#i was gonna have Jess (f!jesse) have missing fingers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janaispunk · 2 months

Text

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

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ugh-yoongi · 11 months

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the retreat | jhs

(or, the one where namjoon just wants hoseok to take care of himself, but then there's a fake relationship, only one bed, a guy who doesn't talk, and maybe a weird cult.)

✤ pairing: hoseok x f. reader ✤ genre: childhood bf2l, fake dating-ish au; crack, fluff, smut ✤ rating: explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ warnings: there is a lot of talk about food and eating in here, so i would not suggest reading this if you are sensitive to those kinds of triggers. tropes galore! side taegi. 5th muster jimin from that one vcr. hobi is pansexual and i do not wanna hear from the weirdos during pride month, or ever. he is a millionaire tho so he's not off the hook. a slight astrological dragging. a strained mother-daughter relationship. the smut is not super explicit or detailed but warnings are as follows: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), biting, hair pulling, hobi may or may not rip a pair of underwear, fingering, protected vaginal sex. a brief but canonical breaking-the-fourth-wall appearance by park bogum. beta'd by me, so any mistakes are my own. ✤ wordcount: 19.6k ✤ thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, as always, for the encouragement and reading every draft of this. @hot-soop for both the astrological advice and advice in general. @effortandmore for reading this over recently and telling me it was worth finishing. i would get absolutely nothing done without the three of you. ✤ author's note: i was supposed to have this posted for jess's birthday two years ago. we're not gonna talk about that, because this just means i'm a month early for this year. happy early birthday, jess! anyway~ this is basically a 20k love letter to jung hoseok bc i miss him. i hope you enjoy it.

Jung Hoseok is overworked.

(He’s also filthy rich, the proud owner of not one but two Lamborghinis [that he doesn’t even drive], and smiling on the cover of Forbes. He has a top floor penthouse in the most expensive high-rise in the city and a vacation home along the Italian coast. When he needs to go on a business trip, his driver takes him straight to the tarmac where he boards a private plane. His tailor just sends him clothes now, the cost of dressing Jung Hoseok far outweighed by the dozens of other filthy rich men who flock to his store to buy whatever he’s wearing.)

Jung Hoseok is also going to have a stroke and die before the age of 30, because what’s a little money at the expense of his mental well-being and cardiac health?

“All things considered, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go out,” he argues, clammy palms flat on his expensive desk. Rosewood, because not only is he a millionaire, he’s a millionaire with taste. None of that monochromatic minimalist bullshit for him, thank you.

In front of him, Kim Namjoon also looks to be on the verge of a stroke. Not of the same variety. Namjoon is paid well because he works for Hoseok and Hoseok insists on it. None of that heartless, dickhead-to-everyone, impossible-to-work-for CEO reputation for him, either, thank you.

Namjoon is also a militant vegan and has twenty-six plants and one bonsai on his desk named Bonnie. He insists on spending his lunch breaks in Hoseok’s office, lecturing him on the benefits of plant-based diets and exercise and meditation. Despite his perpetual smile and sunny demeanor, no one else speaks to Hoseok this way, but Namjoon does. Absolutely doesn’t give a shit.

“It absolutely would be the worst way to go out. Have you even been listening to me?”

Hoseok sighs and closes the symptoms of a stroke tab in his browser. “I always listen to you, Namjoon, I just don’t always listen.” A smart choice, too, judging by the swamp-colored sludge Namjoon has in a glass container, because he doesn’t use plastics.

Following his boss’s line of sight, Namjoon frowns. “It’s a pitaya bowl. Don’t look at it like that.”

“It looks radioactive,” Hoseok says, face contorted in a wince. “Like it’s going to become sentient and sprout six arms.”

Namjoon scoffs. “If it does, I hope it uses all six of them to slap the shit out of you.”

“I could pay it to spare me,” Hoseok insists, chin jutting out indignantly.

One of the reasons Hoseok had all but demanded HR hire Namjoon—despite there being a plethora of other candidates who were just as qualified and nowhere near as hell-bent on him taking care of himself—was his grit and determination. He’d showed up two hours early to his interview and steamed his suit jacket in the employee bathroom. It was completely insane and even more neurotic, but Hoseok had been taken with him immediately.

Now, it seems that determination and hard-headed nature is coming back to bite Hoseok in the ass.

“Oh, yeah? You’re gonna pay your blood to not get cut off from your brain and your heart, too? Well, good for you, Hobi. I heard blood has even started taking American Express. You’re in luck—”

Unable to take anymore, Hoseok groans and waves his arms to cut him off. “Okay, I get it! God, why did I hire you? Your desk alone has to be violating at least fourteen different health codes. Your office is humid. Do you know how impossible that is to achieve outside of a greenhouse?”

“You hired me because I’m good at my job and I’m not afraid of you, so I have no issue slapping your fourth double bacon cheeseburger of the day out of your greasy, on-the-brink-of-dying hands. Christ, you act like it’d actually kill you to eat a vegetable for once.”

Hoseok squawks. “Hey! That definitely didn’t come up in the interview, and I have never eaten four cheeseburgers in a day. Stop being hyperbolic.”

“Speaking of things that start with hyper- and have a Bin them, hyperbaric therapy is great for people with infections from oxygen-starved tissue—”

“Is this what you do all day? You just sit on the internet and search for diseases I could potentially die from and then you come in here and harass me about them?”

Namjoon’s face, which had previously been scrunched up in righteous indignation, smooths over into something far more serious. (He doesn’t even have wrinkles. Namjoon’s skincare routine must be immaculate.)“Someone has a stroke every forty seconds in this country, Hoseok. I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Well, okay. Every forty seconds is far more often than Hoseok had been expecting. Not that he thinks about stroke statistics often, and definitely not outside of Namjoon’s overbearing presence—but, in his defense, it’s not like he’s had much of a reason. He gets a physical and routine blood work done every year and his doctor has never rung any alarm bells, so why would he?

But the resolution with which Namjoon is hammering away at this is definitely giving him pause.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, either. “See, you are concerned! Look, you’re far more likely to stick with something if you don’t overwhelm yourself, so let’s start small, okay? One salad per day. And a real salad, Hoseok—not one of those ones loaded with cheese and bacon and drenched in ranch dressing.”

Hoseok’s jaw snaps closed. “Then what’s the point of eating a salad?”

“To prevent you from dying before your thirtieth birthday. We’ve already established this.”

“Okay,” Hoseok drawls, “but it’s not the salad’s fault if that happens. You shouldn’t take it out on him.”

Namjoon gags. “Leave it to me to work for a man who thinks salads are male.” He casts his gaze skyward. “Please, Lord, if you’re listening, please put me out—”

“Please put me out of my misery first,” Hoseok interjects, also staring at the ceiling. Then, with a leveled glare, he says to Namjoon, “Fine. State your terms.”

“Really?” Namjoon asks, having the audacity to look shocked.

“Yeah, if it’ll get you off my back. I can’t spend one more lunch break in here with you.”

Namjoon smiles. Nothing friendly, either—it’s purely sinister and mocking. Then he says, “Great success!” in a horrible impersonation of Borat and the moment’s gone, lost to the stagnant air conditioning of Hoseok’s office.

Unsurprisingly, Namjoon’s terms include a lot of vegetables.

Hoseok has a private chef, of course, so it’s not like he has to really do much other than smile through the pain. But, really, would it actually kill him to be allowed a steak or some lamb skewers? What had started off as salads for lunch has turned into a full-blown war between the two of them. Hoseok had shown up with cheese and bacon on his salad one time and Namjoon nearly went off the rails, performing a very enthusiastic speech about how Hoseok cannot be trusted when left to his own devices, so here they are.

Namjoon’s trying his hardest to crack Hoseok, and Hoseok wouldn’t have become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company by the age of twenty-eight if he were so easily cracked.

So, yeah, here they are. Locked in a stalemate like two idiot deer with their antlers tangled together, except instead of feuding over territory or a mate, they’re ready to spear one another over vegetables.

Darwin would have a lot to say about this.

On Friday, at exactly one-o’clock on the dot, Namjoon barges into Hoseok’s office and slaps a stapled-together pile of papers onto his desk. “New terms.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Hoseok replies airily. “I’m not much of a Dua Lipa fan.”

“Wha—that’s ‘New Rules.’”

“Is it?” Hoseok’s smiling, eyebrows raised in that way that makes him look super charming and innocent.

Namjoon isn’t fooled, though. “Cut it out. I saw you eating ribs under your desk the other day. You owe me this.”

Not much shocks Hoseok, but being outed like this so brazenly sure does. “How did you know about that?”

“Uh, did you forget your office walls are made out of glass?” Namjoon twirls a finger in a circle, as if to say look at your four glass walls, you fucking idiot. Isn’t it great to be rich and have no privacy? “Not to mention you had a glob of barbeque sauce on your shirt that I could smell from a mile away.”

“I could’ve put it on my salad,” Hoseok reasons.

“Oh, please.” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Six ribs and a side of potato salad does not a salad make.”

“What do you mean? It’s literally called potato salad, isn’t it? God, you’re uptight.”

Namjoon sucks in a deep breath, most likely reciting meditation mantras in his head while he thinks about his plants. “I didn’t come in here for this,” he eventually says, and Hoseok is honestly impressed at how collected he sounds. “The point is you can’t be trusted, so there’s new terms.”

Grabbing the stack of papers, Hoseok flips through them casually. “And if I don’t agree? Don’t forget I’m your boss.”

“If you don’t agree, I’m posting the security footage of you eating those ribs on Twitter.” Hoseok’s looking positively scandalized now. He wouldn’t. Namjoon wouldn’t do that to him. “Honestly, Hoseok. You should be ashamed of yourself. You looked like that video of that oversized baby covered in peanut butter.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Hoseok asks, eyes narrowed. “Seriously, who are you? Because the man standing across from me is not my sweet baby Namjoon. Sweet, sweet Namjoon, who always checks the toilet bowl before he uses it because he saw one of those videos from Australia of a snake being in there and he’d feel too guilty to even piss on a snake—”

Namjoon plants his palms on Hoseok’s desk and puffs out his chest a little. It’s a great chest, Hoseok must admit. Namjoon had mentioned in passing he’d started going to the gym, so he’s not—“I’m not afraid of you,” Namjoon reminds him. “Try me.”

“I have thirty-two lawyers.”

All Namjoon does is quirk an eyebrow. “I have thirty-thousand Twitter followers.”

“I can fire you.”

“Please do. Capitalism is a scourge on this earth and I no longer wish to participate in it.”

“I can fire you and make sure you never find employment in this city ever again.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Fine by me. I’ve been thinking about moving out of the city, anyway. Too much air pollution and I have no space to garden.”

Two things become clear very quickly: 1. Namjoon is far more cut-throat than Hoseok ever anticipated him being; and 2. Hoseok is woefully underprepared for this particular battle. No matter. He’s business-savvy. There’s no shame in conceding an unwinnable battle if he can still win the war, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Fine,” he relents after an awkward staring contest that lasts two minutes too long. “What are your new terms, then?”

“You have to go to a wellness retreat.”

Hoseok can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of his mouth. “Sorry, did you say a retreat? How is that a punishment?”

“It isn’t,” Namjoon says. “It’s meant to reset your body and mind. No phones allowed. Just you and your partner in the refreshing, reinvigorating air of the rainfor—”

“What was that?” Hoseok interjects.

“What, the rainforest part? Don’t worry, it’s safe. You’re not, like, sleeping outside with tarantulas and shi—”

“No, not that. Me and my who?”

“Oh!” Namjoon grins. “Your partner. See, I did a lot of research and found the absolute best and most effective wellness retreat for people of your… uh, standard. And the man who runs this retreat is incredible. Like, world-renowned. But the catch is it’s a couple’s retreat, so you’ll have to find someone to play pretend with you for a month.”

Hoseok is a great businessman. He’s good at negotiations and managing relationships and making smart, anticipatory decisions. He has the bank account and name plate with accompanying title on his desk to prove it. But, as he takes in Namjoon’s words, the only thing his brain can come up with is the Windows shutdown sound and a glaring blue screen alerting him to danger.

Nevertheless, one of Hoseok’s rules for business is to never let the opposition see him frazzled. “Why don’t you just come with me?” he offers casually, his tone completely at odds with the pained, panicked expression on his face.

“Two reasons,” Namjoon says quickly and without hesitation, as if he expected this and had all the time in the world to prepare a rebuttal. “First, you couldn’t pay me enough to act like we’re a couple. No offense, but you’re kind of insufferable and I would never date a carnivore—”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Wow. Some offense taken.”

“—Second, someone has to stay behind and hold down the fort if you’re going to be gone for a month.”

“Why can’t Brad do it?” Hoseok asks. This time his strained tone completely gives him away.

“You don’t trust Brad.”

Hoseok’s brows furrow. “I never said that.”

“You absolutely did say that,” Namjoon responds immediately, pulling out his phone. “On April nineteenth at approximately ten-twenty in the morning, you said, and I quote, ‘Namjoon, why do you think I hired you? If I had to suffer through having one more Ivy League white guy who played lacrosse and got grandfathered into a fraternity as my assistant, I was going to throw myself down this elevator shaft.’ To which I replied, ‘Oh, you don’t like Brad?’ And you said, ‘Brad’s fine, I guess. I just don’t trust him.’ So, I asked you why, and you said, ‘I wouldn’t trust Brad to order a box of staples, let alone to know the difference between tteokbokki and hotteok—’”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d say at all,” Hoseok lies. It absolutely sounds like something he’d say at ten-twenty in the morning on the nineteenth of April. “Also, did you really make a note of that? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Namjoon fires back. “I obviously took a voice recording of it first and transcribed it later. Sometimes I listen to it on repeat when I really want to strangle you and it calms me, because it serves as a reminder that if I go to prison for attempted murder, Brad will take my job. And we can’t have that, because you might simply distrust Brad, but I fucking hate him.”

Hoseok gapes a little. “We sure can’t,” he agrees. Tense air settles between the two of them as they both wait for the other to make the first move. Namjoon’s patient, having already played his hand knowing Hoseok has nothing to trump him, but Hoseok’s stubborn. He’ll drag this out as long as humanly possible. He’ll be ninety years old, on his fourth heart transplant, and still waiting to go on this trip. He’ll—

He’ll have to step down as CEO, because he has, once again, severely underestimated Kim Namjoon.

“Stop thinking so hard. It’s already booked and paid for.”

“With whose money?”

“Company card.”

“Which has my name on it. I’ll just cancel it.”

“It’s non-refundable, but go ahead. You’re still out all that money, though, so you might as well go.”

“I can’t just take a month off,” Hoseok says. He’s grasping at straws now. No one would dare tell him no, even if he wanted to take the next six years off. Human Resources would simply say of course, sir, have a great vacation, sir, see you in six years, sir, and off he’d go.

“Sure you can.” Namjoon stands, wipes his hands on the dress pants stretched to their limit across his thighs, and looks entirely too smug. “Better start looking for a date. Maybe you’ll have some luck on Tinder.”

Bile rises in Hoseok’s throat. “Tinder? Are you joking? I’m too rich to go on there. What if I find a nice date, take them home, and wake up in a bathtub full of ice because they found out who I was and decided to sell my organs?”

“No one would want them,” Namjoon deadpans. “I see the absolute filth you funnel into that body of yours and I can say, with one-hundred percent certainty, that your organs are worthless. Mine, on the other hand. Pristine—”

“Get the hell out of my office. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Good thing, too, because Namjoon’s still wearing that stupid little smirk. The really smug one that infuriates Hoseok to no end because it brings out his dimples, makes him look innocent and cute even though he’s not. The one that gloats Namjoon’s victory, like he’d known all along it was going to end this way. He’d hid those cards so far up his sleeve, Hoseok’s surprised they hadn’t started sprouting from his ears. God, he’s really insufferable. Makes Hoseok’s blood pressure spike something fierce.

“Did you ever stop to consider you’re the problem?” Hoseok calls to Namjoon’s retreating frame. When had he gotten so broad? “That maybe, if my heart does give out, it’ll be because I have to deal with you, the most stressful person on earth?”

“Nah, it’ll definitely be because two of your desk drawers are full of those disgusting oatmeal creme pies.” Somehow, Namjoon looks even more smug as Hoseok tries to discreetly glance at the aforementioned drawers. How does he find out all these things? “Anyway, you leave in two weeks! Good luck in your search. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, sir.”

Just as he’d assumed would be the case, Hoseok has no luck on Tinder.

See, he’d fucked up from the beginning, deciding to be honest and truthful and explain his plight to any sympathetic pair of eyes that may have gazed upon it. He’d also decided to use his real name, and anyone familiar with those List of Billionaires We Should Eat listicles had snuffed him out immediately. Long gone were the days of genuine conversation and playful flirting. Now, Hoseok’s inbox is full of more genitalia than he’s ever seen in his life. He’s literally drowning in it and can’t even take time to appreciate the situation in which he’s accidentally found himself.

He’s absolutely going to kill Kim Namjoon once this is all over.

After getting over the embarrassment of the next day’s MULTIMILLIONAIRE CEO JUNG HOSEOK SPOTTED ON TINDERheadline, because he hadn’t even had the good sense to use Raya, Hoseok resigns himself to scrolling through the contacts list in his phone. He’s not desperate or stupid enough to invite his ex, or any of the myriad of names he can’t put to faces because, despite what Namjoon says, he’s still concerned about his organs, so he also resigns himself to calling you.

His best friend.

Who’s going to spend the rest of her life roasting him over this.

“What a pleasant surprise,” you greet him. “Haven’t heard from you in weeks. Let me guess, you need me to make another burner account and explain to Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter why they shouldn’t eat you?”

“No—”

You tsk. “That’s a shame. I think I missed my calling in life.”

“Being a Twitter troll?”

“Yeah, obviously,” you agree. “Do you remember that time I set up the fake Gofundme to pay for my conservative cousin’s cephalanalectomy surgery because the liberal snowflake surgeon refused to perform it and he was going to die if they literally did not remove his head from his ass? That was fucking gold, Hobi. I’m a natural.”

“You’re definitely something,” he acquiesces. Then he has an idea. “Hey, do you wanna help me troll Namjoon?”

Your silence is deafening. “Uh, that depends.” Oh, Hoseok does not like your hesitation at all. “He has, like, a lot of Twitter followers, so I’m not trying to beef with him publicly, even if it is on a burner account.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afr—what the fuck kind of Twitter following does this guy have?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” you say, voice laced with faux-concern. “I like Namjoon and I’d like him to remain employed by you simply so he can annoy the absolute fuck out of you until the day you either retire or die. So, yeah, let’s keep that between him and I.”

Hoseok feels dizzy. Probably because he’s been eating all these goddamn salads and now he’s nutritionally deficient. “Whatever. I do actually need your help with something, though.”

“You know my rates.”

“Why do I have to pay to hang out with you?” Hoseok whines. “Isn’t my life-long friendship enough?”

You snort. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why is everyone bullying me lately? Can’t you spare a crumb of empathy for your best friend?”

“Empathy machine broke,” you deadpan. “Come on, ask me what my terms are. I already know what I want this time.”

Hoseok sighs. He wouldn’t relent this quickly for anyone else. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. “Fine. What are your—”

“I want a Birkin bag and dinner from that new Brazilian place by your office.”

“That’s a definite no on the bag,” Hoseok says. “I’m not spending that much money on anyone who isn’t my future spouse. We can have dinner, though.”

“I think you misheard me, sunshine. I said I want to go to dinner there. I’m going to gorge myself on expensive all-you-can-eat meats and I do not want to taint my experience watching you shovel a miserable, wilted salad into that pretty little heart-shaped mouth of yours. I’ll get agita.”

“Agi—I can’t believe this,” Hoseok whines, feeling the apples of his cheeks tinge red. “Have you and Namjoon been getting together to conspire against me? Is that why the two of you are bullying me?”

Hoseok expects you to say no. He expects you to say that you and Namjoon don’t even speak, you’d only met him once at that Christmas party a year ago, during which Namjoon spent the entire time waxing poetic about conifers and that time he dropped acid at Yosemite and cried for a week straight. But no. No, you don’t say anything at all, and if Hoseok was feeling bullied and just a little scandalized before, he’s absolutely feeling tortured now.

Namjoon, on his own, is bad.

You, on your own, are worse.

The two of you, together? No. Hoseok simply can’t—and won’t—allow it.

You suck in a breath. “In my defense—”

“You absolute traitor,” Hoseok seethes. “You, of all people, have betrayed me?”

There’s a tiny gasp on the other end of the line. “Oh, come off it, Hobi!” you snap. “Have you ever seen yourself eat? It’s foul. Like something straight out of Animal Planet.”

“It is not!”

“It is, and you know it,” you fire back. “I once watched you eat an entire personal-sized pizza in forty-two seconds. I don’t even think you chewed it. You just detached your jaw like some kind of creepy snake and inhaled. Something needed to be done.”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to gasp. “And that something was going full Judas Iscariot and selling me out to the Romans for thirty pieces of silver?”

There’s a pause on your end. “Is Namjoon the Romans in this scenario? Because, if so, I’ve got to say—”

“Who cares!” Hoseok snaps. “Who fucking cares who the Romans are—”

“The Romans, probably,” you chime in unhelpfully.

“—because the two of you have officially given me agita. How’s that? Huh? First I have to sit through all of Namjoon’s lunch lectures—”

“He should trademark that. Has a nice ring to it. Namjoon’s Lunch Lectures.”

“—then, I had to start eating salads. Salads. Then he signs me up for some stupid wellness retreat in the goddamn rainforest and tells me I have to find a fucking date, so off I go to Tinder, but everyone on there only wanted me for my harvestable organs, so I was like, ‘You know what, Hoseok? You know who you can always count on? Your best friend of twenty years. She’s never let you down. She’ll go with you, and the two of you will have a good time, because she’s your best friend and you enjoy her company.’ But no, come to find out—”

There’s a very loud shriek of laughter. “Oh my god. Holy shit, Hobi, is that really why you called? Namjoon actually signed you up for that couple’s retreat?”

Now, there’s a very loud shriek of disbelief. “You fucking knew about that?” You try to contain your snort. Really, you do, but it’s no match for Hoseok’s palpable ire. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be good for you, sunshine. You’re clearly overworked. You had visible stress lines in the last selfie you posted on Instagram.”

“I did not, I use hyaluronic acid!” he insists, but if Hoseok swipes out of your call to pull up his Instagram account, no one has to know.

You groan. “Why do you keep arguing with me? I’m never wrong.”

“Yes you are.” There’s a very pointed pause during which Hoseok can very clearly, in his head, hear you say see?

“Listen,” you say, voice strong with all the conviction of a person who hadn’t spent the last five minutes being a menace to society—and Hoseok. “I’ll go with you. I have some time off from my program and there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend a whole month in the rainforest with you.”

“I feel like that was sarcastic.”

You tut. “Honestly, Hobi, it’s like you don’t even know me at all. You know number three on my bucket list is going to Costa Rica to hang out with sloths.”

His phone pings a second later with a text from you. An article about a sloth sanctuary greets him, and he swallows the immediate ew that’s on the tip of his tongue. Sloths are cute, sure, but they also have bugs. “Great,” he chokes out. “Are you gonna meet a sloth and turn into Kristen Bell? Because I’m not signing up for that. You look like Kim Kardashian when you cry.”

“Fuck you.” Hoseok is a millionaire, he doesn’t deserve this treatment. “Now, what are your plans for tomorrow night? Let’s do dinner. We need to take a bunch of selfies during sunsets so we look like a plausible couple.”

When he was eight and you were seven, Hoseok witnessed his first act of violence.

A kid on the school bus had been giving him a hard time. Nothing totally awful, just being a bit of a dick the way kids are wont to do, and Hoseok was a pushover back then. Just wanted everyone to like him so he never really stuck up for himself. Just smiled and laughed off the teasing and cried about it later.

Apparently this was unacceptable to you.

You tossed your bookbag in Hoseok’s lap, pushed up your sleeves, made your way to the back of the bus, and told that kid you’d slam his head into the window if he didn’t stop picking on Hoseok.

He’d gotten his head slammed into the window approximately fourteen seconds later.

(Never messed with Hoseok again, though.)

Since then, the two of you have been nearly inseparable. Sure, there had been petty arguments here and there, and Hoseok had gone to an Ivy League across the country, but it was rare for the two of you to go more than a few days without talking. Even now, when Hoseok works eighty hour weeks and is busy being a Very Important Person, he still makes time for you. Sometimes that time is just exchanging stupid memes over text, but he always makes the effort.

Which is why, even though you don’t see the point in crafting some elaborate backstory and had only said the thing about the sunset selfies to con him into coming over, he stays quiet and shows up to your apartment for dinner and worldbuilding anyway, because it’s been too long since he’s last been here and he misses you.

“Are you taking notes?” Hoseok asks, pointing at you with his fork. “This is important.”

You groan into your wine glass. “Fake dating is so hard,” you whine. “Why can’t we just tell the truth?”

He levels you with a stare. “Because! Don’t you think it’s a bit…”

“What, you think it’s totally unbelievable that I could be in love with you?”

Oh. Hoseok doesn’t like this at all, either. Doesn’t like the way the words sound in your mouth. Doesn’t like the way his stomach drops as he digests them. Doesn’t like how nice they sound, like you’d just waded through all the extracurricular bullshit to get straight to the point and arrive at the inevitable conclusion, which is the two of you riding off together into that sunset you’d mentioned before.

He doesn’t like feeling like he might want that.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it. You’re his best friend and he has 20/20 vision, so of course he has. It's always just been one of those things: didn’t want to ruin your friendship, moved across the country, got too busy, didn’t think you’d want him like that in return.

