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taexual · 27 days

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sleepwalking ● 22 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, FLUFF, some angst, mentions of drugs (including descriptions of harmful use), very plot-heavy chapter, SLOW BURN

words: 18k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 22 ► if you want an enemy, i’ll be the last one that you ever meet

Jungkook marvelled at how quickly he got used to the peace he felt with you in his hotel room. It was strong, too, this peace. Stable. It seemed to him, as you slept on the bed right by his side, that nothing could disturb the walls of his room.

Sid’s Instagram post had been nothing but a picture. Neither of you interacted with it, nor did you respond to him—although, like a true pest, he continued to message you both throughout the night.

The picture remained as it was: largely anonymous, because Sid, in his petulant haste to post it, had not tagged you. And, from the looks of it, he had not realised he hadn’t tagged you.

The people in the comments—Jungkook checked, after making sure you’d fallen asleep—tried to guess what was happening. Most of the comments, with usernames that made Jungkook chuckle, seemed to recognise him (well, a few people did, and others jumped on this bandwagon with a heedless excitement that brought another smile to his face—they were thrilled to find him in this seemingly random picture, and he was thrilled by their thrill), but no one could understand the context.

So happy for you, Sid’s caption read. But happy for what? Happy for whom?

You’ve both decided to raise this issue with the band before the concert tomorrow. There was very little you could have done this late at night anyway. All the staff had a day off, and you did not want to disturb them over a personal problem that had escalated into something bigger than you.

Jungkook was delighted by your choice to stay in his room. He interpreted your decision to wait until morning as a confirmation of your deeper desire to prolong your time together. He preferred to believe that this was the reason, rather than the circumstances, that allowed you to stay.

And since you were sleeping next to him right now, your chest rising and falling gently under the covers, it was all too easy to give in to this belief.

When Jungkook woke up a few hours later, the room was bathed in a golden glow. The sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains that he must have overlooked last night.

You weren’t next to him.

Panic seized him almost instantly, and he realised that the peace he had felt last night with you beside him was not quite as stable as he had believed. Now you were awake, and you were not here.

He flipped on his back and pushed himself into a sitting position. He even searched under the bed in irrational desperation—as if you had decided to play hide-and-seek and give him a heart attack for breakfast. And then, as soon as he threw back the covers and scanned the room, he heard your voice—a lifeline, really, amid his suffocating thoughts.

You were still here, in the bathroom, either talking on the phone or to yourself. Honestly, that part did not really matter to him, as long as he knew you were here.

Outrageously relieved, he collapsed back onto the pillows and buried his face in his hands, a ridiculous smile spreading beneath his fingers as his heart continued to race in his chest.

He realised that he was a little out of his mind.

You were on the phone, as Jungkook would later learn, with the founder and CEO of Jett Records, Christian Jett—or simply CJ, as he insisted you call him, even though you’d only spoken to him once in your entire time at the company: right now. You figured one of the reasons he insisted on the abbreviation was that his full name could have worked incredibly well as a Christian rock band name.

If Jungkook had known who you were talking to, his panic might have resurged. Your hands were shaking, too, as you clutched your phone to your ear and took in CJ’s rapid news.

In just one breath, CJ shared his thoughts on Rated Riot’s reception in Europe and outlined his vision for the coming months. He also surprised you with some good news, and you tapped your fingers on the hotel sink, eager to tell the band.

Then, CJ, your new best friend by the sound of it, turned the subject over to you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen in the next few weeks,” he said, speaking so quickly that you barely had time to react. By the time your stomach clenched in anticipation, he had already informed you of his plans. “I’ve personally put together a team, just a couple of execs and someone from HR, to recruit support staff for you. We’re thinking two people should suffice for now.”

Your pause seemed incredibly long compared to his—which was virtually non-existent, and CJ opened his mouth to keep speaking.

“I was also thinking that—”

“I—sorry, uh,” you interjected, finally finding your words, “w-what support staff are you referring to, sir?”

