder to get rid of me.”

“I’m working double overtime just so you’d keep me, love,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss. His hand reached for the remote to turn the TV off to leave you both in the glow of the floor lamp in his living room.

“You don’t have to work hard for that.”

Jamie had gotten used to having you around his flat. He would leave for 4 AM training with Roy with you on his bed, often naked, then return at around 6:30 AM to shower and join you back in bed for another hour before you woke up. He’d wake up for the second time that day with you drawing patterns on his chest and a soft smile on your face. He’d lean over and place a loving kiss on your lips and he’d feel prepared to start the day.

You were filming a show in London for three months, which meant that for three months, this was Jamie’s life. In between projects, you stayed at his place. For two weeks after the wrap party, you came home to him, visited him at the facility, and went to all the team outings, home games, and away games with him. He was with you 24/7 and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t realize how he took it for granted until filming ended.

Three weeks ago, you flew to New York City to begin filming another movie. With training and games, Jamie hasn’t been able to take time off to visit you, and with filming just starting, you couldn’t fly back to Richmond either.

Jamie was doing fine– as fine as someone can be when their daily routine was abruptly disrupted. He was proud of you. The premise of the movie seemed perfect for you and was a seamless continuation of the romantic comedy trend you were on. People were buzzing for your next project, especially after your last one was so well received. He was so proud of you…. But he also missed you.

During the three weeks that you were gone, you and Jamie still texted each other constantly and FaceTimed everyday, despite the crazy time difference. He wanted to make it work, and so did you, so you did what you could to stay in touch. While not being able to hold you and kiss you for three weeks was killing Jamie, he was glad he was still able to spend time with you. Things didn’t get to Jamie until Jan Maas made an off-handed comment about it.

All of them were packing up after training, feeling extremely antsy with the Man City match on the horizon, Jamie especially. There were a lot of things on his mind, including the possibility of seeing his father, who he hadn’t seen since Wembley, and playing against his old team was always a trip. In short, he wasn’t feeling his best and the fact that you weren’t nearby made it worse.

“Jamie, we have not seen Y/N in a while,” Sam noted, “Is everything okay with you two?”

“She’s filming a movie in New York, bruv,” Isaac replied before Jamie could speak, “Right, Tartt?”

Jamie nodded, putting his shirt over his head, “Yeah. She’ll be gone for a few months, at least.”

“I do not know how you’re gonna survive, Jamie,” Jan Maas said. “You are so clingy when it comes to her. I don’t think you can make it all those months.”

The rest of the team chuckled at Jan’s teasing tone, but Jamie furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Was he clingy? He frowned as he continued to put his things away. He picked up his phone from his cubby, smiling when he received a few messages from you while he was at training. As he was about to respond, Jan’s comment made him stop in his tracks.

Maybe it would be best to let you have a night to yourself. You had a life outside of him and you deserve to be able to live it without having him cling to you all the time. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, slipping his phone in his back pocket, before walking out of the locker room to head to his place.

When you woke up to no text from Jamie, you assumed that he was just worn out from training and didn’t have the energy to reply. You’ve seen the intense training he went through, so you wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. But as the day went on and there was still no word from Jamie– you’d even checked the timezone clock on your phone to make sure you weren’t being unreasonable– you began to worry. FaceTime calls went unanswered and instead, you were met with the Apple automated response, “Sorry, can’t talk right now.”

To: lover boy <3

“Hi, love. Got some exciting news, you free to chat? Xx”

By the time you were boarding the plane to Manchester, Jamie still hadn’t texted you back. After begging the producers to give you a week off filming, they finally agreed. You asked for this week in particular, knowing that you wanted to be there for Jamie for the Man City match. There was a lot on the line for Jamie and you wanted to be there for him no matter what happened.

The entire plane ride back to England was filled with dread and anxiety. It wasn’t like Jamie to not respond. Unless he was at a game, training, or sleeping, but even then he had a special ringtone for you that wakes him up whenever you called, he always replied to your messages as soon as possible. When you landed, everything that could go wrong went wrong. Your plane was stuck on the tarmac for an hour because there were problems with the gate. Your luggage got delayed which left you sitting at baggage claim for another 45 minutes. When you finally arrived at the hotel the team was staying at– shoutout to Ted for being yours and Jamie’s number one supporter and telling you where they were staying– Jamie was nowhere to be found.

You dragged your luggage to Jamie’s room, plopping on the bed tiredly. You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:28 PM. Ted mentioned that there was a 10 PM curfew so you hoped that tonight was not one of the nights where Jamie decided to break the rules. Ted also mentioned that Jamie has not been himself lately, which did nothing to soothe your panic. You hopped in the shower to rinse yourself from the long day you’ve had. You did your night routine and dug into Jamie’s bag to retrieve his AFC Richmond hoodie. Before putting it on, you held it up to your nose, sighing as your senses were filled with Jamie. You missed him.

It was 9:57 PM when you heard the door unlock. You were on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on social media, when you saw him. You sat up, shutting your phone off. He walked in with his head low. His shoulders were hunched over a bit, but he looked okay. He looked better than how Ted described him.

He kicked off his shoes, before looking at you on his bed, startled. His eyes widened, first in fear that there was someone in his room, then in surprise that it was you in his room. His lips curved down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in sadness.

“Baby,” you whispered, moving to the side of the bed to make room for him.

Jamie knew that he needed to not be clingy. He didn’t want to bother you too much. He was trying to be cool. But when you called him “baby,” with that voice, in his hoodie on his bed, his resolve crumbled to pieces.

He ran to you, nearly tackling you off the bed when he engulfed you in his arms. He buried his face in your neck, a mix of your lotion and the cologne he sprays on his clothes surrounding him. You cradled the back of his head, mumbling how much you missed him into his shoulder. Jamie could cry. He hasn’t seen you in so long, but here you are now.

“What are you doing here?” He asked when he finally pulled away from you. He couldn’t stray too far though. His arm was still wrapped around you while you cuddled into his side. “I thought you were in New York.”

“Well, if you bothered to answer my texts,” you trailed off, faking a voice of sadness. You poked his side, “You would’ve seen that I had exciting news. The producers gave me a week off after begging them since I first got to New York and this week is perfect because I know tomorrow’s match is gonna be a lot for you. I wanted to be here for you, whatever the outcome is.”

“Oh.” Jamie was speechless. Here he was ignoring you like a prick while you were planning to come back just to be here for him. He didn’t deserve you.

“Yeah,” you continued, “If tomorrow we celebrate, I’ll be here making sure that you drink enough water so that your hangover the next day won’t be too much. If tomorrow we try to never think about it again, I’ll sit next to you on the bus in silence holding your hand and when we get home we can do the same thing.”

Home. You were here and he felt like he was home.

“I missed you so much,” Jamie sighed. He kissed you all over your face, giving your lips extra attention. “‘M sorry if I was bothering you by texting and calling so much over the last few weeks… I just missed you loads and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Baby, you didn’t text and call me enough,” you played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. “If it was possible, I would stay on a call with you all day, everyday. Can’t get enough of ya.”

He smiled, his worries disappearing with every word you said, “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I love you, Jamie Tartt.” You kissed him deeply. “Couldn’t get tired of you even after a million years. Now, catch me up! Tell me everything.”

Jamie, feeling like himself again, began to tell you everything you missed over the last few weeks– meeting Sam’s father, meeting Ted’s mum, Roy and Keeley, and seeing his mum earlier that night, which is why he came home late. He talked about how a visit to Georgie and Simon helped lift his spirits, and how Georgie was gushing about you and asking him when you’ll come to visit again.

Then he talked about his fears for tomorrow and everything that’s been piling up on him ever since you left. As he spoke, you rubbed his back comfortingly, a small reminder that you’ll always be here no matter what.

Jamie knew that he still had a lot of work to do. He knew that his insecurities could get the best of him sometimes and it can cause him to push back on people who love and care about him, but he was trying. You believed in him and that’s all he needed.

#ted lasso fics #ted lasso #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x yn #jamie tartt oneshot #frances writes #frances song fics

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the-bastards-box · 11 months

Text

Thinking about organizing an ship art week for one of my ships 👀👀👀

Would you guys be interested? If yes, then what ship/ships? From Undermine, tell me through asks or comments on this post

#michael asks #undermine multiverse #pinkbug #deadlyvines #eclipsemare #glitchedsunrays #freshvenncomic #crosshatch #peacefuldeath #inkcan #gmh #comedy x lust #<-they dont have a shipname yet so taking suggestions #mintypinkbug

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vixstarria · 4 months

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The Sheath of Frontiers

So, in light of the disparity between the amount of Wyll content compared with the other companions, I felt it would be prudent for my Tav and Astarion to seduce him. Enjoy!

AO3

Astarion x F!Tav x Wyll

18+, humour, smut, threesome, soft dom/service top Astarion, sub/bottom Wyll, Tav and Astarion are both little shits, anal etc

This is probably more really lewd and descriptive comedy than erotica, you have been warned.

Approx. 3,400 words (gods, these things just keep getting longer and longer)

Written in 3rd person, and Tav's name is... *drumroll* Tav. Hey, I don't know who you want to relate to here, take your pick.

Tav, Astarion and Wyll occupied a booth at the Elfsong. They were the last ones still up drinking after a long day roaming the city.

“But don’t you ever feel... tempted?” Astarion threw Wyll a sultry look from beneath his eyelashes, circling the rim of his wineglass with one finger.

Tav had been watching the subtle seduction show unfold for the past while. She wasn’t sure whether Wyll was oblivious to Astarion’s flirtation, or impervious to it, but either way, the man would not budge.

“Call me a hopeless romantic, but I want the moment to be special for my one and only. Anticipated. Meaningful. And what could hold more significance than waiting until after marriage vows?” Wyll answered.

“Yes, yes, you are ever the romantic hero and want to make it ‘special’ for your chosen one, blah blah...” Astarion rolled his eyes, sipping his wine spiked with Tav’s blood. “But you’ve admitted you’re no virgin, it’s not as though you’re ‘saving yourself’ for anyone. What about casual no strings encounters? Simple carnal lust, for hells’ sake!”

“You never know when or where you might find true love. Wouldn’t want to accidentally spoil it from the beginning,” Wyll said, with a smile and a head shake.

Astarion threw a quick look of pure vexation at Tav, as she tried to hide her laugh behind her own goblet. She’d told him he wouldn’t be able to crack the ‘Blade of Frontiers’ - something he took as a personal challenge.

“Hmm... You know, you should marry us!” Astarion suddenly exclaimed. “I would make an exemplary spouse for a duke! You should see me entertain at balls. Tav might be found to be acceptable as well, after a good scrub.”

Tav threw a piece of pie crust at Astarion in response.

“We wouldn’t accept your proposal without a test ride, though,” Astarion warned.

“What, marry both of you? ...First of all, polygamy is not legal.” Wyll seemed a bit thrown off by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation.

“So make it legal, the reigns of power are in your hands. Or will be,” Astarion shrugged.

“Astarion, we both know the entire legal system would collapse if polygamy was to be permitted officially. Can you imagine all the complications? Especially all the implications it would bear for noble families and their hereditary lines of succession,” the future Duke Ravengard rambled.

“I see what you’re saying, and I agree, but there could be a provision to allow persons who are unable to produce heirs to marry into the noble families as secondary spouses,” Astarion countered. “And you could always implement obligatory prenuptial agreements to simplify asset division.”

Tav screamed inwardly: once Astarion started talking legalese the only way to get him to shut up was by literally occupying his mouth with something else, one way or another.

Meanwhile, Wyll shook his head.

“That would only serve to provide obligation-free unfair advantage to such persons,” he said. “It is nothing but furthering nepotism.”

“I see nothing wrong with persons gaining unfair advantage, as long as I am those persons,” Astarion parried.

“I could marry Tav and provide you with some kind of concubine status, if you wish,” Wyll suggested.

“Not interested,” Astarion scoffed, sipping his wine. “I’m afraid we’re a package deal.”

Tav groaned in frustration and got up.

“I’ve had enough of this. Wyll, you don’t need to worry about spoiling any 'precious moments’ here - neither Astarion nor I have any interest in letting you make honest people of us anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion muttered with a huff, sipping more of his wine.

“Shut up, Astarion,” Tav threw. “I’m going upstairs, and I, for one, intend to fuck this vampire before the night is over. Are you coming with us or not?”

Astarion choked on his drink. If this was all it would take to lure the Blade into their bed – Tav would never let him live it down.

“I uh... I must confess – I have never done that before,” Wyll said, visibly flustered.

“What, fuck a vampire? Most people haven’t.” Tav shrugged.

“Not that either, but what I meant was... be intimate with a man,” Wyll forced out.

He jumped a little as he suddenly found Astarion’s lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear. He hadn’t noticed the vampire inching closer to him.

“Would you like to..?” Astarion purred.

“It’s nothing you haven’t done yourself hundreds of times, what’s so shameful and difficult?” Tav teased.

“That's not true,” Wyll protested.

Tav tilted her head and shot him a look that said ‘oh please’.

“No, I mean that. Ever since I... entered that contract, I’ve hardly ever indulged. Never know when she might be watching. ...Doesn’t your patron ever watch as well..?”

“Sometimes...” Tav mused. “But after a while it’s like fucking with a cat in the room. You learn to ignore it. As long as it doesn’t jump on the bed and sniff your asscrack while you’re in the middle of it, it’s fine.”

“Ahem,” Astarion cleared his throat. “Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand?”

Astarion sat on the edge of the bed in full naked glory as Tav, also in a state of almost total undress, sat behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other stroking his cock.

Meanwhile, Wyll perched on the opposite edge of the bed, trying to look anywhere but at the couple in front of him.

“Eyes down here, darling,” Astarion drawled. “If Miz-”

“Don’t say her name!”

“If that skank decides to show up, she’ll get more than she’s bargained for.”

Wyll finally allowed himself to gape openly at the scene in front of him.

Astarion’s cock was surprisingly thick and veined, and flushed at the tip. Perhaps it was the only part of him that could be flushed with blood. Wyll tried, habitually, to distract himself from his own arousal with thoughts of the workings behind vampire erections, to no avail – his own cock was straining against his pants almost painfully. He observed, almost in a state of a surreal daze, as Tav used her thumb to spread a new bead of precum over the head of Astarion’s cock, and reflexively licked his lips.

She noticed and let out a satisfied hum.

“Why don’t you come help?” she purred.

“Hmm?” Wyll seemed to snap out of his daze. “You want me to take over..?”

“No, like I said, this is hardly something you haven’t done before – try something new.” Tav grinned. “Why don’t you come down here and kneel in front of him?”

Somehow, Wyll’s legs got him down onto the floor between Astarion’s thighs. The vampire himself leaned back against Tav, his head thrown back over her shoulder, with a vague smile on his lips.

“Really...?” Wyll breathed a shaky laugh. “I thought we would start with some baby steps. Maybe a kiss..?”

“No, no darling...” Tav cooed. “Don’t be silly. Kissing is way too intimate. Just lick his balls for now.”

Still not quite believing what was happening, Wyll went ahead and did as he was told. Two things, he noticed immediately. One, the overwhelming scent of Astarion’s musk was making his head spin. He wanted to simply bury his nose in the spot between his shaft and balls and inhale, but he wasn’t sure whether that would be appropriate. And two, his ministrations immediately made Astarion groan, the sound sweet music to his ears.

By then Tav had moved out from behind Astarion’s back and lounged on the bed next to him, her hand still stroking his cock, and watched Wyll’s efforts.

“Good boy,” she purred approvingly.

“Love?” Astarion said.

“Hmm?” Tav hummed.

“You talk too much.”

Wyll watched Astarion push her head, quite unceremoniously, down towards his groin. She let out a somewhat annoyed sound, but went right on, taking his cock in her mouth.

“Finally, some silence,” Astarion groaned.

Once again, Wyll found himself gawking at the display now mere inches before him, as she worked the length of Astarion’s erection with her lips, her cheeks hollowing - obviously a practiced motion for the two, as they entered a familiar rhythm, Astarion’s hips bucking up, his fingers tangled in her hair, as she bobbed her head.

Tav’s eyes met Wyll’s, and she released Astarion’s dick from her mouth, with a loud plopping sound and a sigh. She lifted Wyll’s chin with one finger.

“Now you can take over,” she whispered, getting up.

Wyll hesitated, taking Astarion’s cock in his hand.

‘Huh... Not cold at all,’ he thought.

“Don’t tell me the Blade is intimidated,” Astarion taunted.