“I—no,” he says unconvincingly. “I just… it’d totally be weird, right? Us pretending to be a couple?” He throws in a chuckle for good measure, as if the thought of dating you is so preposterous it simply has to be a joke.

You just shrug. Where Hoseok is all nervous jitters, you’re solid and unshaken, always. “Not really. We’ve been friends forever. We’re obviously comfortable with each other. You showing up to my place in those disgusting crochet shoes is proof enough of that.”

Hoseok looks down at his feet and frowns. “They’re Valentino.”

“More like Valenti-no.”

He rolls his eyes. “See, that right there is why we can’t wing this. I can’t pretend to like your awful jokes. I’ll out myself immediately.”

You roll yours right back. “Nah, I think it works. You’re obviously the high-strung CEO who doesn’t appreciate good humor when he sees it and I’m the sad housewife who just wants you to laugh at my jokes.” You jut out your bottom lip and pretend to cry. “Why won’t you just laugh at my jokes, Hobi?”

He flicks a green bean at you. “How’d we go from fake dating to fake marriage? Stop trying to swindle me.”

Once again, you pout dramatically. “God, first you refuse to laugh at my jokes, now you refuse to marry me? You’re breaking my heart here.”

“I’m not buying you a ring,” Hoseok scoffs. “I know for a fact you’ll just turn around and sell it for triple the price to some poor, unsuspecting bastard.”

“Not my fault there’s a lot of poor, unsuspecting bastards in the world. All of this just proves, for the billionth time, that I’m the better businessperson between the two of us.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Hoseok sighs. “Just because your lemonade stand outsold mine once doesn’t mean—”

“I also outsold you during that candle fundraiser in the fifth grade. And the candybars during Little League. And that bullshit one in high school with the pineapple pizzas—”

“Fine!” Hoseok throws his hands up. Then, with as little of a grimace as he can muster, he says, “Let’s go to Costa Rica, Mrs. Jung.”

It doesn’t land.

Your jaw drops immediately, an exaggerated gag spilling from your lips. “I changed my mind,” you deadpan. “No marriage for us unless you take my last name.”

“What’s wrong with mine?”

“Feels bad in my mouth. What’s wrong with mine?”

Hoseok rolls his lips together. “Nothing, really. Just—”

“Is this some kind of male pride thing? You refuse to take your wife’s last name for fear of public ridicule and castration jokes?”

“No.” Hoseok glares at you. “It’s just—the reservation’s in my name. Besides, if someone made shitty jokes about you, I’d slam their head into a window, too.”

“Oh.” As soon as your jaw snaps shut, a brilliant smile splits your face. “That was unexpectedly wholesome, Seok. You’re getting soft in your old age.”

Only for you, he wants to say. Instead, he shoves another forkful of rice in his mouth and a copy of the itinerary in your direction.

(For all your bravado and willingness to slam the heads of elementary school bullies into windows, you hate flying. So, if you squeeze Hoseok’s hand too tight and he snaps a photo of it under the guise of how comically purple-red it’s turning, and not at all because it’s the first time you’re holding his hand and some weird, sentimental part of him wants to commemorate it, that’s his business.

If his heart is so full it nearly bursts out of his chest at the sight of you crying over a sloth, and if he memorizes the stars in your eyes as you hold one—not caring about the bugs or the giant claws or the fact that sloth fur kind of looks like a bird nest, algae included—that’s his business.

If he posts the photo of you crying to his Instagram, knowing damn well you’re going to yell at him for it later, and he cackles wildly over Namjoon’s comment:

[namjooning commented: why does she cry like that kim kardashian meme? junghoseok replied: Right? That’s what I said]

—that’s his business. It’s only because he’d said you look like Kim Kardashian when you cry and, if nothing else, Hoseok loves to be proven right. It has nothing to do with wanting to remember you that happy forever. Not at all.

If he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest when you hug him tightly, murmuring a quiet thank you in his ear on the last night of your stay at the sanctuary, it’s simply because you’re not very tactile. Hugs—and outward affection—from you are rare. That’s all. His skin absolutely does not break out in goosebumps. Doesn’t feel tingly all over. His breathing continues as normal.

If he finally comes to the startling realization that he’s in way too deep when you fall asleep on his shoulder during the drive to the resort, well…

Hoseok may be deadly smart, but he’s always been a complete fool when it comes to you.

If he sends a panicked text to Namjoon asking how he’s supposed to survive the next month, and if Namjoon misinterprets it as an ambitious, live-to-work type-A personality freaking out over not knowing how to unwind and tells him to just take it easy, and Hoseok misinterprets that as go for it, well…

The next four weeks sure are going to be interesting, aren’t they?)

See, the thing about Hoseok is he has all the money and prestige a man of his status could want.

He’s filthy rich, he’s well-respected, he’s kind. People love him. He loves people in return. He’s been called the living embodiment of actual sunshine more times than you or he could possibly count. There’s truly nothing he wants for in this world.

Hoseok is also the type of person who gets anxious at the thought of calling the Malaysian restaurant you two frequent to place a delivery order. Namjoon has to force him to make his own personal appointments under threat of death. He changed doctors because his new one lets him schedule appointments online. He won’t go to a fast food drive-thru unless they have mobile ordering.

It’s just the way Hoseok is. He’s been that way as long as you’ve known him—at least since that time in the fifth grade when his mother once gave him twenty bucks and told him to call the pizza place and order dinner for the two of you and he totally balked, resigning the two of you to toaster oven Ellio’s that tasted way too similar to skating rink pizza to be a coincidence.

Which is why he balks again as soon as the two of you reach the front desk of the resort, shoving you in front of him to talk to the man behind it.

Maybe it’s the raging pansexual inside Hobi rather than his uncharacteristic fear of talking to literally anyone, but you totally get it. You don’t really want to talk to this man, either. He’s ash blond and bathed in golden light, highlighting his already golden skin to look completely ethereal, and he’s got a smug look on his face that tells you he knows exactly how intimidatingly good-looking he is.

Still, you’re not easily shaken. Jung Hoseok is your best friend—and fake boyfriend, lest you’ve forgotten—for fuck’s sake. You’ve committed violence for him. Golden Desk Boy is going to have to try a whole lot harder than this. “Hiii,” you say, lips painted in a saccharine smile. God, you’re so fake. “We’re checking in under Jung.”

The man—whose name badge says Jimin—returns your fake smile. “Great! Thank you so much for joining us for your stay.”

You take a moment to look around while Jimin pulls up your reservation, purposefully skipping over Hoseok’s form. He’s not doing anything, just sitting in a plush armchair as he pretends to read the newspaper, but you feel the flames of annoyance licking at your heels nonetheless, because you wouldn’t be here to begin with if it weren’t for Hoseok and his subordinate micromanager, and what kind of weird place has he brought you to?

Everything is white. Not in the sterile kind of way, because the monotony is broken up with lush greenery and the occasional piece of teak furniture, but there’s enough white for you to wonder if it’s some sort of statement. The floors and walls are white. All the non-wooden furniture is white. Jimin’s silk uniform and teeth are both blindingly white. Not that you’d seen many people since you stepped into the lobby, but the ones you had seen had been wearing white, too.

Jimin looks up from the computer screen and you’re almost surprised to find his irises aren’t white, too. Maybe it’s rude, but he seriously gives you the creeps. “Everything is ready for your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Jung. I’ve requested someone come to retrieve your luggage.”

You gawk. “Oh, we’re not—we’re not married.”

“Oh?” Jimin asks, one perfect eyebrow arched as his eyes twinkle with intrigue.

“Yeah,” you insist. “Not that I need to explain my morals and ethics to a stranger, but I don’t believe in the patriarchy.”

“Really? That’s great,” Jimin lies. This man is overflowing with shithead energy. “Neither do I.”

You scoff. “Oh, sure. That’s why you just assumed my bes—my partner and I were married.”

“That’s what the reservation says.” He looks very amused now. Kim Namjoon is going to receive a very lengthy text message in approximately ten minutes. “I do apologize for this mistake. I’ll make sure to correct it right away.” Amusement slowly morphs into a challenge. “Is there a new last name I can put on the reservation for you instead?”

Call it a hunch, but you think it best to not give this person any of your identifying information. “No.”

“Shall I leave it as Jung, then?”

It physically pains you to say this, but you manage to choke out a very strained, “Yes.”

“Fantastic,�� Jimin sing-songs. “I’m very glad we were able to sort out this issue for you, Mr. and Mrs. Jung.”

Choke on a dick and die is what you want to say (for no reason, really; it isn’t like Jimin’s been outright cruel to you), but as much as Hoseok avoids people—and avoids confrontation even more—he appears at your side, looking every bit the sunshine after a storm he always is. “Everything okay?” he asks, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back. “…Dear,” he tacks on as Jimin’s eyes study the two of you.

“Everything’s great!” you chirp, determined to cast away Jimin’s obvious suspicions. “Jimin here says someone’s coming to get our bags.” Another fake, saccharine smile. Like sweet’n low. “He’s been very helpful.”

Everything’s great, in you-speak, translates to I once, foolishly, thought Kim Namjoon was on my side. I now see the errors of my ways and I demand justice and revenge. Fool you once (getting roped into being Hoseok’s fake partner to come to a weird wellness retreat), shame on Namjoon. Fool you twice (allowing him to book the reservation and label you a married couple), shame on you. There won’t be a third time, because Kim Namjoon’s days are numbered once you’re both in the same country again.

“Will you be needing a tour?” Jimin asks, voice tinkling like expensive crystal.

You grasp Hoseok’s hand far too tight to be believable and wave off the receptionist. “No, thank you! Just a map will do. That’s how we met, you know—at a… map… class.”

“A map class?” Jimin parrots. “Riveting.” He smiles. Sweet’n low.

“It sure was!” You turn to Hobi. “Wasn’t it? …Babe,” you choke out. The word tastes so gross on your tongue.

When you look up at him, Hoseok’s wearing that trademark expression of his: the one where his eyes are too wide, tight-lipped smile stretched too thin. Hoseok’s convinced it’s convincing. It isn’t. It’s terrifying and makes your skin feel itchy from the inside. “Mmm, yep,” he agrees easily. “Love a good map. Some good… cartography.” He pinches three fingers together because he’d seen it on The Sopranos and it’s just a thing he does now.

Sometimes you forget Hoseok is rich-rich.

Of course Namjoon had mentioned booking the trip on the company card and of course you know what someone like him having access to a company card implies. It’d implied you were going on an all-expenses-paid trip on some massive company’s dime. But, perhaps naively, you’d just envisioned a fancy hotel room at some resort near a beach. Shoreline bonfires, tiny portions of food on massive plates when you order room service, colorful drinks with tiny umbrellas and a skewer of fruit stuck inside, three-digit price tag.

Instead, the two of you follow the map to a secluded, private house. There’s a balcony. The shower is made entirely of glass and surrounded by the lush greenery outside. The exterior wall in the bedroom is also made of glass and affords you panoramic views of the beach and forest and everything in between. The thread count of the Egyptian cotton sheets is disgustingly low.

(Which, speaking of Hoseok and all his money—he’d been the one to teach you about thread counts to begin with. You’d wrongfully assumed the higher the number the better, but Hoseok had gently grabbed the scratchy 1500 count sheets out of your hands with a pained grimace and handed you a set of Supima cotton sheets with a startlingly low thread count instead.

Rich people have everything backwards.)

Truth be told, it’s exactly the kind of place you’d see on some influencer’s Instagram account. The kind of place they’d delude you into thinking you could afford, too, because having your influencer boyfriend take a picture of you sinking into the lush white duvet and plastering a $10 filter on it is more important than affording your student loan payments.

But you digress.

Either way, you’ll have to send a thank you card to the board of directors.

Hoseok, on the other hand, balks for the second time. Takes one look at the singular bed and completely shuts down, Windows sound effects practically blaring over an invisible loudspeaker above his head once again. “Where’s the other bed?” he asks stupidly.

You snort. Stash your suitcase in the corner. You’ll unpack it later… or next week. Whenever you get around to it, really. “What other bed?”

“You know, like. The other one.”

“There’s only one, Seok. Why would there be two? This is a couple’s retreat.”

He pouts. “Not every couple sleeps together, you know. My grandparents have separate bedrooms.”

“No offense, bud, but your grandfather also wears diapers.”

“So?”

“So there might be a correlation, is what I’m saying.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as your husband of seventy years just because he might pee the bed sometimes?”

You level him with a look. Unpacking doesn’t sound like such a bad idea anymore. “I’m well past the age where I could conceivably be married to someone for seventy years, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not even thirty yet.”

You click your tongue. “Hoseok, you of all people know I never expected to live past the age of thirteen. There’s no way I’m making it to ninety-seven.”

“You only thought you were gonna die when you were thirteen because you had your appendix removed.” You give him another look. “And you got your tonsils removed that same year.” Another one. “What?” he huffs. “What’d I forget?”

“That time we were playing volleyball in gym class and you spiked the ball right in my face and broke my nose.”

“Not a life-threatening injury.”

“Thirteen was a really hard year for me,” you retort, overdramatic as always. “It’s a miracle I survived.”

“Oh my god—”

“A miracle, Hobi.”

With a disapproving shake of his head, he’s off to unpack his luggage, because Hoseok is filthy rich and has expensive clothes that, according to him, cannot, under any circumstances, go hours without being hung up properly. You’ve never seen a silk shirt with a wrinkle in it, let alone a wrinkle on any article of Hoseok’s clothing, but you learned a long time ago it’s much less stressful to just let him be neurotic about his wardrobe.

You, on the other hand, are going to do no such thing. You’ll live out of your suitcase for as long as you can get away with it, so you flop face-first onto the bed, careful to leave your shoes dangling off the edge. Hoseok’s already going to give you shit about—

“Yah!” he wails, his fifteenth white button-down shirt draped haphazardly off a hanger. “No street clothes in the bed!”

You roll your eyes. “Street clothes? Who says shit like that? Most people just have clothes.”

“You’ve been wearing them all day,” Hoseok argues, because there’s very little he loves more than an argument. “They’re dirty, and now they’ve made the bed dirty, too.”

However, to the detriment of Hoseok’s well-being, you love arguing, too. You look down at both your clothes and the pristine duvet and vaguely gesture at both. “Ah, yes. So filthy. The bed—which you’d nearly had an aneurysm over sharing with me not even ten minutes ago, might I add—is so dirty. How will we ever be able to sleep in it?”

Watching Hoseok mentally tabulate through the Seven Stages of Grief is the most entertainment you’ve had in hours. Jaw clenched, he simply stares at you for a few seconds before leveling his voice and repeating, “No street clothes in the bed.” Then he tacks on a please that’s clearly an afterthought. “Didn’t you bring loungewear? Can’t you just wear that instead?”

You did, in fact, bring loungewear. It would’ve been irresponsible not to, considering the length of your stay and proximity to paradise, but stubbornness seems to be the flavor of the day so you just shrug and toe your shoes off. “I’m not going to change. We don’t have long before we have that welcome dinner, anyway. I’m not going to put on loungewear only to change into dinner-wear and then come back, shower, and change again into pajamas.”

Hoseok’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What welcome dinner?”

“Do you not read?” you tease. “There was a whole itinerary attached to the map. We have a welcome dinner tonight with that guy Namjoon’s in love with.”

“Which one?”

You click your tongue. “The guy who runs this place.” Then you furrow your brow. “What do you mean ‘which one’?”

“Nothing. Just—you know how Namjoon is. He falls in love at least eight separate times whenever he goes to the gardening store.”

“Guess he doesn’t herb his enthusiasm.” Hoseok groans loudly as you point finger guns at him.

He lobs a mated pair of socks at your head that bounce off your ass instead. “Please just get ready for dinner. I can’t do this.”

To put it mildly, Kim Seokjin is fucking weird.

Hoseok hadn’t noticed. He’d taken one look at him and his mischievous eyes and welcoming smile and dove right in, engaging him in endless conversation about god-knows-what. That’s just how Hoseok is. Aside from his justifiable distrust of Tinder dates, he makes and keeps friends effortlessly. It’s the sunshine in him, your mother always used to say, because Hoseok was always the sun and everyone else were sunflowers, desperate to bask in him and reflect his light.

(Namjoon has always said it’s because he’s an Aquarius. You don’t know what that means, but you assume it’ll click once you buy a few crystals and start exclusively listening to Fleetwood Mac.)

And that has always been okay—good, even. He’s never lost that innate goodness, even when he’d been placed at the head of a billion-dollar corporation where ruthlessness is encouraged. Hoseok’s edges remain rounded and soft; he emphasizes a need for kindness, shows it has a place amongst the cold, calculated world of business. Really, it’s great. You can’t be more proud to call him your best friend.

However.

It doesn’t mean Hoseok isn’t a fucking idiot sometimes.

Because he’s good, his first assumption is always that others are good, too. No matter how many times you’ve grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him away from a fire, his first instinct is still to reach out and touch it.

His first serious girlfriend, back in high school? Yeah, you’d warned him about her. Told him she was messing around with a kid on the soccer team on the side, but Hoseok had insisted she’d never do that. “She’s into embroidery,” he’d said, as if that excused someone from being a two-timing cheat.

That guy he’d been partnered with for a serious project in business school? You’d listened to Hoseok talk about him over Skype once and suggested he find a new one. Kept silent as he unloaded on you a few weeks later after the guy had fucked him over.

You’d even advised him against hiring Namjoon. Couldn’t fathom why Hoseok would even be considering hiring someone who showed up to an interview hours early. Obviously he hadn’t listened, and look where it’s gotten the two of you.

It isn’t that you’ve got a sixth sense for assholes or anything. It’s just that Hoseok’s such a terrible judge of character that it makes you look like Sherlock Holmes in comparison.

So it comes as no surprise to you when Seokjin excuses himself for a moment and Hoseok turns to you with hearts in his eyes only to be greeted by your Hoseok you’re doing that thing again where you put people on a pedestal who are not to be trusted look.

“No,” he dismisses immediately. “Him? No way.”

Your nostrils flare. “Hoseok. Don’t be an idiot about this. He’s weird.”

“He’s just eccentric. Aren’t all these New Age hippie types like that? The guy runs a wellness retreat for fuck’s sake—of course he’s weird.”

“His vibes are off,” you retort, which admittedly sounds like a New Age hippie thing to say, but the longer Hoseok insists you’re wrong, the more you begin to wonder if you are. The two of you had been sent here by Namjoon, and he’s easily one of the weirdest people you’ve ever met. Maybe Hoseok’s right.

You allow yourself two minutes of self-doubt. Then you’re shaking your head and poking your tongue into the fat of your cheek because you know bad vibes when you feel them and Kim Seokjin has them in spades.

The man in question returns a few moments later, two new men in tow: a taller one with a boxy smile and a tan and a shorter one with a scowl that looks permanent but not on purpose, like it’d just shown up on his face one day and forgot to leave. The grumpy-looking one sits across from Hoseok, looking every bit as unsure as you, while the other one takes the empty seat to his left, right in front of you.

“I’m Taehyung,” he says, ass barely in the chair before he’s leaning over the table to shake your hand. His feels like a hand that’s shaken many others—firm, warm, soft. Feels a lot like shaking Hoseok’s hand might feel, an importance simmering beneath the surface, but you’ve never had a reason to do so. “This is Yoongi.” Taehyung gestures to the man beside him. “He doesn’t talk much but you get used to him, I think.”

“You think?” Hoseok laughs, an eyebrow quirked, fully in his element. Words soft, edges softer. Hoseok was born for these types of moments. Meeting strangers, knowing what to say.

Yoongi stays quiet. Barely looks around the room, which is a feat in itself. Seokjin had invited all of you to dinner in a grand dining hall, walls tall and floors gleaming, both stark white like the rest of the resort. Immediately sat at the head of the table like some sort of king, and you would’ve thought something of it, maybe looked at Hoseok and mouthed what’s this guy’s deal? But then he placed his napkin neatly across his lap, looked at the two of you, smiled dazzlingly, and said, “Is cereal soup?”

It had all gone downhill from there, really.

Now Taehyung and Yoongi are seated across from you and Hoseok and Yoongi still hasn’t said a word and you’re hoping maybe, just maybe, he’s also picking up on how weird all of this is. Taehyung has that exuberant optimism that reminds you a lot of Hoseok so you disregard him as a comrade immediately. Just the kind of guy to love any and everyone, oblivious to bad vibes. No, Yoongi’s the one you need on your side and it’s glaringly obvious.

One small hiccup, though: he really doesn’t talk.

Like, at all.

Taehyung talks enough for the both of them, endearing everyone with a smile and an endless supply of stories told in that deep baritone voice of his. Every now and then he’ll turn to Yoongi and say isn’t that right, dumpling? and Yoongi just hums an acknowledgment. Doesn’t seem put off by the pet name at all, despite looking like someone that’d be put off by pet names.

They’re cute. You mouth as much to Hoseok and he just smiles at you in return, a soft little thing. Yoongi and Taehyung are the kind of couple who give off we’ve been together for decades energy even though they don’t look much older than you. Just two people completely at ease with one another, and it does something to your stomach. All small, hidden touches and words communicated through looks alone. Best friends and lovers. Partners both in crime and in life.

It’s a sweet moment.

It’s a moment completely negated by Seokjin’s booming voice at the head of the table. “Well, this was fun, wasn’t it? Let’s move to the lounge.”

Yoongi doesn’t look to Taehyung. Yoongi looks to you, and it’s only because you’d looked at him instead of Hoseok that you notice the subtle downturn of the corners of his mouth, the slight pinch between his brows. He doesn’t outright ask it, but there’s a question in his body language: What’s this guy’s deal?

It’s one you’d also like an answer to.

Yoongi keeps his eyes on you the entire time the five of you talk in the lounge. Well, Taehyung’s once again speaking for both of them, hands and arms gesturing wildly all around him, and Yoongi seems more than content to sit in silence. Seokjin and Hoseok chime in where they should, asking questions and emphasizing words and generally being agreeable. You, on the other hand, sit next to Hoseok and try to exude the same energy Taehyung and Yoongi do. The we’re so in love and comfortable with each other we don’t even need to touch type. The we only post selfies together three times a year because we don’t need to flaunt our relationship variety.

But, as all inevitable things inevitably do, the conversation moves to relationships. Seokjin sneaks it in under the guise of getting to know everyone, and Taehyung takes the bait immediately, seemingly always looking for a reason to show off Yoongi and talk him up. You hate that it’s endearing. You hate that you want something like it—someone enamored with you without preamble. A just because kind of love. Something solid and bone-deep.

“It was totally by accident,” Taehyung’s saying as your attention drifts back to him. Not soon enough, because he’s clearly halfway through a story and you have no idea what the plot is. “We’d both been backpacking through Europe, and I was trying to check in at this tiny hostel in Thessaloniki but my Greek is terrible, understandably, so I was really struggling. Trying to tell the poor woman behind the desk my name and that I’d booked a private room, and she just kept shrugging and looking at me like I was crazy. It was, like, midnight, so I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, and then out of nowhere this guy”—He jerks his thumb at Yoongi, who remains silent and still—“just comes up behind me and starts speaking fluent Greek.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Fluent Greek? Wow,” he says, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe, “that’s really impressive.”

“You have no idea,” Taehyung continues to gush. “He speaks, like, fifteen languages fluently, I swear to god. Anyway, turns out the hostel never received my reservation, which makes sense because I’d tried booking it from the top of a mountain. Yoongi took pity on me and let me share his room since they were fully booked.”

Seokjin smiles and touches a hand to his heart. It’s completely performative but it works—Taehyung looks like he’s just passed some silent test and won the lottery. “Adorable. And so noble, Yoongi. Not many people would do that for a stranger.”

Yoongi shrugs.

Undeterred, Seokjin turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “How about the two of you? Set up by friends? Blind date?” His beady eyes are studying you both diligently, eyes raking over your face for the tiniest tell. “Childhood friends turned lovers?”

Hoseok coughs.

“We met at a cartography class,” you explain, voice even despite Seokjin’s prolonged eye contact making you want to lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Hoseok had nearly given the two of you away, and it was all you could do to recall whatever bullshit you had tried selling Jimin to cover your asses.

Yoongi’s fighting off a smile. Taehyung looks enthralled. “Cartography? Whoa, now that’s something you definitely don’t hear everyday.”

“A lost art, if you ask me,” Seokjin says. “Are either of you geographists, then?”

Hoseok tenses, fidgeting ceasing immediately. The two of you hadn’t talked about this—about how honest you wanted to be, how much would be fabricated—so while this is typically the kind of environment he’d thrive in, you pluck the reins from his hands and take over. “Double majored back in undergrad. Geography and psych.”

“Interesting combo.”

You nod. Not the first time you’d heard that. “Well, there are things you want to do and things you should do, so I did both.”

“And what was it you wanted to do?”

You wave your hand, gesturing vaguely. “Ah, you know. You go into university with all these aspirations, have all these starry-eyed ideas. You’re gonna be someone, you’re gonna help people, you’re gonna make an impact and travel all over and be super important. People are gonna pay to hear you speak and all that bullshit.” Hoseok’s looking at you—you can feel it, but you can also see the blurred outline of his profile. “What did I want to do? Something in human geography, maybe cultural or political geography.”

“The psych degree?” Seokjin continues prodding, and you find you don’t mind it. Hoseok certainly never had. Was always far too busy doing important business things on the opposite side of the country.