“Assistant managers,” CJ replied with a chuckle. “I should’ve started with that, you’re right. You’ll have a team. Naturally, you’ll be promoted to Head of Management.”

You needed some time to process that. It was the “naturally” in particular that confused you because none of this seemed very natural.

When you woke up and saw ‘Christian Jett’ on your phone (the device even vibrated differently, almost nervously), you immediately assumed the worst: Sid had done irreparable damage to the band’s reputation by hard-launching a relationship that no one at the label knew about, and now you were going to be fired because you had not contained it.

That was the only thought you had when you took the call. But you were actually being promoted. Naturally.

Did he even know about Sid?

“That—that’s great,” you managed. You sensed CJ’s anticipation for a more effusive response and he grumbled in mild disapproval when you did not offer one. “I am very happy to hear that.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled again. He sounded like a train veering off its tracks when he laughed, which was very odd, yet somehow felt comforting. “You don’t sound much like it.”

“Oh—m-my apologies, I’m just surprised.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be,” he said. “Others are trying to scout you for their own bands—fucking Reconnaissance, of all people—so, of course, we have to promote you.”

Your fingers stilled on the cool porcelain of the sink.

He said they had to promote you: as if it was a decision forced upon them by some foreign threat, rather than your efforts and the unprecedented growth of the band.

It would have made sense to expand your team eventually—when the tour ended, for example, and everyone could see how far Rated Riot has come. But now, apparently, your career would abruptly progress just because you received an offer from another band.

“Respectfully, sir,” you said, avoiding his nickname, “may I ask how you came by that information? I was under the impression that the offer from Reconnaissance wasn’t official.”

“It’s a small industry,” CJ replied. “We consider any offer aimed at our talents official.”

He gave no further explanations. You had questions, of course, but did not know how to say What the fuck is that supposed to mean? in Corporate.

Instead, you said, “I see.”

“I’ll send one of my assistants and a couple of people from our legal team to go over the new contract with you in the next few days,” he informed you.

You wondered what time it was for him, wherever he was, because here in London, it was far too early to talk about legal teams. The magnitude of the situation made your empty stomach churn.

“Your new contract won’t be much different,” CJ continued. He sensed that the mention of lawyers had unsettled you, and his tone softened. “Bigger pay, a few extra tasks, a more defined division of labour. Your assistants will handle the routine chores, allowing you to concentrate on promoting and advancing Rated Riot. That’s the direction we’re moving in right now, and that’ll be your main priority.”

“I understand, sir,” you said, although you understood fragments.

They could have hired a marketing specialist instead of two assistants for you if they wanted to focus on the advancement of the band. Rated Riot did not even have their own publicist right now. There was one at the company, but she juggled several bands and rarely ventured beyond arranging an occasional interview for Rated Riot if someone contacted the company, and not you.

Evidently, they chose to promote you to Head Manager and Publicist instead of hiring a different person for that job.

“You’ll stay with the band and work on location,” CJ said. “That arrangement seems to bring the best results, especially regarding the band’s schedule. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, recognising that CJ probably had the authority to teleport you out of London immediately should you disagree with anything he said.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’d like to move forward with this while the band is still on tour, so you could train your assistants as soon as you are back. From then on, you’ll focus on effective representation and the strengthening of their brand, marketing strategies, bigger shows, more advertising—well, you know the drill.”

“Right,” you said. “Of course.”

You chose not to point out how far these new duties deviated from your original job description. You were already doing all that anyway, even if you weren’t, technically, required to. And they clearly seemed to think that your extra work came without saying—of course, you’d do everything. When have you not?

“And mostly everything else on the contract will remain as it is,” CJ finished. “The legal team will go over the rest with you. It’s the same things: compensation, conflicts of interest, obligations, bonuses, the whole bunch. You know. You’ve done it before.”

You haven’t done it before, actually. When Rated Riot hired you, the company emailed you the contract, you skimmed it, understood about half, and e-signed it without any meetings with HR, let alone the legal team.