Wyll tried to think of a witty retort, but, for once, his mind was blank, and in any event it hardly seemed appropriate to orate and put on heroic airs whilst on his knees between Astarion’s legs. He decided it would be prudent to simply put the dick in his mouth.

Tav had made it look so easy... She slurped that thing up like a horse with a carrot. But Wyll found himself struggling, despite quite enjoying the taste and sensation of tender skin on his tongue.

Astarion sucked his breath in, with a hiss.

“Teeth...” he said. “We keep our teeth behind our lips, darling.”

Wyll tried to mumble an apology without removing Astarion’s cock from his mouth.

“And don’t talk with your mouth full. Gods, you’re from a decent family, haven’t they taught you any manners..? ...There, that’s better.”

“Is he doing a good job?” Wyll heard Tav’s voice somewhere in the room.

“Well...” said Astarion.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Wyll, honey, you know you can bite him if he’s mean to you, right? You’re the one with the power here, right now.” She got back on the bed, holding something in her hand. “But why are you still dressed?” she laughed.

Wyll released Astarion from his mouth and fumbled with his clothing. Meanwhile, Tav had slid onto Astarion’s lap, and they busied themselves with each other. Their sheer hunger for one another, as they kissed and exchanged caresses, made Wyll feel like a third wheel, but Tav quickly turned her attention back to him.

“My love, I think he’s bored,” she said to Astarion. “Should we wake Halsin up again?”

“Are you trying to educate or traumatise him..?” Astarion murmured in response. “But that reminds me of something...”

Astarion positioned Tav to sit on his lap with her back against him, guiding her onto his cock. She moaned as he entered her, his knees spreading her legs as his hands roamed her body, stroking between her legs as he bucked his hips up into her.

“It was such a breathtaking view, I thought he would enjoy it as well,” he murmured. “Like what you see?” he directed at Wyll.

Nothing in Wyll’s life had prepared him for this. Eyes locked on the spectacle before him, he had at last begun stroking himself, staying in time with Astarion’s movements. He didn’t notice as Astarion went to whisper something in Tav’s ear.

“Do you want to taste her?” Astarion goaded.

“Yes,” Wyll breathed, leaning forward.

“Ah ah! Not like that.” Astarion intercepted him, pulling out of Tav. She got up, returning onto the bed with a giggle. Astarion’s cock glistened with her juices.

“Go ahead now,” Astarion purred.

Wyll eagerly took Astarion into his mouth again. Tav’s taste on Astarion’s cock combined with Astarion’s own precum was absolutely divine, and Wyll greedily lapped up as much as he could.

“Much, much better this time...” Astarion purred approvingly. “Consider that a little treat... But that’s enough now. Come here...” Astarion pulled Wyll up by one of his horns, directing him onto the bed and pushing against his chest until he was on his back.

Tav angled a pillow under his head so his horns wouldn’t get in the way, and laid down on her side near Wyll, and smiled at him, lightly caressing his face with her fingertips. Wyll’s heart beat like a mad thing trying to break out of its cage, as Astarion crawled on top of him, with a predatory look in his eyes.

“So just how... ‘intimate’ were you thinking of getting?” Tav asked, softly.

Wyll swallowed hard as Astarion emitted a soft growl and started kissing down his neck, his hand slowly working its way up the inside of Wyll’s thigh.

“Is this about my blood, or are we now well enough acquainted to kiss..?” Wyll managed.

Astarion lifted his head with a small sigh.

“She’s asking whether the Blade might want to become a sheath for a spell,” he explained.

Wyll found himself at a loss for words again.

“...Can’t the Blade remain a blade?” he asked, finally.

“That’s not on the table today, darling,” Astarion shook his head. “But we can entertain ourselves in other ways.”

“Well then I uh... I think yes maybe..?” Wyll sputtered.

“Yes what..?” Astarion asked, his voice low and husky, rolling over to lay on Wyll’s other side. “Do you want me to fuck you? Say it.”

Any words Wyll might have said died somewhere between his racing heart and his suddenly parched throat, but his cock twitched visibly, jerking up and landing with a resounding thud on his abdomen.

Tav and Astarion both turned their heads at the impressive display.

“Why don’t I take it slow, and you can tell me if you want to stop at any moment..?” Astarion asked, unable to contain a grin.

Wyll did not object to that.

Tav had been trailing her fingertips lower and lower, leaving feather light caresses on Wyll’s skin, until she reached his straining erection. Meanwhile, Astarion had reached for the object she’d retrieved earlier. It turned out to be a vial with some kind of oil.

“You’re in expert hands, you know,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll admit, I’m actually excited for you.”

Wyll watched Astarion pour some of the oil on his fingers. Lying between Tav and Astarion, he gained the distinct impression of having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

‘Who am I kidding?’ he thought. ‘They’re both devils.’

Tav reached and took his cock in her hand, just as Astarion spread some oil on it, before moving down to cup and gently tug on his balls with his hand.

“Ah, you weren’t kidding about bumps and ridges!” Tav giggled. “My, they look fun!”

“Bring your knees up,” Astarion purred.

Wyll swiftly complied, and the vampire went to nibble on Wyll’s earlobe as his hand slipped lower. His finger circled and teased his puckered hole, while Tav continued to stroke his cock.

“Do you want me to stop?” Astarion whispered in his ear.

“Hnngaa-ah!” said Wyll, bringing his knees higher.

Tav and Astarion exchanged a look.

“I think that meant ‘no, don’t stop’,” said Tav.

“I think so too,” Astarion agreed. “Very well.”

Astarion applied more and more pressure as he teased Wyll’s hole.

“Try to relax,” he purred, working a single finger in. “Breathe... It’s just a finger, for crying out loud.”

Wyll whimpered, his cock twitching again, to Tav’s immediate delight, as Astarion continued to gradually work his digit in further, thrusting in and out, spreading more oil in and around.

“That’s it,” Astarion whispered. “I think we can add one more.”

Astarion’s thrusting had grown more persistent, as he added another finger, all the while watching Wyll’s expression with a lidded gaze.

Wyll was finding himself being reduced to a blushing, mewling mess, throwing his head back as much as his horns would allow, with his eyes shut.

Tav had begun licking and nibbling on his neck.

“Do you like it?” Tav purred, as Wyll nodded. “Think you’re ready for more?”

“Yes,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, rolling his hips in time with Astarion’s fingers now. His cock was leaking obscene amounts of precum onto Tav’s hand as she continued to play with it.

“Get down here then,” Astarion directed him closer to the edge of the bed without pulling his fingers out.

“Do be gentle, Astarion, it’s his first time after all,” Tav called out as Wyll slipped out from her hand, drawn after Astarion. She got up to wet a washcloth in the basin, leaving it within Astarion’s reach.

‘Is that..? Oh. Well, that makes sense.’ Wyll’s scrambled brain thought.

“Well, if I can’t marry into the Ravengard family, I guess I’ll settle for deflowering the heir,” Astarion grinned.

Wyll let out an involuntary whine as Astarion’s fingers left his ass.

“Don’t worry, darling, there’s more on the way,” Astarion drawled.

Wyll watched Astarion spread more oil on his own cock, before falling back again, shutting his eyes and whimpering in anticipation.

Astarion set a torturously slow pace as he worked his cock in, stretching Wyll more and more with slow, shallow thrusts that gradually grew deeper and deeper.

“Good...” Astarion groaned, slowly sliding in and out of Wyll almost fully now. “Who knew you’d be so good...”

He picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm with his thrusts once it was clear Wyll was comfortable with it.

“So how does it feel to be fucked?” Astarion asked with a devilish grin.

“Oh leave him be, he’s already going through a lot” Tav cut in, reclining near Wyll again.

Wyll looked up at her. She was smiling at him so sweetly... He reached towards her.

“I didn’t say you could touch her,” Astarion warned with a forceful thrust, making Wyll yelp.

“I wouldn’t anger him, if I were you,” Tav whispered, slowly running a finger down between the ridges of his muscles. “He still holds a grudge about your little seduction attempt back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, you know.”

“What in the hells are you two gossiping about..?” followed from Astarion.

“My heart, he’s doing so well, don’t you think he’s earned another little treat?” Tav asked Astarion, ignoring his question.

“I’m the only one here who’s earned any treats,” Astarion muttered. “But sure.”

He slowly pulled his hard length out of Wyll.

“On your feet!”

Wyll scrambled up, bending over the edge of the bed. Tav stayed on the bed, edging over to sit before him with her legs spread.

“Still want a taste?” she purred with a wicked smile.

Astarion entered him again, with a perhaps slightly too forceful thrust, making Wyll collapse face-first between Tav’s legs. With a groan, he plunged his tongue between her folds, earning a moan from her.

Wyll’s efforts might have been somewhat sloppy, but he made up for it in sheer enthusiasm as he lapped at her, eagerly.

Unbeknown to Wyll, Astarion caught Tav’s eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She shrugged and waved her fingers in a ‘so-so’ motion back at him. Astarion nodded with a roll of his eyes.

Wyll was caught off-guard when Astarion reached around him to take his neglected cock in his hand.

“Let’s get you off and let you rest, little prince,” Astarion murmured.

His cool hand was firm and practiced in a way that Tav’s simply could not be, its deliberate movements incessantly urging Wyll towards a release.

Wyll completely lost all traces of composure and simply moaned between Tav’s legs as Astarion worked him.

“Can’t multi-task, darling?” Astarion teased. “That’s alright, I’ll finish that job myself later as well.”

Wyll lifted himself on his arms, trying to push his hips back against Astarion’s as Tav slipped out from under him.

“Alright, give him a peck, I know he wants one so desperately...” Astarion said begrudgingly.

Tav returned to lift Wyll’s head and kissed him, tenderly, her tongue swirling and dancing against his, as Astarion continued to fuck and stroke him.

“I said a peck! Gods, woman, offer you a hand – you'll take the whole arm, every time.”

Astarion’s grip on Wyll’s cock tightened, his hand speeding up, until Wyll couldn’t take it anymore and finally erupted, crying out and whimpering into Tav’s mouth, as he spilled a thick and well overdue load onto the sheets as Astarion continued to stroke him.

He was still gasping, trying to catch his breath when Astarion slid out of him, giving Wyll's ass a loud smack, before wiping himself and Wyll down.

At last, Wyll collapsed on the bed next to Tav.

“Gods...” was all he could muster.

Astarion gave him a self-satisfied smirk as he joined them on the bed, kissing his way up Tav’s leg.

“Now shall I show you how to actually satisfy a woman? So you know what to do with your ‘one and only’ later?”

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed, this work is part of a series, check out the rest of it