“Picked it up about halfway through. Figured I should have a back-up plan in case I wound up being the only geopolitician working at Starbucks.” Your fingers start picking at your pants even though there’s nothing to grab onto. You’d only packed your best, keenly aware of the standards required to be in Jung Hoseok’s inner circle. “A lot of the research and analysis courses overlapped, so I just… did it.”

“That’s very ambitious.” Seokjin’s compliment feels like some weird kind of approval, like another unspoken test Taehyung would grin over passing. “And now? You’d mentioned undergrad.”

“Started a post-bacc in GIS since I liked doing research. Hence the cartography class.”

Hence the cartography class, as if that’s the end of it and there’s nothing else to say. Like you hadn’t dropped out of that to pursue a Master’s in psychology and maybe med school or a PhD to follow, because your mother would be proud of someone with a doctorate, right? You could finally stop hearing—

Did you hear Hoseokie got an internship at Google? They pay $8,000 a month!

Did you hear Hoseokie graduated at the top of his class? His mother said he didn’t even have to apply to any MBA programs, they recruited him! He’s torn between Stanford and the University of Penn. Isn’t that a nice problem to have?

Did you hear that Hoseokie finished his program early? He’s so smart. His parents must be so proud of him.

Did you hear Hoseokie’s moving back? Just an associate vice president position for now, but his mother says there’s already talks of him being promoted to CEO within the next few years.

That’s not to say you weren’t proud of him or that you were resentful. You’ve always been Hoseok’s biggest fan, but Hoseok had moved across the country and still casted a shadow so large it was impossible to not be swallowed up by it, and it’s hard to have all the things you want to hear be said about someone else.

So, yeah, hence the cartography class.

“What about you, Hoseok? You’ve been quiet.”

Hoseok’s never quiet. When you turn to look at him, he’s already staring back. There’s no perpetual million-dollar smile, no wrinkles at the corner of his eyes from laughing too much, smiling too much, enjoying life too much. There’s just a concerned look that you don’t really know what to do with, because you’ve spent so much of your life worrying over Hoseok—over his concerning judge of character, his inability to cook, those kids on the schoolbus, his diet and now his organs—that things feel out of sorts now that the script is flipped.

It takes him a while to come back down to earth, realize someone has asked him a question. “Business,” is all he says.

He’s still staring.

Things are tense.

Weird-tense, because things are never tense between you and Hoseok. Not even back in high school when you’d threatened his then-girlfriend, the one who was cheating on him, and she ratted you out. Hoseok had shown up all red in the face, talked a lot about what would happen if you ruined things for him, but you’d just said alright, Hobi, whatever you say and things had gone back to normal.

But back in your overpriced rental house, things are definitely weird-tense.

“You never told me any of that.”

Ah. You shrug, toweling off your hair after your shower, and rifle through your suitcase for suitable pajamas. “You never asked.”

“I thought the map story was bullshit. You never—you double majored?”

Isn’t this so typical, you think. You could write a biography on Hoseok, all his accomplishments and dreams and all those silly little subplots that connect at the end, and he didn’t even know your college major. Majors. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

In the bathroom, you go through your skincare routine on autopilot and floss and brush your teeth. Try to rid yourself of the taste of disappointment. Smear cold cream under your eyes and try to pretend the sting is from the scent and not welling tears, because this is not something to cry over. This is stupid and unimportant, and you now have two and a half degrees in psychology that tell you how to deal with it.

But Hoseok’s reluctant to let it go. Wants to talk it to death when you’re more than happy to never discuss it again. You’re twenty-seven, meaning you’ve had at least five years to accept the fact that your mother had given all her pride to Hoseok instead. You’re not really keen on spending another five years feeling inadequate. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He appears in the doorway of the bathroom looking positively distressed. “Mom had only told me about the psych degree and that you were trying to get into UCLA for your Master’s. She never said anything about the geography degree.”

You just shrug. “Things you want to do and things you should, right?”

Hoseok doesn’t buy it. “Was telling me what was going on in your life not something you wanted to do, then?” He looks stung.

You’re tired, still a little fucked up from the jet lag and sitting through a bizarre dinner and serving yourself up on a silver platter to an even more bizarre man that now knew something about you that not even Hoseok had known. “I’m going to sleep,” you say, because you’re even more loose-lipped than usual when tired and prone to irritability, and provoking an argument on the first night of a month-long vacation is not something you’re going to do.

And Hoseok—

Hoseok must get it, you think, because he seems to deflate. Just sighs, shoulders hunched, before he steps aside to let you out of the bathroom. No argument, no thinly-veiled threats, no guilt-trips. Resignation: the same kind Namjoon had spoken about when he’d relayed the story of how the wellness retreat came to be.

A resigned Hoseok is probably a dangerous Hoseok, but you’re too exhausted to give a shit. You’ll strategize in the morning, come up with a new plan.

Except the morning comes and Hoseok doesn’t mention it at all.

He doesn’t say anything about it for the next three days, actually, which are all the same and go like this:

On the morning of day two, Hoseok reluctantly wakes you up just after six. There’s a small offering of fruit and coffee waiting for you on a tray that you promptly ignore in lieu of going back to sleep, which lasts until approximately 6:06am when Hoseok wakes you again. The two of you are scheduled for a morning yoga session at seven-o’clock, which is supposedly mandatory and can’t be canceled.

Taehyung takes the mat next to you, leaning over to ask, “Have you ever done this before?” with a slightly panicked expression on this face.

“Every Saturday morning back home,” you answer. Taehyung chuckles nervously, and your experience becomes painfully clear when you’re nailing your Sugarcane pose and everyone else topples over sideways. Yoongi doesn’t make a sound as he hits the floor, and he’s so quiet that your instructor misses him completely when they fret around the room helping everyone else.

You’re so distracted by helping Yoongi yourself that you miss the deep furrow of Hoseok’s brow. And the crestfallen look on his face. Just another thing he hadn’t known.

After you survive yoga, the two of you sit through an awkward breakfast with Taehyung, Certified Chatterbox, and Yoongi, Not One. Taehyung doesn’t comment on Hoseok’s newfound quietude, which is a little surprising, but Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you that makes your coffee suddenly taste stale.

Between the hours of nine and one, Hoseok disappears to go to the spa or the gym or the gift shop, because he is literally incapable of not spending money. You’re waiting for him to realize how weird it is for a wellness retreat to sell souvenirs but he never brings it up, just strolls back into the room each time and dumps a concerning amount of magnets into his suitcase.

(You wonder if any of them are for your mother. You wonder what she’ll think about this—you and Hoseok going to a couple’s retreat together, playing pretend. You wonder if bagging someone like Hoseok would finally make her proud of you and how shallow that is.)

After lunch, which is barely less awkward than breakfast, the four of you are ushered into a so-called Meditation Clinic, hosted by a very muscular guy with a baby face and a lot of tattoos. His name is Jungkook, and he nearly sends Hoseok into Sexuality Crisis Episode No. 2. Hoseok doesn’t do a damn second of meditating for three days, just stares at the wall looking like a baby who’d just been tricked into sucking on a lemon. Taehyung chatters away at you the entire time, completely oblivious to Jungkook’s annoyed stare. You share an exasperated look with Yoongi on your way out.

Hoseok returns to your rental home on the evening of day three looking scandalized. Apparently, this is the result of him running into Jimin, who’d offered to read and analyze his birth chart for him. Apparently, this is Jimin’s second job when there’s no new check-ins to harass. Apparently, Hoseok has been “read for filth” by “the stars” and “doesn’t wish to discuss it further.”

(Interestingly, Jimin corners you not long after. There’s a dangerous twinkle in his eye as he says, “Curious?” and gestures to a small room just off the lounge.

“The curtain’s kind of corny, isn’t it?” you say, scoffing as one strand of beads smacks you in the side of the head. “Like, this all feels very mysterious carnival tent and not billion-dollar resort, y’know?”

Jimin takes a seat behind a large desk, completely void of decoration. You’re not sure what you expected—some tarot cards, maybe a crystal ball to sell the illusion—but it’s empty. “You must have Leo placements,” he mutters.

“Moon and Mars, actually. Lucky guess.”

He gestures for you to take the seat in front of him. “Mm, not really luck, they’re just really good at lying.”

“And what am I lying about?”

Jimin ignores your question. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and says, “When’s your birthday?”

“Aren’t you the astrologer? Take a guess.” Jimin just stares, looking endlessly amused. Eventually you huff and answer. “March 15th.”

Overdramatic as always, Jimin fake-gags. “A Pisces sun with a Leo moon? Horrendous, truly. How do you function?”

“Stunted, clearly.”

He actually laughs at this, rewarding you with a brilliant smile and an endearingly crooked front tooth. “No matter.” He shakes his head, blond locks falling elegantly around his face as if arranged by the gods themselves. “You may have a truly tragic sun-moon pairing, but it bodes well for you and that neurotic mess of a best friend you’re fake-dating.”

You choke so hard Jimin actually offers you a glass of water.)

Dinners are spent as a five-piece. Seokjin asks more idiotic questions, such as are eyebrows considered facial hair, which prompts a very deep exhale from Yoongi, and did Adam and Eve have bellybuttons, which sends Taehyung into an existential crisis he’s yet to recover from.

Sometimes there are bonfires on the beach at night during which Jungkook plays an acoustic guitar and sings like an angel. Hoseok is conspicuously absent during these.

He’s also absent during your nightly routine. You shower, smear your skincare all over your face, and brush your teeth alone. You change into your pajamas and crawl into your side of the bed alone. By night three, you’re so annoyed you build a pillow wall between the two of you that you instruct Hoseok, under threat of bodily harm, not to demolish.

On the morning of day five, you’re awake before the sun. You sit in the darkness for a while, listening to Hoseok’s soft breaths on the other side of the pillow wall. He hasn’t gone five days without talking to you in twenty years. Even when he’d threatened you over his high school girlfriend, you were back in his good graces within 48 hours, and all of this for what? Because your mother is kind of an asshole and you’re kind of jealous and Hoseok is kind of self-centered sometimes?

“Hobi,” you say, leaning over the wall to nudge his shoulder. “Hobi, wake up.”

He doesn’t budge, mouth hanging open as he continues snoring quietly, these little hiccups of breath every now and then. All you can do is sigh. “Hoseok.” Nothing. “Jung Hoseok,” you try again, voice hardened into a baseless threat. He keeps snoring.

You groan, run your hands over your face in exasperation. Stupidly, you’d assumed that Hoseok would be easier to wake up now that he’s a Very Important Person worth millions of dollars. Clearly he’s not. So you throw the duvet off your legs and stumble to the bathroom in the dark. Brush your teeth and wash your face and throw on a loose long-sleeved shirt and a pair of yoga pants. It’s the weekend, so you’re free to do as you please, no mandated schedule, and you know exactly who you’re going to see.

Unsurprisingly, Taehyung is on the beach, cross-legged in the center of a large blanket close to the water but far enough away that the tide isn’t a concern. His curls are blowing gently in the breeze and every now and then he lets out a huff as he tries to flick them out of his eyes. No wonder Yoongi took pity on him back in that hostel in Thessaloniki. You’ve barely known him a week and are already hopelessly endeared by him.

“Good morning,” he says, eyes closed. Even the sun is barely awake this early, but it spills across Taehyung’s cheeks in dusky, golden rays nonetheless. “The beach is beautiful at this hour, isn’t it?”

Ah, so Taehyung’s one of those. Chatty at all hours, just like Hoseok. You groan. “Yeah, sure.”

“I have a thermos of coffee if you want some.”

“You just carry around thermoses of coffee?”

Taehyung laughs. “No. I don’t drink it, but I always make some in the morning and put it in a thermos in case today’s the day Yoongi decides to wake up before noon and join me.”

You eye the empty space next to him. “I’m guessing today’s not the day.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “After forcing him to wake up at 6am to do yoga the last few days? I might never see him again.”

“It’d be deserved, in his defense.”

Taehyung seems to think on this. Has a laugh just as airy as the gentle ocean wind, one that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world. So much like Hoseok. You wonder if you’re like Yoongi. If you’re just as closed off but more talkative. You wonder if there’s a reason Yoongi holds his cards so close to his chest or if he simply sees no reason for anyone to know him. He’s got Taehyung and fifteen languages and a lifetime’s worth of stories, what more could he need? “You’re probably right. Where’s your other half?”

“Also asleep.”

“Wow,” Taehyung deadpans, “there are parallels everywhere.”

You don’t know him well enough to know how he means it. If it’s sardonic and taking the piss out of that sort of thing the way Yoongi would mean it, or if he’s genuine how Hoseok would be. So you just hum a maybe-agreement and stare out at the ocean.

Truth be told, you’re not sure why Taehyung was the one you wanted to find. He just seems like the type to know a lot about relationships, people. Seems like someone who’d meet and befriend more people in a day than you would in five years, so someone like that’s gotta have some sort of answers.

“How long have you and Yoongi been together?”

“Oh. A long time. I was nineteen when I went to Greece and Yoongi was twenty-one, but it was such bad timing, you know? Like, I was only two months into a year-long trip, and Yoongi has to be dragged into everything kicking and screaming, so we didn’t reconnect for over a year after we met.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

Taehyung smiles: small, tender, fond. “A little, yeah, but I think that sort of stuff is inconsequential in the long run. What’s a year’s worth of distance when you’ve got the rest of your lives?” He shifts on the blanket, a frown dragging down the corners of his mouth. “Although I went to Australia a month later and got bit by this huge fucking spider, so I guess the rest of my life was questionable for a while. In that case, yeah, it would’ve been really hard.”

You hum again, and in a need to fill the silence, Taehyung asks, “What about you and Hoseok?”

“What about us?”

“How long have you been together?”

We’re not, really, sits on the tip of your tongue. Jimin has already seen straight through the bullshit, so why not Taehyung, too? What’s the worst that can happen—they kick you out because you’re not a proper couple? What does that even mean? You’ve known Hoseok for twenty years. You watched him grow into a successful, kind, intelligent adult from a stupid-as-fuck eight-year-old. You’ve watched him fall in love and get his heart broken and piece it back together again. You know his takeout orders and his favorite color and the movies he still cries over but lies and says he doesn’t. You know the smell of his mother’s perfume when she squeals and hugs you like you’re her own. You’re one of two-hundred followers on Hoseok’s private Instagram account—the one you and Namjoon and Hoseok’s sister always join forces to bully him on when he tries posting a thirst trap.

You know what Hoseok looks like when he cries. You know what he’s like when he’s vulnerable and insecure and you know how to be a pillar for him when he’s like that, and he knows the same about you.

Some couples don’t have half of that, so what does it mean or even matter if your coupling is proper? Isn’t what you have enough?

You sigh. “We grew up together. I’ve known him for twenty years.”

“Oh.” Taehyung sucks in a breath. “I thought you’d said—”

“Yeah,” you interject. “We’re not, like, romantically involved.” Another sigh. “It’s a long story.”

Taehyung just smiles, looks at you with those butter-soft eyes, and you’re diving into twenty years of history and backstory. You tell him about punching the kid on the bus. You tell him about Hoseok’s first serious girlfriend in high school and how it made your stomach hurt—

(“Because you had a crush on him?”

“What? No.”

“Hm. Okay.”)

—and you tell him about your mother and all her misplaced pride. He laughs at every story you tell him about Namjoon and how you and Hoseok wound up at this weird wellness retreat. He stops laughing when you tell him that you and Hoseok haven’t spoken properly in days, and his eyebrows get very serious when you admit it’s the reason you came to find him.

“You just look like someone who might know how to help me fix it,” you finish.

Taehyung tries—and fails—to not look pleased as punch at this. “I’m generally very unhelpful. Well, Yoongi says I’m not-not helpful, but sometimes I try to help too much and wind up making things worse.” You shoot him a dubious look. “I won’t do that this time, though, I promise! Please consider me your official relationship fixer.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”

“It probably isn’t, if I’m being totally honest, but if I can manage to make Min Yoongi fall in love with me, I’m extremely overconfident I can do just about anything.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

He claps his hands together. “Great! We can start with you apologizing and telling him you’ve been acting out due to temporary insanity on the basis of being in love with him for years and never saying anything.”

“Excuse me—”

“It’s best to be extremely honest about these sorts of things as to leave no room for misinterpretation or misunderstandings,” Taehyung says, tone condescending like you’re a child though it’s working overtime to not sound that way. At your slack jaw, Taehyung’s eyes grow wide. “Have you seriously never thought about it?”

“Me and Hoseok?”

Of course you’ve thought about it, it was just dismissed immediately each time. You love Hoseok; he’s the most important person in your life, and that’s exactly why you shooed those intrusive thoughts away every time they crept up. You’re not generally one to overthink on consequences, but Hoseok is always an idea you’ve treated with kiddie gloves. Something delicate. Something placed in an enclosure with 21mm glass walls and eighteen security alarms. So, sure, you’ve thought about it in the same way you’ve thought about winning the lottery or telling your PhD advisor to fuck off and moving to some remote island paradise where there’s always someone to wait on you hand and foot.

Of course you’ve thought about you and Hoseok, in the same way you think about all inevitable things (like the heat death of the universe) and also impossibilities, both wistful and staunch.

“Yeah,” you eventually answer. “Of course I have.”

Taehyung blinks owlishly. “I thought for sure you were gonna deny it.” Then the smile is back and it makes his eyes glitter like tiny stars. “But that’s great! The first step is admitting you have a problem, or whatever. Anyway! Do you still have feelings? Yoongi thinks I’m bad at reading people”—Yoongi is right, you think—“but I’ve seen the way he looks at me a million times, and sometimes that’s the same way Hoseok looks at you. So I think you should tell him.”

Snorting, you turn your gaze to the ocean. Even the water seems to still be sleepy at this hour, the waves small and gentle as they lap against the shore. “Maybe later on. Getting rejected a few days into a month-long trip doesn’t really sound like my idea of fun.”

Face scrunched up in disgust, Taehyung whines, “You wouldn’t! You’re gonna waste all this time because you think you’d get rejected when in actuality all you’re doing is wasting some really great glass walls to fuck against.”

You blanch. You can say, with one hundred percent conviction, that you’ve never thought about sleeping with Hoseok. Okay, so that’s not entirely true. There was the one time you had to defend him from Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter when they threatened to eat him and one person suggested sparing him because, excessive wealth aside, he had big dick energy. That’d given you pause. Did Hoseok have a big dick?

“No way,” you retort, “Hoseok is like a Ken doll. Completely smooth from the waist down. Dickless.”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Another L for the gay community.”

Hoseok sleeps until noon.

You’ve already washed the sea salt from your hair and returned to the rental house with your own small haul of gift shop magnets by the time he stirs awake, groggy and looking worse for wear. “Wha’ time s’it?” he slurs, voice far too deep for you to remain unaffected.

“Just after twelve,” you answer. “I can make you some coffee if you want.”

All you get in response is a muffled groan, Hoseok’s dandelion bed-head disappearing under the fluffy duvet once again. You’ve known him long enough to know that means yes, to know he takes his coffee with far too much cream and sugar, the liquid something close to bone white by the time he’s done adding and mixing.

You set the mug on his nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over to peel down the duvet and scratch at his scalp. “Coffee’s ready, sunshine.” Eyes still sealed shut, you move your fingers lower to tickle at his neck. “C’mon, Hobi, you’re pissing away another beautiful day in paradise.” You don’t bother telling him it’s overcast and drizzling; not like it matters, because Hoseok groans again and swats your hand away before shoving his head under his pillow.

He says something you can’t catch, words unintelligible beneath layers of down. “What’d you say?” you ask. When his head pops up, expression frustrated and cheeks flushed red, you poke the dimple in his left cheek. He has to fight off a smile.

“I asked why you’re being so nice to me.”

You frown. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

Hoseok sighs. Adjusts until he’s sitting up, long, skinny legs tangled in the comforter. Something about his hands is so interesting he’s unable to focus on anything else. “Because I’ve been a dick to you.” When you move to protest, he tacks on, “And not just on this trip, either. For a while.” For a second, you think he might cry. Hoseok used to cry a lot as a kid—had too much empathy for such a small body to know what to do with so all the excess tended to leak out. “God, there was so much I didn’t know? Like your majors? And the yoga? I just…” He trails off, looks lost. Picks up the coffee mug just to do something with his hands. “It feels bad. It just feels really bad.”

You return his sigh, wishing Hoseok was a little less honest. Always the first to put himself out there, be vulnerable, and sometimes it’s nice and sometimes it makes you feel guilty. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” he argues.

You hold up a hand. “I know where you’re coming from, and I get it. I would probably feel bad, too, if I were in your position.” He whimpers, earning a soft laugh from you. “But I’m telling you it’s okay. I don’t blame you, all right? I never have. I don’t lay in bed at night agonizing over it. This isn’t like that for me.”

“Then what’s it like?”

You hum, knowing this is a moment to handle with care. You can’t be reckless here. So you think it over, and you say, “It’s… I don’t think this happened because you don’t care, because I know you do. I know I’m your best friend in every way someone can be your best friend, and you’re my best friend in all the ways someone can be mine. It’s just that those two things look different, is what I’m saying. And I think that’s okay.”

“It’s unbalanced.”

You nod. “Yeah, maybe it is, but sometimes that happens. It hasn’t always been unbalanced.”

This seems to calm him, and his smile is slow, reluctant, but it’s there nonetheless. “Okay.” He exhales the weight of the world. “Okay. I’d still like to be better, though.”

“We have all the time in the world, Seok.”

You normally eat most of your meals with Taehyung and Yoongi anyway, but since your conversation on the beach, Taehyung attaches to you like a limpet.

The first time had been unnerving. He’d cornered you outside the dining hall, stomach rumbling even as he demanded to know everything, please spare nothing, no detail is too small. There hadn’t been much to report, just that the two of you had talked and things were better.

“Did you tell him you’re in lo—” had earned him an elbow to the ribs.

He hasn’t asked again.

But he’s still hard to shake during mealtime, especially breakfast, because he wakes up ready to talk, conversation locked and loaded on his tongue. Yoongi, of course, doesn’t talk at all, so he offloads onto you and Hoseok, who’s too good-natured to ask for some peace and quiet.

“Seokjin asked me last night if water was wet,” he says, spearing a long piece of pineapple on his fork. “Like, obviously it’s wet? It’s water.”

“It isn’t, though,” you argue. “Water is just water. Wet is a state—”

Taehyung, cheeks bulging around the fruit like a hamster, frowns. “Huh? No. California is a state.”

Yoongi faceplants onto the table.

“No, Tae.” You shake your head. “Like, a state of being. Water makes other things wet, but it’s not wet itself.”

His frown deepens. Looks to Yoongi for help, clarification, but he’s still face-down, so he looks to Hoseok instead. He, very steadfastly, says, “She’s weirdly smart, man. I dunno. I’m not arguing with her.”

“Why? Because you’re also—” Another elbow to the ribs. He coughs, makes a very valiant attempt to look cool, calm, and collected. “You’re also very smart, Hoseok,” he amends. “I am very interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“In business, though. I’m not really smart in science stuff.”

“Interesting,” Taehyung muses. “Would you say you’re smart in love?”

Hoseok is good-natured enough to look genuinely confused. “Huh?”

Yoongi finally picks his head up. Sends Taehyung some kind of look that must mean something to only the two of them, because Taehyung just sighs, put-upon, and shoves a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. He doesn’t talk to Hoseok for the rest of the day.

Two weeks pass in a blur.

The schedule remains the same. Yoga, shared meals, weird quasi-therapy sessions which you have come to realize are just minor cult recruiting, bonfires on the beach. You and Hoseok stay up late talking and barely make it on time to whatever activity you have first thing in the morning. Jimin corners you at least once a week to talk about your “fucked up and frankly demonic” birth chart because he refuses to believe it’s real. Jungkook offers to teach the four of you how to surf but abandons that five minutes into the first session after Yoongi refuses to touch sand and Hoseok nearly passes out from seeing Jungkook shirtless.

…Which Taehyung catches, of course, because he just sidles up alongside you. Says, “Ooh, interesting,” again, in a really smug way, before intercepting Jungkook and leading him far, far away from the beach. You think he winks at you over his shoulder.

Bastard.

But it works, much to your surprise. Of course the two of you have talked it to death, but part of Hoseok’s bid to be better also seems to include being more tactile. Which… is nice, you’ll admit. Hoseok’s fingers are long and slender and perfectly manicured, his hands soft, so it feels nice when they play with your hair or scratch gently at your back or hold your hand, but it also fills you with an anxious kind of dread.

Uncertainty, maybe.

You know how these things work. Forced proximity, only one bed. You’re two-thirds of a psychologist, after all, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok is just caught up in the moment, at the relief of overcoming an obstacle and making it to the other side. (God knows the bender he’d gone on after graduating business school attests to that.)

Curiously, none of that stops you from leaning into it.

It doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t feel awkward or strange or anything besides natural. Hoseok’s bare face is the last thing you see before you fall asleep and the first thing you know you’ll see when you wake up, and just having that certainty, that security, makes the early mornings bearable. It makes them something worth looking forward to. It makes all the tension in your body unwind. Makes you pliable, has you laughing freely and leaning into Hoseok’s side during all those meals Taehyung spends talking. Except he’s not talking so much anymore—now, he’s studying. Smiling. Sending little glances only you and Yoongi catch.

Everything comes to a head at another of Seokjin’s weird dinners.

“A question for your discussion,” he begins, and you swear you hear Yoongi groan under his breath. When you look over at him, he’s nonchalantly chewing his food, no indication at all that he made a sound for the first time in two and a half weeks, so you convince yourself you’re hallucinating. “If no one ever sneezed again, how long do you think it’d take you to notice?”

Yoongi must feel you looking this time, because he offers up a dead stare in return. While Taehyung and Hoseok debate their answers—

(“Well, I work in an office, so probably not long.”