Nevertheless, you responded obediently, “I understand. When can I expect to meet with them?”

“Let me check your schedule,” he said. You heard the faint clicking of a laptop mouse and assumed he had Rated Riot’s schedule at the ready. “Alright, you’re in London for the next few days, then almost a week in Paris. How about one of the days there? My assistant will email you later with a more specific time and date.”

“Okay, that sounds perfect,” you replied. “Thank you for taking the time to personally inform me about this, CJ. I—I’m very excited to start this new chapter with the band.”

“I’m excited as well,” CJ said, glad to finally hear your use of his name, even if you wavered while saying it. “Let’s keep this discreet, though, yeah? For now. I’ll mention the changes in management and the band’s upcoming promotions at the executive team meeting next week. Namjoon will update you on how that goes. Until then, let’s keep this within our circle.”

“I—of course, sir,” you replied. CJ allowed you a moment of thought and did not interrupt your silence this time.

You worried that his strong emphasis on discretion indicated his knowledge about something else. And even if it didn’t, you thought it would reflect badly on you later if you did not mention Sid right now, when you had the perfect opportunity for it.

“I’m—I would also like to address the recent speculation online regarding the, uh—bathtub picture,” you said, trying to choose your words without sounding like a three-year-old imitating a businessman. “I want to assure you that—”

“Oh, yeah, no—Namjoon called me earlier. He filled me in,” CJ said. “I hadn’t even seen the picture before he mentioned it. That Sid’s a weird character.”

Your heart jumped over a beat, chilling the blood in your anxious veins.

“Uh—yes,” you played along, wondering all the while where Namjoon was, and what he had done on your behalf. “He is.”

“I trust you’ll ensure no one else leaks the band’s album covers in the future, though,” CJ said. His words sounded like a demand—half a step away from a threat—but you could not recognise your reflection in the mirror all of a sudden and could not reply. “Maybe reset your systems or something.”

Namjoon had called CJ. He had deflected from your relationship with Jungkook and shielded you from what could have happened if someone discovered who the people in the picture were.

Sid leaked the album cover.

You took a fractured breath and leaned against the counter, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Yes—yes, of course,” you finally managed. “We’ll take every precaution to make sure these incidents are avoided in the future. Th-thank you, CJ.”

You could no longer tell if you were still coherent or just trying to be. CJ’s unusual pause seemed to indicate that he sensed your unease, but he chose not to comment on it. He thought you just felt uncomfortable that the album cover had leaked.

“Alright, happy to hear that,” he said. “Talk to you soon. Keep up the good work.”

He ended the call before you could voice any more platitudes about looking forward to hearing from him again. You weren’t. You were looking forward to finding Namjoon and possibly offering your soul to him to repay the debt.

Namjoon had resolved the issue that Sid had caused—the issue you considered personal, because you were keenly aware of the causal relationship between Sid’s post and your relationship with Jungkook: if you hadn’t spent so much time with him on this tour, if you’d kept your professional distance, if you’d closed the damn door in that hotel bathroom, there wouldn’t have been any picture at all.

However, there was more for you to fix. Namjoon had helped you now, but Sid was still at large, wild and unpredictable.

And as you glanced at your phone, you also remembered something else that CJ had said about your contract: conflicts of interest.

In your initial contract, you had declared none, despite already knowing that Jungkook was in the band. You hoped you could carry on quietly enough—as though you had never met him, really—and no one would mind. That more or less worked out, up until this point.

Now you wondered if you could still claim no conflicts of interest without any consequences. Was that what your relationship with Jungkook was, in the eyes of the company?

You took a deep breath and decided to ponder this elsewhere because the bathroom was getting stuffy and the clothes you’d worn for a comfortable film night suddenly felt suffocating against your skin.

Stepping out of the bathroom on the tips of your toes so as not to wake Jungkook, you turned the corner and locked eyes with him right away.