AO3

~~~~~

Tag list:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @leomonae @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @mothmans-rotund-asscheeks @micebear @littlejuicebox @cool-ontherun-world @justagirlwithfeelz @jellymellydraws

#astarion #wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav x wyll #bg3 fanfic #smut #bg3 smut #astarion smut #wyll smut

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gyuhanniescarat · 6 months

Text

mr. (not so) perfectly fine | Wen Junhui | Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ summary: Junhui the campus heartthrob and infamous frat boy thinks he knows all there is to know about matters of love and lust. But, through a fucked ass bet with his frat bros, as the weather starts dwindling down and the emotionally charged season picks up, Junhui learns the hard way that matters of love and lust aren't to be played with.

: ̗̀➛ pairing: fuckboy!junhui x naïve!virgin!fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ genre: porn with HELLA PLOT (minors dni! — If you’re not 18+, then see yourself to the door), university!au, goofy comedy, cheesy fluff, angst

: ̗̀➛ rating: (M) 18+ (chapters containing explicit contents will be marked as so)

: ̗̀➛ warnings: fake dating, university!au, junhui's an egotistical asshole at the beginning (my huihuis i'm sorry plz don't k*** me), junhui is slightly aged down (by 2 years), frat and sorority life, loads of stereotypical fall time college activities, mentions of drinking/alcohol consumption. any names of other idols are considered to be OC's/face claims. see individual chapters for a more detailed list of warnings.

: ̗̀➛ collective word count: estimated 20k(+)

💌 MESSAGE FROM JESSI: heyyyy yah cutie pie luvvies! this is my FIRST time writing a series, and my return to writing on kpopblr after 8 months!! 🎉 forgive me if this whole thing turns out to be cringe... but my writing skills are a lil bit rusty. i've been crafting this one for a lil while now, so i'm really feeling hopeful about showing y'all this series.

a huge thanks to the svthub admins for hosting this seasonal collab!! i'm so excited to participate in this project!! and a massive thanks to my june luvvie @wenjunehui for creating this stunning junhui banner for my new series 💕

: ̗̀➛ this series is in conjunction with the @svthub fall-ing for you collab. if you are interested in reading the other fics which are apart of this fall collab (please do, my besties have created some amazing work) i will leave the full collab masterlist here.

: ̗̀➛ there is an official taglist for the fall collab, but let me know if you want to be added to the series taglist (send me an ask, send a DM, or comment).

: ̗̀➛ teaser

m.masterlist • svt.masterlist • navi

apply to join my permanent taglist here (⁠◠⁠ᴥ⁠◕⁠ʋ⁠)

༶•┈┈୨ reblogs/feedback are always greatly appreciated ୧┈┈•༶

if you wanna support my work even more, you can buy me a coffee

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changbunnies · 5 months

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Crave, Part 2 (18+)

♡ Pairing: Romantic Demon!Hyunjin x Human Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: supernatural au, demon au, age gap relationship typical in monster fucker fics, coworkers to lovers and love triangle vibes :')

♡ Word Count: 6.5k

♡ Summary: "The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain." - Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy. In which Hyunjin, a demon from the nine circles of hell, finds himself impossibly infatuated with the very human he once set upon himself to destroy.

♡ Warnings: this is a part 2! read part 1 here, more immoral behavior and thoughts + ideas from hyunjin ofc, supernatural abilities, themes of possesiveness and jealousy, more talks of sinful acts / feelings from the perspective of a demon, reader's age is not specified but it is implied to be at least mid twenties.

♡ Notes: sorry ya'll it took longer for this to come out than i intended, i wasn't feeling well so i was resting ;v; and tbh i still don't feel well but i really wanted to keep writing so i powered thru to get this done!! this part is story focused but dw, explicit smut is coming next <3 the focus here is building up their relationship so that the smut feels like a natural development and they aren't just instantly in love lol i hope you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

How do you make a human fall in love? A question that is perhaps simple in theory, but Hyunjin hasn't wooed a human in centuries, and much has changed since he last blended in with society. In the modern age of technology, sin is at the most rampant it's ever been. The common man can access all manner of sin from the palm of his hand with a single device, and it has made the act of integrating into human society an unnecessary practice for demons.

There's a plethora of human sin to feed from at any given moment, and obsolete is the need for a demon to blend in with the humans that walk the earth, no longer required to be a snake in the community garden just waiting for their moment to strike and consume. Though an outdated method to obtain their wants, integration with humans can still be done, if only the demon in question wishes to do so- and as Hyunjin has come to realize, he does if he wants to win over the object of his desire.

Despite how long it's been since Hyunjin walked among them, he wasn't ignorant of modern human culture; he still had to be well-informed if he wanted to be effective and efficient in sowing the seeds of sin in feeble minds, after all- his work in the second circle required such knowledge, and it was also a benefit when it came to deciding which soul he would drink from to sustain himself.

He knew perfectly well how to use most modern technology, knew how to dress in a manner that was unique to his own tastes but suited the trends of the era, and whatever "pop culture" knowledge he lacked, as it was called by humans, he could blame it on things such as "preferring to stay off social media," or "not watching much tv or playing much games," and most would take it as a fair, reasonable enough excuse, even if the person asking questions of him could not relate to his answer.

In the last century especially, most of Hyunjin's public outings were limited to a few hours at most, spending that entire time scoping out who'd sustain his cravings the most. Nightclubs in particular were an easy place for Hyunjin to get a quick fix of the lust he needed, sustaining him well enough when his preferred love-drenched lust was still being built to its peak.

Despite all his experience in human matters, there was something that posed a problem for him initially. Since moving into your lavish suite, you worked from home- a luxury Hyunjin assumes you have from a high ranking position within whatever company you work for (especially if this is the kind of place you can afford to live in on a single salary.) But if you only ever left the house long enough to run errands, how was he supposed to meet you organically? And further still, how does he meet you in such a way that makes contact with you consistent, that makes you want to talk with him and be in his presence?

He could, theoretically, stage a meeting, pretend to be a neighbor entering the building at the same time or "accidentally" bump into you while shopping for something he has absolutely no use for, only to then charm you the moment your eyes lock with his. The problem with that approach is that charming you defeats the purpose of what he wants; for you to have genuine, real love for him, and only him. And asking you out after meeting you just once, in a situation where you have no reason to connect with him further, could be uncomfortable or off-putting in the eyes of women. What woman likes to be hit on by a stranger while she's grocery shopping?

Hyunjin's human form is attractive, sure, but looks can only carry him so far when it comes to making a woman fall for him. His appearance is useful for one night stands, but he needs to show you more substance than that if he wants you to desire him beyond the physical- and he was sure based on his observations of your character that you weren't vain or superficial enough to fall for him based on looks alone.

Thankfully, he didn't have to ponder on these questions for much longer, because only a few short days after you finished all your unpacking and decorated your apartment to your liking, you returned to work. He could tell easily enough what your destination was when your routine suddenly deviated; for the first time since moving in, you had turned on a repeating alarm for 6 A.M, and your choice of business casual clothing and subtle, office appropriate makeup told him all he needed to know.

Hyunjin followed you there, naturally; presence hidden, lingering in the shadows with the intent to best establish how to infiltrate your work environment. As he expected, you held a high ranking position inside a corporate office- head of human resources for one of the many subsidiaries of some conglomerate Hyunjin had never heard of, as typically there is no need or reason for him to be well versed in human's business dealings.

Becoming someone you work with directly would be the best route, he was sure. Whether on equal ground or as someone answering to you on a team, it was the option that gave him the most opportunity to create a connection with you, and maybe be the start of one of those sappy office romances that humans seem to enjoy in their media.

It was fine if there were no employment openings- it'd be simple for Hyunjin to create one by exerting his influence over a human's mind. He'd pick out whomever you liked the least, someone who bothered you either overtly or simply by being an inefficient worker, and he'd take their place. He could plant the idea of a career change, a desire to move across the country, or simply get them fired should the gentler, subtle approach be deemed too time consuming for Hyunjin's taste.

Of course, Hyunjin knew jack fucking shit about how your job truly works or what would be required of him if he was on your team, but that was fine too- it would be easy for him to fake his performance when necessary, and charm any who questioned his work abilities. He wouldn't enjoy lying to you directly if there was ever a need for it but, well.. The ends justify the means, don't they? And while he wouldn't charm you for love, certainly it wouldn't hurt to do so to make him appear a better worker than what he would be in reality, right?

No matter what his hypocritical justifications were, he’d do anything necessary to make you his, even if it meant having to lie at times. It was a foreign feeling, being conflicted about lying when typically lying came second nature to a demon, but he supposed his infatuation for you is what makes it feel different. Is that why truth was considered a godly virtue? It was the first time in his life that just the thought of lying, before it could even be an act done in the first place, felt.. wrong.

Maybe because on some subconscious level he recognized that love woven from lies isn’t true, no matter how much he’d wish it to be. Even if you fell sincerely in love with him, would it still satisfy him to have gotten there based on tricks and lies? When he determined that the answer to that question was a firm “no,” he vowed he would do his best to keep lies far from his lips when it came to you, even if that made his goal more difficult to achieve. Strange, how this was easily the most human he’d ever felt.

In a way, it is almost natural to feel this way, to be met with internal conflict for the first time in ages; most demons are born directly from human sin, after all. What is he, if not the physical manifestation of a human who has fallen from perfection? More powerful than a mere human though he was, his proverbial soul still held an innate inclination towards sin, the struggle with temptation and decadence inherent to his very being, as hypocrisy and corruption went hand in hand with sin, hand in hand with the very human condition he would oft wrongfully deny he felt.

And that wasn’t the only human emotion that came to him when he watched you at work for the first time. Most of the morning was spent rather uneventfully, Hyunjin’s time dedicated entirely to scoping out the environment and determining where he’d best fit within your corporate world. He observed the people on your team, who was designated where and what their duties were, keeping track of what feelings and opinions you had for whom, looking out for who he would be able to effectively replace.

Without warning, he sensed it, felt it, tasted it- love, seeping out of your pores, heart suddenly alight and a smile that should be reserved for him lingering on your lips. Jealousy pricked Hyunjin’s skin before he could even fully process the scene before him, a deep fondness in your eyes as a man that Hyunjin could only assume was from another department approached you with a smile of his own.

Shit. It was expected that he would find out who you loved eventually, but he didn’t anticipate that it would be here, in the very environment he was setting up to be the stage for your romance with him. The man asked you questions and talked in ways you’d expect to hear between friends or coworkers- “how’d the move go?”, “are you settling in well?”, and “you should invite me over sometime!”

It was the last statement that made Hyunjin’s eye twitch with suppressed anger, not much liking the idea of the person you’re in love with being alone with you in your apartment. Every time you giggled at something he said or blushed when the man held your gaze, it nearly made him sick with envy. Fuck him, he didn’t deserve you, Hyunjin thought, I'm better than him in every conceivable way, that should be me.

This man didn’t love you the way you loved him; Hyunjin could tell, could feel the platonic affection that radiated from him. And instead of being happy about the implication that Hyunjin would have no rival for your affection when he pursued you in earnest, it almost made him more pissed off. This guy didn’t even know how fucking perfect you were, didn’t seem to notice the way your eyes sparkled with affection, how your heart raced when he hugged you, or the bashful smile that lingered when he invited you to share your lunch hour with him.

He’s a complete fucking idiot for not being head over hells for you- you, who’s only sin is lust, who is beautiful, intelligent, humble, and positively radiant in presence without even realizing just how much value she truly has. It’s okay, he has to remind himself, it’s a good thing his one-sided rival doesn’t share your sentiment; because when Hyunjin shows you how beautiful you are, treats you with the reverence you deserve, your heart would surely shift to beat for him instead. He’ll make sure of it.

You let out a sigh as you comb through the next resume that found its way to your desk, exhausted from the amount of interviews you've conducted today. This was probably your least favorite aspect of your job if you were being honest; being the head of human resources put you in charge of all recruiting efforts, scanning through countless applications to determine who was the best fit for the company, but you never enjoyed doing it.

It always makes you feel guilty to determine someone else's worth based on a flimsy piece of paper and interview first impressions, where nerves are almost always at their peak as the person sitting across from you makes their best conscious effort to impress you. It is also not a job you can delegate to someone else on your team, unfortunately; your place at the top of the HR department made all hiring decisions entirely up to your own discretion. And apart from the guilt of knowing you couldn't hire everyone that walked through your door, it was so tiring to go over the same questions multiple times a day with a myriad of strangers.

Hwang Hyunjin was the name of the last person you'd be interviewing today (much to your relief) and you hoped he'd be the person to wow you in the end, as you have lukewarm feelings to who you've met thus far. Despite the impressive credentials on most resumes you reviewed, none of the people you'd met seemed to be a good long term fit for the company; some of them would likely only be good as temps, needing to be let go unless they showed substantial improvement in the areas they were lacking in.

It was a terrible thing to judge someone based on whether or not they were able to calm their nerves or had enough charisma, but when working for corporate conglomerates you can't afford to be meek. It was okay to be shy and reserved in your personal life, many people in the office were, but for the sake of professionalism you're required to have the ability to put meek tendencies aside. If the interviewee couldn't speak with confidence, then you had reason to believe they'd crack under the daily pressures of speaking with representatives of other departments or when handling sensitive negotiations.

Unfortunately, you don't typically have the luxury of giving applicants the benefit of the doubt or the ability to give them the opportunity to change your first impression of them. You take a glance at the clock hanging above the door to your office, opposite of your desk; it's just a few short minutes until you meet your last applicant, and you pray he'll be the person you've been looking for. Despite how desperate you are to fill the hole in your team after Mina's extremely abrupt resignation and move out of the country, you still don't want to hire just to fill the gap she left- you want someone capable and confident on your team.

You take one last passing glance at the man's resume, making sure you're familiar with his education and work history, not wanting to be mistaken on any of the details listed. A short succession of knocks are heard on your door a few moments later, and you look up from the resume you're rereading to see Nayeon opening the door just enough for her head to come into view. "M-Ma'am, H-Hwang Hyunjin, uh- he's here for his interview," she speaks in a timid voice, face flushed the brightest pink you'd ever seen on her.

Your brows furrow ever so slightly in wonder and concern at her out of character demeanor; Nayeon is among the most confident and well spoken employees on your team, and you've never known her to stutter or appear so off kilter. "..Right, send him in," you say after a moment, wondering if her attitude shift is due to the stranger you'd be meeting shortly; if that is the case, you'll have to talk to her about it once the interview is over- you wouldn't want to hire someone the people on your team are uncomfortable around.

She nods and opens the door further, the silhouette of the taller man coming into view just slightly behind her. "Right in here," she mutters, stepping to the side and motioning for Hyunjin to enter your office. It becomes immediately apparent what the reason for Nayeon's abnormal behavior is; Hwang Hyunjin is easily one of the most beautiful men you've ever seen in your entire life.

Black hair that just begins to touch his shoulders tucked neatly behind his ears, a few strands left untouched to frame his face, accompanied by wide circle glasses that seem to further enhance his beauty. He's dressed well, his suit modern and sleek but not overly formal for the setting, his accessories tasteful and understated, as they should be in an office environment- just a simple, long chain necklace and small, almost dainty hoops on his pierced ears.

The reason that a man this gorgeous would even be applying to work here when he could easily make a fortune being a model is beyond you. You're quick to correct the initial surprise on your face, hoping that the man you'll be interviewing didn't notice how struck by his beauty you were when he stepped in. And how could you even know that he did notice you had a reaction to him- and not because of any overtly obvious expression of attraction, but because he could hear the beating of your heart with his inhuman ears, its steady rhythm taking a sudden, erratic jump the very moment he first stepped through the door.

Nayeon is quick to close the door behind Hyunjin once he has stepped fully inside your office, leaving you in privacy for what will likely be the most difficult interview you have ever conducted, and not for the reasons you would've otherwise expected. "Have a seat," you speak clearly, as if your heart wasn't stuttering just mere moments ago, motioning for Hyunjin to take one of the chairs sitting opposite of your desk. "Pleasure to meet you, Hyunjin," you say after he's taken a seat, politely holding out your hand to shake his.

"Likewise, ma'am. I'm grateful to be considered for this position," he responds with a smile so effortlessly charming that you have to once again remind yourself that this is a professional setting and you shouldn't be thinking about how handsome the potential new addition to your team is. If you were a worse woman with lesser morals, you'd hire him on appearance alone- his flawless skin, plush, soft, almost inviting lips, and the little mole that sits daintily under his left eye are all positively bewitching to look at.

You collect yourself after a brief mental scolding, deciding to get straight into the most pertinent questions you have once he's settled in his seat, opting to waste no time in getting straight to the point. While this approach does make the interview more tense for the applicant, you find it best to go about it this way to make sure they're truly ready for the sort of discussions that will be expected of them should they get hired. You don't expect perfection, but more accurately determination- if they can maintain a confident air about them under pressure, that's typically a good indicator to you they'll be a good fit for your team.