“Ah. I work from home, but I think it’d be pretty obvious? Especially during allergy season.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s one of those things you’d definitely notice. It’s like—you know when you’re cooking and finally turn off the vent hood and the quiet is a little disorienting? It’d be like that, I think. Like, you definitely—”

“You notice something’s absence more than you notice its presence.”

“Yeah! Yes, exactly.”)

—that dead stare of Yoongi’s morphs into something more mischievous, slow like molasses. He catches your eye, winks, and fakes a yawn.

Taehyung startles, like he forgot Yoongi had been sitting next to him the entire time. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse him,” he says, cheeks dusting pink. “Someone told him once he’d been a rock in a past life and it catches up with him every now and then.”

Seokjin lets out a high-pitched giggle, looking absolutely delighted at this. “A rock, huh? Fascinating. Please tell me all about it.”

“Well, I think a lot of people would assume igneous, but that’s always seemed a little shallow to me, you know? I think he’s more metamorphic—”

As Taehyung rambles on, Seokjin turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “What about you two? What do you think you were like in a past life?”

“He had to have been a monk or something,” you declare, poking the crater of one of Hoseok’s dimples. “He’s been hoarding good karma for centuries and cashed it all in for this lifetime.”

“Aish,” Hoseok replies, cheeks matching Taehyung’s as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I don’t know about all that. It’s just luck, isn’t it?”

You look at Hoseok. Really look at him—at the way his lips curl around his teeth as he tries not to laugh at the way Taehyung’s still going on about rocks; at the way he pouts and gags a little whenever he takes a sip of champagne; at the way the stars in his eyes turn to glitter when Seokjin gives him an opening to talk about his dog. You look at Hoseok and you think yeah, it could be luck, but it feels more monumental.

It feels predestined.

And you’re not sure what that means. Of course friendships can feel predestined; you’re not one to discount the importance of platonic relationships. You’re not sure what it means in the context of yours and Hoseok’s friendship. You’re not sure if your stomach hurt back when Hoseok got a girlfriend back in high school because it was predestined to be platonic.

You frown as you swirl the wine around your glass.

Truth be told, you’re not sure about much of anything right now.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, patting your thigh to get your attention. You’re in a dress. A nice one: silk, a slit up the side, drapes perfectly over the lines of your body and clings where it should. Does absolutely nothing to spare you from the heat of Hoseok’s skin through the fabric. “You okay?”

You’re fucked, is what you are.

“Yeah,” you reply, offering what you can only hope is a convincing smile. “Think I drank this a little too fast.”

“Do you want to go back to the house? We don’t have to stay. Taehyung’s still talking about the difference between limestone and sandstone, so I don’t think we’ll miss anything.”

You nod, dropping your voice to a hushed whisper. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. They look like they’re about ten seconds away from mixing up geography and geology and being really offended when I don’t know anything about rocks.”

The two of you stand, and Hoseok’s hand immediately moves to the small of your back. Warm, warm, warm, and you can’t convince yourself it’s the wine that’s making you lightheaded.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Taehyung chimes, looking pleased as punch at the sight of Hoseok’s hand at your back. Throws an elbow into Yoongi’s ribs. He doesn’t even flinch. “And where are the two of you going?”

“Uh, home?” Hoseok answers at the same time you say, “Fuck off, Taehyung,” because your face feels like it’s on fire and you’ve had enough of his ribbing.

Except, as it turns out, some amalgamation of home and fuck off sounds a whole lot like home, to fuck, and Taehyung might’ve been serious about the matchmaking thing, but even this kind of misunderstood forwardness has him choking on his sip of wine. Yoongi slaps at his back in the most patronizing way you’ve ever seen someone try to save another person from choking.

“Is he okay?” Hoseok asks, completely oblivious.

You shrug. “No. In so many ways.”

Through his choking, Taehyung manages a glare. “Takes one to know one,” he childishly responds, and you roll your eyes at the exact moment Seokjin grins and does a little wiggle, starts up a very enthusiastic fight, fight, fight! chant.

The thing is—Taehyung is drunk. You know he’s drunk, so him overriding Seokjin’s chant with one of his own—kiss, kiss, kiss!��certainly excuses and explains his behavior, it does absolutely nothingto extinguish the wildfire that’s sparked in your belly.

It’s a bad idea.

You and Hoseok have kissed before, when you were twelve and he was thirteen and he landed on you during a game of Spin the Bottle. Everyone around you had erupted into excited jeering, but the two of you shared a mortified look before he shuffled over on his hands and knees looking less like he was about to have his first kiss and more like he was being dragged to his death.

Looking back, that had been offensive, but he’d still puckered his lips and kissed the pout off your face all the same.

So it’s a bad idea, and you should tell Taehyung that the two of you have already kissed and to knock it off, because the second time you kiss shouldn’t only be to shut him up, but you’re both a little drunk in general and a lot drunk on the thought of redemption. If you pursed your lips the way he had fifteen years ago, leaned in close enough for him to smell your perfume, would he wear another mortified look? Or would he—

Fuck it, you think.

Because, once he realizes you’re serious, that you’re actually considering kissing him, the look he wears is not mortified. He looks a little awestruck—slightly dumb, if you’re being honest; definitely dazed—and it takes all that wildfire raging in your gut and unleashes it. Inspires just enough confidence to step closer, lean in; close enough to feel the warmth emanating from Hoseok’s skin, but still far enough for him to pull away if he wanted to.

Hoseok doesn’t want to.

And his hands are already at the small of your back, so it’s so easy to pull you closer. So easy to move them to your hips, grip a little tighter just in case you start to drift away. So easy to press his lips to yours and kiss the absolute life out of you.

You've kissed a lot of people over the span of fifteen years. None of them had lips as soft as Hoseok’s.

He must’ve done a lot of kissing, too, because the way he moves his mouth is sinful. Precise and confident, just a tease of his tongue. You can feel his smile against your lips and it nearly makes your knees buckle. Reminds you, more than the taste and smell of him, that it’s Hoseok you’re kissing, and the thought alone has you gripping at his dress shirt.

Any other time he’d complain about the wrinkles.

Not this one, though.

“Are you nervous?”

The question finds you halfway out of your dress. “Not really,” you answer. “I think my strap is stuck.”

A nervous laugh is punched out of him, but he moves to help you nonetheless. Gently touches your arm and spins you around, fingers ghosting along your skin as he untangles the strap and pushes it off your shoulder. The fabric pools on the floor, emerald and glittering, as you step out of it, and you laugh. It’s been three days since you and Hoseok kissed. The two of you have done a lot of kissing since then, and he’s still so hesitant; eyes still widen every time you lean in close, like he can’t believe it.

Hoseok is still so shy.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask, because keeping him talking is the best way to keep him out of his head. “It’s you.”

He whimpers, like that’s the worst possible reasoning you could’ve given him. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay if you are,” you say, turning around to fully face him, and Hoseok looks struck. Torn between the way his nerves are eating him alive and the sight of you in just a pair of lacy panties. “We can do whatever you want, Seok.”

“I—no.” He swallows hard. “No, no, I think—we should definitely… you know.” You quirk an eyebrow. “My dick is fighting for its life right now.”

You dare a glimpse downward. Hoseok’s dick doesn’t look like it’s fighting for its life, outlined and half-hard in his expensive trousers, but what do you know? “Taehyung asked me about your dick once.”

“What.”

“Well, not exactly. He’d asked me if I ever thought about having sex with you—”

Hoseok whimpers again. “Please do not tell me what your answer was.”

“—and I told him you were like a Ken doll.” At his questioning look, you clarify, “You know. Dickless. Smooth from the waist down.”

“Wow. Why would you tell me that? Not gonna lie, it’s a little emasc—”

“I might need to see it. For science.”

Hoseok startles. “M-my dick?”

“Yeah. For science,” you repeat. “Taehyung is gonna be thrilled. He called your dicklessness, and I quote, an L for the gay community.”

Your best friend seems to ponder this. His hands hover uselessly in the air, and it’s ten seconds, twenty—you think he might call the whole thing off, but then he shrugs and undoes his belt, the metal clanky in his haste. “For the gays,” he explains as he pushes his pants down his thighs.

“Of course,” you agree, nodding seriously. “They deserve it.”

“What else did Taehyung say?”

“Nothing much. Just that we need to get our shit together because we’re wasting some really good windows to fuck against.”

Hoseok doesn’t fuck you against the windows the first time.

The first time is slow and unhurried. Because it’s Hoseok, he lights a candle and the two of you take your time touching, learning, shaking off the dregs of apprehension. He flushes crimson and nearly does a runner anytime something goes less than perfectly, and it’s so endearing you have to stop yourself from sinking through the mattress under the weight of all your affection.

The second time is all raw, desperate need. After a day of sly smiles reserved only for you, Hoseok meets you in the bathroom at the end of another night. There’s a spot of toothpaste on your sleep shirt that he disregards at the sight of your bare legs. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and then there’s only enough time for anticipation to start simmering beneath your skin before he’s moving.

(Technically, the third time is only a few hours later. Just like it has everyday since you arrived, your alarm goes off at six sharp, time for yoga, but instead of ushering you out of bed, Hoseok hits the snooze button and pulls you closer. Fits himself to your back and slides your panties to the side, speaks an is this okay? in his impossibly deep morning voice, and then you’re nodding your head and he’s pushing inside.)

Now, though—

Nerves have been shaken off. Another weird dinner has been sat through to which you’d worn a two-piece outfit, the top cropped just enough to show off a strip of skin—modest enough for the motley crew you share your evenings with, but apparently scandalous enough to drive Hoseok insane. He’s all barely-contained energy beside you, hand gripping your thigh, not paying a lick of attention to the conversation.

You lean over, speak the question just below his ear. “You okay?” Goosebumps erupt all over his skin.

“We need to leave right now.”

“Really? Why? You aren’t having a good time?”

Hoseok makes you pay for your smart mouth. Has you pressed against the expanse of windows in your bedroom, stripped down to just your underwear and the top he insisted you keep on, only your shoulders pressed against the glass. Presses wet, open-mouth kisses along your calves, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and then he’s canting your hips forward to nip at you over your underwear. More silk and lace—thin enough to feel the warmth of his breath, then nothing but warmth when he licks a stripe up your folds, spit seeping through the fabric.

“Fuck.”

He does it once, twice more before he leans back, refuses to meet your gaze. Your brows furrow because your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging as you try to get him to look up at you, wanting to see the evidence of your arousal on his face, but then he’s smirking out of the side of his mouth, hands reaching for your underwear.

You register the cold air of the room on your skin before the sound of fabric ripping.

Then you’re saying, “What the fuck, Hobi, did you just—” and he’s laughing as he nods, not a care in the world except getting his mouth back on you. He licks and sucks until you’re nearly trembling with the need to come, begging him to let you, and you think if you were anyone else he’d drag it out longer. Make you beg a little more. But regardless of whatever he’s told himself over the years in order to cope, Hoseok can’t deny you anything, so he presses two fingers inside, right on the spot that whites out your vision.

He touches himself to the sight of your orgasm.

Rolls the condom on. Runs his cock through your folds, tells you to slick him up. As he presses inside again, crowding close, breath fogging the glass behind you, he tells you to thank Taehyung for the idea.

You’re gonna have to thank him for a whole lot more than that.

In hindsight, you should’ve known Namjoon was nothing more than a dirty little schemer.

There’s three days left of your stay, and the question had been nagging at you ever since you cut through the reception area to get to the meditation class you were running late for. Jimin, of course, gave you shit for it: wordlessly, because he was busy checking in a man with far too much luggage. A man who was checking in alone, and that was not a thing, so far as you were aware, so your curiosity was to be expected.

“Can I just ask,” you say, once again in Jimin’s strange little room behind the beaded curtain. “Why a couple’s retreat?”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t it less effective for Seokjin’s weird cult? Like, statistically speaking, you’ve got to be more likely to recruit single people, right?”

“Huh?”

You blink. “What part is confusing you? And don’t say the cult, because I had that pegged on, like, day three.”

“No,” Jimin agrees quickly, “Seokjin is definitely officiating a cult. I just—why do you think this is a couple’s retreat?”

“Uh, because Namjoon said it was? That’s why me and Hoseok are faking being a couple—”

“Were. Were faking.”

“—and it just sort of made sense, considering the people who showed up after us were literally a couple.”

Jimin sighs, schools his expression to the one he always uses when he has to be condescending and speak to you as if you’re a woefully stupid child. “I don’t know who Namjoon is, but I’m assuming he lied in order to get you two to do… exactly what you’ve done.”

“What.”

“This isn’t a couple’s retreat, buttercup, just a regular ol’ wellness one.”

“That Seokjin also uses as his cult recruitment headquarters.”

“Yep.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“Pisces usually do.”

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused,” he dismisses, shooing you out of his closet.

Despite his innocent nature, Hoseok isn’t nearly as shocked as you to learn Namjoon deceived him.

That’s life, I guess, was all he’d said, the picture of comfort and nonchalance as he lounged in bed, wrapped in a fluffy robe, arm behind his head like a king. You had been shocked—no longer at the betrayal, but at Hoseok’s quick acceptance of it. Hoseok from a month ago would’ve been flustered and on the brink of a meltdown. Hoseok today just shrugs it off.

“I’m just saying.” He dangles a stem of grapes over his mouth like an asshole. “Jimin called it a wellness retreat, right? I didn’t get roped into Seokjin’s cult and we’re… well, whatever we are, so a win is a win. Seems like wellness to me.”

“Whatever we are,” you mimic, pitching Hoseok’s voice up a dozen octaves. “Wow, how romantic.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, pats the spot next to him on the bed. “If you’d like to come over here, we can have the highly-anticipated ‘what are we’ discussion that no one in the history of human relationships has ever once dreaded having.”

You wave him off. “No need. It’s you, and I trust you, so I don’t think we’re going to go back home and you’re going to write this off as a weird forced proximity thing and ghost me.” You finish the application of your facemask, laughing to yourself at Hoseok’s offended scoff. “Besides, constantly having to defend you from Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter is the pinnacle of devotion and love. That’s the kinda shit that forms a trauma bond.”

“For my peace of mind, then.”

“Fine. Hoseok, I love you dearly as my best friend and I’m probably halfway in love with you as a romantic partner, and even though this vacation has been incredible and rewarding and you are very good at sex, I am also very much looking forward to having my own space again because you are almost impossible to live with.” You roll your lips at the sour expression marring his face. “That said: you still owe me dinner at the Brazilian spot near your office, so I would like it very much if you took me there as a date. You can tell Namjoon I’m your girlfriend if you wish.”

“And are you?”

“Ugh. Of course I am, Hobi. What do you take me for? You think I’m the kind of woman who agrees to spend a month in the rainforest and almost get roped into some sketchy cult with anyone who asks?”

“Well, I don’t know! Maybe!”

“You’re impossible. Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?”

At this, Hoseok’s face lights up so bright it puts the sun to shame. Smiles so big you can hardly believe it. “I would love nothing more.”

During your last group meal, Seokjin invites the new guy to join you.

Taehyung is enthralled immediately, gesturing for him to take the empty seat to his left. “Hello, nice to meet you! I’m Kim Taehyung and this is Min Yoongi. Are you here for the wellness retreat part or the cult part?”

Seokjin chokes on a slice of mango.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kim Taehyung. I’m Park Bogum,” the man responds. “I’m here for the cult part.”

Seokjin promptly stops choking.

Saying goodbye to this place, these people, is bittersweet.

The last four weeks have undoubtedly been the weirdest of your life, but they’ve more than made up for it with what you’ve been given in return: a blossoming relationship with Hoseok, Taehyung and Yoongi’s friendship. Even Jimin and Jungkook come to see you off, and Jimin surprises you by wrapping you in a tight hug, assuring you that you’ll still be his second-favorite Pisces long after you’re gone.

“Wow, rude. Who’s the first?”

“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi? How is he your favorite? He doesn’t talk!”

Jimin smirks, smug and patronizing. “Exactly. Have a safe trip, buttercup.”

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t say much at all. You suspect he showed up only to look hot and catapult Hoseok into his final sexuality crisis, and that suspicion is confirmed when he leans against the wall and pushes his hair away from his forehead. The sound that comes out of Hoseok is part whimper, part pain and suffering, and truly catastrophic for his ego.

“Get it together,” you plead, but it falls on deaf ears. Hoseok is in a Jungkook-induced haze until you’re halfway to the airport, Taehyung chattering the entire way.

And then—

And then.

“Well, that was fucking weird, huh?” Yoongi asks.

Hoseok is running late.

He’s gotten better at equalizing his work-life balance since returning from your trip, but he still gets held up sometimes. A lot to catch up on, he’d said, and you can understand that. He’d spent his first week back doing nothing but haranguing Namjoon, so that surely ate up a lot of time.

Still, he’s never been quite this late.

The waitstaff are looking at you with concern. They used to look at you only to see if your water needed topping up, so this is an unfortunate development, especially for someone who looks as you currently do. Any person in this overpriced Brazilian steakhouse would be honored to even sit at the same table as you, let alone be able to call you their date, so Hoseok really has a lot of nerve.

You’re halfway to telling him as much over a very angry text message when he appears in front of you, face flushed, chest heaving, hairline dotted with sweat. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Got a little caught up.”

“No shit,” you whisper-yell, “that waiter over there looked like he was about ready to call the cops on me. I probably can’t even afford the water in this place.”

Hoseok grimaces. “In my defense, I have a very good reason.”

“Oh yeah?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. “And what is that?”

Wordlessly, Hoseok hands over a garishly orange shopping bag emblazoned with a very familiar logo and brand name. Suddenly, it feels impossible to breathe. “You didn’t. Hobi, tell me you didn’t—”

“You know how much bullshit you have to go through for one of those things? God, I had to put in a request. Not to mention it was like fourteenseparate credit checks…”

You tune him out. Instead, you peek inside the bag with what you can only describe as pure dread. Not at the implication, because that has you thrumming with joy and affection, but at the cost of—

“You got me a Birkin.”

Hoseok looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “Um. That’s what you said you wanted, right?”

“You said you weren’t spending that much money on anyone who isn’t your future spouse.”

The look doesn’t budge. “Yeah? I’m clearly not following.”

“When did you put in the request?” If your voice is audibly waterlogged, Hoseok doesn’t mention it, but you can feel the tears pooling at your lash line nonetheless.

The confusion finally clears and gives way to another brilliant smile. A little bashful, too, because he hides behind the menu and refuses to look at you. Says something you don’t catch, can’t hear over the dim chatter of this restaurant, and he groans in pleased faux-annoyance when you tell him to repeat himself.

“I said… I put it in the night you kissed me.”

It feels like you’ve been punched in the chest. “You’ve known that long?”

And Hoseok—Hoseok ducks behind the menu again, but this time you can hear him loud and clear: “I’ve known a lot longer than that.”

author's note pt. 2: if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, any reblogs are greatly appreciated and my inbox is always open for feedback. ♡

#hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x y/n #jhope x reader #hobi x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok smut #hoseok imagine #hoseok fanfic #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic

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machetegirl109 · 10 months

Text

Synopsis: During a hot day at the beach with your friends, the sexual tension between you and Ellie leads the both of you to the passenger seat of her truck; again. *inspiration: tudo aconteceu by mc du black*

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, F/F, modern!AU, suggestive and offensive language, weed&alcohol, smut, dry humping, very good vibes, loser!ellie x reader

important info about my stories here

©machetegirl109 (credits to tudo aconteceu by mc du black that inspired me to write this) DO NOT copy/steal my work OR post it on any platforms

Word Count: 2.2k+

Oneshot: It All Happened

❝︎i fell in love

now i miss you endlessly❞︎

It was a hot day. The sun shined bright and no dark clouds were visible in the sky; it was the perfect day to go to the beach, and oh, Ellie was dying to. As soon as Dina texted her, demanding that she’d meet her, Jesse and you at the beach, excitement formed at the pit of her stomach as she hurriedly changed from her sleepwear to a black triangle two-piece set, anticipating seeing you again. She wondered what swimsuit you would wear this time, if it was the colored one that flattered the tone of your skin, or that Brazilian cut bikini that perfectly displayed your pretty ass.

Ellie put on a pair of light washed jean shorts, not bothering to put on a shirt and stepping into her simple havaianas. Grabbing a tote back and packing it with some necessities like a towel, water bottles and sunscreen, as well as a tin of Altoids that was filled with some pre-rolls. She gets into her truck and makes her way to the beach, quietly singing along to the song that plays on the radio. The memory of you on top of her, wearing nothing but a wet bikini bottom and a blunt between your fingers replayed inside her head – What I’d give to see her all high and fuck out on my lap again she thought and her blood felt like electricity as it flowed through her veins all the way down to her core.

After driving for about an hour, she finally arrives and parks her car in a more secluded area before the entry of the beach — The spot was hidden behind some palm trees that blocked surrounding vision, making it the perfect place to spend some alone time with you later. Ellie takes her things and heads to the beach, her eyes wander around until she spots Jesse sitting on his sunchair; head laid back, eyes closed towards the sunny sky and body spread on in as he holds a cold Heineken can. Upon hearing someone approach him, Jesse turns his face to his side, looking at Ellie who’s setting her tote bag onto the burning sand and taking a seat on the chair next to his.

“Ellieee, ‘sup, my friend!” He reaches his hand towards hers, exchanging a dap greeting. Ellie smiles and he continues. “There’s some drinks on the cooler right there,” Jesse points to a small light-blue icebox a few steps from them. “And some snacks on the bag beside it,” She nods looking at the black backpack. “Feel free to take whatever you want; Dina and Y/N are taking a swim.” Ellie turns her gaze to the wide blue ocean, watching as you and Dina laugh splashing the water around.

“Thanks. You getting in, too?”

“Yeah, just wanted to drink a bit and catch a tan first.” Ellie stands and walks towards the cooler, opening and getting a beer. Going to sit again, she opens it and takes a sip, the cold liquid refreshing her throat as she lays her back onto the beach chair. “What about you, gonna take a dip with Y/N?” She chuckles and turns her face away from him.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,”

“Haa, I’m not so sure about that. You think we don’t know what y’all were up to in your car when we came to the beach last week?”

“We just… Talked. And- and we hotboxed.” She trips over her words, shy over the little escapade you two had.

“Whenever two people who have insane sexual tension are together, in a closed space, they do a lot more than just talking.” Jesse proclaims as if it was a matter of fact and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Whatever… You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” He says proudly as he places his drink on the sand and stands up. “I’m gonna go play mermaids’ with Dina now, wanna come?”

“Not now, go ahead.” Ellie watches as Jesse lets out an alright and he begins to walk towards the crystalline water, swimming towards you and Dina who smiles as he approaches. Soon the three of you engage in a conversation following up by Jesse making an exaggerated mermaid act, causing you and Dina to swim a little further from him.

“Can you two please stop being boring bitches and have fun?” He pleads, upset over the fact you nor his girlfriend wanted to act like kids in public.

“Yeah, no. I’m not gonna swim around and act stupid like you.”

“You’re just mad I have childlike wonder, Y/N.” He goes closer to Dina and wraps his arms around her. “Will you play with me, Dina? You can be Ariel and I’ll be Prince Eric.”

“We can reenact that scene where he drowns but instead of saving you I just swim away.” Dina suggests and he lets an annoyed huff out.

“Wow, I thought you loved me.”

“God, Jesse, when did you get so dramatic?” She hugs him back and he kisses her cheek. “I’ll play with you.”

“Y/N?” Jesse looks at you with puppy eyes and you hum. “Will you play with your dear friends?”

“No, but thanks for asking.” He kisses his teeth and throws the salty water in your direction. “Jesse!”

“You should go be boring with Ellie,” He says, pulling Dina closer to where the ocean got deeper. “She's by our stuff.” A smile appears on your face as Jesse lets you know she’s already here, you begin to swim back hurriedly, excited to see Ellie again. “They’re down bad for each other, huh?” Dina nods in agreement, the two of them watching you running towards the spot you all settled in when you arrived at the beach earlier this morning.

When Ellie sees you walking towards her, her green eyes sparkle with desire as she looks down at your body, almost exposed under the tiny bikini you’re wearing. You two exchange smiles with hidden intentions on it. When you finally stop in front of her chair, you lower yourself on her lap, pulling her into a hug; her body shivers as your cold wet body touches her hot one. Ellie takes in your scent, the mixture of sand and salty water into her nose as she presses her face onto the crook of your neck, making you only hug her even tighter.

“Hi Els,” You say softly as you pull back, looking at her face — Cheeks slightly red from the sun and her freckles more intense. “I wanted to see you so bad.” You confess shyly; not being able to take her off of your mind since the last encounter you two had.

“I wanted to see you, too.” Her hand comes up to your cheek, softly caressing it. “Did you not want to play mermaids with Jesse?” Ellie asks with humor in her voice and you chuckle.

“Yeah, I'd rather be around you,” Her smile widens and her hand falls to your naked thigh and your heartbeat falters. “Why didn’t you get in?” Ellie raises her other hand that holds her beer and gives it a little shake.

“I was just finishing up, and–” Ellie fingers trace up and down your soft skin, she looks down at your chest, covered by a small burgundy triangle top, and then backs up your eyes as she clears her throat. “To be honest, I was hoping you'd come here. I brought you something.” She leans forward on her beach chair with you still seated across both her legs, and places her can onto the sand, grabbing her tote bag. You observe her attentively as she removes a scratched metal tin and places it into your hands. Opening it, you see four perfectly wrapped blunts.

“Really? They're for me?” You give her a toothy smile, making her heart melt.