“Hi,” he murmured, the edges of his morning voice hoarse and groggy as he watched you from the mess of sheets on the bed.

Despite hoping to find him still asleep so you could slip back into bed and have the morning together that had been stolen from you, you didn’t feel disappointed that he was awake. He had a lazy smile on his lips. His hair was dishevelled and he kept bringing his hand through it.

There was a glow over your face as you approached the bed. “Hi.”

“I thought you’d left,” he said, his eyes following your every movement as you settled back next to him.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, closer to him. He wasn’t sure if you were even aware you did that, it seemed subconscious, but it prompted his hands to reach for you.

He touched your cheek, running his fingers over your jaw before leaning in to press his lips to yours—quickly, just to remind himself that he could. And to steal just one breath from you.

“No,” he said then. “Never.”

He saw your eyes soften and your smile grow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He traced his thumb over your lower lip before pulling away to sit up on the bed. “Who, um—who was that on the phone?”

The question was expected, but you didn’t have an answer for him personally—you’d planned to explain everything to all of Rated Riot later today.

“Uh,” you leaned against the headboard of the bed, “the label.”

“Yeah?” he encouraged.

“The CEO, actually,” you added briefly. “But I should probably discuss this with the whole band.”

Startled, Jungkook gripped the sheets in his hand. He was worried—rather obviously—that this was about Sid or still about Reconnaissance, and he couldn’t decide which he dreaded more. He was absurdly quick to convince himself that the CEO had told you something so serious that you didn’t even see the point of talking to him about it.

“Did something happen?” he asked, feeling the tips of his fingers grow numb.

You recognised the concern on his face with half of a glance. “Yeah, but it’s something good.”

Relief, excitement, and curiosity replaced the previous anxiety in his eyes at an impressive speed.

He shifted on the bed with a newfound energy, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “Well, tell me!”

“We’ll have a meeting—”

“That’s fair,” he said, moving closer. “But tell me now.”

You were too excited to dwell on the fact that this was the precise conflict of interest that had unsettled your mind earlier—this perception of favouritism, this special treatment that others might assume Jungkook received because he was in a relationship with his manager.

“You’re doing festivals next summer,” you said, pausing for emphasis, “and they’re extending your tour. We’ll be going back to at least five countries in Europe for encore shows.”

You still had to confirm the dates with the venues and perform several additional bureaucratic tasks so your team could stay in Europe longer, but all of that seemed irrelevant in light of this news.

“Ah,” Jungkook replied—happy, but not nearly as exuberant as you’d hoped. “That’s cool.”

You realised quickly that he must have misunderstood.

“No, Jungkook,” you said. “In arenas this time—with a capacity at least three times larger than we have right now.”

Instantly, his eyes ignited with the flames you’d looked forward to before.

“Oh,” he said and now the tingle of adventure was finally there, glistening fervently in his burning eyes.

But he looked at you again, and he thought there was something you hadn’t told him yet. It was the way your lips curled—smiling, but not quite.

“But you look—was there something else you talked about?” he asked.

You were surprised. You had hoped—naively, you now realised—that you could continue to talk about the promising parts of all that CJ had told you, leaving the more questionable parts to wait until the rest of your thoughts had cleared.

“They’re, uh, holding interviews for assistant managers and promoting me to Head Manager,” you said. Jungkook raised his eyebrows, but you continued before he could interject, “they’ll send people to Paris for me to sign the new contract.”

“To—oh, shit. Fuck.” His shock turned to laughter. Just moments ago, he was worried you’d have to leave the band. Now you were signing a new contract to stay. “Oh, but does that—does that mean we will see less of you? Is that why you—why you don’t seem very happy about that?”

“No, it’s—I am happy,” you said. “I’ll stay on-site with you guys. But the focus is—they’re saying we’re focusing more on promoting you and ‘strengthening your brand.’ That was cool, by the way. Your brand. I liked that part. But, uh—that will be my main priority, apparently. I guess I’m not really sure how that’s going to go.”