Equally, you don't mind if they stumble over their words a few times throughout the course of the interview as long as they show the ability to bounce back from any slip ups. Error is expected at some point, as we are all human- you just want to assess their ability to come back from a mistake when speaking, and to see if they are able to maintain their composure in situations that may not be the most ideal or comfortable.

The ease at which Hyunjin answers your questions has you convinced that he's perfect. He speaks confidently, coming across as self-assured and charismatic, not at all stuttering or faltering when you ask him to speak candidly with his own words. You appreciate a well rehearsed answer of course, but you like to ascertain whether or not the person you're considering for the job is able to maintain confidence when not using an internal script or reciting their memorized resume.

Some struggle to do so, losing confidence in themselves the moment they are expected to go off the cuff, while others find it to be a trick question of sorts, as if you're baiting them to say a flaw that would place them out of consideration for the position they're applying for. What you value most on your team is adaptability- it's okay to falter for a brief moment, as long as they are able to collect themselves quickly and continue where they left off. And Hyunjin's ability to do just that is utterly astounding.

He has an almost effortless sort of confidence and charisma about him; something unique and special that you don't often see, a state of being that isn't learned, but rather is innate to who he is. Even when he briefly pauses or lets out a small "hmm" as he thinks about his answer to your question, it never feels like he's struggling to find his answer- more accurately, it seems that he already knows what his answer is, and is just pondering on the best way to phrase it before speaking.

It seemed that even his unrehearsed, unfiltered answers were nearly perfect, his ability to speak leaving you almost in awe. Truly, in the year and a half it's been since you were promoted to head of human resources, you'd never conducted an interview where the person you were speaking to seemed this effortlessly natural and comfortable in what is otherwise a tense situation. Honestly, you'd be a fool not to hire him right on the spot- his ability speaks for itself, and you're confident that any weaknesses he has can be corrected quickly and easily with more experience in the work environment.

So you congratulate him, smiling as you once again hold out your hand and welcome him as part of your team. And Hyunjin smiles too as he takes your hand in his, knowing that this is just the start of what is his grand plan to make you his.

In the months it’s been since you first hired Hyunjin, he’s come to learn so much more about you than he did just lingering around in your apartment, and with that has come an even deeper appreciation and desire to have you. Your good nature, which he knew you had from little interactions at shops and cafes, was now able to be fully seen by him- from the way you cared about your team, treated them like equals despite the fact that you were their superior in rank, and how you encouraged and fostered true friendships between everyone on your team.

You held so much sincere care for everyone around you, and you lead with compassion and kindness at the forefront. If someone was sick, having an off day due to mental health, or simply felt the pressures of life weighing them down, you always met them with compassion, encouraged them to get better, and never made them feel bad about themselves for any small slip ups that occurred while they were struggling with something.

Of course, in this line of work it’s vital that they show up always ready to do their utmost best and show others the best versions of themselves, but you weren’t some militant manager that expected people to always be at 100%. It’s unrealistic, and hypocritical to expect perfection, so instead you always did your best to accommodate them when they were low, and that consideration resulted in your coworkers and employees having a great deal of respect for you, and caused them to always put in their best effort.

By extension, your care for your team resulted in equal care towards you, and it seemed they greatly missed you when you were absent due to your move. They had fine enough leadership while you were gone, sure, but it wasn’t the same without you- the one who made them feel comfortable, secure, and made them want to perform well at their jobs. What Hyunjin felt watching you was something akin to pride- and it was strange, as he had never felt pride for someone else before, usually not even for himself.

He just liked seeing you succeed, if he had to guess; he liked knowing the woman he desired was not only beautiful in body but also in soul, just as he suspected her to be when he first came to put aside his anger and truly know her for who she is. What a happy accident it was, that he happened to be gone when you finalized your move to suite 13; because otherwise how would he ever have known what it was like to care about someone other than himself? To understand what it is that makes a human God’s greatest creation?

He gets it now, he thinks- why God prioritized humanity, why he loves them despite how flawed and drenched with sin they are. And again, it occurs to Hyunjin how hypocritical he was before, and continues to be even now, how foolish it is for him, the very embodiment of sin, a being who is supposed to uphold depravity and ruin, to be infatuated with you, who is the very image of benevolence.

Hyunjin got to see so many new sides of you, sides that didn’t make themselves known within the 4 walls of your apartment, sides that made him fall for you more and more. A demon can’t experience love the way a human does, but he thinks this is the closest to love a creature like him will ever have. Obsession, longing, desire.. Isn’t that all a manifestation of love? Perhaps one does not need a true heart and soul to experience what love is, maybe all that one really requires is feeling.

Most sins are a feeling- lust, pride, envy; all are an emotion you feel strongly within your gut, a natural reaction that cannot be prevented from pricking your skin or making your stomach twist. It’s innate, woven into the DNA of every creature with higher understanding. With all that mind, who is to say a demon can’t love? Maybe it won’t be felt in the same way a human feels it, but if love is a feeling, and sins are a feeling, then what truly prevents him from knowing love?

As equally as he learned about you and himself, he also learned about the man you had developed feelings for- Yunho. According to Nayeon, who was apparently a wealth of information when it came to the subject, you met Yunho in college and have been friends with him since. You grew quite close in your time studying the same major, and as fate would have it, you both ended up working for the same conglomerate after college.

While you ended up here, promoted to head of the department when the opening became available, Yunho worked for a different subsidiary within the same building; so while you technically worked for different companies, you shared the same CEO, and had ample opportunity to meet and talk during the company lunch hour and maintain the friendship you had in college.

Well, he imagines you would’ve still been friends with Yunho regardless of where the two of you ended up in life after graduation, but still seeing him daily certainly didn’t help you get over the college crush you had on the man. And you had tried to move on- you’re not stupid, you know Yunho doesn’t feel the same way as you, but your relationships never worked out as you’d hoped, and you’d always be left still battling your unrequited love for your best friend.

Though you are always professional, it was obvious, at least to the other women in the office, that you had deep feelings for Yunho. They could always tell in the way your face changed when he was near, displaying a timid smile that only ever showed up for him, the flush on your face subtle but recognizable to those who knew you well.

And by extension, it became increasingly obvious to the rest of the office that Hyunjin was down bad for you, and hated seeing you with Yunho. His face too always changed when Yunho arrived, though in an entirely different way from you- Hyunjin would be positively seething with jealousy, always failing to mask the frown of disapproval when Yunho stepped into your office to talk and invite you out for lunch outside the building.

And Hyunjin, who was always a gentleman anyways, was even more so when it came to you- holding open doors for you when walking somewhere together, carrying stacks upon stacks of heavy paperwork so you wouldn’t have to do it, memorizing the way you liked your coffee so he could get it for you and you could focus instead on your work. The only time Hyunjin ever wasn’t smiling, it was when you were giving your affection to Yunho, and it was painfully obvious how bad he wanted you.

If Hyunjin was trying to keep his feelings a secret, well.. He failed to do so at every turn. Everyone in the office could tell how he felt, and while they would never admit it, most were just waiting for the day he’d ask you out, as it seemed to be more and more inevitable that he would. Some who had been your coworkers since long before you were even promoted and knew of your unrequited feelings, hoped that Hyunjin could be the person to finally give you the happiness you deserve.

Even you yourself began to suspect that Hyunjin liked you as more than a friend or coworker, because why else would he go so out of his way for you? Why else would his face change whenever he saw Yunho? You can still remember the way his smile dropped when Yunho stepped into the room when you were having lunch with your team, how Hyunjin subtly clenched his teeth and tightened his fists, how he’d practically glare at the man before replacing his expression with the most forced smile you’d ever seen him have for the sake of professionalism.

Were you being delusional? To say Hyunjin is fucking gorgeous is an understatement- he’s practically ethereal. And while you wanted to move on from your stupid school girl crush on Yunho that continued to grip you all these years later, wasn’t it too much to fantasize about Hyunjin being the person to finally make you happy? He could have anyone, and you couldn’t understand why he’d want you of all people when he could easily bag someone more impressive than you.

You did well for yourself, but you didn’t consider yourself particularly desirable.. Maybe years of unrequited love and failed relationships made your confidence tank more than you realized, at least when it came to love and romance. And while there were other couples in the office, you worried it’d be unprofessional of you to date someone who you are technically the boss of.. Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the power dynamic instead of worrying about whether or not you were desirable enough for Hyunjin to want you?

God, you really needed to get your priorities straight before you did something stupid; and certainly you were just reading too far into things. But still, while your feelings for Yunho didn’t go away, you still couldn’t deny that your heart would race whenever Hyunjin smiled at you, couldn’t ignore how goosebumps would erupt on your skin when his hand lingered on yours as he handed you a perfectly made cup of coffee, couldn’t help but linger on the the thought of what a perfect lover he must be.

As if sensing you were thinking of him, you hear a knock on your door, breaking you out of your thoughts and seeing Hyunjin crack open the door. “May I?” he asks, and you smile politely with a nod, motioning for him to enter your office. “Hey Hyunjin, what’s up? Need something?” you ask and he shakes his head, sitting on the chair in front of you. “Nothing work related, though I do want to ask you something,” he replies, and immediately your mind wanders to delusional territory again, though you quickly try to shut it down.

“What is it?” you ask, trying your best not to fill your brain with the thought of Hyunjin making a move on you. Be professional for God’s sake. “I was wondering,” he starts, looking at you with that charming smile that is so natural to him and you always have to stop yourself from folding over, “If you don’t have any prior obligations today, would you like to have lunch with me?”

Oh no. He’s adding fuel to your delusional fire. “Just us?” you ask, trying to mask your hope or the way your heart is picking up speed. You really want to be chill about the invite, but you really can’t help but hope the invitation means something more. He’s perfect, how could you not? You’re only human, after all. Isn’t it natural to want someone this fucking beautiful to want you?

“Yes, just us. You don’t have to consider it a date, but.. I would be happy if you did,” he smiles, head tilting to the side in an almost playful display, and your heart jolts. He’s not just playing with you, right? He wouldn’t, would he? But you have to ask, “You make it sound as if you want me to consider it a date. Are you saying you like me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, ma’am,” he replies without hesitation, confidence fully on display. It’s as if the possibility of you saying “no” has never crossed his mind. Well, you’d probably be confident too if you looked anything like him; you don’t imagine he’s been rejected often. And well, you certainly won’t be the person to hit him with his first rejection either; you’ll have to ask a third party to handle the necessary paperwork if things go well between you and Hyunjin, as the head of the department can’t approve and oversee her own consensual relationship agreement, but it’ll be worth it, you think.

After all, if someone this beautiful and seemingly perfect wants you, why deny yourself the opportunity? Even if it doesn’t work out, maybe he’ll be the person to finally help you get over your stupid crush on your best friend that’s been going nowhere for years. Apart from his beauty, he’s always been chivalrous and attentive towards you, a true gentleman in every sense of the word. And even if it's only for a brief time, you think he can make you feel happy, desired, truly cared for.

You’re about to tell him you’d love to, when your door unexpectedly clicks open, your eyes moving past Hyunjin to see Yunho standing in the doorway. Hyunjin immediately scowls, having half a mind to rip him apart once the day is over, though he does his best to temper his aggravation. Can’t let himself lose face in front of the one he loves after all; he’s not sure you’d still be up for a date with him if he displayed his jealous, possessive tendencies this early on (not that he did a very good job of hiding them to begin with.)

“Shit, sorry- am I interrupting a meeting?” Yunho asks, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes, turning his gaze back to you instead. “No, nothing like that,” you answer, shifting your gaze back to Hyunjin, who for the first time looks concerned that you’ll turn him down. It’s subtle, but his eyes are softer, nearly pleading, though he tries his best to not display the desperation that lies underneath- the desperation for you to affirm that you like him too, that you want to go on a date with him, that you want to give him a chance.

“Oh, good,” Yunho sighs in relief, knowing that sometimes your work bleeds over into the lunch hour. He glances at Hyunjin, a slight frown forming on his face. He’s never spoken to the guy, but Yunho would have to blind to not notice that Hyunjin hates him for seemingly no reason. “Well, uh- I’ll let you get back to whatever talk you’re having. I’ll see you for lunch when it's over?” Yunho asks, and you can see Hyunjin swallow, hands tensing as he waits for your reply.

Please don’t reject me, his body practically screams, and you almost can’t believe that the confident man that you know is looking this nervous over potential rejection because of you. “Thanks, but I’m actually having lunch with Hyunjin today. Maybe next time?” you answer, smiling at Hyunjin to reassure him that yes, you are going on a date. No, you won’t be picking Yunho over him, despite the history that lies there.

Relief instantly spreads through Hyunjin, and he returns your smile, his confidence returning as if it’d never left in the first place. “Oh,” Yunho blinks in surprise; that’s.. unexpected. You’ve never prioritized someone else over him before. Huh. He feels.. strange. Jealous..? No, that can’t be right. Why would he be jealous? Hyunjin stands, offering his hand to you, which you accept before you stand yourself.

“Are you ready, ma’am? I know this cafe you’ll just love, but we have to hurry if we wan’t to make it back before the hour is over,” Hyunjin smiles, turning away to face the door, and subsequently, an almost bewildered looking Yunho. You miss the way Hyunjin shoots your best friend a smug, almost triumphant smirk; a smirk that says I’ve won, she’s mine. And even as Yunho watches the pair of you walk towards the elevator, hears you tell Hyunjin he can call you by your name when it’s “just the two of us,” suddenly he feels incredibly stupid.

Even as he’s left standing there, watching the elevator doors close with just the two of you inside, he can feel his gut twist as Hyunjin shoots him one last smirk, one that affirms something Yunho is just now realizing- there was a reason Hyunjin hated him. All this time, Yunho was a rival for love, and he just lost the race without ever having actually participated.

He scoffs, laughing at himself in near disbelief. What an idiot he’s been, and what a moment to realize it. He knew you had a crush on him, but what did he expect? That you’ll always be there, just waiting for the day he’d finally miraculously return your feelings after all these years? Of course you’d move on eventually; and maybe Yunho didn’t want to admit he found your infatuation with him to be a comfortable ego boost, now hit with the epiphany that his newfound jealousy over the loss of your affection is ugly and twisted.

And truly, Hyunjin had him beat. Somehow, he knew that this was the end of your feelings for him. How ironic it is to lose due to his own complacency, his expectation that you’d always be there no matter what relationships you found yourselves in. How arrogant and selfish he’d been, assured that no matter whom he slept with or pursued, you’d be there just waiting for the day he’d finally ask you out. And now Hyunjin has you, and he’s certain he’ll never let you go.

#skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #hyunjin smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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ghostsslutss · 1 month

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- ,, keelpijn

< hardcore smut 18+ >

fsub!reader x dom!max

tags: choking, dacryphilia , rough , overstimulation , hair pulling, spanking , face slapping , comfort? , max verstappen , consent is key! , dominance , submissive y/n , masochism , slightly toxic , jealousy, smut , degrading , comedy ish smut

plot:

my makeup, hair was perfect tonight but someone had to ruin it. Redbull’s number one Max Verstappen. i was bending over, showing all of my curves for formula one driver Max Verstappen. i were dripped in thin Italian lingerie that i bought while at the italian grand prix weekend. but i messed up. again. he caught me talking to Checo about the car, but he thought it was something else because how close checo got to me.

“jij verdomde hoer <you fucking whore>, thinking you can talk to my teammate like that.? Hm? Is Checo really going to fuck you greatly like I do.?

his ego stunk, it was taller than himself. i didn’t respond to his silly question. if i did it was going to make things worse. he grabbed my {H/C} roots it felt like he was going to pull a chunk out of my head. i gasped loudly taking a big deep gasp of air to relive the pain. my eyes were getting puffy but wasn’t enough to cry. i could tell he liked it. alot.

“gebruik je woorden slet. <use your words slut> “

he grumbled.

with his other veiny hand he slapped my face leaving a mark on my cheek. how the fuck was i going to cover that. thanks alot max. what is the media going to think about that.?

i glared at his malicious eyes, he was planning something worse than this. looking down to see his erect cock. that thing is going to break my back one day i thought.

he shoved his cock inside my mouth, without even one thought was formed in me. all i just was thinking is lust. lust. lust. god wont forgive me now. all of my spit leaked out of my mouth, drooling of over this stupid guys cock. tasting every bit of him, while he was penetrating my mouth. taking every bit of him, i could barely breathe and or speak. all i was doing is gagging on max’s cock. sticking my tongue out and licking his most sensitive part underneath. he loudly whined out of pleasure. him seeing me in pain probably turns him on so so much. guiding my cock dumb body with his hand.

“you think you deserve this dick? your a pathetic little slut for me, just fucking falling in to the same position everytime. not learning your lesson at all”

he pulled his cock out of my mouth letting you speak. gasping for air trying to lick all of my saliva to look more clean. slapping my again. tears falling down my face.

“im going to fuck you so roughly you wont walk, you wont speak, and make you bed bound so you can finally learn *slap.* your *slap* fucking *slap* lesson *slap*.”

it felt like the world was getting melting in your face, trying to focus on him was too much. he let a sentence of rambling to him. not understanding anything i said.

“bitch.”

he stated. all you were a bitch to him. nothing more. pathetic little slut.

grabbing my scalp pulling me in front of the mirror behind his cock. with one hand he was guiding me with my hair. and the other on my hip.