“Uhm. Just for you.” You close the tin and press a kiss onto Ellie's freckled cheek, who instantly holds your hips closer. You lean into her, moving your lips to her ear; giving a soft bite on her lobe. You can feel her body slightly shake under you – A naughty smile creeps up your face and you place one to the back of her neck, gripping it harshly as you pull her impossibly closer to you.

“You should take me to your car.” Your warm breath hits down her ear as you whisper and an almost inaudible moan escapes her lips. Ellie stands causing you to be back on your feet again and she quickly holds your empty hand, pulling you towards the beach entry with her. You try to keep up with her pace as you follow behind, and soon enough you two reach her old truck that hides behind the palm trees. Not being able to wait anymore, she presses you against the door and smacks a kiss onto your lips. Her soft lips carry a slight taste of the beer she was previously drinking.

You place your arms around her shoulders and Ellie clutches your hip with one hand as the other one moves down your thigh, grabbing it and bringing it up making you close your leg around her waist. She bites your bottom lip and pulls it forward with her teeth, her head going back as you reach her face to kiss her again. Before you're able to press them together again, she lets go of it and drops your leg back on the ground: giving your ass a slap as she pulls you away from the door.

Ellie opens the passenger seat door and enters; getting comfortable onto the seat as she pats both her hands over her thighs that are uncovered on her small low waist jean shorts.

“C’mere, pretty.” With no need to tell you twice, you get in, setting yourself on top of her with each of your legs divided on her sides; you throw the small metal tin on the driver’s seat. You press a small kiss on her lips before they make their way down her neck – One of her hands meets your ass again; she squeezes it roughly, earning a moan from you, and the other closer to the door reaches for the handle, shutting it close. “You look for fucking hot wearing that,” You move your lips back to hers and soon you two start a heavy and messy make out session.

Sinking your teeth into the plumpiness of her bottom lip, she opens her mouth allowing your tongue to move in and hers, too, explores the inside of your mouth. You grip her short locks tightly and she groans inside the kiss; both her hands holding onto each side of your asscheeks, rocking you back and forth above her crotch.

As the moans of you two start to get louder and louder each time your hips hit towards hers, you break the kiss; planning your hands on the sides of the headstand as Ellie tries to open her legs as much as she can in order to feel your clothed cunt rub against hers. She stares deep in your eyes, holding onto you as if you were about to run away, Ellie starts to move you against her even faster and rougher.

“Shit–” Her chest raises up and down fastly, her lungs losing air as she sees you untying your top and discarding it beside the joint-filled altoids. She feels herself getting even wetter at the vision of your perky nipples; lowering her mouth on your boobs, she alternates between the two as she sucks and licks, bites and kisses. Adrenaline and lust run through your veins as you feel her warm muscle on your sensitive nipples.

“Els– ahh,” Pornography moans leave your mouth, you two reaching closer and closer to that final snap inside the pit of your stomachs. “Don't stop, don't stop, pleasepleaseplease,” Upon hearing your cries, Ellie moans along with you as she deliciously rubs your cunt more violently against her own. Her eyes roll back as she feels your hand move from her naked stomach to her covered chest, sliding it under her top and flicking her nipple.

“Baby, baby– I'm gonna cum,” Ellie announces as her mouth lets go of your tits with a wet plop. You nod your head, letting her know you will, too. “Kiss me,” Tending to her wish, you put your lips on hers, kissing it one last time before you two reach your releases’. As Ellie feels the creamy liquid drip inside her bikini bottoms, her guidance on your hips falter, making you slow down, too, riding out your high. “Holy fuck.”

You let yourself fall into her as tiredness hits you. Ellie moves her hands to your back, giving you a bear hug. As the two of you take your time to catch your breath, she presses kind and loving kisses over your face, making you giggle with adoration.

“You want to smoke a little?” Ellie asks, a hint of desperation on her voice as she has finally met the opportunity to get you looking all pretty with your eyes red and horny on her lap, again. You nod your head, excitement making its way through your body.

“Yes, I do!”

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#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou smut #loser!ellie #it all happened ellie williams #©machetegirl109

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the-record · 10 months

Text

when emma falls in love

synopsis: ellie might be in love with you, and you might just be in love with her too… if only you could admit it

pairing: college!ellie x fem!reader

warnings: too many tlou references, food, not proofread!!!!! also using angel in place of y/n bc it makes me cringe a little!

a/n: lets play a game called “how many references can kate make in her fics?”

‘IM JUST PRETTY GREAT WITH MY FINGERS’

when emma falls in love, she paces the floor closes the blinds and locks the door when emma falls in love, she calls up her mom jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong

ellie couldn’t keep up.

she felt like every time dina came over, there was someone new in your life, and she couldn’t understand how. you were perfectly nice and even prettier.

but here she was, yet again in her dorm, listening to dina rant about the latest endeavor.

“and he was just a total dick! like, how are you going to say you’re busy tonight with family and then go to a party? like are you stupid?” dina sighed. “i love her, but god does she picks some idiotic ones. you remember the beach girl?”

oh she remembered the beach girl.

on an annual beach trip over spring break, some blonde had caught your eye, and you caught hers. you had invited her to join them for dinner, and how could anyone say no to you?

you hit it off with the blonde, abby, and she spent the next couple days with the group, constantly flirting with you. ellie had felt a sort of dread fill her stomach. why her? she was obviously playing in to what you wanted and she knew you were smart enough to see that.

the trip wrapped up and you made plans with abby, excited she only live a town over. but when the time came, you spent 3 hours at the park waiting for her, only to receive a text saying she wouldn’t be able to make it.

you were upset and crashed at dina’s, and ellie had heard about it all the night.

“yes, god, i remember her. what a douche.” she rolled her eyes, standing up to grab her bag for class. “i’ve gotta go, but are we all still going out tonight?” dina nodded with a smile. “cool. don’t do anything stupid. and lock my door before you leave, please.”

“says you. and i’ll think about it!”

shes walking out the door when she hits something, or someone.

“shit.”

“fuck, sorry my bad.”

when she focuses back, she sees you. “hey, what are you doing here?”

“oh, dina told me to come over. are you going?” you leaned in the doorway. “dina, come on, stop invading people’s space. lets go!”

she groaned, “but ellie said we could smoke here!” she got up nonetheless, heading to join you. “thanks anyways els, have fun in class!”

“bye ellie!”

she sighs as she watches you two walk away. why does air fill her head whenever shes around you?

she waits and takes her time ‘cause little miss sunshine always thinks its gonna rain when emma falls in love, i know that boy will never be the same

“so, angel, how’s it going with you and that girl?” jesse felt a kick at his leg and turned to dina. “what? am i not allowed to ask questions?”

“no, no, it’s fine. we didnt work out, but thats okay!” you smiled brightly at the table. “i think im gonna take a break anyways. im kinda sick of it.”

they all shared a knowing look. “hey, no! i promise, this is for real.”

“hun, its not that we don’t believe you.” ellie started. “iits just that… we dont believe you!” you groaned and stole a fry from her plate. “look, we’ve just heard that a lot, and we dont wanna see you get hurt.”

“but im not going to! because im taking a break.” you kicked ellie. “you dont have to believe me, but can you at least pretend to?” they gave in and cheered for you. “thanks, now who wants to share a brownie?”

“okay, so its c minor sharp, f sharp, b, e, repeat?” you and ellie sat on the dorm room floor, her guitars in both of your laps.

“yea exactly, just on the third repeat, its a g sharp minor instead of a b.” you nodded at her and plucked the chord. “exactly. and i pluck for it so just… just watch?”

she played the song slowly, speaking her pattern as she went along. you nodded at her when she finished, figuring you knew it well enough. “okay, play it together?”

“yep!”

she counted down before starting, making you smile.

“talking away, i dont know what im to say. ill say it anyway, todays another day to find you shying away. ill be coming for your love, okay.” you hummed a harmony as ellie sang the words.

“are you sure you don’t usually play? youre a total natural at this.” ellie marveled as you let the last chord hum out.

“i guess im just pretty good with my fingers.” you felt your cheeks blaze as you heard back what you said.

dina chuckled, “damn right!” she stood up, going for the door. “gonna grab a bottle of water. play more for us beautiful ladies!”

ellie taught you the rest of the song, both of you more awkward than usual. you really came along it so fast, ellie was amazed.

“okay, seriously, you have to be messing with me because you are way to good at this.”

“i promise! i only took piano lessons.”

‘cause shes the kind of book that you cant put down like if cleopatra grew up in a small town and all the bad boys would be good boys if they only had the chance to love her and to tell you the truth sometimes i wish i was her

ellie had a thought that she might be, maybe, just could be a little in love with you.

she couldnt be though. right?

sure, she knew all of your favorite foods, and knew the words to your favorite song, knew your favorite books like the back of her hand, could tell anyone how you took your coffee.

but that was friendly. you guys were friendly. friends.

she guessed you guys hung out a lot, but thats because they always hung out as a group. she might’ve gotten excited when you joined, but that doesnt mean anything.

and of course she had noticed you were pretty. gorgeous, even. but so had everyone else. its not like she had purposefully memorized your features. every line and mark.

she could draw jesse from memory perfectly, its not like she liked him.

it was normal.

totally normal.

fuck.

“where’s angel?” ellie asked, looking to dina.

“not coming.” she sighed, digging around her purse for a pack of gum. “said she was busy, but she wouldn’t say why.”

“i think we all know why,” jesse teased. they all gave him a look, but he leveled them with one of his own. “im not insulting her. its just that, this isn’t exactly out of her nature. i mean seriously, who actually took her promise seriously?”

ellie excused herself to the bathroom, dialing you before she even reached the door.

“hello?”

“hey, where are you?” she picked at the already chipping nail polish she had on.

“uhm, im out.” you sighed. “look, im kind of busy. did you need somet-“

she had to cut to the chase. “are you on a date?”

“excuse me?”

“are you on a date?”

“thats none of your business.”

“oh fuck off, you know it very much is. so. are you?”

“fine, yea i am. now can i get back to it?”

“we are talking later.”

she joined the group back at their table, but couldnt focus back in on the conversation.

“you okay, ellie?” she looked up at dina, nodding with a hum.

“yea, sorry, got lost for a second.”

when emma falls apart, its when shes alone she takes on the pain and bears it on her own ‘cause when emma falls in love, she’s in it for keeps she wont walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave

she didnt even bother to knock, just walked straight through your dorm room door.

“ellie, what the hell?” you were in bed, a book in hand and music playing from a speaker. “what happened to knocking?”

ellie b-lined for your bed, taking a seat at the foot of it. “why were you on a date?”

“dude, seriously, what if i was naked? so not okay!” you placed a bookmark on your page and set the book to the side.

“okay, fine im sorry!” she groaned and found your eyes. “now why were you on a date? what happened to taking a break?”

“what do you want me to say, els?” you exhaled and looked down at your hands. “that i cant keep anything? that i cant keep promises or partners?” ellie felt bad as she saw your eyes were glossy and the frown on your face. “im sorry im such a screwup and that i cant do anything right. anything else?”

ellie ran her fingers through her hair. “im sorry.” she crossed her legs on your bed and looked at you. “really im sorry, this was so uncalled for. youre right, its not my business. im really sorry. i just wan-“

she froze.

surely you couldnt be kissing her right now.

before she could even think to reciprocate, you pulled away, a deer in headlights look on your face.

“im so sorry.” you whispered moving away from her. “god, im so so sorry. you should go. im sorry.” she opened her mouth to try and say anything, but you beat her to it. “ellie, please, just go.”

she saw the tears well and felt compelled to stay. but her body went against her, forcing her feet to walk out the door to her own room.

e: you cant ignore me forever. read

e: please angel, just talk to me. read

e: you kissed me, not the other way around. stop making this my fault. read

e: millers, noon? just coffee, i promise. read

a: im sorry.

ellie tossed her phone at her bed.

“whats up with you?” dina probed. “youve been… peeved this week. whats up?”

“who the hell says peeved?” she tried to joke but was met with dinas serious face. “im fine! seriously!” god that face made her break. “okay fine, just… dont tell anyone.”

dina nodded excitedly and sat down infront of her.

“angel kissed me, and then she freaked out and made me leave, and now she wont even talk to me!” ellie fell back onto her bed.

“SHE KISSED YOU?” dina squealed. “OH MY GOD, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME SOONER!”

“did you hear nothing else that i said?”

and shes the kind of book that you cant put down like if cleopatra grew up in a small town and all the bad boys would be good boys if they only had the chance to love her and to tell you the truth sometimes i wish i was her

e: please, im begging you, just talk to me. read

a: what do you want me to say ellie?

e: literally anything. read

a: i messed up els, okay?

a: i shouldn’t have kissed you. im sorry.

e: but you should have. and you did. read

a: what?

e: meet me at millers? read

a: ellie…

e: please. read

a: omw.

e: thank you omg. read

a coffee was waiting on the table for you when you arrived. you sat across from ellie, hesitantly taking the drink. “you wanted to talk.” you talk a sip, finding it tasted like your usual order. “so talk.”

“okay look… i’m just as confused and nervous as you are.” she laughed nervously and fiddled with her own cup. “but, im glad you kissed me.”

“what?”

“yea i know.” she took a deep breath before continuing. “i only recently, like very recently, realized my feelings were misplaced. i really dont wanna be friends.”

you groaned, “and you couldnt have just texted me that?”

“fucks sake, just let me finish!” she pleaded, picking back up when you sat back into your chair. “i like you. like, a crazy lot, and it freaks me out. so please, let me at least take you on one date. if not, its fine, we just cant be friends. i wouldnt be able to stand it.”

you chewed at a nail as you took in what she had said.

“say something.”

a beat of silence before.

“okay.”

“okay?” she whispered.

“yea, okay. you can take me on a date.”

well, shes so new york when shes in l.a. she wont lose herself in love the way that i did ‘cause she’ll call you out she’ll put you in your place when emma falls in love, im learning

“hey, hurry up, im waiting downstairs for you.”

ellies voice rang through your room as you placed her on speaker.

“nuh uh, im not done. you asked me out, now deal with the consequences. ill be down when im ready.” you pulled out your outfit, throwing it on as you spoke. “just scroll on insta or something if you’re that bored.”

“fine.”

she hung up and you couldn’t help but laugh. you had been so nervous in the days leading up to this, but suddenly felt much better as she yelled at you like normal.

you finally met her at her car, hopping in the passenger seat and connecting your phone.

“the hell are you doing?” ellie squealed.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “passengers princess gets aux. suck it up loser.” you queued up songs as she pulled out and onto the main road. “where are we going anyways?”

“you’ll see.”

“god you are so annoying.”

and yet you smiled at her.

“an arcade? really?” you looked at her with eyebrows raised.

she shrugged and unbuckled, opening her door to get out. you shook your head, shocked still you were on a date with ellie williams. at the arcade.

she pulled you through the maze of a place to some own machine. “mortal kombat? what even is this?”

she smiled so bright, you couldnt help but smile back. “just wait, its so fun.”

emma met a boy with eyes like a man turns out her heart fits in the palm of his hand now he’ll be her shelter when it rains little does he know, his whole world’s about to change

“it was totally fun right? c’mon, you can admit it!” she pushed your shoulder, seeing your smiling face.

“okay yes, fine it was fun, i had fun!” you laughed, staring at her face. “i never really noticed you had this many freckles.”

you traced a finger across her cheeks. down the slope of her nose. across her eyebrow, stopping to poke the scar running through the left one.

“you’re pretty.” you whispered.

she blushed. “i think you’re gorgeous.” she whispered back.

her eyes were so pretty.

“can i kiss you?”

“please.”

yeah, between me and you sometimes i wish i was her

#! what would you do… !#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie willams the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x y/n

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lesbianslvt666 · 1 year

Text

Road trip? pt 3

College au!

Mean! athlete!Ellie x trying to stand up for herself! Kind of an art major?(f)reader lmao

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Content Warning: mentions of smoking, drinking, eventual smut, orgasm denial, fingering (r! receiving), minor boob worshiping (Ellie! Receiving), shower make out, a bit of angst if you look hard enough (just for a bit) r! don’t trust Ellie but Ellie is trying hard lmao, pet names (Angel, Babe, Baby, Princess, etc.) praising, mentions of oral (Ellie! Receiving), Ellie is so needy for you, she just wants you to want her as much as she does you… :((

If I missed anything pleaseeeee let me know

Btw, this is my first time writing smut, so sorry if this is absolute crap :))

Ofc not proof read

(Btw, I don’t know the credits of the photos I use for these, so if they are yours or you know who are these from, pls dm so that I can add them, thanks <3)

Synopsis: Ellie and you are roommates in your shared dorm, both in different majors, you ever see each other when it comes to be at the dorm, on parties or with Dina, your shared best friend. At first Ellie was nice, always kept to herself but never mean, until she got her first college girlfriend, everyone keep telling you how much she looked like you, including Dina. So when Ellie "cheated" on her ex, her reputation went from friendly reserved football player, to fuck girl, "I got all the girls" asshole, or so it seemed to you…

pt 1 pt. 2 pt.4

When we arrived to Portland, Jesse parked in a ban lot, paying beforehand.

"ladies, we arrived, they have showers with warm water and some groceries nearby, Dina and I...." he took Dina's hand "are gonna go to the showers cause she smelly."

Dina punched his shoulder

"shut up stinky, we'll be back, loves!" Dina said running back and forth, getting both, Jesse and her clothes.

"you wanna shower there or here? This shower don’t have warm water tho..."

Ellie was taking her clothes and putting them alongside a towel in a bag. I started to do the same

"I'll go with you" I opened the ban door, Ellie closed everything behind her.

"look they have a small diner there, we could go after showering?" Ellie pointed to her left, the diner was light up with warm and red colours.

I looked down at my feet. the ground crunched underneath my boots, Ellies footsteps blending with mine.

I trailed up to her hands, her tattooed arm holding her bag, flexing it. Ellie place back the bag that was falling off her shoulder.

"don’t be too obvious princess." her voice startle me.

"I don’t know what you are talking about." my eyes darted to the sky, my lips pursing and my eyebrows furrowed.

When we arrived to the showers Ellie arrived to the self-checkout. touching the screen with her slender fingers. she paid for 20 minutes in the shower.

"come on angel" she took my hand on her bigger one

"what do you mean come on?" her eyes darted to me, her tatted one that hold mine moved to the small of my back

"I am finishing what we started"

Her soapy hands roamed all over my body. I felt delirious, my mind having a hundred thoughts and none at the same time.

I could only concentrate on her hands, that where "washing me." touching and lingering for longer on different parts like my stomach, my hands, my neck.

but she was avoiding the places I most needed her.

"fuck Ellie please...." she looked at me, her eyes never leaving mine while she put herself on her knees. her face mare inches from where it was aching. She was looking up at me like she was so innocent, oh fuck… are we gonna do this?

"tell me babe, tell me what you need from me. I'll do it, I'll do it all…" her voice lingered all over me, embracing me like silk sheets all over my body.

Right after her raspy voice announced those words. her hands continued roaming all over my legs. her head resting itself on my right thigh while looking still up at me.

the water from the shower falling down my back.

"come one princess, use your words, I need to hear you, please..." her voice was becoming too much, her face was so close to my core. her hands now on my ass, roaming like she was going to go insane. "fuck Ellie, I… just do me, fuck me..." I needed her, but I couldn’t let her know.

I couldn’t admit it, I am scared, cause I knew I was going to fall hard, I was going to catch more feelings already…

Something seemed to change for her. like she snapped, her hands got all the way from my back to my waist, pulling me in. flushing our naked bodies together.

"mmmhh..."she let out a groan when it happened. I couldn’t contain the whimper that scaped my lips in reaction to it, she took that as an opportunity.

finally her lips where on mine, her mouth warm. shit… this is gonna hurt when it's over…

I couldn’t resist the urge. my hands flew to her arms, going up them. caressing her muscles, fuck if she wanted she could crack me in two, she could handle me as she pleased...

my legs started to cross, trying get some friction.

"that’s my job angel." her hands parted my legs. taking this opportunity to press me against the wall of the shower, pressing her leg between mine.

"come on baby, just a bit of relieve, don’t cum yet, that’s my mouths job..." I couldn’t even respond, for her lips where again on mine. the sudden movement made me jolt my hips, her wet skin making contact with my dripping cunt.

she took the moan that scaped my lips to insert her tongue on mine. my hands going to her breast whiles hers where on my ass, fuck this was too much, but not quite enough yet.

the frustration bubbled up my stomach, I couldn’t keep my sanity if she was going so slow. her kisses, her lingering touch, it was all torturous.

When she gave us time to breathe again I didn’t miss a beat. my mouth went straight to her left tit, I couldn’t resist, they were so precious, both in front of my face.

I looked up at her, I knew she wanted to

"make this about my pleasure." but oh she was enjoying herself so much, now she was the one grinding on my leg.

My hand moved to her other breast, squishing and massaging it, slowly first, she wanted me to suffer? I was gonna return the same energy.

When I felt her hips jolt I popped her tit put of my mouth. saliva connecting my red lips to her boob, moving to the next one, my hand now caught her previous loved tit.

this time, I didn’t stopped, going a bit more rougher, playing and twitching her nipple, she was now squirming. moaning my name…

I continued on her tits for the next few minutes.

and would've continue for longer if she didn’t practically snatched me out there.

her cleavage now covered with love marks, oh I wish for her to be really mine... yet, it seemed she like she really liked the view between her neck and boobs, for she went feral right away.

She went straight to kissing me again, lowering her hands between my legs. Finally!

The way she manhandled me, going a bit rougher than before… fuck! She started to place tight circles around my clit, not quiet touching it at first. The frustration building up on the pit of my stomach.

"Ellie, don’t be mean..." I managed to whisper on her ear, she bit my neck on response. and as a reply to my prayer, she inserted two fingers, my cunt drippy enough to let her in easily.

I bit her shoulder not wanting to scream too loud, she was going insane, and so was i.

Her fingers started to explore all my insides, finding that perfect spot, making my legs shake.

Ellie hold me with her free arm, stopping me from falling, I was so close...

"fuck Ellie, I am gonna cum..." her hand stopped, my eyes darted open, looking at her. as soon as I opened them however, she was placing herself on her knees again.

one of her hands touching her own needy cunt as soon as she got to see mine. the mess that she had created shimmer all over my legs, I bet you could smell it from afar.

"baby you looked better than I imagined, so pretty."

she touched my pussy slowly, taking her time admiring it while circling her own clit.

"tell me you want me YN, tell me you need me" she looked up at me… I cant. I shacked my head, why was she so mean like that? She knew that I had a thing for her since the biggening. she was nice, we had our thing, never anything formal.

then she had a girlfriend AND cheated on her. play with every girls heart at school, how can she ask me to give myself to her like that. That’s not fair…

Ellie stood up, looking at me now.

"I won't hurt you baby, let make you feel good angel please..." her voice now smaller, like she was afraid I might run out of the place. "twenty minute shower is over. please take all your belongings and exit safely."

a robotic voice sounded from outside the shower door. "I'll pay for five more minutes for you, I'll take other five for me on another shower." she left with her robe after that.

When I finished showering I changed inside of the shower room, why am I so weak? Now the road trip is going to be so uncomfortable.

I mean, if Ellie don’t make it weird I can swallow my pride, there is no need to make it awkward right?

When I went out of the shower. Ellie was waiting for me by the entrance, her head hung low, looking at her shoes that were kicking some rocks.

"I was thinking, if we don’t like the food from the diner, maybe I could cook something for us?" she said, trying to push the weirdness out the picture, almost like nothing happened.

however, her voice was lower than usual, and her eyes never met mine.

"great idea! I say... maybe we get to the dinner, check what's on the menu first?" her head moved to look around "where do you think the love birds might be?" she was now walking backwards while we went to the dinner. After that we talked a bit about the last semester and the finals that we had survived.

In the blink of an eye. Dina and Jesse where now back to us on the dinner, they were pretty giggly and happy, the fucked for sure. wish that could be Ellie and I... the dinner went smooth and funny. Dina and i always making the dumbest most inappropriate jokes. while Ellie and Jesse made the worse most dumbest dad jokes on the book.

My smile got bigger through the night almost forgetting what went on with Ellie. being with them always felt like heaven. laughter never ceased, smiles always plastered in our faces. the soft 70s music from the vintage dinner. the warm lights from inside making reflections on the big windows. where sometimes I could glance at Ellie pretending to look at the stars. oh how I wish these moments could be everlasting…

Walking to back to the van was a bit different, my the grabble underneath our shoes cracked, the music and the chattering from the people doing campfires involved me, my walk growing slower. I looked up to the sky, the stars where so bright and the night was just cold enough to chill the skin just a bit, I massage the palm of my hands to alleviate the goose bumps on my arms. "YN, YN" I saw Dina's hand come in front of me, waving it from my face, behind her, Jesse was catching the keys that Ellie threw to him with a firm swing. "sorry, what's up?" she rolled her eyes at me, following me with her eyes, trying to catch my gaze "I was asking you what was your final piece from this semester, I am still sorry I couldn’t get there to see it" she grabbed me by my arm, dragging me to the van.

"it was just a painting this time, some mix media on a wood panel" she groaned, frustrated "that I know of, I went with you to buy all the materials! I mean the final piece, when I arrived you had already sold it!" a smile adorned her face at the mention of my first big sell.

"oh, it was about unrequired love, pushing who you love in fear of getting rejected" I was looking out the window, didn’t realized Ellie sat down beside me.