That wasn’t the only reason for your apprehension, but you did not want to mention Reconnaissance and the unexpected impact that Nick’s offer had on your sudden promotion. You preferred to see Jungkook smiling at you from across the bed—even more so when he was smiling right next to you.

“Well, what will you have to do?” he asked. “I mean, exactly?”

“I guess I will be making phone calls the whole day,” you replied, hoping secretly that this would not turn out to be all you’d have to do. “It also means that none of us will be going home longer than it takes for you to record a new album.”

“Oh.” Jungkook attempted to control his facial expression. For him, this arrangement—album, tour, album, tour—sounded almost ideal. “Well, that’s honestly fine by me.”

You knew he would not mind. But you minded. You had not said anything about your own workload to CJ, but you were prepared to use any threats necessary to ensure that Rated Riot had enough time to breathe.

“You say that now,” you pointed out, “but it will eventually get tough, being away from home for so long.”

“I have you,” Jungkook said. “I am home.”

He said that like it was the most obvious statement in the world—the grass is green, the sky is blue—but subtle magic was laced in every letter of every word. When he closed his eyes, when he couldn’t see the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room, his senses recognised the warmth of your presence as home.

Unfortunately, the darkness in his thoughts was unforgiving, and he had to ask you something else—but then he lost his resolve momentarily when he met your soft gaze and realised that you’d placed your hand on his.

“I, uh—” he tried, but several more moments had to pass before he sobered, “he—did he say anything about Sid?”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

Jungkook nodded contemplatively and took a breath, bracing himself. Although it was difficult to imagine what the label could have said about Sid, considering the abundance of good news, he knew better than to expect something positive.

Another book his grandmother had read with him when he was young suddenly returned to his mind, the dark cover with thick red lettering vivid in his memory: Something wicked this way comes.

The book had been sinister, completely unfitting for a child of his age at the time. Just like Sid.

“What was it?” Jungkook asked.

“That picture he posted,” you said, “is apparently the cover of your upcoming album.”

“It—oh.” He looked away, puzzled, suddenly, by the shade of the wallpaper behind the bedframe and the questionable events that had led the label to that conclusion. He tried to say more and managed a very successful, “ah.”

You lowered your head, tugging on the edge of the duvet. “Namjoon, uh—he took care of it before I got the call from CJ, so I don’t know much about what he said to him.”

Jungkook was not sure if he should have been relieved that Sid’s damage had been neutralised seemingly so effortlessly. He could never know with Sid; his refusal to give up rivalled only Voldemort’s immortality. Only Sid’s horcruxes were, apparently, pictures and videos he used to manipulate others.

“It’s a good photo for an album cover,” Jungkook finally said.

“It—it is,” you agreed. “And it’s also—well, you know. A good explanation.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll inform the label about us before I sign the new contract, though,” you decided. “I’ll talk to them. I thought maybe this could wait, but they’re sending over lawyers, so it’s—”

Jungkook’s breath got lodged in his throat and he had to cough several times to clear his airways, interrupting you.

“H-hold on,” he said. “You need lawyers present when you tell them we’re together?”

“They’re coming for the contract,” you explained. “And I’ll have to talk to them before I sign it because I figure you might be my conflict of interest.”

A sudden surge of very different emotions made Jungkook purse his lips. He found himself wondering if there was any term starting with “my” you could have used to describe him that he wouldn’t have liked. My boyfriend. My source of headaches. My biggest nuisance. Ultimately, all of that still meant that he was yours.

Reasonably, however, he did not like the sound of this.

“Huh,” he mused. “Doesn’t work as a pet name. Call me something else.”

“Yeah.” You chuckled. “I don’t like that one, either.”

You did not look particularly troubled. Everything was going to be fine, you were sure of it. You just weren’t sure how soon, and what this “fine” would look like.

“Come here,” Jungkook said before you could begin thinking about the possibilities and the risks.