“maxie..- dont- please.-“

instantly after i warned him he pulled my hair making me arch my back for him. slapping my ass, turning one of your cheeks red. ouch. shoving his fingers in my mouth. so i can finally shut up.

“good sluts don’t ask about my cock. isnt that right. Y/N.?”

“m..m..-mhm…”

“good.”

shoving his dick a few inches at a time, gasping at each one. i couldn’t take it. i couldn’t take it. fuck fuck. oh my god. my inner walls were instantly marked with his cock, penetrating in and out roughly. Squirting all over of his balls and thighs. making the floor, side everything soaked with my cum. slowly he took his fingers out of my mouth

“max- ..oh my god- max-“

he slapped my ass again, whimpering out of pain. sounding like a little puppy wanting attention from him.

“hm.? my little fucktoy arent you.”

he stopped to gather words, he wasn’t that fluent in english to know all the degrading phrases. neither i was in dutch.

“you-.. you like that hm? fucking you like a little toy, .. begging on all fours for me to stop. Checo won’t do this would he?.”

he chuckled softly as he buckled his hips reaching his high. Pouding my wet pussy, each thrust i squirted more and more, making the couch wet as fuck. He groaned loudly as he stroked his cock for extra stimulation, pulling it out quckly and cumming all over my stomach as well my pussy. my legs were shaking, my body was shaking. everything, while he was huffing and puffing to get the energy.

“number one racer can be the number one fucker you know.”

i’d nod to max fact. he was so so hot while like this. god im so lucky.

“never do that again okay.? i own you. Y/N”

he grabbed my jaw to force my cock dumb brain to look at him. He gave me a kiss on my forhead

i loved his thighs, i loved his arms, i love him, but he’s such a dick in a good way.

#rough smut #smut #rough kink #rough k1nk #f1 x reader #f1 smut #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #crying kink #choking #spankable ass #formula 1 #formula one

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hamsterclaw · 9 months

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Fic Library: Seokjin

Worldwide handsome, sexy, absurd, funny, steely Seokjin is always a star, and even more so when he's written by these amazing writers. Check these out and show them some love.

Wrong place, wrong time by @bangtanintotheroom. Seokjin x f! reader in an established relationship, Seokjin's on good form in this hilarious story with the funniest one-liner I've seen in a Jin fic.

The Flower Bridge by @yoongsisbae features Seokjin as a ghost and is soft, sad, poignant and beautifully written.

You can take it by @7deadlysinsfics is soft and smutty and this Seokjin is naughty, sexy and charming.

Fall in hatred by @jimlingss. A sad, stunning and truthful fic about relationships and when they fall apart.

Mood lighting by @sugalaritae features new parents Jin x reader. Sexy, eager, sweet dad Jin is such a treat.

A game of two halves by @madbutgloriouspond was written as part of a sports Jin collab and features an injured soccer player Jin who's snarky, bratty and snappy with his physical therapist reader. There's so much going on below the surface in this story and I love the way Seokjin and reader are written.

Soul on fire by @vyduan is an ongoing soulmate touch AU with a ridiculous but self-aware Seokjin and characters that you root for.

HoHoNO by @imaginethisbts. I always have time for a cracky Christmas fic and this is cracky masterpiece made me laugh so much.

I dream of Jinnie part 2 by @bts-hyperfixation. Written for Kinktober, this is another cracky gem that features a semi-awkward striptease and a fez as well as a subby Jin.

Love language by @augustbutwinter. This office co-workers AU features Seokjin x reader and features a sweetheart of a Seokjin in full hyung mode caring for everyone.

Once bitten, twice shy by @fantasybangtan. A Christmas fic featuring a stellar Bangtan ensemble cast and a warm, fluffy, perfect enemies to lovers setup for doctors Seokjin x reader.

Kiss me by @minisugakoobies is a 90s throwback story set in a college AU with a BMOC Seokjin who's sexy, and dorky, and so so endearing.

A Comedy of Manners by @vyduan is punchy, funny, absurd and beautifully human. It features Seokjin x reader in an arranged marriage AU.

Second first meeting by @taleasnewastime is a supercute Valentine's themed story with an annoying, cocky but sweet Seokjin.

Winter solace by @floralseokjin. A holidays themed story with Seokjin x f! reader that's heartwarming and touches on themes of learning to trust and love again.

Love, lust and life mushrooms by @miscelunaaa is the explicit Super Mario bros themed Seokjin smut of my dreams and I won't hear any different.

#fic rec: seokjin #fic rec: jin #fic recs list: seokjin #fic library: seokjin

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jooniperbonsai · 3 months

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Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Three

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 14.9k

Release date: March 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: Now that Seokjin has agreed to come over and help you practice for your streams, you find there's a lot more you want to do with him than actually prepare for this stream.

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety and panic attacks HEAVILY referenced in this chapter, familial verbal and emotional abuse that might be triggering to some (slamming of doors, manipulative behaviors), references to puberty, implied chubby/fat reader, references to disordered eating (not main characters), references to oral (f), mention of sub drop, Seokjin is STRONG and the king of consent, lots of little domestic moments idk let's hope I didn't forget anything

a/n: Ahh finally, I'm so sorry it took so long to get to you. I have been very busy in my little corner of reality so I haven't had a chance to really dive back in for a while. I hope you enjoy more of the backstory to the characters in this one, I found pulling away from the spicy bits a little necessary so I could learn more about my characters as they grow.

I'll be in South Korea these next few weeks for my birthday, so I might be mostly offline but I'll enjoy looking at your comments, tags, questions, etc, while I'm away! Thanks for your patience. Enjoy! -h

This, she thinks, is goodbye. Her body sprawled in the silk sheets of August’s chamber, head thrust back onto the plush pillows. Never again in her life did she think she would see the dark beams of his ceiling again, yet now, her legs bent and open for him, his lips eagerly suckling her inner thigh, she couldn’t imagine life any other way.

How many times had she counted each knot in the wood above her, her eyes tracing the swirl and swell of the grain while August swirled the swell of her sex? Perfectly matched in this way, as if he were reading her like a map he’d crafted himself. He knew her. Knew all of her, how the heady moan leaving her throat now was a sign she was becoming impatient with his thorough ministrations.

She dared to risk a glance down, only to see him watching her intently, devilishly choosing that moment to latch himself onto her, a wicked smirk flashing across his face as she elicited a hearty gasp.

“August,” she breathed, instinctively tangling her fingers through his newly-raven hair, dyed dark now to comply with his family’s request. While his once-bleached locks were the definite sign of his rebellion, a sign that he would fight against the ruling state and their convoluted and asinine laws that prevented royalty from marrying a commoner, she admitted his natural hair suited him more. He looked less harsh this way, his delicate skin creamy and soft as she skimmed her fingertips across his cheek.

“No,” he breathed into her sex, sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

Something about the glint in his eye as he feasted upon her spelled out more than simple lust. No, she forbade herself to think that this was more than a parting gift, a transaction before she would be cast aside for his betrothed.

“Please,” she begged, though she knew she was asking for many things in that request. Please end the hunger between her legs, please end his engagement. Please take her to bed tonight and tomorrow and every night after. Please love me.

“Say my name,” he growled, sitting up to wipe his mouth with the back of his robe sleeve.

“August,” she called but he only chuckled darkly, the cool blue of the fabric cascading around him.

She felt so exposed. Here she was, completely naked, and yet he hadn’t even begun to undress. It felt cold, final, and sickening. Her eyes roved his body, looking for more skin, anything to keep her close to him at this moment, but he was so carefully tucked away.

“August,” she said again and he shook his head.

“That’s not my name,” he argued.

Her eyebrows knit together, and she reached forward, needing now more than ever to touch him. She was drowning fast in the night, the blue robes sweeping over both their bodies as he leaned closer, finally letting her grip his forearm as she groped around. He was drifting from her in one way or another, his body a boat on the water that was capsizing her under his waves.

“I–I can’t. I can’t see you. I–.” A rush of white hot panic surged into her throat, constricting her words. As she began drowning, August moved quickly, disrobing himself and pulling her into his embrace. She gasped for air as she wrenched out a heavy sob, her nipples stroking the soft hairs on his chest, yet she ignored the sensation instead for the thing she needed more: his heartbeat.

There, in his chest, was the melodic thrum that sought to calm her erratic one, calling her home to him in the cold night air.

“Breathe, Petal,” he commanded, and she felt a rush of air fall from her lungs as she remembered once more to do the most simple of human tendencies. His arms laced around her back, where the soft tracing of his fingers along her spine brought her back into herself.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, a prick of tears falling despite her best efforts to appear unaffected.

He hummed in response.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and she felt her joints loosen as she molded herself further into his embrace.

“I want to,” she replied, voice unsteady. “Sugar, please just hold me.”

He melted into her, a pool of warmth overtaking him as he absorbed her nickname. He kissed her forehead, her temples, everywhere his mouth could spread some of the sweetness.

After long, she hummed a satisfied sound through her lips, and her hips began rocking against him. He laid her back down, his eyes searching hers before the corner of his mouth ticked into a smirk.

“You with me?” he asked, his smirk becoming a full grin as she bucked further toward him, desperate and wanting. He was back, the ever-changing prince who within a blink of an eye could transform the room into his sensual paradise.

August’s hand skimmed up her calf and back between her thighs, resting up against her heat.

“August,” she panted, and he chuckled darkly, the scar over his eye almost glowing in the moonlight.

“I told you that’s not my name,” he warned, sliding his fingers into her wet folds.

“Seokjin,” you said, his name caught in your throat as he continued moving.

“Good girl,” he coaxed, two of his fingers covering the edges of your clit as he began rolling it under his touch.

“Fuck.”

The wooden beams were gone. Now it was the familiar white plaster that you often looked at, trying to remember what constellations were above during what season, though you could never see the stars anyway in this part of the city.

Seokjin pulled himself up off the chamber bed, though the chamber was hazy, almost pixelated as you realized around you it was not the chamber of August and his beloved, but your small bedroom.

“Focus,” he commanded, and your eyes flashed over to Seokjin, who was naked and sweaty, his chest flush like it was when you’d seen him before. His fingers roamed over your calf and he lifted you leg at an angle, exposing your pussy to the cool air.

Seokjin licked his lips and began swirling his fingers around your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked and you moaned an affirmative as you felt the first of his fingers tip into you.

“Nuh uh, use your words, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to beg but found no words could come out. He cocked his head, confused. Seokjin reached over to touch your face. You felt nothing.

“What–”

The plop of the book hitting the floor jars you awake. At some point in reading, you must’ve dozed off, your world and the book world merging into a hot, overwhelming dream that has your heart racing.

He’s in your mind again, Seokjin. And it really is all your fault. Because you’ve spent the rest of your weekend and the first half of this week texting him with a plan to put this After Dark stream into place, an idea that you hadn’t really thought through before proposing to him.

You know you want this, to feel at ease in your body and confident to hold your own on streams. Especially since the option to quit is becoming less and less of an option. This week, your university confirmed your withdrawal, meaning that for the next few months you’ll be focusing on streaming and working more shifts at the restaurant to try and replenish your income for the summer term.

And that also means you’ll be seeing Seokjin a lot more often. Your stomach does a tiny flip just thinking about it.

Now with him being around you everywhere, all the time, your subconscious has been drifting to dreams of him, and every waking thought is somehow finding a way to wiggle him in. At the market this morning, you were walking through the produce section where you noticed a large pile of mangoes on sale. Does Seokjin like mangoes? you’d wondered. That shirt on the mannequin would look good on Seokjin. That dog looks like the one in the old picture in Seokjin’s office. What would Seokjin think about this recurring ad?

It’s becoming relentless. So much so that you also find yourself asking him random questions to take the edge off.

Me 1:47PM: Thoughts about fruit on pizza.

Seokjin 1:50PM: Are you asking because we are having pizza later?

Me 1:51PM: No I was just wondering

Me 1:51PM: Unless you want that later? I can get us some

Me 1:51PM: I’ll pay

Seokjin 1:51PM: No you will not! I’ll pay

Seokjin 1:53PM: Also depends on the kind of fruit

Seokjin 1:53PM: Never had blueberries on pizza.

Seokjin 1:54PM: But I would maybe try it. Pineapple is fine though.

Seokjin 1:55PM: I’ll pick up the pizza on the way over. Be there at 6.

Seokjin agreed to stop by today to do some roleplay exercises for you to practice before your stream later tonight. He thought it was important that you run through the full scale of situations you might be presented with so you could say no firmly but without risking losing your viewership, two things equally at odds with each other for you most of the time.

You look for your phone in the mess of your couch cushions, assuming that at some point in your impromptu nap, it slunk down between the crack. Sure enough, you find it nestled between two cushions, the comfort of its weight in your hand dismissing some of the panic when you see it’s only 4:30. He hasn’t texted, which means he hasn’t canceled.

You remember from his stream last week that he maintains a tempered persona, never giving too much or too little away to his viewers. He’d exuded such self control. Is he always like that?

You know he mostly keeps it together at work, but that amount of restraint shocks you. You’re always wondering what it is that will make him snap. Sure, you’ve seen him annoyed, or occasionally yelling at your coworkers, but never rageful. Never out of control. That just isn’t Seokjin.

Determined to keep your hands busy while you wait for him to arrive, you busy yourself tidying, though your apartment is scarily clear because you’ve been frantically cleaning all day. You walk into the kitchen, a small, narrow room that has never been very welcoming as a cooking space. Your old, banged up fridge has dents from where the door has opened too quickly and rocketed into the oven handle, leaving a jagged, metal scar on the surface.

When you’d first moved in, you didn’t understand how something could be so damaged, but within the first week, it became apparent how heavy and quickly the door swung into it, probably because the floors, and thus everything else, doesn’t sit exactly level in the space, meaning that everything that you bake comes out at an angle, and everything else always falls to one side of the pan, making things uneven. Every time you use your rolling pin, you have to place it on an oven mitt or else you risk it rolling into the large gap between the countertop and the wall.

Your apartment is one that you’ve done your best to uplift. While your kitchen is somewhat of a hellhole, with a buzzing fluorescent light that sounds almost like it’s mocking you when you dare to cook anything in it, the rest of your space has some sense of charm to it.

There’s a large window facing the back parking lot of the building, which some may find less exciting because it isn’t exuding some Instagram-worthy backdrop of urban living, but you benefit from the fact that there’s a large, undeveloped lot in your view, with some plum trees that will bloom in the next few weeks, and the soft chartreuse green that ushers in the early spring grasses is slowly starting to brighten in hue.

Some summer nights, you crack your window and hear the loud chattering of cicadas and birds as they rustle through the trees, and it helps to distract from the usual traffic noises that ricochet off the other buildings around you.

You have some small herbs growing on the windowsill, as well as some salvaged green onion ends you’d tossed into an empty yogurt pot with soil and let take off. A sad excuse for a dining table is propped against it with two mismatched chairs.

An oversized, well-loved, brown couch you got for a steal from one of those local posting groups takes up a large chunk of your living room, which will probably have to be sawed in half to get out of your space if you ever move. It weighs a ton and you can’t even shuffle it into a better angle toward your television, which has resulted in one side of the couch being further worn-down and frumpy from the creases of you sitting in the same spot day after day. The other side usually houses a variety of character plushies and a large pink knit blanket you swaddle yourself in regularly. Today, everything is given a place, and the blanket is folded and resting on the back of the couch.

The rest of your apartment is a collection of stuff: some mismatched bookshelves shoved into one corner with all your smutty reads and figurines, postcards and repurposed mailers you’ve collaged into some type of wall art, and Barry, your Big Mouth Bass that knows one song and one song only: “Take Me to the River”.

Due to your lack of space in your cozy apartment, your desk and gaming set-up are in your room. During streams, you tote out a collapsible green screen to give yourself at least some privacy, but behind the screen is your bed you’ve cluttered with some throw pillows, a dresser whose drawers are so warped they don’t fully close, the nightstand which hides your collection of sex toys, and that’s about it. As the months have progressed, your schoolwork has moved from being the main event on the desk to now being crammed into the shallow drawers beneath. Beyond that, your PC and streaming supplies take up the rest of the space in your room.

After fussing with everything for a whole ten minutes, you retreat from your bedroom, heading into the hellscape kitchen to stare at the groceries you’ve just bought.

A jar of kimchi, some beets, and a comically large bag of carrots you impulse bought greet you. You sigh. Yes, this is what you’ll have to do to make time pass. Pulling the items from the fridge, you shuffle around to gather your cutting board from its slot next to the microwave, and find your good knife set in the drawer.

One of the conditions you were given upon being hired at the restaurant was to purchase your own set of knives. “It teaches you how to respect the tools before you. Having pride in your knives ensures you’ll serve food with pride,” Mr. Kim had told you.

When you shared that knowledge with Seokjin he snorted. “It ensures you’ll not damage our own knives that he’s too cheap to replace is what he means.”

Regardless, you now own a decent quality set of cutting knives, perfect for what you need them for. You scrub and lightly peel the carrots to trim away the dirt and uneven shapes adorning the outside.

Then, you begin your setup, placing your cutting board with a kitchen towel near the end to catch any rollaway carrots you’re bound to encounter during your task. You snag a large bowl, a rubber jar grip to keep the cutting board in place, and your Chef’s knife from your knife set. You chop up the kimchi and beets, doing a tiny bit of prep by cutting those for later in the week. Then, you begin with the carrots.

You pull from the washed pile and grip your knife, and remember what Seokjin taught you: cut the rounded edge off the carrot so it sits flat on the board. You slice again, then again, stacking the pieces before cutting in the next direction until a pile of neat matchsticks lay before you.

No chaos erupting in the kitchen, no pieces flinging to the floor or a semi-concussion. Just you, the yellow glow of the humming light, and your carrots. You begin the next one. Then again. It’s almost addicting, like the affirmation that you are capable of this, of anything, has started to warm something inside of you.