"fuck YN, you always make either the saddest or most disturbing shit" Jesse was now sitting in front of me. "I love it" his smile grew wider. ever since high school when Dina met Jesse, he always wanted to see my paintings or sculptures before anyone else, he talked about how much he liked the feeling my paintings gave him, my number two fan, the number one was always Dina.

Right after that, both Dina and Jesse took off to "their" room, leaving both Ellie and I behind, "you want me to sleep on the passenger seat?" her eyes were down turned, a small frown adoring her beautiful lips. "nah, if you don’t make it weird, I won't either" she walked slowly to the couch, head hung low, sitting a good distance away from me. "wanna fix the bed then?" she asked not really moving, so I stood up. "sure, the bed sheets are underneath the couch, the duvet is beside my clothes, I'll get it" she just nodded.

It didn’t pass more than thirty minutes since we got in bed. she placed a pillow in between us, she was giving her back to the pillow, I was facing it. "you know… you are making it weird" I whispered, hoping she was asleep, to not really hear it. She moved, now facing the pillow too, her tatted hand taking it, gripping her hand, the veins jolting, she tossed it, groaning. "what the fuck do you want from me YN?" my eyes, lowered, I dint really knew myself… or did I? "what do you mean Ellie?" I could see her face from the moon light that entered form a small slit of the window blind her expression changed, her features softening, her eyes went a bit wide, like she just realized something "is it, like in your painting angel? You scared of the consequences? Scared of falling for me…" the last part coming smaller, way lower, like she was telling so to herself.

My eyes fell, my eyebrows furrowed, I hated her, I hated that she could read me. "I won't hurt you baby I promise." My hands flinched, coming to fist, I felt the sting of my nails on the palm of my hands. She sensed it, or saw it, didn’t knew at this point. She caressed my hand with her tatted one, slowly, ever so slightly touching me, like a feather, going upwards my arm, my body tensed, but my mind relaxed, she just felt so good… "tell me when you want me to stop…"her voice was low, raspy, I could see her pupils blown. "or tell me where you want me to go." her eyes falling to my lips, well… maybe being sad over the heartbreaker Ellie fucking Williams was a problem for future me right? I don’t know, certainly, I didn’t thought of any possibility, because as soon as she said that I changed our positions, I got on top of her, straddling her, her hands went straight to my hips, lowering me to almost touch her own crotch with my own heat.

She closed her eyes and exhale. "please princess, let me make you feel good" as soon as she said that her mouth attacked my neck, she lifted her body, taking one hand off my body to sit herself more comfortably, I was now sitting on her lap. Grinding slowly on her, I couldn’t bare how much I felt in that moment, my body was moving by itself.

Her mouth started to slowly suck small spots all over my neck, wet tongue slowly leaving a trail after every love mark, I could feel her breath fanning my neck. She was taking revenge from the hickeys on her cleavage…

One of her hands squeezing my ass and the other one underneath my shirt, going straight to my tit, I wasn’t wearing no bra, and she knew since the dinner, cause I had caught her eyes on my nips.

She massaged every bit of them, her attack on my neck growing more needy, she was now humping, smashing her pelvis on my crouch, we both felt a great need of the other one. Some relieve from all the accumulated feelings.

She took of my shirt, not losing a second to attach her mouth on my other breast, I groaned at that, the feeling bringing more slick down to my core, my hand traveling to her hair, so soft, undoing her half bun, massaging her scalp, trying to bring her some comfort, she moaned at that. Can she take more care of herself?

After she felt like shed given enough attention to my boobs. Her face went up, looking at my flushed face, "please princess, can I make you feel good now?" she was giving me this bright doe eyes, underneath the submission I could see all the lust she was hiding, her hands never leaving my body, my own traveling all over her torso and breast.

"fine…" her hands instantly trailed down to my core, she hooked one of her fingers on my pyjama shorts, lowering then down, she grabbed me, manhandling me and tossing me to be flat on the bed, we both giggled at that, she took them off me, her body lowering now, kissing up my leg…

Her face so close from my heat, I propped myself on my forearms to look at her, her eyes opened wide, her smug smile appearing. With one of her fingers, she touch slowly up my clothed cunt, never really pressing were I needed her. I let out a groan of frustration. "stop teasing…" she looked up at me, with a full smile, "baby, you are so wet, look at you… such a mess" she said, palming my ruined cunt.

My head hung back, the feeling of her cold hand on top of my hot pussy sent an electric shock, I felt the electricity up my spine, curbing it in.

she took this opportunity to take off my panties, the lack of her contact took me back, looking at her, but before I could plead for her too touch me again, she took my panties up her mouth, kissing the wet patch in them, then taking her tongue out, and savouring my arousal.

This took me by surprise, I opened my mouth to tease her, in that moment she took of her shirt, her small tits in front of my face. I could only moan at thar.

Hooking my finger in the waist band of her grey sweats, I bring her close to me, smashing messily our mouths, attaching my hands to her tits, massaging them. "fuck you are good at this" she groaned on my mouth.

After like an eternity of kissing, she separated from my mouth, s string of saliva connecting us still, she had saliva running down her chin from the last make out. "can I princess?" she looked at my eyes and then down to my cunt. "can you what angel?" I asked her, the nickname making her smile so big that her eyes closed, her cheeks glowing a rosy colour "can I please eat you cunt?" she said now, like she was asking for something so innocent. "yes Ellie, please touch me, make me feel good" before I finished my sentence, her mouth went running towards my sopping pussy attaching her mouth there, sucking my clit like a starved woman, the simple sight of her doing this was enough to make me squirm, she looked just so pretty, closing her precious eyes while eating me out.

Her strong and veiny arms holding my tights from closing, giving her enough space to bury her face in my creamy cunt.

She inserted her tongue in my entrance, moving skilfully around it, I had to take the back of my hand in between my teeth to stop me from creaming too much.

"Ellie please, can I come?" I don’t know why asked for her permission, it just felt the right thing to do, and I was, for she separated momentarily form me, "of course princess, if you ask so politely" she went back to devouring my cunt, inserting one finger, Didn't had time to hide my moan this time, thank you universe for Dinna cannot sleep without music!

She started to go fast, massaging the velvet walls from inside my pussy, she herself almost coming at how hard I was clenching on her finger, the warm of my pussy mixing with my arousal that was dripping from her wrist and her chin, she separated her mouth from my pussy, inserting another finger and circling my clit with her other hand, I grabbed by her chin, bringing her close to me, kissing her hard again.

I came on her hand, biting her shoulder again, I know I marked there, she looked down to my cunt, a creamy ring on the button of her fingers. "fuck YN, such a good girl for me, doing so, so good, just how I like it…"

She continued hammering my pussy way after my high. "tell me when It gets too much baby, I'll stop till then" her hot mouth on my ear, licking my earlobe, the over stimulation getting to much, her mouth lowering to leave even more marks on my neck. "Ellie… too much…" where the only words I could mutter, she let her hand out of me slowly, making sure to be gentle to my body.

"let me return the favour ells…" it was my turn. "not today princess, let me get you cleaned." she tried to get out of bed but I grabbed her hand. "pretty please?" I tried giving her my biggest doe eyes, I really wanted to taste her, feel her again, my body missing her already.

she sat on the bed. "please what angel?" she said taking my chin on her hands, slowly traveling down to my neck. "please sit on my face?" I don’t know where the boldness to say that came from, but it surprised Ellie…

"are you sure about this baby girl?" she said, completely naked now, straddling my face, her cunt was mare inches from my mouth, the view from here was to die for. Her beautiful pussy was so wet she was dripping down her thigh, so pretty. "yes Ellie, I need to taste you…" and taste her I did.

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deejadabbles · 11 months

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Echo and Comms (Echo x Reader) Chapter Two

Summary: Who could know that a simple night out with your friend would lead to this? A life of danger and the man of your dreams. Echo x Communications Officer Reader (gender neutral). Friends to lovers/star-crossed lovers.

A.N. Woo part two out in a pretty timely fashion! I'm actually really proud of this one, but I hope you guys like long content because this is a big boy! Some of this is pure fluff, but, I will warn you, there's other parts that are pure heartache.

Please comment your thoughts in the replies or reblogs <3

Warnings: Explicit acts mentioned but not in detail, mentions of war and death, soldier death, grief, (assumed) main character death.

Part One /// Part Two /// Part Three /// [Part Four coming soon]

Three days. Three days of going to work, having lunch with Mavis, and eating alone in your apartment. You didn’t really mind, per se. You had had way too many experiences with boys not calling for it to truly affect your normal life.

But you were a little…disappointed. Maybe Echo wasn’t as interested in you as you had thought. Maybe he had just wanted someone to talk to while his brother had fun. Maybe he had forgotten about you the next day.

Ugh! Why was the shower always the place where annoying thoughts like that popped up? You groaned as you rinsed product out of your hair, trying to chase away the thoughts. Why did this even bother you so much? It wasn't like you felt an almost instant connection to the trooper or anything, right? Definitely not, and you certainly didn't think he was the cutest man who'd ever bought you drinks.

Just as you reached for your body wash, you heard a noise: the sound you had set for notifications on your data pad. It was likely Mavis, asking you what time you wanted to go see that vid she had mentioned. You knew you had plenty of time to answer her, so you made sure to take advantage of the hot water and soothing quiet. You stepped out a while later, patting yourself down with your robe as you strode over to your table where the pad sat.

Oh!

It wasn’t Mavis after all and you tried to ignore the giddy smile as you read the message over.

>Hey there! This is Echo, from the bar the other night? I know you’re probably busy but I figured I’d send this. Hopefully none of my brother’s have bothered you at the bar since I’ve been gone?<

You snorted in laughter. He was certainly an awkward one, you wondered if the message was missing a section in the middle, or if he just wasn’t used to sending out things that weren’t military reports.

Of course, you had no idea of the turmoil that had happened on the other side of the screen.

Echo was a nervous wreck. Even with the timeless vacuum of space, he knew that it had been several rotations for you back on Coruscant, several rotations of Echo not knowing what to send you. He had written and deleted maybe thirty versions of that message, always backing out and thinking he could craft something better- until Fives had had enough, snatched his data pad from him, and pressed ‘send’ on whatever drivel he had typed out in the moment.

Now Echo was staring at the “sent” message, rereading it over and over as if it was his death sentence. It might as well have been, for how long it had passed with no reply from you.

“So hottie hasn’t written back yet?” Jesse smirked.

“I’m gonna kill Fives,” Echo muttered, ignoring the crude nickname that Echo had scolded Jesse for using for you before.

Fives heard, even on the other side of the room and looked back at him with incredulity, “Me? What’d I do? You’re the one who kept chickening out of doing anything, I just sent it for you.”

“I sound like an idiot, Fives!”

“You are an idiot, Echo!”

Jesse cut in again with a laugh, “Oh yeah, and you’re mister smooth talker. That's why you got sent home from the bar alone last time?”

“Hey!” Fives waggled a finger at him, “My angel sent me home because she was- what’d you call it, Kix?

“Respecting your inebriated state.”

“Exactly,” Fives confirmed with a nod, “she was being respectful.”

None of Echo’s brothers seemed to care that he was spiraling deeper into despair the longer he sat there, they just went on arguing among themselves. It had been way too long without a reply, and he just knew that you were laughing at him on the other end. Maybe you had even hoped he wouldn’t message you, maybe you were just being nice when you gave him your comm code, maybe-

His heart stopped when the screen flashed from a new message. Eyes wide in disbelief, Echo could feel said heart in his throat as he read over your reply.

>Hey, Echo! I’m glad you didn’t lose my code. I heard the 501st shipped out the next day, hope you and your brothers are staying safe out there. And speaking of, don’t worry, I know how to take care of myself ;) <

It was a better reply than he could have hoped for. You even responded to his dumb little attempt at starting a conversation and was that a smiley face at the end there? No, it was winking! Echo didn’t even know people could send those in personal messages. He’d have to try it out, once he got the hang of talking to you in the first place, that is.

Kix was weighing in on some argument that had broken out between Fives and Jesse, but it was all background noise to Echo as he leaned back, smiling at the screen as he typed back to you.

Maybe Echo wasn’t too terrible at holding a conversation over a screen. For the past couple of weeks, Echo looked forward to the time he would have a quiet moment at night to check his data pad, to see your latest message sitting in his inbox. Both of you had decided on that first night that, given both his and yours busy schedules, you wouldn’t hold each other to replying on the spot, rather, just answering whatever was last said when there was time.

He appreciated the understanding, knowing that the life of a soldier rarely granted him enough leisure to shoot messages back and forth for any decent length of time. Sometimes, when the stars (or, specifically, your time zones) aligned, both of you could talk for at least a few short text blocks. One night, after he and his brothers made camp on some remote planet, he found he was lucky enough to have one of those fortuitous alignments.

>Can I ask a weird question? <

He had sent it with the intention of setting his pad down and working on checking his blaster, only hoping that he might get an answer sometime in the next day, but felt his heart race when there was an almost immediate ding in reply.

>Sure. You can ask anything, but my reply depends on what the question is. <

Echo swallowed hard, realizing that it was now or never.

>Would it be weird if I asked for a picture of you? <

He sweated the whole two minutes it took for the text to go through the thousands of comm buoys between there and Coruscant.

>A picture? Aw, you miss me that much, I’m flattered, mr soldier boy. <

You ended it with a cheeky heart and Echo knew his face was hot with a blush.

>Well everyone else in my contact board has a picture, everyone but you so I just thought I’d ask <

There, that response neither confirmed nor denied that he may or may not want the picture for other reasons. Like missing you, and wanting a reminder of how cute your face was.

Far far away from that backwater planet, back in the beating heart of the republic, you were sitting in your tiny one room apartment, biting your lip. So, the cutie wanted a picture did he? Currently you were sitting on your couch, work clothes tossed across the bed and the news playing in the background while you ordered take-out as a treat.

You weren’t the most put together, you admitted, but, after a quick scroll through all your pictures, you didn’t think any of them suited your needs either. After looking yourself over on the camera screen of your pad, you decided you looked good enough. Hair wasn’t bad, and, well, your oversized lounge top dropped off your shoulder in a way that, if you posed just right, looked very good. Just enough for Echo’s imagination to play with, if it wanted to play at all, that is.

After you were satisfied with the pic, you sent it before you could change your mind. The question was fair game, though, and the second the picture got through, you added a note to it.

>Your turn <

Was all it said, but it was enough.

Or, maybe not.

>My turn? <

He asked, which made you roll your eyes. Surely he wasn’t that dense. Your reply was quick.

>Uh yeah? I want a picture of you too, silly. <

While you waited on him, your dinner just so happened to arrive in a glorious knock at the door. Despite your eagerness to see what Echo did next, he would have to wait- you were starving after the day you had. You took your time getting your dishware, finding something other than the news to put on, and dishing out your food.

You had just settled back down on the couch when your pad went off again.

>I’m just not sure why, I have the same face every clone does it’s not special. <

You nearly choked on your dinner. What the kriff? Did Echo really just say that to you? You didn’t pretend to be an expert on clones, but even you knew that sharing those basic genetics didn’t mean all that.

Another short message dinged through then and it only made your jaw drop more.

>What I mean is you can just get any picture of a clone off the net and it would work. <

You thought your next words over long and hard. Afraid to say the wrong thing or go overboard with your reaction. In the end, you settled for something simple, and hoped he understood the full meaning behind it.

>But it wouldn’t be you, Echo. <

Back on his cot in that makeshift camp, Echo swallowed hard. He had never expected you to want a picture in return, and he definitely hadn’t expected you to say that when he expressed his confusion. His chest was all warm now, he didn’t know his insides could feel…what even was this? It felt almost prickly, but soft, it felt hazy, or fuzzy, maybe. He shifted around on his cot as he turned on the camera feature- then had to figure out how to take a picture of himself, which he’d never done before. Of his brothers? Sure, he had plenty of times, with his brother too, also plenty of times. But not him taking one of himself.

In the end it wasn’t a terrible attempt, his smile looked a little goofy, but the second time he tried it just looked like he had a bad toothache, so he went with goofy. Unfortunately his little photo shoot did not go unnoticed.

“Why’d you send that one?” Fives said as he read the messages over Echo’s shoulder.

“It was the best I could do,” Echo shrugged, it was too late anyway, it was already sent.

Fives snatched the data pad out of his hands again- why did his brother not understand personal belongings?! “Ah no no, we can do better! Come on, grab that rifle, we’re gonna make you look like a badass.”

It didn’t take long for the other troops of the 501st to get involved, and soon Echo was posing this way and that. But what really mortified him, was when General Skywalker himself chimed in, having them move to a spot just beyond the camp where an expanse of rugged desert stretched behind him.

“Okay, now tuck your helmet under your arm,” Anakin encouraged with an amused grin, just as Rex stepped back from adjusting the kama around his waist.

“Now that is a pose worthy of an ARC trooper!” Kix grinned as he held up the camera.

And that’s what they took, a shot of Echo standing in the desert, one foot propped up on a boulder, rifle held like a staff in one hand, and helmet tucked under the other. The moment Kix took the photo, Fives once again snatched the pad up and began typing.

“Have this pic instead, baby,” he said out loud as he typed, making Echo’s blood go cold, “it’s much more me, winky face and-”

“Fives dont se-!”

“-send!” Only then did Fives hand the data pad back to him, grin smug and full of himself, “You can thank me later, Echo.”

Echo’s brain had stopped working as he looked over the horror his brother had sent you. He had called you ‘baby’! Not once, as much as Echo had wanted to, had he ever used a pet name when talking to you! And the picture, it was worse than he thought. Sure it made him look heroic, but also like an egotistical ass who was trying to grandstand in your private chats.

“I think it looks great,” Tup said as Echo started to smack his face with the pad.

Thankfully he didn’t see your reaction on the other end, the way you rolled around on your couch in laughter at the portrait that definitely was not ‘him’. You much preferred the adorkable grin in the first picture to whatever that second picture was.

>Your brothers made you take that, didn’t they? <

Was all you sent in answer, deciding to spare him the string of laughing faces you wanted to add.

>Yes. And Fives typed the message with it, sorry. <

>Not to worry, but, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick with the first pic. <

>I’d prefer that, thanks. <

Thankfully those weren’t the only pictures sent over the next few weeks. Chances for cheeky moments came up, like when you two bonded over how loud Mavis and his brothers were as the Professional Pod Racing Finals were aired.

The boys were mostly just excited that they got to see the broadcast live for once, but Echo still thought it was amusing and sent you a picture of the boys yelling at the holo screen in their barracks. In turn you sent him a shot of you, sipping on some fizzy drink with eyebrows raised as Mavis stood on your couch in the background, making a choking motion at your own holo screen. “I know your pain” was the text across the picture, which made Echo laugh.

Another time you expressed interest in seeing his full armored ‘get up’ since you hadn’t when you met at the bar that night. Echo was happy to oblige, even goading you into sending your own ‘work selfie’ and getting a very nice picture in return. He wasn’t sure how you managed to make those gray officer uniforms look good, but you did, staring down at the camera from under that hat in a way that looked commanding and mysterious and-

Echo had to stow the picture away when his armor started to feel too tight.

But of course, photos weren't the only things you shared. You surprised Echo again and again with all the ways you showed him that you valued the time you two talked together. Like when you asked him if he liked games, then immediately found a version of Word-Path that you two could play together across the net. Much like your messages to each other, the game could be played during any free moment available, the board waiting patiently for the next move no matter how long it took one of you to make it.

Before he knew it, you were filling every free thought Echo had, and he was glad for it. He could pack away his feelings and fantasies when needed, he was still a damn good ARC trooper, but when there was a free moment to breathe? You. All you. Smiles over something funny you had said. Daydreams of seeing you in person again. Mulling over what to send you next in order to sound charming and witty and cute-

Cute, that’s right, you had called him cute the other day and he still felt giddy over something so small.

Kriff, Echo never knew someone could be as amazing as you. Never knew someone could make him feel the way you made him feel.

So, when the General gave them today’s good news, Echo knew he had to tell you ASAP.

>We’re coming back to Coruscant soon <

>That’s great! When? <

>We’ll be heading into hyperspace at 16:00 standard time, and with how long we’ll be in hyperspace, probably two rotations? <

Echo halted his typing, his mind seeming to stall. How was he going to ask you if you wanted to see him again? How could he come off as cool and calm without sounding like a jerk? Giving you the wrong idea was the last thing he wanted but-

>So, have any plans already? Maybe you could squeeze lil ol me into your schedule? <

Once again you proved that you could stop his heart without even trying. He held his breath as he read the text over again, like it was a dream come true. It was his dream come true, in a way.

As he typed out his reply Fives came up behind him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “Guess who’s getting another shot with his angel,” he sang as he shook Echo. “Just told her we were heading back, and she invited me over for dinner at her place!”

“That’s great,” Echo said with a genuine smile. Though that first night had ended for the better, Echo knew that he had liked Mavis quite a bit, and, knowing she was taking an interest too, made him happy for his brother.

“So you know what that means,” Fives continued to beam.

Echo faltered, “Uh, that you’re gonna…not get drunk and get lucky this time?”

“No- well, yeah, actually, but no! I was talking about you and your own little hottie,” he winked, “this leaves you two open to have a night all to yourselves.”

A cough found its way into Echo’s throat then. Mostly just in surprise of course, because, the moment he thought about it, the more he liked that idea. He took a breath, and was able to type out his next words to you with little to no hesitation.

>Fives just told me that he and Mavis are planning a night together. Are you okay with it just being the two of us? <

>Sounds great. Is 79’s your usual hang out? <

>It is, but if you have a better idea I’m all ears. <

>If you’re up for it, I know a great spot. Has a stunning view and great food. Aaaand considering you bought my drinks last time, dinner can be on me this time.<

Well, how could he say no to that?

Two days later, Echo was certain he could have never properly prepared himself for this date. He had never thought about what a perfect date would be for him, but somehow, you had nailed it.

As if you could get any cooler, you had picked him up from the garrison riding a custom speeder bike, telling him to hang on tight as you shot into the air. He had never seen half the buildings and markers you pointed out to him as you drove, giving him a list of places you might visit later if he wanted. Of course, he was only half listening, mostly he was preoccupied with the way you felt between his arms. He was glad he had only left on the key parts of his armor today, letting the warmth of your body creep through his blacks.

Eventually, and almost to his annoyance, the speeder came to land on the tippy top of a building that, if Echo remembered your tour right, was some sort of office tower. Someone had taken up the roof with a rather ingenious idea: A cargo speeder converted to make and sell food, and the rest of the roof was taken up with little tables and picnic cushions. It was also the cleanest roof he’d ever seen, with a scutter droid booping about to pick up wayward trash and hovering lights bobbing about to cast it all in a romantic glow. Apparently, given the setting sun, you told him it was the perfect time to visit.

As soon as the pair of bothans handed you two your order, you were grabbing his hand again- which was not helping how sweaty and tight his skin was feeling at the moment. He didn’t want you to let go, though, and was glad you didn’t until you led him to the very edge of the roof, where one of those picnic-like futons lay.

He was chuckling while you pulled him down eagerly, crossing your legs and waving your hand at the open sky before you, “And here’s the view I promised you!”

Echo knew his face might hurt later from smiling so much, but he couldn't help it, there was definitely a view, he just didn’t have to look at the sky for it.

But, he did, because you asked him to, and though he’d rather look at your face, the city did look spectacular up here. Smaller buildings and lanes of racing speeders spread out before you both like a spider web, but the best part was that it was high up enough to see the sun dipping lower in the sky, a rare sight in this place of such tall skyscrapers.

“So…?” you drew out an expectant tone.

“It’s,” he laughed a little, eyes already back on you, “totally wizard.”

The proud smile that lifted your lips made his heart jump and he had to distract himself by unwrapping his food and shoving the first bite into his mouth.

Just like your communications, conversation seemed to spark easily enough. It truly amazed Echo how you two were always able to talk as if you had known each other for years. Anything and everything was on the table, though the lighthearted tone called for silly stories the two of you had yet to share with each other. You particularly liked his story involving Hardcase and Fives mimicking Jedi as they played around with broom handles- only to be caught in the act by General Skywalker.

The food was long devoured, the sun having set, and the food stall closed for the night. If Echo cared about anyone but the two of you, he would have noticed that you were the only ones still sitting on the rooftop. That was fine, preferable, even. He would shut out all of the world when he was with you.

In fact, the only thing that distracted him was something crackling overhead, and your face lighting up. “Ha! The forecast was actually right for once.” You nudged his shoulder and pointed at the sky, at the dark clouds collecting overhead. “I was hoping it would rain tonight, you’re gonna love this.”

Echo raised an eyebrow, looking around at the open roof exposed to the elements, and failed to see why getting rained on during your meal was something to love, but he supposed he trusted you.

“It rains a lot on Kamino, right?” your eyes shifted back to him, tone quiet, perhaps wondering how Echo felt about his homeworld, since he’d never mentioned it before.

He nodded, “Almost constantly. It was a bit weird, realizing how little rain some planets get.”

“Yeah, Coruscant doesn’t get much, but when it does, you wanna be in a place like this,” you nudged his shoulder again, turning back to the clouds just as another rumble of thunder groaned. “Ah! Here it comes.”

Echo looked up too, automatically squinting his eyes to prepare for the raindrops- but they never hit his skin. Those eyes went wide at the sight above you both. The rain was coming down in a torrent, but each drop was caught some meters above, dancing in midair before rolling off to the side of some invisible bubble. It was like watching thousands of tiny glass tears collecting to make a canopy above you.

“They have an antigrav device to keep stuff from falling on the roof,” you explained, and the intimacy of your tone caused Echo to tear his gaze away from the sight and back to you.