You moved closer, happy to relish in the warmth of the room for a few more minutes as he wrapped his arms around you.

This was the morning you were looking forward to. Everything else could wait.

The second you stepped out of Jungkook’s hotel room and headed towards yours to pack for the day, Maggie startled you by calling out your name in the otherwise empty, echoing corridor. She appeared a little worried when you turned around, and that was so unbecoming on her normally laid-back face that you took an instinctive step back.

“Is—are you okay?” you asked.

She seemed surprised to see your surprise.

“I slept the whole day,” she explained. She was carrying something in her hands, but she kept it behind her back. “Feels like I was out for a week, actually.”

You smiled. That was hardly anything new.

You remembered the fright of your life that Maggie had given you the first time the two of you went out together. She had an alcohol tolerance that should have been outlawed, so she always drank more than Jungkook could ever handle (though he would argue otherwise, of course). By the time you got her back to your apartment that night, she was already barely conscious.

She had collapsed on your bed and when you brought her a glass of water about three minutes later, she was already snoring. And she’d slept—you counted—for twenty-two hours and thirty-three minutes. You had spent the last eight hours keeping watch over her, periodically checking if she was breathing, with your finger hovering over the emergency number on your phone.

To your amazement, she woke up the next morning without so much as a hint of a headache, perplexed by the concerned look on your face. She looked a bit like that now.

“Yeah,” you replied, a little jealous of her dangerous, but seemingly foolproof ability to avoid hangovers. “Maybe we should have stopped before the tequila shots.”

“Hmm.” She scratched her forehead. It was hard to tell what she was feeling; hesitation flickered in her eyes when she looked at you. “Was, uh—was Jungkook in my room yesterday?”

“He—oh, yeah,” you recalled. “I asked him to check on you.”

“Oh.” Relief washed over her face, adding some vibrancy to her cloudy features. “Okay. So I didn’t hallucinate that.”

You smiled again. “No.”

“I took your jacket,” she said, revealing the item she’d been clutching in her hands. “I don’t remember doing that.”

She seemed to remember even less from last night than you did, which was not uncommon for Maggie. She had a terrible memory in general—she took notes and then forgot she took notes—but this time, you could not help her remember, either.

“Thanks,” you said, taking your jacket from her. It still smelled faintly of your perfume and too much liquor. “Jungkook told me you had it. I still have one of your shoes.”

“Yeah, I—I have yours somewhere, too,” she said. “I assume you have my phone, too, then?”

You looked up. “Why would I have your phone?”

“Hm?” she asked as her heart began to pump blood a tad more effectively than necessary; you hadn’t even properly answered her yet. “But—you—didn’t you put it in your bag last night?”

You stilled and the surprise inside your stomach grew large, floating inside you as if it were a heavy, helium and anxiety-filled balloon.

“I… I had my bag with me?” you asked very slowly, but Maggie still did not understand the essence of your question. She looked around as though she’d just realised she was accidentally having this conversation in a language she did not speak, and she needed someone to translate it for her.

You were baffled. You knew you’d left your phone in your room before you went out with the girls, it was entangled in the sheets when you woke up the next morning. But you couldn’t remember whatever happened with your handbag; you had assumed it remained in your room as well.

“I’m pretty sure you had it with you,” Maggie said. Your heartbeat sped up, matching the frantic rhythm in your friend’s chest. “You took our orders on my phone because you didn’t have yours. And I assumed you put it in your bag after that.”

You turned around, frightened goosebumps rising on the back of your spine as your trembling fingers fumbled with the lock on your door.

“Jungkook said I didn’t have my bag with me when I got back,” you said as you entered the room, your gaze sweeping the space with an ever-mounting sense of panic. “I assumed—I thought I just didn’t take it with me. Nothing was missing. I had my keys in my jacket—I took them out at some point, before the jacket ended up with you—a-and my phone was here.”