When was the last time you felt this confident and assured? Felt like you were growing in the right direction? In school, you were used to doing fairly well and understanding the material, but this is different somehow. This is you seeing the results as they pile higher into the bowl. You reach for another and another, washing the rest of the carrots and scrubbing them before continuing. Your hands are now properly stained, the beet juice, gochugaru, and carrot juice making your hands look like you are bleeding, but you don’t care. The ache from your grip, the loud thumping at the door, they don’t mean anything in this moment when it’s you feeling the give of the vegetable as it splits into finer pieces.

“Y/N?!! HELLO ARE YOU OKAY?”

A familiar voice bellows from the hall, another sharp thunk hitting the metal door. Seokjin.

Your eyes rip to the clock on the oven. It’s already five minutes past six. You’ve been cutting carrots for about an hour.

Hastily, you rinse your hands, ignoring the sting as the cold water spurts from the faucet. You grab the kitchen towel off the oven handle, and rush to the door.

You barely have it unlocked before Seokjin barges in, two large pizza boxes and a six pack of beer in his hands as he steps over the threshold. He smells faintly of mint and eucalyptus.

Seokjin whips in your direction, scanning his eyes over your face and down your body.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” His eyes are wide, his pupils blown out as he fervently looks you up and down, gasping as he takes in your hands. “What happened?”

“What? No, no I’m fine!” You hold one hand up in his direction, taking the kitchen towel and rubbing it into your palm for good measure. “They’re stained. Um, I was cutting vegetables.”

His eyes flit to the direction of the kitchen, where the light is still on and buzzing, and you can just make out the chopping board on the counter. Now assured you’re not injured, Seokjin recovers, stepping out of his shoes and padding into the kitchen.

“Whoa, you really were going to town in here with the carrots weren’t you? I thought I could smell it on you.”

Your cheeks flood with heat. “Well, you said I had to practice.”

Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before holding up the six pack. “Uh, I brought beer. I don’t know if you like it or not but I feel like it goes really well with pizza.”

You smile. “I’m not sure if getting me wasted is the solution to setting boundaries with my stream. Doesn’t alcohol lower your inhibitions?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you planning on finishing off this entire six pack by yourself and getting trashed? Much less beer that is…” He squints at the packaging. “...four percent alcohol?”

You laugh. “No, I suppose not. Thank you.” You take the case from his hands and pluck two bottles from the cardboard before putting the rest in the fridge. Holding the cold bottle in your hands, you grimace.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like this brand?” Seokjin asks.

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that. Um, I don’t really drink often so I don’t actually own a bottle opener.”

Seokjin frowns and looks around your kitchen, grazing his hand along the chipped laminate counters. Then he takes the bottle in his hand and whacks it down on the counter edge on an angle. The cap pops off, a subtle wisp of fog puffing from the top. He smirks, proud. He gestures for you to hand him your bottle.

With ease, he pops off the second cap and deposits it back into your hands.

Your jaw hangs slack. “Wh-how did you do that?” you ask.

He chuckles. “There’s a science to it, angles. I’m just glad I didn’t take a chunk of the counter with me. I’ve done that before.”

“And you risked my counter top just now?”

He snorts. “Come on, did anything happen? A little bit of trust would be nice, Y/N.” He glances at the giant bowl of cut carrots. “Well, you’ve certainly improved. What are you going to make with all those?”

You pull your lips into a thin line. You hadn’t thought about it. Your silence seems to tip Seokjin off to that as well, because after a sip of beer, he sets his bottle on the back end of the counter, rolling up his sleeves and scooting over to the sink to wash his hands.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Cooking,” he replies simply. “Do you have flour? Green onions?”

You nod. “Okay, get those. I’ll also need some soybean paste if you have it, vegetable oil, salt, and sugar.”

You furrow your brows. You know this recipe from the restaurant. “You’re making jeon? But, we already have pizza.”

“We can have the pizza as an appetizer. Jeon will be the main course.”

You laugh. “How much do you think I eat?”

“Not much. But you see, I am very hungry.” Heat shoots to your core. You glance over at Seokjin, who is looking at you amused as he squeezes the carrots between his hands to wring out the excess juice.

You didn’t really notice before, but Seokjin looks effortlessly cool, a loose pink linen button down framing his broad shoulders. He’s left the top two buttons undone, exposing the white t-shirt he wears underneath. Lighter wash jeans cover his strong thighs. If a stranger ever passed him on the street, they might think he’s too cool for them, too serious or vain.

But, there are notes of him everywhere in this outfit that suggests the break in the persona. One of the buttons in the middle of his shirt has popped open, a few hairs on the back of his head are cowlicked out of place, and on his feet are a pair of neon green Chikorita Pokemon socks. You find it impossible to hide your amusement.

“Ah, got it. Nice socks by the way,” you joke, trying to distract from the singing heat and close proximity. You can’t help but think about the last time you and Seokjin were in such confined spaces and how that ended up. “Didn’t know you were going to use your feet later to guide an airplane into landing.”

“Well, I figured it was a necessary backup in case your hands weren’t bright enough.” He nods toward you. You laugh.

“Touché.”

You open your upper cabinet. The paper bag of flour sits on the middle shelf, which you usually climb onto the counter to reach, but with Seokjin in the kitchen, there’s even less space than usual. You stretch, lifting onto your tiptoes. Your fingertips brush the bag, but it’s not enough to move it. As you try to angle yourself better, you see two large hands come above yours, Seokjin easily grabbing the flour off the shelf to set down onto the counter.

You feel his body heat behind you, his shirt brushing the small of your back from where your own rode up during your stretch, and a swell of goosebumps rise on your arms from the gentle tickle.

“There,” Seokjin says softly into your ear, almost breathless. “Don’t want to have any more kitchen related incidents, do we?” Too soon, he moves away, his warmth, the subtle note of his cologne fading into the smell of the green onions he’s set next to your not-so-glorious prep space.

Suddenly, he scoffs. You turn toward him. “What?”

“Really, Y/N? Have you learned nothing?” The heat in your core immediately dissipates, welcoming a familiar sour stroke of shame as you try to put together what you’ve missed. How did you fuck this up? What haven’t you learned? When you focus on what he’s pointing at, you realize he isn’t angry. He’s teasing you.

Your knife is unsheathed on the cutting board, abandoned in your haste to let him in. “When are you ever going to learn basic kitchen safety?” he laughs. The prick of embarrassment dissolves, Seokjin’s laugh soothing the ache.

You smile and shrug. “In my defense, I didn’t have the time to put it away or in the sink because you were disturbing the peace by practically breaking my door down.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Well excuse me for wanting to ensure your safety. Now where’s that soybean paste?”

Seokjin had been sitting on, or practically in your couch for the last twenty minutes as you ran through various scenarios and questions you were likely to experience while streaming. Your old couch was comfy, but as you’d practiced longer, he felt he was shrinking, the cushions settling further and further down. That, he thought, was probably going to hurt to climb out when the time came.

Despite the size and outdated condition your apartment was in, he was fascinated with how you’d chosen to decorate it, as if everything had its own place. You had an impressive collection of colorful books on a bookshelf, framed in with little knick-knacks and figurines of your favorite characters or collectibles. One large sunny window was decorated with stickers that acted as prisms, sending rainbow beams across your floor at a certain point in the day. A photo of a very young you and two people he assumed were your parents leaning against a guard rail over a canyon was framed and hung next to a giant plastic fish.

No, you didn’t have much. It was clear you’d thrifted or trash picked most of the furniture in your apartment, with the exception of your computer setup. You’d taken him into your bedroom to show him what system you used, how you’d built your system based on the specifications of your mod, who Seokjin now knew, was also your best friend Wonwoo.

But Seokjin couldn’t help but revel in how well cared for and cozy this small place was, so different from the cold floors of his own apartment. It reminded him of the tiny place he used to live in with his parents. It was familiar, safe.

When he’d come in, he did worry something was wrong. You weren’t one to not answer, attentive in the restaurant to everyone, often whipping your head in someone’s direction the second you heard the first sound of your name slip through someone’s lips. When you didn’t answer, he’d wondered if you’d been injured or worse. As much as he tried not to judge your building, he was a little concerned about the safety precautions put in place. He’d walked straight in, no lock on the front door, no door man. Everyone’s names were blatantly listed on their mailboxes. If anyone wanted to find you, it wouldn’t be hard to do so.

But you were fine, and the acrid worry that had bloomed in him during those five minutes of you not answering had dissolved once he saw your bright smile, and the even brighter colored stains on your hands.

They were still blotchy, though a few runs under the sink with dish soap was helping them fade. As you feathered a hand through your hair, he found himself grinning. The fact that you had acquired a bulk bag of carrots and used them for practice was so endearing to him. He never doubted your dedication to work, but the fact that you were using the techniques he taught you in your kitchen had brightened something in Seokjin he hadn’t even known felt dark.

And he also couldn’t ignore the sense of pride he had as you practically moaned into the jeon you two had made together, the crispy texture and roll of hot oil over your tongue invoking something in you Seokjin couldn’t help but be drawn to. You loved to eat. It was one of the first things he noticed about you, and as creepy as it sounded, also what stoked those first wisps of attraction.

You loved food the way he did, without care, or at least without care the way most people who he was raised around cared. No, you didn’t eat a lot, but when you did, you were all in, bare hands sticky after eating peaches, their juice dribbling down your chin and forearms, joyful hums when you bit into your favorite crunchy snacks from the convenience store.

He remembered growing up the ways in which women, even his mother, were almost afraid of food, afraid of how they would spend hours in the kitchen making heaps of it, pounds of fresh kimchi, grilled fish, decadent soups with tofu and mushrooms and packets of ramyeon, and yet when it was time to eat, they were too busy too or suddenly not hungry, or they would eat a few bites and excuse themselves from the table to clean up.

It was sad, really. Because Seokjin ate and ate fully, and maybe because he wasn’t a woman he didn’t need to worry about his body that way, or maybe because he always had some insane metabolism that didn’t impose weight like it did with others, but it never hit him the same. He loved food.

And clearly so did you, delighted in the meal he gave you, even eliciting a groan as you washed down a bite with your beer. It was like you were grateful for every bite of food that ever entered your mouth.

“You were right. This does taste better together,” you said. He was practically beaming.

He glanced down at the pile of jeon. They weren’t bad, but they were a little uneven. While cooking, he’d noticed that something was a bit off about your kitchen. Your oven and everything else were a bit titled, and it pooled the jeon batter toward one end, making them thicker on one side and harder to cook properly. Your fridge door also was dented, having the similar issue of the weight pushing things to one side. He made a mental note to shove some cardboard under the floor pegs later to help level the appliances.

Your counter situation, though, he couldn’t help. You would just have to keep with your barricade at the end to avoid rolling. But you seemed to be savvy in how you solved the various erroneous features of your apartment, making the best of what you had.

In fact, as Seokjin sat in the crook of your massive couch, he noticed why this side was so sunken; it was the only spot you could actually see the TV from this angle. He wondered if he could shuffle it a little bit more in a better view while you were streaming later, or if you would even notice.

You hovered next to the couch, your bottom lip worried between your teeth. You were nervous about something.

“What is it?” He asked. The time for your stream was growing nearer, and he’d promised he would stay for at least the first half, setting up his laptop in your living room.

“What am I doing?” you groaned and flopped down on the floor, a frustrated wail muffling into the carpet.

“Testing yourself and growing. Listen, Y/N, you know you don’t have to do this, but we’ve been over it daily at this point. You want more money and this is what you’ve decided is the most viable option. After-Dark type streams do make a lot more money, you want to exercise more freedom with yourself, do I need to go on?”

You shook your head. Seokjin chuckled.

“Okay, so–yah, sit up!” You bolted off the carpet and folded your legs underneath you.

“So, you know I’m going to be out here if you need anything. If you need me, I’m just on the other side of that door. Also, we’ve been practicing, right?”

“I know, I just…I’m not like you. I’m not confident, I’m not really easygoing or likable like you are. I can’t dom–command a room or everyone’s attention with my charisma how you can. I’m worried that if I don’t give people what they ask for, they’re just going to leave.”

Seokjin scoffed. He knew that on the outside, in the context of work that you were used to seeing him in, he appeared in charge and control at all times. It was part of the job, to be well tempered and fair and even, maintain a sense of friendliness but firmness, it was common sense. But much of his advice today wasn’t coming from that version of him you knew. A lot of this was insight and experience he’d gained as Jin, who he needed to be to ensure he was meeting his tip goals, or needing to remind everyone he was the one in charge, not them.

Even at work last week, when Seokjin needed to call the distributor because there was some issue with a shipment of produce, it was Jin he was channeling to make the call. If it were Seokjin, he would have been a sweaty, nervous mess. Jin was business, Jin was the one who laid down the law. Seokjin himself?

He was the youngest Kim son, the one who, when his parents’ friends and family members thought he wasn’t listening, gossiped about. Why wasn’t he married? Didn’t he have that fiancée for a while? Oh she had a baby with another man? His boss? Well surely that has been long enough now, right? He had another girlfriend, or found some other salaryman career. At 30, it would be kind of sad if his life wasn’t going anywhere.

And that’s where Seokjin was, after all. Single, a sex worker, or temporary restaurant manager. This morning he’d received a text in the family group chat from his brother with a photo of his nephew kissing his sister-in-law’s bump. He loved his nephew, he loved his brother and was happy for their little family. But he also felt hollow as he opened that picture, like some part of him knew he was never going to truly get to have that for himself.

“Hey,” he said, and your eyes flitted from the floor back to him. “First of all, if they leave they leave, right? Those aren’t the people you want to be on your streams because their energy sucks and they’ll just keep asking more of you. Second,” he cleared his throat, “you are likable. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, having viewers and subscribers. There has to be a part of you that is genuine there, otherwise everyone will know you’re lying and move away from you. Don’t they say something about how all the best lies are rooted in truth?”

“But I’m not trying to lie to them,” you said meekly.

Seokjin internally kicked himself for saying that. Perhaps suggesting that you lie to everyone wasn’t the best move.

“I know, I mean, that you don’t offer all of yourself, but offer the parts of you that you know are there that are stable. And for the rest of it, fake it until you make it. Until you can feel confident as a streamer, able to set boundaries. Pretend you’re someone else. The person you want to be.” he amended.

Jin was some of the best parts of Seokjin. Maybe even better. Self-assured, knowledgeable about sex and sexuality in ways he hadn’t been when he was with Soon Yi, he could say no to things he’d never been able to say no to his boss about, and things he couldn’t say no to now because the restaurant wasn’t technically his. There were things he could do, ways he could slip some power in there or make decisions, but nothing was really his. Not the way streaming was. That was all for him. And while yes, his friends knew he did it and supported him in their own way (thankfully most of them did not tune in but on occasion Jungkook and Taehyung would hop on when completely wasted to goad him to “release the beast”), it was still a success that couldn’t be shared publicly, even though he didn’t really want to share it anyway, and didn’t really feel successful.

“Is that what you did? Faked it until you made it? Until you were the person you wanted to be?”

His blood ran cold. Were you reading his thoughts? Did you know?

“W-what?”

Oh god, what if you knew? Seokjin would rush out into the night and dig his own grave. Because if anyone else knew what he did, if his parents found out or his brother or you, he was sure he would become the worst parts of himself. A failure again. Once more someone to be quietly gossiped about in rooms when he was in full range of hearing what they had to say. He couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than you seeing him, your own boss, with a bright pink dildo shoved up his ass as he pandered to thousands of people with whimpers and cries. Especially when he just spent the better half of an hour telling you that you didn’t need to pander to anyone.

Would you think less of him for it? Would you ask him why he was doing gay streaming of all things? His face flushed, probably turning incredibly red with embarrassment.

“With the restaurant,” you said.

He swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat and coughed.

“Y-yes,” he stammered. “What you see there. It’s not really me all the time. I’m not always all that confident. But I want to be.”

You nodded quietly and stretched your arms over your head. “That makes sense,” you said as you began to pace. “Okay.”

You still had another two hours before your stream was set to start, and Seokjin could tell you were still on edge. He took a deep breath when you turned away, letting the rush of air into his lungs help cool his face.

“Seokjin?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay until it’s over? I know it’ll be late, and it’s a big ask, but maybe we can eat leftover pizza and debrief?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his night, and probably early morning if he was honest. Your streams could go well into the wee hours of the morning, and while tomorrow while opening he’d probably be kicking himself for this, right now he didn’t care about anything except the warm tug he felt in his chest as he imagined the two of you sitting on the floor with cold pizza and laughter at 3a.m.

“Thank you. Also, do you think we could have another beer or something? I need to take the edge off. I know I’m overthinking it but I need something to distract me before this stream or I might not show up.”

You didn’t wait for his permission, probably because you weren’t asking for it. You slid into the kitchen and back out with two more cold beers.

“Will you show me how to open these again? I want to try.”

Seokjin struggled a bit against the dip of your couch, but eventually found himself level and close to you, so close in fact that the soft scent of your shampoo was once again permeating his nostrils.

You were intoxicating to him, honestly, and he found himself unable to help himself as he squeezed behind you in your tiny kitchen, inhaling partially into your hair as he walked you through the process.

You fiddled with the bottle for a second, holding yourself at an awkward angle.

“Like this?”

If you did it at this angle, you would be sure to cause the beer to explode, the cap wouldn’t get enough traction to pop off easily.

“Not unless you want to participate in a wet t-shirt contest,” he joked before he even realized how sexually charged that comment was.

You inhaled a little sharply.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re a little stiff here.” Then, very carefully, he rested his hands onto your hips, gently maneuvering you so you were able to prop your arm up and out of his way so you wouldn’t elbow him in the ribs when you slammed the bottle down.