Though your eyes were still entranced by the dancing water above, Echo was enraptured by the soft look of utter awe and appreciation on your face.

“What do you think? Beautiful, right?”

If Echo was familiar with cheesy holo videos, he’d realize that saying “Yes,” in a dreamy tone while his eyes were wholly on you was one of the oldest tropes in the book. But, even if he did know that, it wouldn’t matter, he knew in that moment that his eyes would always be for you.

Swallowing hard, Echo took a chance, braving his impulse before he could back out. He leaned in closer to you, and brushed the very tips of his fingers across your cheek. That got your attention away from the sky above, and you turned your face to find him just a breath away.

That’s when his lips brushed yours.

It was feather light and sweet, a gentle press, he wanted to give you every opening to pull away if you wanted. Instead, your hand reached up to grip his bicep as you pulled him in closer. The fingers that had grazed your cheek were now cupping your face, drawing you in as the rain pattered overhead.

Despite the overwhelming feelings brewing in his chest, Echo managed to keep the affection from getting too wild. He liked this, liked how delicate the act was, careful, unrushed, enjoying the tenderness like hints of sugar on the tongue. You let out a little noise as you took your other hand and splayed it over his chest and he was about to wrap his arm around you.

But then, his commlink went off.

Only then did you two break apart. After blinking away the sugary haze of the kiss, you both looked down at his wrist. When Echo saw the comm code, his heart wanted to start a descent into his stomach. It was Captain Rex.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, starting to scramble to his feet, “let me take this?”

You nodded silently, and he thought he saw some worry etched on your face as he walked some ways away. The worry was warranted. His conversation was short, but his heart sank lower and lower the longer it went on and even after the call ended, he stood there for a moment, mind reeling against the news.

Swallowing hard, he straightened up and walked back to you, trying to keep the disappointment off his face. Even after he sat back down at your little picnic, he stayed silent for a few heartbeats.

“Anything important-”

“We’re shipping out again.” Echo didn’t mean to interrupt you, but the words came tumbling out like a toppled crate. “Got an emergency mission, shore leaves' been canceled.”

“O-oh.” Your reply was short, surprised, but Echo thought he could already hear the disappointment in your tone. That he had disappointed you. “Do you have to head back immediately?”

A breath left Echo’s chest as he finally met your gaze again. “We leave in ten standard hours, I have to make sure I’m on duty by then.” Another breath, this one harsher, pushing through his teeth like steam, “I just thought I’d have more time.” Thought I could have more time with you.

Ten hours, it wasn’t enough, hell, ten days wouldn’t be enough for him to get his fill of you.

“I wanted more time like this,” Echo admitted, and he hoped that looking into your eyes the way he was conveyed exactly what he meant by ‘this’.

He saw your throat tighten and your eyes narrow slightly in thought. “Ten hours?” you asked and he nodded. Another moment of thought passed, then his name was on your lips, a whisper as tender as the kiss you had just shared. You leaned in, your hand cupping his face. “Echo…come home with me.”

He blinked, “Wh-what?”

You were sliding closer to him now, leaving no space between your bodies. “I was just thinking, you have so little time left, maybe I could help make the most of it.” Those gorgeous, now half lidded, eyes of yours were trained on him as you dipped your face closer to his. Hot breath ghosted over his chapped lips, causing a pleasant shiver to ripple down his spine. “Echo, do you want to come home with me?”

He had wanted you since the moment you walked into that bar, so he answered, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back into that intoxicating kiss. It was less careful this time, as he finally let some of his eager need bleed through. You didn’t seem to mind, wrapping your arm around him as you moaned against his lips.

When you finally parted again, his verbal answer was barely more than a hot breath of a word, “Please.”

You were still panting from the heat of the kiss as you obliged. Not taking your eyes off him, you took his hands as you rose, and walked him back to your speeder.

Your apartment felt like home.

Echo had grown to hate the sleeping pods on Kamino, and the only reason he still considered the planet home was because of his brothers. The barracks on the Resolute were a little better, livened up by members of his legion, his family. But you little home? The little oasis tucked away in the city? It was warmth and comfort and safety. He had only spent a few hours there, but he wanted to curl up in its inviting and personable air, wanted to lay with you in this private haven for days.

But Echo didn’t have days.

He stepped out of the refresher, armor back in perfect order, and he was glad he hadn't shut the door, as the sound of it might have woken you. The lights were dimmed, casting your gorgeous body into a romantic glow. You were laying on your stomach, arms tucked under the pillows and face buried in the sheets. The covers were barely covering you, giving him a wonderful view. He stepped closer to the bed, smiling softly at the peaceful look on your face, the way your hips shifted to a more comfortable pose, and how your hand reached out to knead at the vacant pillow beside you.

He didn’t want to leave.

You had been so perfect with him. Taking him apart piece by piece, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. Patient and sincere, you didn’t expect too much, but took everything he offered. Letting him- begging him to get lost in you, praising his hands, moaning for his lips, taking all of him. The phantom feel of your touch was still making him shiver, and the record of your voice playing back in his mind would haunt his lonely nights for years, he knew it.

Maker, you were perfect.

It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but when Echo had pulled you close afterwards, when he held you, he mused that maybe he wasn’t made for the war. Maybe he had been made for you. Fives was right. He was a stupid romantic, and all he wanted was to be your stupid romantic.

He needed to go.

The fleet would be leaving in little more than an hour, he needed to go, but he was glued to the spot, watching your form in the dim light. Maybe he had put too much of himself into this, maybe you didn’t feel the connection the same way he did, maybe he was just being clingy and hyperbolic, maybe-

You stirred, brows scrunching in a cute little frown, and it was only then that Echo realized that he had reached out to stroke your hair. You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep clinging to your smile.

“Hey,” your voice was husky, even more so than when you had called his name hours before. Then, your eyes took in his armor. “Is it really time to leave already?”

He nodded, and had to clear his throat before speaking, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no,” you lifted yourself up and the blanket fell from what little it had been covering before. “I’m glad you did, better than waking up to find you gone.”

That put some of his earlier thoughts at ease, and even more were soothed when you sat on your knees at the edge of the bed, put your arms around him and kissed him again. His hands went to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer, hoping the cold hardness of his armor wasn’t too harsh against your naked body. Your fingers found their way to his hair, just like they had when he was on his knees for you.

He had trouble opening his eyes when you broke the heated kiss, the haze of lewd memories clouding his mind. When they did flutter open, the hand that wasn’t holding you close moved up to cup your cheek. You hummed at the contact, placing a kiss on his palm.

“I…I wish you weren’t going,” you whispered suddenly, and Echo felt his heart soar. “I know you have to, though, ‘out there fighting for all of us.”

“For you,” the words tumbled out in a hushed breath, but he didn’t regret them. “C-can I see you again?” Damn, why did he have to stumble in his words now? “When I come back, I mean.” He swallowed, “I’d really like to see you again.”

You blinked up at him, smile sweet, sincere, as you repeated the same reassuring word he had before you took him home. “Please.”

Work was agonizing for you now.

Before, your breaks had been a welcomed reprieve from the frequency bans and code lines, but now your those moments were just filled with thoughts of him. Worried thoughts. Echo, your sweet, gentle Echo. You weren’t sure when you started thinking of him as yours, maybe after you’d spent hours worshiping each other, but you didn’t suppress the thoughts, not now.

You had to focus on work.

But how could you when your heart sank any time a coworker mentioned the 501st? How could you when in the back of your mind you wondered if he’d had time to send you another message, time to assure you he was still alive despite being sent to the front lines again. Some part of you wondered how anyone could blame you for being distracted, but, thankfully, an even larger part of you pulled yourself together. It was hard to think straight with Echo never far from your thoughts, but you had to. Your work was too important, it could save too many lives. So you buckled down and told yourself that worry could wait for down time.

And oh, by the force did it.

You found yourself watching the news more and more often at night. Caught your fingers opening your inbox just to double check that you hadn’t missed a message. Maker, you had it bad, didn’t you? Thankfully the man who had so effortlessly stolen your heart was good at easing your worry. His messages to you hadn’t slowed, he contacted you any moment he could, played his next word in your ongoing game, sent pictures of him and his brothers with that dorky smile on his face.

How could you not fall for him?

And that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? Somewhere between the silly pics and kisses in the rain, you had fallen head over heels for the trooper. Fallen faster and harder than you ever had before. It scared you at first, how deep your feelings ran, but you didn’t have the heart to hide from them, not when you remembered the way he had held you, not when he had looked as though his heart was breaking when he left you that night.

Even still, you couldn’t tell him, could you?

Just how deep the well of your feelings for him were. It was too soon to say all that, perhaps. So you’d be content with those cute messages and online games. Well, not quite. One night you couldn’t resist the urge to see his face again. While you were making dinner, he had replied to your last text, mentioning that they would, thankfully, be in hyperspace for a while, giving them a much needed break. So, you tried something new, and asked if he had time for a holo call.

Your heart was leaping stupidly when, not five minutes later, there was a beep sounding from your home holo device. You pressed the ‘accept’ button without even checking who it was and, from the waist up, Echo’s image flickered to life. His brows were high, mouth open just slightly.

“Cyare, is something wrong? Are you okay?”

A relieved laugh came out as you leaned against your kitchen counter. “I’m fine, I just…wanted to hear your voice? Or maybe see your face.” Or maybe both, you added to yourself.

The holo crackled as he let out a breath, then, his image was smiling back at you. “In that case, I’m glad you asked me to call, because I…” he scratched the back of his neck, “I missed your voice too, and your face.” His eyes went wide. “The face part sounded weird, didn’t it?”

Another laugh, “No, it didn’t, it’s nice to know my face is missed.”

And just like that, you two settled into conversation, just like at the bar, just like on that rooftop. Everything just felt so right with Echo, even your heart wrenching worry.

That wasn’t the only time you two spoke via holo call. Though, the second time was more heartbreaking than your constant worry, because it was a reminder of why you worried.

You had just been cleaning up before bed when the message came in.

>I know it’s late on Coruscant, but are you awake? <

Quicker than you thought possible with all the space between you two, the moment you replied “yes” a call came in. And your heart sank at the sight that flickered before you. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes apparent even in the blue hues, face unshaven, short hair ary as if he had been pulling at it.

“Hey,” his voice was too horse, too…broken.

“Echo, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He was silent for a bit, eyes averted, then, he drew in a breath, shaky, ragged. “We…we lost a lot of brothers today.” There was a sound behind him, like plastoid scraping against durasteel. The shake of the holo that followed confirmed that Echo had slid down a wall. Where was he? The background was dead silent so not the barracks, you prayed he wasn’t curled up in some random hallway alone.

“Talk to me,” you whispered, “I’m here, Echo, whatever you need, I’m here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling another ragged breath between his teeth. “They hadn’t even been here that long,” he whispered, “they were so proud, so ready to serve in the legion. Some didn’t even have their names yet-” your name fell from his lips with a sob and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your arms around him, pull him close so he knew he wasn’t alone. “No one’s gonna remember them, no one but me and a few others who bothered to talk to them. That’s all I kept thinking about, that no ones even gonna know what they were like, or know them well enough to miss them.”

You swallowed the tears that were building behind your eyes, Echo didn’t need that right now, he needed you. “Tell me what they were like.” The words were out before you could think them over, but you doubled down on the sentiment. “Talk about what they were like, so I can remember them. I’ll grieve for them with you, Echo.”

When his eyes darted back to yours, you saw something trail down his cheek and oh, how you longed to brush that tear away. You raised your hand to where his face would have been, hoping that he at least got the sentiment. He closed his eyes, perhaps imagining your palm on his cheek. A moment passed, and his next intake of breath was at least a little calmer.

“Okay.”

Hours passed, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. He told you about all of them, the ones with names, the ones with numbers, the ones he’d only spoken to once. Told you all the little quirks and subtle traits they had, every notable thing they had said to him. And, he told you about their deaths.

It got harder to hold back those tears, but you managed it for him, because it was what he needed. Eventually he was spent, drained of anymore words for his fallen brothers. He still looked so tired, but you were glad when he told you they had another three days before their next mission. At least he had some time to rest.

Though, your heart clenched when he mentioned the possibility of a covert operation of some kind.

“I should let you sleep,” he said eventually, “ ‘m sorry I kept you up this long.”

“Don’t apologize, you needed to talk.” When all he did was nod you added, “Are you sure you’re ready to hang up?”

Something told you not to hang up, to keep him as close as the stars allowed.

“I can stay on and-”

“No, no, I think I’m ready for bed too,” he somehow managed the smallest smile then, “thank you. Thank you for staying up with me this long.”

You smiled back at him, still longing to pull him into your embrace. “Echo, anytime you need me, I’m here, you know that, right?”

He was silent for a beat, just staring back at you with tired, almost astonished eyes.

“I love you.”

Who would have known those words sealed your fate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and before you could even fully register what he said, he whispered your name, and repeated the affection with a firmer tone.

“I love you so much. I probably should have waited til I saw you in person again, but, I couldn’t stomach waiting, not after what happened today. I…I hope it’s not too soon or…”

“I love you too, Echo.”

Some more tension left his shoulders, and his expression relaxed. “When I see you again, I’ll say it properly, with you wrapped up in my arms.”

People rarely see heartache and pain coming, and your fate was sealed.

“I’ll hold you to that, trooper. But, for now, you better get some sleep, okay?”

A fate of longing and grief.

“Okay, goodnight, cyare.”

You couldn’t have known your love wouldn’t last.

Three days later, Echo warned you that he had to go silent, that their next mission was a covert op, that it might be awhile before you got another message, but that he’d call you the moment he could.

To tell you he was okay.

The ding came when you were on your lunch break.

To tell you he was safe.

Hoping it was Echo you opened the message instantly.

To tell you he loved you again.

Your heart stopped when you saw that it was Fives, not Echo, but his brother in arms using his comm.

In the end, he was a hero.

The device clattered to the ground, rage and tears wracking your body fast and hard.

>I know he would want me to tell you, so it didn’t come from some stranger. <

Your body was soon to follow and Mavis was by your side in an instant.

>He was trying to save our shuttle <

She held you tight as the sobs tore your throat apart.

>He was a hero. <

You didn’t want him to be a hero! You wanted him here and safe and alive!

>I’m so sorry. <

#echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #clone x reader #star wars x reader #arc trooper echo #series: echo and comms #deeja writes #echo x you #arc trooper echo x you #sw

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

Text

Take You With Me

Agent Daddy Whiskey

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Daddycember Masterlist

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Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, oral sex (m receiving), amateur porn, anal fingering (f receiving), rough sex, vaginal sex, cum play

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A/N: wowowowwowow I love this I’m drooling I would do SO MUCH for Daddy Whiskey on this video ok

This is part two of Happy To See You

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Agent Daddy Whiskey Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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I’m sorry but the bottom left gif? I’m dead.

“Come here,” he grunts out, his own chuckle sneaking out past his lips.

You smirk wildly in his arms, letting him drag you over to him as he shuts the door behind you. your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him down into you as he molds his lips to your own.

Nights like these always exceeded your expectations, nights where you’d have to say goodbye in the hours to come. He’d only be gone for two weeks, but you both knew to make the most of your time. Whether he was gone for two hours or two weeks, you knew you’d miss each other.

After the act he’d managed to pull off in Tequila and Jess’s backyard, he was more than eager to get you in the car and speed home. Lucky for the two of you, Jack was able to slip out without anyone noticing, due to the couple’s obnoxious dog barking once again. Once they ran inside, Jack lifted you off him, allowing both of you to pull up your pants and gather your bearings before making up some excuse to leave.

“God dammit,” he huffs out, hurriedly shoving off his black leather jacket. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty baby doll.”

Jack’s large hand frames your face before pulling you in, his other fumbling with his jeans while you slide your leggings down. Each of you toss your clothes to the floor near the entryway before Jack scoops you up and takes you into the bedroom to have you all to himself.

“Sexy little thing,” he mumbles, lifting your top and bra off in one go once he’s laid you down on the bed. “Sittin’ on me like that.”

Both of your slender hands cup his face, bringing his body down to yours once both pairs of your smooth lips meet. He’s laid atop you, his large body pressing yours down into the mattress.

“You ain’t got any shame in you, do you sugar?” he teases, that beautiful smile appearing once again.

“Never,” you rush out. “Not with you.”

He chuckles at your quick response, glancing down as you lean up to pepper his neck and chest with kisses.

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“Mm-hm.” You agree, nodding below him while continuing to kiss his taut skin.

You absolutely worship his chest with your mouth and tongue, running your lips over his smooth, tanned muscles for as long as you want. It makes his heart race, seeing you go obsess over his body with such adoration and lust.

“Baby,” you whine out. “Fuck, I don’t think I can go that long without you.”

You know he won’t be able to facetime you while he’s gone. He won’t be able to send any videos or pictures, either. He told you it was against his contract, being that it could easily give away his location.

“Well,” he sighs out. “Maybe you don’t have to.”

You look up questioningly as he pulls away, leaning back on your forearms as you watch him step off the bed. Jack walks over to your shared closet, returning with a small tripod in hand.

“What…”

You watch him as he sets it up on the dresser across from your bed, sliding his phone into place and turning on the recorder. When he turns around to you, he leans down, crawling onto the bed and over your naked body.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, staring up at him in awe.

“Babycakes,” he says, his one hand sliding up your jaw and cheek. “I want to make some filthy, homemade porn with you.”

“What?!” you nearly shriek, laughing beneath him. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grins, licking his lower lip. “C’mon, let daddy have something to watch while he’s away. I can’t go that long without seein’ this pretty face.”

His hand slides down, quickly moving over your stomach and curling around to your side.

“Or this beautiful body.” he adds, squeezing you firmly in hand.

You gasp lightly at his touch, both of your hands flying to his shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin when he gives you a playful smack, forcing you to dig your teeth into your lip to keep your smile at bay.

“You want to, sugar?”

All you can do is nod, staring up at his wildly enticing look that only grows upon seeing your response.

“That’s a good girl.” He sings, leaning back and standing from the bed again.

He snatches the tripod off the dresser, taking it with him while he situates himself at the end of the bed. Jack rests back on his heels while propped up on his knees, beckon you over with the wave of his hand and the soft wiggle of his fingers.

“C’mere, sweet thing. Want you to put on a show.”

Your confidence grows at his domineering tone, immediately lifting yourself off the sheets and onto your hands and knees. You spin around, displaying yourself before him and his phone’s camera. You let yourself fall onto the sheets below while keeping your hips high in the air. One of your hands fists the sheets while the other slides between your legs. If he wants a show, then that’s exactly what he’ll get.

“Oh fuck.” He groans out, his jaw dropping completely when he sees you begin to play with yourself. “You can be such a fuckin’ whore when I tell you to be.”

You whine out at his words, letting your fingers run sloppily through your folds before rubbing your reddened peak. He watches hungrily through the camera’s lens, one of his hands reach down to jerk his cock.

“Daddy,” you whine, “I’m gonna miss you so much. Gonna miss the way you make me feel.”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Yeah,” you return, entirely whimpering before the camera. “Gonna miss your cock inside me. Can I have it? Please.”

“Finger yourself first, baby. Daddy wants to lick ‘em clean.”

“You like that, huh?” you grin, the side of your face still pressed into the sheets. “You like tasting me, daddy?”

“Fuck yes, baby doll. You know daddy loves how you taste.”

“Why don’t you lick me then?” you offer, your clit throbbing at the thought. “Why don’t you slide your tongue through my folds so you can remember how I taste when you’re gone?”

“Fuck,” he grunts out, setting the tripod down off to the side.

He makes sure the camera is still set on you and close enough so he can see you drip. Both of Jack’s hands grab onto the backs of your thighs, completely burying his face between your legs as soon as he gets the chance. His phone picks up on every lewd lick and suck that comes from his mouth, every moan and cry that spill from your lips while he fucks you with his tongue.

“Fuck, yes… yes!”

Jack grunts while he does it, slurping sloppily from your core and savoring every drop he can get. One of his hands rides higher on your thigh, landing a smack hard enough for it to burn red.

“Yes daddy,” you moan, pressing back against his face.

You wish so desperately that you could see his cock, see the way it throbs with every pulse of blood his body sends, the way his tip drips with pre-spend while he eats you from behind.

“You like that, baby?” he huffs out, leaning back to his knees. “That what you wanted?”

“Mm-hm,”

“Good.” He mumbles, picking up the tripod and angling it over your ass. “’Cause now daddy’s gonna get what he wants.”

Through the lens, he can see the way you throb before him, both of your holes clenching with anticipation as he considers which one to wreck. The small squelch from Jack’s mouth is picked up by his phone’s speakers, his spit quick to come into view as it lands directly over your upper hole.

“Oh…” you sigh out, feeling his pointer finger spread it around your skin.

You hear him spit again, this time much more forceful than the last. It splashes on your backside before Jack shoves his finger inside, pushing himself in all the way to his last knuckle.

“Fuck!” you cry out, wincing at the sudden pain.

Jack hums happily behind the camera’s view, now steadily pumping his finger in and out of your ass.

“You like that, babycakes? You like when daddy plays with your ass?”

“God yes, yes daddy. Please, don’t stop.” You beg, your eyes rolling back as pleasure swims through your head.

“Fuck,” he sighs, his head snapping up and glancing around the room.

He can’t hold himself back any longer, and he needs both hands to pound you raw, but he needs to find the best place to put his phone. Jack decides on the nightstand to his right, the one belonging to him. It’s a much better placement than any of the other angles he’d previous tried. Placing it here allowed the camera to capture your naked bodies in their entirety, perfectly placing the two of you in the very center of the screen. Now happy with his decision, Jack removes his finger to lean over you.

“Baby,” he huffs out, his breaths becoming hurried and ragged. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay? Okay babycakes?”

“Yesyesyes please, please just fuck me.” You gasp out, the anticipation now torture to your brain.

Without a second thought, he fists himself in hand, running his head through your folds before shoving himself inside. You gasp and moan and plead with him to not stop, to not let up the immediate pace he creates. And he won’t; he doesn’t voice it, but he won’t. He’d never stop, not unless you asked him to.

Every flex and ripple of the muscles along Jack’s side and in his arms is shown on the camera’s frame, every harsh thrust he delivers sending you forward again and again. He’s leaning back on his knees, sitting entirely upright while he wrecks you from behind. His balls slap against your clit from the force of his thrusts, and you’re unable to hear anything but Jack’s harsh huffs.

“Oh my fucking god…” you groan out, your eyes rolling back once Jack’s body returns to yours.

“I know, baby, I know.” he grunts out, continuing to hammer his hips against your ass. “Oh, it’s so much, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm, yes. Daddy, fuck…”

“You’re always such a good little girl for me. Letting me overwhelm your pretty body like this. Fuck, fuck.”

“Yes, daddy. Please, yes, fuck me. Love when you’re like this.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles, running his hot tongue along your ear. “When am I not like this?”

You giggle girlishly beneath him, knowing that what he says is true. With each harsh shove he gives, you give one back, meeting his thrusts in time and sending him even deeper inside.

Suddenly, he sits upright, bringing your body with him. He leans back, wrapping both arms around your midsection with one hand clinging to your hip while the other grabs your tit. Both of your hands fly up to his forearm, your nails digging deep into his flesh. Jack’s nose presses harshly against your cheek, his words coming out in punched-out groans and gasps when he speaks.

“Look at the camera baby, make sure daddy can see this pretty little face. Because this is all for me, right? It’s always for me.”

You do as you’re told, your blissed-out smirk and tight body showing beautiful in frame. He squeezes your chest in hand, rubbing the rough skin of his thumb over your pointed nipple.

“Love the way your tits bounce when I fuck you, baby. So fuckin’ big, so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Fuck, daddy…”

“What is it, angel? Tell me? Let me hear you, even when I’m gone, let me hear your breathy little begs. Let me hear how fucking desperate you are.”

“I love it,” you choke out, gasping while he continues punching himself up into you. “I love you.”

“Aw, baby.” He coos, genuinely happy to have gotten that on tape. “I love you, too. You know that, don’t you? you’re the most precious thing I have, sugar peach. The most precious thing your daddy owns.”

“Daddy,” you sigh, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.

Jack looks over at the camera, which is still sitting steady on the stand. He smiles, turning back toward you when he hears you sounds grow quiet. The hand massaging your chest rises, his thumb placing itself on your lower lip and dragging it down and away from your teeth.

“Let me hear those pretty noises, sugar. You gonna be a good girl and let daddy know how good this feels, hm?”

“Yes,” you immediately comply, “Yes, daddy. It feels so good, fuck. Daddy, daddy!”

“You just love callin’ me that, don’t you?” he coos, laughing breathily upon hearing you say it again. “Say it again, honey. I can’t fucking get enough of it.”

“Jack, you’re my daddy.” You comply. “You’re my daddy, and I’m yours. I’m yours, baby.”

“Ain’t that right?” he mumbles, pressing his widening grin against your skin.

He loves the way your walls squeeze him extra hard when his hips retract, as if beckoning him back inside. He never fully leaves you, only pulls out about halfway before shoving himself back in. The girth of him stretches you every single time, forcing you to accommodate him with each thrust he gives.

“God dammit, babycakes. You feel so fuckin’ good, always feel so fucking good…” he praises, kissing your cheek endlessly with his wet, warm mouth. “So proud of you baby doll, takin’ me so well. Just a little longer, honey, gonna be so happy if you last just a little longer.”

“Okay, daddy.” You whimper, gasping out each time he thrusts back in.