You attacked the room, lifting suitcases and inspecting empty closets. Since you hadn’t fully unpacked, there were not a lot of places where your handbag could have been. Maggie tried to help you by holding up furniture for you to check underneath—just in case, she’d said—but it became increasingly clear, with every nook and cranny you searched, that the bag was simply not here.

“Okay, shit,” Maggie finally concluded as the two of you knelt side by side on the floor, the room in disarray around you.

Among the useless clutter, you found a lot of dust, someone’s phone charger, and a forgotten USB flash drive under your nightstand.

“Wait, so—wait, wait.” You stood up, stumbling slightly as your knees cracked. “So, you don’t have your phone?”

The question was redundant, but Maggie didn’t mind repeating herself. She was just as confused as you were. And the handbag was the least of your problems: you did not carry a lot of cash with you when you travelled, so if you didn’t find the bag, all that you’d lose would be a travel-sized container of hand sanitiser, an old tube of lipgloss, and a package of tissues. It was Maggie’s phone that you were worried about—you couldn’t even remember putting it in your bag.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes seemed even wider than they had in the corridor. Her hair fell in chaotic curls over her face. “I couldn’t find it anywhere. I tried Find My iPhone today, but it didn’t show anything. Maybe the phone’s dead? I don’t know. I didn’t check right after we returned to the hotel, because I was sleeping. And then, this morning, I thought, well, of course the app won’t tell me where my phone is. Because you have it, and you’re right next door.”

You clenched your jaw. “Okay. Okay, I-I must have left my bag at the club. Or someone took it. We have to call them.”

“Call them?” Maggie repeated, standing up, too. She glanced around your room once more to make sure your bag had not decided to grow feet and return on its own. “What will we say?”

You did not mind the pointlessness of her question, either. Evidently, now was the precise time for stupid questions.

“That I lost it. I don’t know,” you said. “Let’s just see. Maybe I left it there.” But you hesitated as soon as you pulled your phone out. “Shit. Do you remember what the place was called?”

“Oh, yeah, I have the directions open on my pho—” She stopped tapping the pockets of her jeans, realising. “Oh, shit.”

“Fuck.”

It took you less than a second to find the solution to your new problem.

Luna and Taehyung’s room was just down the corridor, and Luna opened the door as soon as you knocked, almost as if she had been waiting for you to require her immediate assistance in this crisis.

She could not remember many details of how the three of you got home, but she readily supplied the name of the club. Then she joined you and Maggie in your room, where your friends tried to reconstruct the events of the previous night and you dialled the number of the club, your shaky hands and frazzled mind leading you to hit all the wrong keys on your phone.

Finally, the call connected, and a cheerful, young voice introduced himself as, simply, Tom, barkeeper—although your frantic mind interpreted that as Tom Barkeeper initially, which, honestly, seemed like a fitting government name for someone tending the bar.

“Hi!” you said, your nervous voice nearing a screech. Luna and Maggie stopped talking and turned to you. “My friends and I were at your club on Wednesday night, and I seem to have misplaced my handbag. Is there any chance I left it there?”

“Let me check, miss,” Tom Barkeeper replied. You heard the faint sound of his footsteps in the background. “Could you describe it for me?”

“It—well, it was black,” you said, your palm pressed against your forehead. “With a large grey metal zipper, and sort of a—a little chain on the—”

“Er, actually, no, we’ve got no handbags at the Lost and Found,” he interrupted. “Got five watches, though.”

He chuckled lightly, and you looked up at your friends. There was a frown on your face that they immediately took to mean danger, and moved closer, settling on either side of you to listen.

“Uh, right,” you said distractedly, putting the call on speaker. “Are there any phones, by chance? There was a phone in my bag.”

“We had a couple of phones left here, but both have been picked up by their owners,” Tom B. replied. “Sorry.”

You turned to your friends, silently asking them what to do next.

“Perhaps you left your bag somewhere else?” the barkeeper suggested over the phone. “A taxi?”

Maggie, who remembered glimpses of your taxi ride, shook her head.