He kind of hated himself when he had to let go of your waist. His fingers were tingling simply from brushing them along the seam of your shirt, from feeling the warm curve of your hip under his fingers. Why did his hands feel so at home on your body?

Your sharp movement pushed him out of his reverie as you launched the bottle down onto the counter top, the soft plink and your sparkling eyes confirming you were successful.

That’s my girl, he thought. Only you weren’t his girl. You couldn’t be further from his. And as soon as he thought it, he also felt the soft ache in his chest knowing that you would probably never be his. Because you couldn’t. Because you were without a doubt too good for him, and Seokjin knew all that stood between you and the right guy was time. An opportunity. You walk into the right place some day and then boom, there he will be.

He fucking hated that guy already.

You popped the second cap from the bottle and turned around, shoving your body directly into him as you beamed with pride. “See! I did it!” You looked so adorable, your eyelashes long and fluttering as you gazed up at him.

A smile cracked through his gloom. You were like a little sunbeam to him.

“You did,” he acknowledged, and he took the bottle you offered, taking a swig. He waited for you to make the next move, to dislodge your body from the cramped corner of the kitchen, for the magnetic pull of your body to signal it was too close, too intimate so one of you would break away.

But neither of you did. In fact you sighed and moved closer to him, forcing the small of Seokjin’s back to rest up against the handle bar of the oven. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but he didn’t dare move.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked quietly after a while, staring down at the bottle.

“Sure,” he responded.

You nibbled your bottom lip then sighed again, unsure. He felt your warm exhale hit his forearms. Did you really not realize how close you were to him? The smell of you, even that tiny hit of beer breath, was starting to drive him insane.

You shifted yourself even closer.

“Um, it’s going to sound embarrassing to ask this but I just have to.”

Your voice was low now, a tiny whisper coming out of you. Fuck, you were perfect.

“Go ahead,” he whispered back, smirking. “I won’t judge you.”

“Okay, um. Are you…are you bi?”

“Am I by what?”

You fidgeted uncomfortably and pulled back slightly. You raised your eyebrows.

“No, not by as in near, I mean bi as in like, you know, bisexual?” You shifted your gaze away, and then Seokjin felt the question sink in.

He was such a fucking idiot.

God, this is one of the most awkward interactions you’ve ever had in your life and you feel yourself getting hotter and more embarrassed by the second.

Standing in your tiny cramped kitchen, you decided now for no good reason was the best time to ask Seokjin if he’s bisexual. Or really if he’s gay. Because you need to know. Need answers. Or a confirmation that will help kill this crush for good because as of tonight? It’s much, much worse.

Something about watching him cook earlier, specifically in your kitchen, did something to you. The way he touched your hips to show you how to do that beer opening trick, how he looked slumped into your couch, the way he hovered over your bookshelves and belongings with curiosity, and laughed hysterically over Barry once he pressed the button.

He fits here. In your apartment. It isn’t just some stupid fantasy version of him you could imagine. He is real and beautiful and fits into this corner of your life like a perfect puzzle piece.

And if he’s gay, if there’s no chance that he can give you even the fantasy of this, then it all needs to stop. But it’s also so unfair for you to ask this of him. What if he’s not out? What if you’re forcing him to come out and no one knows and all because your insatiable horniness led you to a gay streaming site where you found him now his livelihood and privacy are technically in jeopardy?

Fuck. You can’t do that to him. And suddenly you’re aware of what you just did, how uncool this was for you to just out and ask. Heat claws into your throat as you sit in this shock of silence, clamping down on your airway and leaving your voice in a reedy wheeze as you try to take back your inquiry.

“I–I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer! I’m out of line. Really, I shouldn’t have even asked. Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you splutter, heart beating erratically, a line of perspiration beginning to form at the back of your neck at an insane speed. How humiliating.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay. Relax. Breathe,” Seokjin says. You force a ragged inhale but find yourself coughing, gasping to try to find air in this room that is too small and a million degrees warmer.

You are standing in the hallway outside of the bathroom, rasping for air into your lungs. Your mother has just come home from work, shouting about how you haven’t remembered to take the chicken out of the freezer or done any of the chores she’d asked you to while she was gone.

The day has gotten away from you, a hot summer that is so oppressive no one even wants to go outside. You would get all she asked of you done and more before she returned home. The chicken would be thawed, you’d vacuum and mop the floors, would even wipe down the bathroom sink from all the hair she and your father left in it during his morning shave.

And then you would go to your friend’s house tonight, for the sleepover you’ve been dreaming of, eat lots of candy that her father would bring home from work that yours never let you have. You could tell her about the boy whose parents own the convenience store at the end of the street, and how all summer you’ve been finding an excuse to run up to the shop with your allowance to get a pack of gum or snacks or a can of iced tea you would have to chug outside before you even walked home anyway.

You start junior high this fall. Your period started this spring. Everything around you is changing. Your legs are stocky and getting fuller. Hair is starting to grow everywhere. Your breasts are no longer flat on your chest and while you know all of this is happening, you know why and what is going to happen, that doesn’t change how awful all this feels. Your baby fat isn’t baby fat anymore, and the oils of your skin, your hair, your smell? It all is changing so fast and you hate it. You want to hide. And at least having this boy down the street to talk to, Wonwoo, who makes you feel less like you want to crawl outside of yourself.

Him, and all the books you’ve been reading. Ones where they’re older, girls who you’ll be like soon. Who go to school, and date and have families with problems just like your family has problems. Who run into the woods and fall in love with other families. Who find belonging. There’s comfort there, and that’s why despite all your promises to make the house clean for your mom this morning, you forgot. Because you’d fallen into the world of your book.

And now, your mother has told you that you can’t go to your sleepover anymore. Can’t get away from the house and the heat and your body and the ongoing argument you know your parents are having about finances that they shout about when you’re in the shower and they think you can’t hear them. You can’t eat fun secret snacks or talk about boys or pretend for a second that this isn’t your life. Because it is.

Your throat closes up, the dim lights of the hallway outside the bathroom feel like they’re flickering.

“I told you. I reminded you multiple times! Now we don’t have dinner. Unless you’d like to think of something?” She strips off her stockings, balling them up in her fist. “Unless you want to go out there and buy some expensive meal for us tonight?”

Shame. This is it in its purest form. How wrong you are for not helping. For spending the whole day in your fantasy world with your new friends, ones who aren’t real. All your mother asked for was such simple things, and yet you are unable to just do what she asks.

“When your father gets home, you can tell him why there’s no dinner ready.”

Hot tears sting your eyes and you gasp for air. Your father? If he’s having a hard day today, if his boss or his co-workers didn’t recognize him for that presentation he spent all those late nights at the dinner table preparing, you know how this will end. Your father is a fair man, but even he has his limits.

And sometimes that means that the things you love, the things that you covet, they go missing. Precious dolls that you’ve had over the years have disappeared when you were being careless with them, leaving them around in the hallway for him to step on. Once, you left your birthday gift from your aunt, a purple Skip-It, on the sidewalk during a Spring rain shower and when you went to bring it in, it had vanished.

You’d found it in the garbage bin, the ankle loop and cord snapped into pieces.

When your father gets home, he’ll go for your book. He knows just which one it is. You had started it last night and he asked you about it.

You push off the wall of the hallway, swallowing the bile down your throat. You have to hide it, to take it somewhere.

You want to leave. Your eyes dart around the room. Anywhere but here, you can’t let him see how much more embarrassing it is now that he knows you’re anxious. A lump in your throat continues to constrain the air. You can feel your pulse in it, pulling acid up from the depths of your stomach.

You rip another breath from your chest and try to propel yourself across the room, across the universe, but your feet won’t budge. Your muscles are locked in this bump of panic, leaden and unyielding.

Somewhere in the fuzziness, Seokjin has moved but already returned, and you feel a set of cool hands on your cheeks as he comes into focus, gently stroking behind your ears and saying something to you.

“–ow that it’s hard but I need you to breathe, Y/N. Breathe with me. Can you do that?”

His face is concerned, and it twists your stomach even further. He shouldn’t be doing this. You should remember how to fucking breathe on your own. But then again, isn’t that why he’s here anyway? Because you can’t do shit on your own? Can’t hold boundaries, can’t stay in school or keep it together. Can’t live somewhere nicer where you don’t smell the stomach-turning stench of the sink’s old plumbing next to you, metallic and stale. And definitely can’t even remember how to mind your business or breathe like a person.

You rush down the hall, into the living room, snapping the book off the couch. You shove it behind a cushion.

Your father walks in the door, and from the look on his face, you can tell the presentation didn’t go well.

“What’s all this?” he snaps, and gestures to the left-out vacuum and the bucket of water you’d gathered earlier. All the bubbles from the soap have long popped, leaving a heavy, sickening floral scent in the room from the solution.

“I, oh–”

“Your daughter spent all day reading instead of doing her chores. So unless you have a McDonald’s hamburger in your briefcase, we have nothing for dinner.” Your mother interjects, huffing as she heads into your parents bedroom and slams the door behind her.

Your father’s eyes narrow, and this is how it begins. He and your mother slamming, stomping, hitting, and crashing in every interaction they have with an inanimate object around you.

He chucks his suitcase onto the table of the small dining area, then whips open the fridge door a few feet away.

“Y/N, come here.”

You tiptoe in behind him, needing desperately to do the opposite of him, to show that you aren’t mad that they’re mad. That you understand exactly what you did wrong.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re going to show you anyway. He moves aside and you peer into the fridge.

“What do you see in there?” he asks, restrained.

“Um, some celery, lettuce, dressing, milk…”

He growls, indicating that this isn’t the right answer. You’re wrong again. “Food, Y/N. This is food. That your mother and I work hard to put on the table so you can sit around and read your books. Food that needs to be eaten. Do you understand?”

You say nothing. You know the question is rhetorical.

“So, when we ask so little of you to simply take the food out of the freezer or fridge and thaw it, how can it be so hard? Hm? Here let me show you.”

He reaches in, and begins pulling and pulling the veggies, marinades, dressings, milk, eggs, cheeses and meats, and crowding the counter top. You’re frozen, unable to walk away, to ask him to stop.

When he’s done, he looks at you.

“See? Not so hard, huh? And if you were helpful to us, none of this would have happened. Honestly, your selfishness sometimes,” he says. “Now, go get me that book of yours. I think you know you haven’t earned it right now.”

You should go peel it out from under the couch cushions. Should hand it to him, then put all the groceries back away, because you know he’s not going to do it with you here. You should apologize. Accept punishment.

But instead, you’re nauseous and shaking and sobbing.

He waits expectedly. And then he shoves past you to your room, beginning to hunt through your clothes on the floor, under your bed.

“Where is it Y/N?”

You don’t follow him. Instead, you run. You grab the book from behind the cushion, shove your shoes onto your feet and run into the heat of the ending day with it in your hands, the heat from the sidewalk still boiling up underneath you.

Your parents don’t run out the door or into the street behind you. They stay in your home, possibly putting it back together. But you don’t care. You run, until you see the light of the convenience store and your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse.

Inside the cool air, Wonwoo is helping his father place drinks from their crates into the refrigerator. His eyes are wide as you plow in.

You have so much you want to tell him, so much worry in your chest. Your cheeks are hot and your body is sweaty. Nothing is coming out. Just the hum of the fridges, and Wonwoo’s father rushing to get his mother.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can’t do anything to answer, just stare at his soft face as you well up with tears. You shove the book toward him wordlessly.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asks again, and you inhale steeply but choke on the air. A bubble of saliva clods your tongue.

“Please, take this. Hide it,” you urge. He holds his hands out and takes the book.

“Um, okay. Tuck Everlasting, I’ve never read this one.” He looks back up at you and winces.

“Hey, hey, breathe Y/N. You need to breathe.”

Seokjin is standing in front of you, coaxing breaths from you, wasting his time after cooking you dinner like it’s something you deserve. Like you’re not just doing all of this anyway because you can’t control yourself to not have feelings for him. Tears singe your eyes and you gasp another shallow breath.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad. I promise I’m not mad.” Seokjin breaks through your thoughts, his voice gentle, and almost like he hears you in this silent exchange, some constant that is numbing this spiral. You feel yourself inhale a little more fully as you understand he’s not upset or annoyed. “Good, you’re doing good. Let’s breathe another breath, okay?”

You can’t look away. Even if you wanted to, Seokjin’s touch is keeping you focused completely on him, his soft and kind eyes, his plush lips that he’s holding in a slight frown that won’t shake. One that you can tell is worry.

“Another breath, sweetheart. Good, good girl. That’s really good, Y/N. Okay, keep doing that for a second okay?” One hand releases from your cheek, and you find yourself pressing harder into the other, needing him to touch you and keep guiding you back, needing that security of him.

He doesn’t move it away, in fact he pushes himself closer, holds the weight of you in his palm tenderly, and then you see in your periphery what he moved to get: a glass of water.

“I want you to take three small sips of this for me, okay? Slowly.” He holds the rim of the cup up to your lips, tilting it slightly. You open your mouth slightly, letting a trickle of cold water flood into the hot cavern of your mouth, extinguishing so much of the tight, fiery panic that moves through the rest of your body.

You do as he says, sipping and swallowing slowly until he pulls the glass away and sets it down behind you.

“You with me?” he whispers, and you breathe.

“Yes,” you say.

“Can I touch your arm?”

You’re not sure why he’s asking, so you knit your brow and gaze up at him, confused.

“What?”

“Can I touch your arm? I want to move us out of the kitchen and into your bedroom if that’s okay?” His voice is still quiet, and you realize that the hum of the light is so loud it’s almost drowning him out, almost drowning you again.

Your eyes flash wide and you nod. You see him relax a little, and slowly Seokjin untangles the web of your bodies away from the kitchen, into the cool air of your living room. Why is it so cold?

Seokjin guides you through it, and through the doorway to your bedroom. Before you even realize it, he’s unbuttoning his pink shirt and draping it over you.

“Is this okay? You’re shaking.”

You go to tell him yes, of course it’s okay, and then notice your teeth are gritted tight from trying not to chatter.

You take another breath. “Yes,” you squeak.

He pulls down the duvet and gestures for you to sit. “I’m going to put this blanket on you so I can help you warm up.” You feel the soft, heavy weight and start to feel a little better. But without Seokjin holding you, tethering you back into your body, you feel like you might float away any second. You shoot him a panicked look and he seems to understand, drawing the blanket back so he is also swaddled in it, the two of you knee to knee as he pinches the blanket closed with his fist.

“You can touch me if you’d like,” he says, and this, you realize, is what you need.

You immediately shift forward, putting your face into his white t-shirt, inhaling that minty, fresh cologne he wears. You can feel his chest rising and falling slowly, evenly, and you match your breathing to his, hoping soon your heartbeat slows to the same rate. Your hands twist into his shirt but it’s not enough. You find one of his hands and take it, lacing your fingers together and resting them in your lap.

The heaviness is nice, stabilizing, but you know you still need something more.

“Seokjin?” Your voice sounds foreign to you.

“Yeah?”

“Will you hold me for a minute?”

His hand untangles from yours and he moves to place it around your back, but with you two cross legged and facing each other, it’s an awkward embrace.

“I’m sorry, this is such a weird position. If you’re okay with it, you can sit in my lap? If you want? And then I can just hold you for a second?”

You nod and sit up, unfolding your legs and wiggling yourself up so you are on his lap. You wrap your legs around his back, then your arms. And then you feel his arms around you, his fingers lazily tracing the length of your spine.

You feel yourself sinking deeper back into the safety of your body.

You both sit like this for a long time. So long that you feel yourself starting to grow hazy and sleepy. Seokjin is warm and soft and so soothing. You feel like you’re untangling from a sharp web that has been trapping you for a long time. And when your alarm for your stream goes off, you turn off your phone.

“You okay?” Seokjin asks and you huff out a sigh.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for all the dramatics.” You slide yourself out of his grip and flop back onto your bed, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“What do you mean? You weren’t being dramatic, Y/N, you had a panic attack.”

“Yeah, over asking you a highly personal question I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry for that too.”

“I’m not-it’s-look. Panic attacks aren’t ever just one thing. It’s always a compounding of stress and anxiety and other thoughts and feelings. You just came across the one thought or feeling that forced everything to collapse. And I can guess based on how much you’re apologizing, it was probably you doing that shit inside and beating yourself up that knocked all the rest of this stuff down. I told you, I’m not mad. Or insulted that you asked.”

He goes on. “Which, by the way, I’m not bi or gay. I’m very straight. But that’s not the point. The point is, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You asked me a question. I have a right to choose to answer it or not. So there’s your answer. And also, you are never dramatic to me. Panic attacks are fucking scary; you felt like you were dying, right?”

You nod. “Drowning, yeah.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, those things are no joke. But you came out on the other side of it.”

“Not without your help though. You seem like you know a lot about these when they happen. Do you get them too?”

He flushes. “Uh, no, I don’t personally. My friend Yoongi has them sometimes. He taught me a lot about how to help him with them. The cold water trick really is from him. And then also when Soon Yi and I were together, she would have them, but those were a bit different.” He looks down at his hands.

Soon Yi. So that’s her. The person Seokjin has often stopped himself talking about. The one who his parents would occasionally refer to as “that woman” during shifts when he wasn’t around. No one ever said her name, almost like she was some kind of curse and you always were curious why. You assumed she must be the devil incarnate the way his mother would sling a bunch of insults after she was mentioned, but the way Seokjin now says her name so casually, so personally, you aren’t entirely sure if he sees her that way.