The slap of his hips against your ass is nearly as painful as when his palm hits your skin, but your body doesn’t really register it as pain. The forceful contact only serves to heighten your pleasure. He’s so deep, fucking you so hard it jostles your body with every rut. Jack keeps your up, keeps your back pressed against his chest. He tells you it’s because he wants a full view, wants to see your tits bounce every time he punches himself back inside, every time he squeezes you in hand or bites down on your neck.

“Gonna love watchin’ this, sugar. Gonna love watching you take my cock.”

“Daddy, I want you – want you to cum.”

“Yeah, baby? You wanna feel daddy fill you up? Wanna feel me cum deep inside your tight fuckin’ pussy till it drips out around my cock?”

“God, yes.”

“Tell you what,” he grunts out. “I’ll cum inside you if you suck my cock when I’m done.”

“Fuck y-yes.” you groan, whimpering and whining and fucking begging for him to cum just so you can lick it off his cock. “Daddy please, please let me taste you.”

The thought alone flushes your skin with excitement, mainly because it’s something he’s never asked you to do before. God, you can’t wait for him to watch this while he’s away.

“I love that you’re doin’ this for me, sugar. Letting me video you like this. Gonna fuckin’ take you with me when I go, gonna be able to watch you whenever I want.”

“Baby…”

“Wish I could fucking show you off like this, show every man and woman that looks your way the way I take your sweet fuckin’ cunt.”

“Daddy –” you gasp out, absolutely reveling in his dominant possession over you.

“God dammit, baby. You ready to taste it? Ready to taste what I’ve got for you?”

“Yes!” you cry out, nearly shrieking as you feel him punch up against your cervix.

Jack’s teeth nearly draw blood at the way they dig into your skin, his hot mouth massaging over your shoulder as he cums. You not only hear but feel the shift in Jack’s breathing, the forceful gasps and groans his body emits. He drops, falling forward but not releasing your body from his grasp. He lays over you, his body jerking above yours while his hips continually snap against your ass. The hot breath of his moans fans out over your neck, his plush lips parted in absolute shock from the sheer force of his orgasm.

“Fuck me,” he sighs out, pinching his eyes shut as he finally empties himself inside.

While laying over you, he reaches out, grabbing the tripod once again. He lifts himself, removing his softening erection from your fucked-full hole. You know what he has in mind, smiling and giggling mischievously below him while he does it. One hand lays out over your ass, spreading you apart and settling the camera between your thighs.

“Oh…” he groans, nearly rolling his eyes back at the sight.

He watches through the lens as he drips from your hole, his pearly liquid seeping out from your folds. He gives you a few smacks, one hard, and a few light.

“Get over here, babycakes. Come suck daddy’s dick.”

“Okay, daddy.” You return, your voice light and airy due to your hazy state.

He smirks, laying down beside you and watching as you crawl over on your knees. Jack spreads his legs for you, allowing you to settle between them and get to work. He removes his phone from the tripod in order to get a better angle, tossing the mechanism to the ground while laying his phone against his chest.

“Oh yeah, baby. Just like that… go on, clean me up.”

You hum at his words, laying your mouth over his crotch and his rapidly re-hardening cock. Moving slowly, you run your tongue along the underside of his length, sucking on his tip when you bob up and down. The musky scent of his spend littering the older agent’s skin and coarse hair sends a shiver down your spine.

“Oh honey,” he moans, watching through the lens as your tongue licks up the cum along his pelvis. “Daddy’s gonna miss his baby girl.”

Thank you for reading <3

Daddy Whiskey Taglist: @takochansugoi @movievillainess721

General Taglist: @anaaaispunk @dihra-vesa @sweetangel0069 @coaaster @pepascalhoe @evyiione @bport76 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @mswarriorbabe80 @just-here-for-the-moment

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lesbobiwan · 3 years

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Congrats on 501 followers! You rock and I know you will continue to do so! May I request #3 with either Cody or Fives (or both) please? Female reader or gender neutral reader is fine! Thank you thank you!

#3: "No panties?" + Fives

501st follower special

You've felt his eyes on you the entire night, dark with intent but never jealous.

The both of you know who you belong to.

The shiny that dragged you across the dance floor with a bashful grin twirls you towards the table where your 501st boys watch on.

Kix whistles you think, you can't hear it but you see the shape his lips make, and Jesse shoots you a pair of finger guns. Echo grins into his cup and all Fives does is watch.

You spin back towards the shiny, but you don't stay with him for long.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you back into a firm chest. "You mind if I cut in, kid?"

The shiny flounders for a moment, back going ridged like he wants to snap into a quick salute. "No, sir! Feel free, sir!" He scampers off without so much as a second glance to you.

"Aw, but I was having such a good time, sir," sarcasm drips from your voice, clearly mocking the shiny that would have kissed Fives' boots if he asked.

Fives grins and one hand dips low to squeeze your asscheek. "Well, I think we can have an even better time in the bathroom,"

His voice is thick with meaning, one eyebrow quirking up as if you need any sort of clue as to what he means.

"Oh, but, Fives, the bathroom is filthy," you protest, not at all meaning it.

Fives has fucked you in dirtier places now that you think about it.

Fives squeezes your ass again, harder this time and enough to make you squeak, "You didn't say that last week when you pushed me into a stall and dropped to your knees to suck my cock, sweetheart,"

“That was different,” you argue breathlessly, thighs clenching under your dress.

The hand on your ass slides up until it reaches the small of your back, and Fives barely has to guide you at all as the two of you make your way to the bathroom.

He pushes you in first, cutting off the poor soul who was reaching for the door handle, and locks the door behind him.

You watch as Fives stays facing the door after his closes it, as if preparing himself for what’s next.

The opportunity is there for you.

You grin and fold yourself over one of the sinks. The porcelain presses uncomfortably into your hips and you keep your chest off the faucet by propping yourself up with your hands.

Your skin prickles with excitement and arousal as Fives finally turns around.

“Shit, baby,” Fives groans, hands immediately finding your ass that’s peaking out from under your dress.

“No panties?”

You gasp as one of his fingers finds your clit. “W—wanted to surprise you,”

Fives wedges himself between your thighs, forcing your legs wider. “Well, consider me fucking surprised,”

“I’d rather you be fucking me,” you give him a cheeky grin through the mirror.

The course fabric of Fives’ civvies against your cunt has you gasping. You grind back into his erection, knowing full well that you’re leaving a stain on the front of his pants that everyone will see when the two of you leave.

Everyone will know it’s you that fucks Fives whenever and wherever you want.

“You want me to fuck you?” Fives demands, dragging his bulge against your slit.

You whine in confirmation, head dropping as you revel in the feeling of pants catching on your clit.

“Then look at me.”

A hand tangles in your hair and Fives jerks your head back until you meet his gaze through the mirror.

Your gasp catches in your throat, hands scrabbling against the porcelain as Fives takes away your leverage.

The blunt head of his cock presses against your sopping hole.

“Fives,” you whine, canting your hips back towards him.

He swats your ass with the hand not pulling your hair. “Ask me nicely.”

You huff. That cocky asshole.

“Please, fuck me, Fives,” you finally spit out, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Through the mirror, Fives looks wonderfully amused, but he still doesn’t move.

Shit. He actually wants you to beg?

“Please, Fives?” you shove your hips back a little more desperately than before. “I thought of you all day, I missed you so much. I thought I was gonna drip down my damn thighs all night with how much I needed y— shit!

Fives bottoms out between one blink and the next.

His cock stretches you perfectly, just skirting the line of too much, and you’re helpless to watch as your face contorts as he eases back out.

“Eyes on me,” Fives reminds you through gritted teeth before his hips snap back against you.

The sight of the two of you in the mirror is taboo and shamelessly lewd and you think you could watch it all day.

Your toes curl as Fives’ fingers start circling your clit.

“Shit,” Fives hisses, his breath hot against your neck, “you get so tight when I rub your pretty little clit.”

Your moan is loud enough to cover the banging on the door.

Fives hitches your hips up, just a small movement but the angle changes tremendously, and his cock drags against your g-spot with unerring accuracy.

Your eyes flutter shut as you shriek, hands smacking against the sink.

“Fives!”

The hand in your hair jerks viciously.

“What’d I tell you?” Fives demands, goatee scratching against your neck as he drops his head to whisper in your ear. “Eyes. On. Me.”

He punctuates his words with three hard thrusts that have you sobbing.

Still, your eyes open before he has to tell you again.

“There’s my girl,” Fives grins, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple before he’s back to pounding into your cunt.

You meet his eyes, blown out and looking only at you, and you convulse around his cock as he pulls an orgasm from you.

A silent scream leaves your open mouth, and you fight to keep your eyes open, even as the orgasm of a life time rips through you because —

“F— fuck!”

Fives looks just as pretty when he cums.

His hips stutter against yours, both arms wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he cums deep inside you.

The two of you revel in your orgasms, Fives with his forehead pressed into the space between your shoulder blades.

He kisses the nape of your neck before finally easing himself out, the two of you hissing in overstimulation as he does.

A glob of his cum drips from your fluttering cunt, landing on the floor with a wet plop that has you both wrinkling your noses.

“Y’know, this bathroom is pretty filthy.”

“Are you just now realizing that?”

#arc trooper fives x reader #501st special #dangerousstrawberrypie #lee’s writing

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janaispunk · 2 months

Text

end game

series masterlist • this is part VII

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Heartbreak, an explanation and an epilogue.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), angst, feelings, heartbreak, depression, mention of weight loss, fluff, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (it's never stated in the fic but i headcanon that reader is on birth control), basically free use kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, Dave is a menace, praise kink, idiots in love, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: the biggest thank you to @joelscurls for letting me scream about this again and againnnnn, and reading over my drafts countless times, you’re the best, jess! <3

thank you to @daddy-dins-girl for talking plot holes with me and motivating me to write <3

thank you to everyone who has read and loved this series, i have received sooooo many kind words, feedback and just so much love. i started writing this as a pwp oneshot and the fact that it has turned into my first series ever and one that i had soooo much fun with is wild. i’m incredibly emotional about saying goodbye to my babies, maybe i’ll revisit them when i need to write some kinky shit out of my system haha. i hope that you like the ending that i’ve built for them.

a few words about the plot: i actually have zero clue how the hitman business works (shocker, i know), so some parts of this are purposefully vague in a way that i hope is believable and somewhat realistic. just roll with it, thanks :D

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

find my full masterlist here & follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates.

The first week you don’t hear from Dave, you’re confused, but not necessarily worried yet. There have been weeks of silence in the past, though you’ll admit that you had thought that things might be… different now.

Your texts to him stay on delivered, never switching to read. Which has also happened before, especially when he was away on business, but still… The thought that he has gone back to his normal life without sparing as much as a glance back at your time together is nagging at you.

You can still feel his hands on your skin, can still hear him whisper in your ear how beautiful you look, how perfect you are for him. It’s hard to come to terms with the thought that it wasn’t real, that his words and actions didn’t hold the same weight for him that they did for you. Reality has finally caught up to you and it hurts.

When two weeks blend into three weeks and you’ve still heard nothing, you start getting worried. He had said his line of work was dangerous, after all.

Your conversation, still so close and yet a lifetime ago, echoes in your mind. 'Nothing's gonna happen,’ you had said. ‘Not to the girls, not to me. And not to you.’ And not to you. ‘You don’t know that, sweetheart,’ his voice rings through your head. Sweetheart. The word tastes bitter on your tongue and wraps itself around your chest until you feel like you’re choking with it, like you can’t draw breath into your lungs anymore.

Sweetheart.

You don’t know that.

Sweetheart.

You start looking him up online, to find anything that might at least tell you that he’s okay. You don’t want to believe that he would be cruel enough to ghost you, but you barely dare to consider the alternative. You find nothing, no mention of his name, like he doesn’t even exist.

Your calls stay unanswered, your messages stay unread. You find yourself subconsciously checking your texts and your emails countless times a day, catch yourself staring out of your window in the blind hope that he might appear outside. He wouldn’t just leave you like this, would he? Would he?

Days blur into weeks and eventually into months. You’re painfully aware that it’s not healthy, this kind of heartbreak, especially not over a relationship that never even meant anything. If only your heart would understand that.

It was never serious enough that you told any of your friends about it, never wanted to be labeled as the girl that sleeps with married men, never wanted to admit your feelings to someone else when you could barely admit them to yourself. Regardless, even without knowing what exactly was going on, your friends had tried to be there for you, to convince you to go out with them, to cheer you up, but you had turned them down often enough that on this Friday night, your phone stays silent.

It’s better this way. All you want to do is rot away on your couch, staring at the TV with unseeing eyes until it’s an acceptable time to go to bed. Maybe it won’t take you hours of lying in the dark to fall asleep tonight. Maybe it won’t remind you of a different kind of darkness in a different room, a room where the sound of waves against the shore and the deep breaths beside you lulled you to sleep.

You need to get yourself together, your inner voice whispers. Next week, you think. Or the one after that.

A knock on your door shakes you out of your thoughts and you pad over, expecting to be met with the Chinese takeout that you had ordered in hopes of fueling your appetite at least a bit with the prospect of comfort food. Absentmindedly, you note the surprisingly short delivery time. You barely look up as you swing the door open, busy fiddling with your purse to extract a few dollar bills.

After finally managing to pull them out, you face the doorway. A greeting dies in your throat.

Familiar deep brown eyes burn into yours, framed by the face that you wish you’d forget but can’t. The short brown hair, the clean shaven jawline that you can still feel underneath your fingertips, the memory all too fresh in your mind. He looks tired, you think, and instantly scold yourself for knowing him well enough to even notice.

The seconds tick by as you motionlessly stare at him, blinking slowly, your mind running a mile a minute. Why is he here? He can’t be here. Are you making this up? If so, things are far worse than you had thought.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. It’s probably the least sure of himself that you’ve ever seen him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand twitching like he almost reached out to you but changed his mind. “Can I- can I come in?”

You regard him for a moment longer. The sound of his voice makes him appear more real, and the fog in your head slowly clears. He’s alive. He’s here. In front of your door. Alive and well. Your emotions boil up inside of you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You think you can just show up here after months and ask if you can come in? I thought you were… I thought…”

Your voice betrays you, breaking at the sharp sting of pain in your chest that you’ve fruitlessly tried to suppress and the feeling of your throat closing up. Tears spill over and you furiously wipe at your cheeks, determined to keep some semblance of dignity.

“I know,” Dave breathes, defeatedly. “I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.” His hand reaches towards you again. You shy away from his touch and an expression of hurt ripples across his face. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice only trembles a little as you snap at him. After another look at his face, you eventually step aside and jerk your head towards your living area. You briefly think about how messy the place is, for how many weeks you didn’t have it in yourself to clean up. You can’t bring yourself to care. Seeing him walk through your flat again after being so painfully aware of his absence leaves you almost dizzy. You take the opposite ends of your couch, both of your bodies stiff, careful not to touch one another.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Explain.”

So he explains. How he received a call, barely thirty minutes after he stepped into his house, with a mission that was too perfect of an opportunity to pass it up. There had been no time to let you know, the risk too high to use his personal phone once he started working.

He goes back to the persona that took up half of his life for so long, the identity that is no more, the man that fell down a watchtower and was washed away by the sea. Body never found. At least that’s what everyone who knew this man thinks. Everyone who knew him, but not Dave York.

He’s been thorough with it, with the most important mission he’s ever done. There are no loose ends, no one who could trace things back to the real him.

It took longer than he had anticipated and he kept laying low afterwards, until he could be absolutely sure that no one would be looking for him anymore.

He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get rid of the worry, ever stop looking over his shoulder, but rationally, he knows that he did it. He got out.

Then he had talked to Carol, let her know that he wants a divorce. It had been- easy, almost. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream at him, just nodded like she had known this day would come for a long time. He thinks that she almost seemed relieved, in a way.

Your eyes had been glued to his face since he started speaking. Tears are silently running down your cheeks.

“I know that I should have found a way to contact you. I didn’t-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so worried that someone would find out about you. I never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe that.” He knows that he looks a mess, that his desperation to make you understand is written all over his features.

Every day that he didn’t call you, he knew that he was hurting you. He tried justifying it with himself, that having you think he left you was better than risking somebody coming after you. It never gave him much comfort.

It’s even worse, now that he sees the damage he had done. You have lost weight, deep circles have formed under your eyes and you move like you’re barely holding yourself together. He saw the panic on your face when he tried reaching for you at the door. No matter what he had done to you in the past, you always sought out the safety of his touch afterwards. Until now.

“Please believe me,” he whispers.

You study his face for what feels like a lifetime. Tears are glistening on your lashes. You look so tired, so defeated that it makes his heart ache.

“You’ve done it?” you finally ask. Your voice is a quiet thing, barely bridging the distance between the two of you. A flicker of hope rings with it. “You’re safe now?”

He nods silently, fighting the urge to gather you in his arms, to promise you that he’ll always be there from now on. A small smile curves your lips upward as you mirror his nod, like you’re trying to let this new reality sink in.

“That’s good,” you murmur.

You lean forward, your fingers tentatively closing around his fist that’s clenched tightly against his thigh.

Hope flickers inside his chest. He can taste the three words that he’s been wanting to say to you for far too long on the tip of his tongue. He’s not going to, not right now, not today. But someday soon, he thinks that he might.

Two years later

“Bye girls, say hi to your mom and Matt from me,” you smile, embracing each of them in a tight hug before they dash out of the door, a jumble of giggles and excited chatter. Dave trails behind them with a grin on his face, pecking your lips and calling out for them to slow down.

Your heart is full, overflowing with love for this family that, against all odds, has become yours. You watch Dave usher his daughters into the car and push the doors closed behind them, the smile still on your lips. As you walk back into the house, your eyes linger on the thin silver band adorning your ring finger.

It’s still new, still an unexpected sight when you catch it on the edge of your periphery. It’s the tangible proof of you being the happiest you’ve ever been.

Things had been rough at first, after Dave came back to you. You understood why he handled the situation the way he did, but it took you a long time to trust that he wouldn’t disappear again. To believe that he left his old life behind, that he chose you. But he did.

You busy yourself with cleaning up the inevitable chaos that having the girls over for Dave’s days with them always creates. It’s not the life that you would have expected yourself to have a few years ago, but right now, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with a message from Dave.

Be back in 15. I expect you naked and on your knees waiting by the door.

You bite your lip, heat building inside you with rapid speed. Your phone pings again.

Don’t disappoint me.

Fuck. Wetness is already gathering between your legs as you jump into action.

The car door slamming shut has never sounded so good before. You’re listening intently, catching Dave’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and the jingle of his keys before the door opens beside where you’re kneeling.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, watching the mix of smugness and adoration on his face as he takes in your position. A shudder runs through you and your nipples harden under his demanding gaze. He steps closer, caressing your cheek.

“Such a good girl… my obedient little wife, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, the coherent thoughts slowly draining from your brain and craving more of his touch, more of him.

He smiles down at you, his eyes glinting predatorily. You’ve come to know this shift into the darkness since you first met, but it’s more playful these days, not laced with the urgency that possessed him back then. Still, he gets intense, especially after having the girls over forces you to keep things rather tame during those days.

“Show me your ass, face on the ground, come on,” he demands coldly.

You obey without question, turning around and bending forward, pressing your upper body down to the floor and presenting your backside to him. He lands a couple of slaps on your cheeks and you flinch, moaning out softly. Your pussy already feels slick with arousal.

“What do you say?” he asks, rubbing his hand over the heated skin.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper.

Another slap hits you. “Do you know what you did to deserve this?”

You wrack your brain for a few moments, but come up blank.

“I- no, sir.” Your voice is small and breathy, your body bracing for the impact of his hand again.

He chuckles. “Nothing. I just felt like it.” Another slap. “And you’re mine to do as I please, isn’t that right?” Your thighs are trembling. You’re so wet that it feels like you’re dripping onto the floor.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You know what’s the most fucked up about this?” He crouches down beside your face and strokes your cheek softly, smiling down at you. “How much you whore like it.”

He straightens up and heads for the stairs. “Bedroom, come on.”

You don’t even try standing up, knowing that he won’t let you, and crawl behind him, which earns you another chuckle and a “good girl”.

The image of your naked form on your knees behind Dave who hasn’t removed a stitch of clothing sends another bolt of arousal through you. You’re desperate for him to touch you.

He roughly lifts you up and manhandles you onto the bed until you’re spread out underneath him.

“So…” He grabs your wrists and holds them over your head, pressing them into the mattress. “These stay right here, you hear me? Don’t move, or do I have to restrain you?”

You pout at the prospect of not being allowed to put your hands on him, but obediently hold them in place when he eases his grip on you. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He grins down at you. “I know you will. Got my girl well trained, haven’t I?”

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and your “yes, sir” comes out in a whimper.

He leans in closer, spreading your thighs wider with his body and you force yourself not to buck your hips up against him. The craving for any part of him to touch you, for any kind of friction, is overwhelming.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. Your pleading eyes hold his cold gaze as he’s leaning over you.

“Patience,” he growls. “Open your mouth.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “Wider.”

You part your lips as widely as you can, sticking your tongue out and trying not to squirm against the sheets. He remains motionless for a few seconds, taking in your desperate state with a cruel smirk on his face.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then he tips his head forward and spits into your waiting mouth. The filthy feeling of his saliva coating your tongue and filling your mouth almost drives you insane with want and you groan, shifting against his thick thighs between yours, but to no avail. You wait for his next command, your mouth still wide open, not daring to swallow before he tells you to.

But no command comes. Instead, he reaches up to press two fingers down on your tongue, dipping into your mouth and smearing your combined spit over your face. The silver band on his ring finger is cool against your skin and you shudder, loving the reminder that he’s really, entirely yours.

Your body feels like it’s burning up, your hands are twitching and you’re desperate to move them, to touch him, to do something, but you hold yourself still until he finally tells you to, “swallow, baby.”

He smiles and finds your lips for a surprisingly soft kiss, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re being so good,” he tells you gently. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you smile, chasing his lips when he pulls back, but he tuts at you and you fall back against the bed, huffing out a breath. “Just… please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, the softness gone as quick as it came. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

You bite your lip, but stay put while he stands up to finally start removing his clothes. He’s agonizingly slow with it, holding your hungry gaze while he unbuttons his shirt in unhurried movements that make you want to tear the clothes off his body yourself.

You drink him in, first the sight of his broad chest and his strong shoulders, then his muscular legs, and finally, making your mouth water and your pussy burn with desire, his cock.

As much as he keeps taunting you, you know him well enough by now to be able to tell that he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, even when he’s trying to conceal it. He returns to you, sitting back on his haunches and drinking you in, until after what feels like hours, he finally reaches out and swirls his fingers through the wetness between your legs. It’s a barely there touch, but you’re so painfully turned on and sensitive that you let out a gasp.

“So fucking wet,” he marvels and applies the slightest bit of pressure to your clit. It’s enough to make you see stars and you’re sure that he could make you come just from this. But, of course he won’t. He laughs at your reaction and retracts his hand to lean forward instead until he’s on top of you again, your legs spread wide to accommodate him and his cock slides through your folds.

He lowers his head to nip and suck at the skin under your jaw, one hand toying with your breasts and your hardened nipples. Your whole body is buzzing, he’s so close and it’s so much, but it’s not enough, not enough, not enough.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, peppering your skin with kisses and rocking his hips in small movements that make his cock nudge at your clit over and over.

“F-fuck me, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, your body still obediently stretched out underneath him with your arms above your head. He nods wordlessly and reaches down to position himself at your soaking entrance.

“Be as loud as you want,” he growls against your neck. “I missed making you scream.”

He bites at your skin at the same time as his thrust into you punches the air from your lungs. You scream, just like he asked, as he hammers into you, his lips still attached to your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. The sensation of finally being filled by him, of feeling the stinging stretch of the way he forcefully pounds into you is like heaven. You think that you’re talking, crying out a mix of his name and sir and please over and over.

You’re flying towards your climax and judging from his groans, he can already feel you tighten around him.

“Go ahead,” he groans, before you’ve even strung the words to ask for permission together in your mind. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pinches your nipple just once and the additional sensation is enough to send you flying, your pussy clenching around his cock and drenching him in your arousal as you scream out his name. It’s pure bliss, and you never want to come down.

“That’s it,” he growls, not slowing his movements, fucking you through the aftershocks until you’re a whining mess beneath him, “that’s my perfect girl, fuck-”

You force your eyes open to smile up at him, taking in the wrecked expression on his face, relishing in the knowledge that you’re the one to make him look like this. You just really wish you could touch him.

“P-please, can I-” you’re breathless, barely able to speak, and jerk your head towards your hands above you.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thrusts somehow growing even more forceful, “do whatever you want, baby.”

Your hands fly towards his body, touching every inch of his skin that you can reach, nails digging into his back and fingers grasping at his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can taste, all you can feel.

“Fuck!” he swears, grabbing your shoulders and holding you in place as he’s pounding into you, “give me another one, touch yourself, come on-”

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know that he’s close to his own climax. It only takes a few swipes of your fingers over your clit until you’re coming again, soaring through the heights of your pleasure, your whole body trembling with your release. Dave’s hips stutter and he comes with a shout, pulsing inside of your fluttering pussy until finally, you both still.

He drops his sweat-slicked forehead against your chest, peppering your skin with kisses and engulfing you in the warmth of his arms. After cleaning you up, he moves your bodies until you’re tucked against his side, one arm thrown across his chest while he holds you close.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of his naked body against yours, of the way he feels like he was made for you. By now, you can admit that he had always felt like this.

“I love you,” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You press your face deeper into his neck. “I love you.”

It’s easy, now. Words that you say every day.

…and i love YOU, thank you for reading! 🤍 if you liked this, a reblog or a comment would absolutely make my day.

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader

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