Parents usually carry a greater grudge than their child who was hurt. Your own father has told you on various occasions that the guy you dated for one summer in undergrad, who coincidentally is his barber’s nephew, will never be allowed in his house ever again. Forget the fact that there’s no reason he would be invited over in the first place. Whenever you’re catching up with your parents on the phone, if he has recently visited his barber, he’s sure to bring it up. “Scum is never allowed in my house! He will just drag his filth in with him!”

Thinking of your father and mother right now forces you to wince. Maybe it’s the freshness of these memories, of you realizing now that what happened to you that day as a child wasn’t you being dramatic, as they had insisted even after you’d gotten home. Everything had been put back into place when you’d returned after the sunset, even the bucket and vacuums put away. Your parents never apologized or talked about it again.

And your friend, she didn’t talk to you after that either, claiming you were flaky and rude for blowing her off.

Your father doesn’t even refer to your ex by name, similar to Seokjin’s mother. “That Woman”. “Scum”. If there was ever a name tied to these people, it’s clearly gone in the haze of whatever angry frenzy your parents carry. “Scum” also didn’t even do anything wrong. You broke things off with him, but because you came home crying after the breakup, now that is his legacy.

But Seokjin’s mother, how she behaves, you’re not sure that it’s for the same reasons. You’ve seen firsthand how much she adores her children, and “adoration” is a word you aren’t so sure applies to your family.

Soon Yi, too, it’s clear she was not just a blip on the screen in Seokjin’s life. The hushed, angry chatter between his parents, the way his mother would often get so worked up she would start punching her shoulder and clicking her tongue, saying she needed to go sit down. That’s not a Scum-level relationship. You wonder how close she was to Seokjin. Closer than you two are becoming, clearly.

“Soon Yi,” you repeat to yourself, still lost in the haze of putting things together.

“Um, my ex.” Seokjin says, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as you realize he heard you. “We were engaged. For a while.”

“Oh.”

You want to ask how long he means by a while? Did they break up right before you joined the restaurant? Or was this from many years ago? It’s odd in a way to think of how Seokjin has lived a completely different life from the time before you knew him. He loved someone, enough to marry them, to start a life together, to know she had panic attacks and how to help her.

Did he place her in his lap the same way he did with you? Did he sit with her in the dull winter light of their bedroom and talk like this?

He had to have. Why wouldn’t he? Your stomach dips. Were you under some impression that this thing you’re experiencing–the closeness of his body, the soft thrum of his heart, that tiny whistle in his throat that breaks through the room as he speaks–would be special?

The dim light of the lamp on your bedside table makes the deep browns of his eyes look even darker, and he watches you as you stretch your legs out in front of you, your foot shifting a bit to rest up against his thigh. His eyes flicker toward it and then back to you.

“How, when did you guys break up? I didn’t know you were engaged,” you ask gently. He sighs, and then slumps a bit, the careful, rigid posture he was holding for so long finally loosening a bit with his exhale. He bends his knees and pulls his legs up, glancing to the other side of your bed.

You pat the spot next to you, turning over so he knows it’s no imposition.

And it’s not, not in the slightest. If you weren’t so fried and exhausted after that panic attack, your brain might try to imbue some innuendo into this moment, but for now, this is all you can do, and you want that ache in your stomach to go away. You want to feel like this is special.

Seokjin flops down into the pile of oddball plushies and pillows next to you and you snort, smiling as he carefully tucks the plushie he smashed in his landing into his arms.

“I’m sure my parents have talked about her enough times for you to know everything,” he scoffs.

“Not really. I didn’t know her name. I just thought she was some girlfriend you had that she hated because she was keeping you away from her. You know, the same way your mother also says that the really old lady down the road who sells flowers keeps your dad away from her.”

He smirks at this, and his fingers rove over the marble eyes of the plushie.

“My mother would blame the sun if it kept her family away from her. She’s been messaging the group chat nonstop for updates from my hyung’s wife about the pregnancy. And she’s supposed to be somewhere in Iceland right now on a cruise. Honestly I wish she would just enjoy herself.”

“Well, she cares. About you especially. Which is maybe why she didn’t air all of your business to me when I was mopping the floors and she counted down the drawers. She just would say that I would be better than “That Woman” but I think she might think anyone would be better than her.”

“She said that to you? Ugh, eomma.”

She did, one late night, when Seokjin left early for “something urgent”. His mother alleged that he was dating a secret new girlfriend that he kept under wraps.

“Honestly, he acts as if I’m going to eat her alive or something. Tsk. That son of mine, both he and his brother are going to send me to an early grave. Behind my back like this when I’m getting older by the minute. Ever since he and that woman broke up, he shut down. I tried to set him up with someone and he kept saying no! That he would find someone. But if she was any better than the others, wouldn’t he have brought her around by now,” she’d said.

She slammed some coins back into the register. You jumped at the sound.

She sighed. “You know what he needs? Someone like you. Someone with vision! That woman never had any of that. So much more focused on status. You’re not like that Y/N. I can tell. And that’s exactly why I hired you. You can’t teach someone that as an adult. They either have it or don’t, and you. You’ve got exactly it.”

You didn’t really know what “it” was, but you didn’t argue, and soon she moved on to complain about something else.

Now, knowing Seokjin’s secret, you think you know where he went that night, and it definitely wasn’t to go hide in his lover’s house. Chances were, he was streaming. And that also would explain why he shut down on her so quickly. You can’t imagine Mrs. Kim’s reaction if she found out Seokjin was a gay cam streamer. Despite being straight.

It dawns on you. You’d been so distracted with that panic attack that you forgot already that Seokjin is in fact interested in women. Solely. Enough to have been engaged to one.

“But, back to your story,” you prod, trying to distract yourself from the fact that now none of this feels like just friends sharing. Seokjin hisses in some air as if he agrees.

“Right. Well, Soon Yi and I were together really in college and on. We started dating really young. Just two kids. And then we just kind of stuck together? She and I were together for a long time before I got the nerve to propose. And then…” He trails off, his face now a deeper blush. Is he embarrassed?

You lick your lips, ready to tell him he doesn’t have to share, but he waves his hand to quiet you.

“She cheated on me. With my boss. We were in the midst of planning the wedding and everything. I was supposed to get this big promotion at the end of some large conferences. But, I don’t know. We had grown apart. Suddenly we didn’t see eye-to-eye on anything.”

Your jaw drops, caught on that larger detail. “She cheated on you with your boss? After all that time? God, Seokjin, I'm so sorry. That’s awful.”

He smiles and nods. “That’s not even the worst part,” he says. His smile grows bigger, like this is some huge joke. “She cheated on me multiple times with him while I was away. And I caught them. Uh, you know. On my dining room table when I came back early to surprise her. I did not get the promotion by the way. But, she actually has a baby, or I guess a toddler, with him now. I heard she’s pregnant again, they’re married. It’s all some surreal life. And now I’m here.”

“Um, you’re right, it was worse than that.” You’re really not sure what to say. Seokjin’s becoming harder to read by the second, turning this conversation into some big joke when it’s not really funny to you on your end. Maybe he’s processed it enough by now, but based on how tightly he’s now squeezing your alpaca plushie, you would wager that he doesn’t really find it funny either.

“Is this,” you take a breath. “Is this why the other night you said you were a failure? Because of what happened with Soon Yi?”

“Partly. I mean, it’s not like I did too great of a job keeping her satisfied. She clearly found other ways to do that.” He laughs darkly.

“That’s not how that works you know,” you say. His eyebrows lift.

“What do you mean?”

“What you just said. Keeping her satisfied. Isn’t it the job of being a human to keep ourselves satisfied? Find things with meaning and joy? It’s not your fault that she chose to do that. To cheat on you, to not be honest when she started feeling differently. She could have told you at any point. Did she?”

He sighs. “Not really, no. Soon Yi wasn’t great at communicating with me about things like that. For so long, we just knew what the other person needed. Because we’d been together since we were so young, we had come up with some other kind of language. And my friends, too, they were in on it. She was not always going to tell someone how she felt but she would show them. For Jungkook’s 21st birthday she threw him an “American Stereotype” themed birthday which he was always obsessing over from the videos. Bought a bunch of red solo cups, they played that Miley Cyrus song and bought a bunch of discounted Fourth of July partyware. She was one of us.”

Even now, despite everything, Seokjin is speaking so kindly about someone who hurt him. And honestly, it throws you. You are so used to the men you’ve been around talking so poorly of their exes that you didn’t know someone could experience such a negative thing and not immediately resort to extreme name calling.

That’s just how good Seokjin is. Enough to not be mad at you for asking questions, for panicking. Enough to speak kindly about others even if it might be eating at him.

“That doesn’t mean it was your fault though,” you stifle a yawn. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Maybe we should shelve this conversation for another time,” he says.

“No, no, I want to hear. I want to know all of it.”

“You were supposed to start your scheduled stream an hour ago.”

“Change of plans. I’m not streaming tonight.”

“Do your subs know that?”

“Don’t call them that. They’re subscribers not subs. Sub is something you do.”

Jesus. Please don’t let him cling to that. Please don’t let that give away that I know.

“Pfft. Okay, do your subscribers know you’re not streaming anymore?”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s created this distance on purpose and now the moment has passed.

Fine, you’ll get more from him about this eventually. You need to understand how Soon Yi impacted him. You don’t really know why, but you can’t help but feel like knowing more might make you feel less uneasy about all of this. About you and Seokjin and what this could all maybe mean someday.

“I can post about it,” you say softly and he nods.

“That might be a good idea. You’ve had a big day. A big panic attack, you probably need some sleep.”

Your stomach sinks at the idea that he might leave after this, and you’re still not sure you want to be alone. You chew your lip.“What I really need is some pizza,” you say.

Seokjin smirks. “Good thing for you, I know exactly where we can find some.”

“Thank you again for the pizza,” you said, nibbling on the edge of one crust. “I didn’t think I could be that hungry after eating so much earlier.”

Seokjin took another swig of beer, shrugging. “Well, you’ve had a big day, and you burned energy and probably calories earlier.”

Your panic attack may have seemed to you like it was coming out of nowhere, but to Seokjin, it wasn’t. He had noticed your embarrassment the second after you asked him that question, saw you spiral inside yourself as you tried to huff air. He wasn’t sure what really triggered it, but he also knew he didn’t want to leave you after that.

He wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Yes, Yoongi had his share, and it took a little while to learn what ways he could be soothed. Soon Yi’s were different, though. A lot more similar to yours.

When they had started experimenting sexually, there would be times in which she would fall so quickly into panic, like she couldn’t give up control. And from that point on, sometimes she would spiral deeper, into some pit of shame where whatever they were doing, even if it wasn’t super kinky, led to these shaking, sub-drop-like breakdowns. They were more rare, but they did happen, especially earlier in their relationship.

At the time, Seokjin didn’t understand what was going on, and neither did Soon Yi. Just that she sometimes would flip on him during foreplay when he would get a little more confident and dominant, or if he started falling into a scene that she had asked them to do, using the script the way she asked, it would happen anyway. Almost like she was fighting between what she wanted and who she expected herself to be.

And that’s in a way how you seemed to be too. Maybe you weren’t like this sexually, and he would unpack that idea later. But in this intimate space of your home, it was like Seokjin was experiencing some type of whiplash as you went from being so uncomfortable about asking about his sexuality to you lying next to him in your bed talking about his ex.

He wasn’t mad, not in the slightest. He understood that especially after a panic attack, people were desperate for closeness and intimacy, and whatever reaction he had to your panic, you felt soothed and safe with him. He was being let into your world little by little, even if you were fighting yourself to let it happen.

He wanted that. He wanted this: you two eating cold pizza on the floor of your living room, you chewing happily and Seokjin warm and full of life watching you do it.

You even let him make adjustments to your space, laughing and applauding him after he ripped some of the clean cardboard from one of the pizza boxes and made shims to prop up and balance your oven and fridge. He found if he scooted the couch slightly to the left and your entertainment system got turned a few inches, you could completely see the TV from anywhere on the couch. You dove to the other side almost immediately, whooping when you realized you wouldn’t have to strain yourself to see anymore.

You were comfortable. He made you comfortable.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” you said, your hand caressing over the soft roll of your stomach to demonstrate how full you were. Then, a deep burp echoed into the room. Your eyes widened. “Oh, wow, sorry. Excuse me,” you said suppressing a chuckle.

But Seokjin was already laughing, his body shaking at the sound. “So polite for someone who made that noise.”

The tenseness in your shoulders fell and you gave in, laughing next to him. “Listen! It was good, and the carbonation of the beer is making me have to burp!”

“Sure, sure. That’s what it is. You know I’ve seen those memes about how women don’t fart or burp or poop and I’m onto you! You have one strike. If you fart or shit I’m going to prove that meme false.”

You scoff, tears leaking out the side of your eyes. “Well good thing for you, I will not deny those allegations. I don’t just poop, I shit.”

Seokjin choked on his next sip of beer, spluttering some of it out of his nose. “Oh shit.” Tears flowed from his eyes from the sting, and he grasped for some napkins near the pizza.

You weren’t much better off, coughing heavily into your shirt as you tried to recover. This, this was everything he could ever want. Afterward, you both cleaned up the kitchen and pizza together, finishing off the six-pack of beer until your yawns were impossible to ignore.

“It’s really late, Y/N. You should go to sleep,” he said. He hated himself for suggesting it, almost wishing that you would extend the invitation to stay. Even then, though, he would have to decline.

“Or we could, I don’t know, play a game or something?” As you said this, you stifled another yawn.

He chuckled. You were stalling, he could tell. And he wasn’t strong enough to say no. “Hm, okay how about this. We can hang out in your room and I’ll tell you more about me. But you have to get ready for bed first, otherwise it’s no deal.”

Your eyelids were heavy, but you beamed anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

You went into your room, grabbing some clothes before shutting yourself into the bathroom to get ready. Seokjin paced your living room, scanning the book shelves, a variety of titles he’d never seen before in the stacks. But there was one, a smaller and thinner book that had more wear and tear than the rest. He slid it out carefully and held it in his hands. Tuck Everlasting, a book he’d read in elementary school about a teenager who met a family that drank from a tree’s magical spring and lived forever.

Based on your copy, he could tell it was well-loved and read many times. How old were you when you read it, he wondered. Did you want to run away into the woods like he did afterward, trying to find a magical spring of your own?

The bathroom door opened, and he carefully slotted the book back onto the shelf before turning to you. You were wearing an oversized T-shirt and some very, very short pajama shorts. Your legs looked so soft to touch. His hand twitched.

“Okay,” you said, “I’m ready.”

Seokjin wasn’t. But he followed you into the darkness of your room anyway, laid himself down next to you on the bed as you tucked yourself under the blankets. Your eyes shimmered as you looked at him, now way more awake than you had appeared just ten minutes ago.

Were you hustling him?

“You need to crawl under the blankets too. Otherwise they’ll constrict me and I will absolutely not fall asleep like you have clearly planned,” you tease.

You were hustling him. He liked it.

He chuckled and obeyed, folding back the comforter and sheets to get in. But in doing so, he revealed you with your shorts already bunched up on your thighs, exposing your lacy panties at your hip. Your shirt was riding up, and he could see a tiny bit of your stomach peeking out.

God fucking help him. He managed a deep breath, begging himself not to get hard, or for his body to at least wait until you wouldn’t see him getting hard and he was under the covers. This wasn’t the time. Not after all the emotionality of the day. But his dick didn’t know that.

Your covers smelled like you, soft and even a little sweet and you really had to be fucking with him because you shoved yourself even closer to him under the covers, so that there were just a few inches between you two. He felt your body heat radiating from you.

“There,” you sighed, and he smelled a hint of your mint toothpaste. His mouth watered. “Now, where were we?”

No, but where were you really? He didn’t remember, didn’t know where to start. And then it clicked.

“Mmm, you were going to go to sleep I think,” he said.

You frowned, your nose wrinkling. “No, that’s not true. Or it was. I’m not tired now.”

“Give it a minute, I’m sure soon your eyelids won’t be able to stay open.”

“Sure, but yours are heavy now too. So you must be tired. Now it’s a competition.” You were right. His eyelids were heavy, and he was tired. But he knew his body, especially as keyed up as he was getting, wasn’t about to let him fall asleep any time soon.

“I think I’ll win that one,” he laughed lightly.

“Doubt it,” you challenged, and you shifted your legs, now a little less comfy and more antsy. You slowly released a breath.

“Are you sure you want to do this right now?” He asked, and you didn’t hesitate to nod.

“I want to know more about you. It’s nice to put the puzzle pieces of you together in my head.” Your voice was growing husky.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. A beat passed. Neither of you moved to say anything, just looked at each other.

Shouldn’t this be awkward? Shouldn’t all of this feel wrong? Somewhere in his mind, the logical response was yes, this is weird and he should leave. But then he would be leaving you after a hard day, when you clearly were trying to avoid him leaving by going so far as to keep yourself awake to stare at him. To try to get to know him. And that’s what rooted him now. He couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. Maybe you were only being needy. But he also felt needy right now. And for the moment, logic could fuck off.

So he pushed it away, letting the parts of him he liked most bubble to the surface, the parts that led without overthinking and just acted on what he wanted.

He moved slightly closer to you, and you blanched, a little taken aback, but you recovered quickly. “

I’m cold,” you said. He knew it was a lie. He could feel the heat of you.

“Here,” he replied, and he pulled the blanket open slightly so you could wiggle forward, resting yourself against his chest.

He angled himself carefully, trying so hard to avoid the rest of your bodies touching, but it was impossible, so he pulled you closer, letting every part of you rest against him.

“Tell me,” you muttered.

“What should I tell you?” he whispered back.

“I don’t know. Anything.” You were fading quickly, and he was relieved. Sad that he would have to go soon, but relieved that you were finally resting.

“Okay,” he said, even softer. “I think if I ever drank from a magical spring, I would do a better job hiding it than the Tuck family did.”

You hummed in response, and then he felt your head nod into his chest as you fell fully asleep.

#bts smut #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #kim seokjin #thanks for the sub

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