“Hmm. Or it was stolen,” you speculated.

Tom Barkeeper seemed surprised by this and he stuttered for a second—he had a thick accent, and even his, “well, er—I’d—uhm—” sounded really quite elegant—until he finally composed himself.

“Well, it—it does get rather busy here,” he admitted, and his voice sounded even younger all of a sudden. “I—er, was it very valuable? You could try filing a report, then we’d get our security here and rewind the CCTV footage.”

You glanced at Maggie. She shook her head again. She doubted they could find her phone in time if it really was stolen; you’d be leaving for Paris soon. She was embarrassed, too. There was nothing she could tell the police if you filed a report.

When have you last seen your phone, miss?

I have no idea, officer. I was shitfaced the whole night.

“I think we—no, that, um—we’ll try to see if there are any other places where it could be first,” you told Tom, trying to come up with a logical plan on the spot. “And then I’ll—”

“Yeah,” the barkeeper cut in, sounding relieved. “You check and call us back if you haven’t found it.”

“Yes. Thank you. Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s alright, miss,” he said. “Hope you find it.”

You ended the call with a disheartened sigh and turned to your friends.

“Well, they don’t have it,” you declared, as if they hadn’t heard everything.

“That’s great,” Luna observed. She glanced around the chaos inside your room. “And it’s definitely not here?”

“You can go ahead and look,” you said, stepping back to gesture at the piles of clothes. “I don’t know where else it could be.”

“Okay, well, Maggie and I both remember you having it with you on our way to the club,” she said. She tapped her chin and, because she had her glasses on and wore a sweater with a long white dress shirt underneath, she looked a bit like a heroine from an old Agatha Christie novel. “I remember the pins on my dress getting caught on the chain on your bag in the taxi.”

“That’s right,” you said, pointing at her, although you weren’t sure if you remembered the moment under discussion, or just the way the three of you had laughed about it later that night.

“So maybe you left it there before we even got to the club?” Luna suggested.

“No, but she still had it with her in the club!” Maggie interjected, frustrated. Her hair kept growing wilder the longer she stayed here, tousling it nervously every few seconds. “When she took our drink orders! My phone and her bag were both there.”

You and Luna both groaned, realising Maggie had already mentioned this. You were aware that the three of you had turned into a mess after just one night of drinking. Perhaps the next time you went out, you should consider bringing a chaperone, because this right now felt a lot like the blind leading the blind.

“Right,” Luna mumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s starting to seem,” you said, “that either I left it in the taxi at the end of the night, or someone grabbed it at the club.”

Maggie nodded, agreeing with these options, even if she did not know what to do with them. You didn’t, either. Was there a Lost and Found for items accidentally abandoned in taxis? Should you have filed a report with the police, after all? Surely, they dealt with drunk people losing their belongings all the time. And maybe they could search for the phone even if you were across the strait.

Then you noticed that Luna was biting her lip, seemingly lost in a recurring thought.

“What are you thinking?” you prodded. She did not react. “Luna?”

She looked up from the floor, surprised to be addressed.

“Nothing,” she said, hesitating. “It’s sort of a conspiracy theory more than it is based on actual facts. But, um, you did mention seeing Sid and Jude at the club.”

You watched Maggie pull on her hair so hard that a few strands stayed in her grasp when she let go. Neither of you liked how plausible Luna’s not-fact-based theory was.

“You think they took my bag,” you surmised. “But why?”

“I don’t know,” Luna replied. “Why does Sid do anything?”

Your frown deepened. She had a disturbingly solid point. Sid was diabolical.

“That’s…” you faltered, thinking. “Well, he could have—although I didn’t even have anything in my bag except for Maggie’s—oh. Shit.”

Your sudden realisation—and the subsequent horror flashing across your face—surprised both girls. Maggie stepped closer to you.

“What is it?” she asked.

You pulled out your phone and opened Instagram.

“Sid posted a—he posted the picture,” you explained, scrolling down your feed, then abandoning this decision and going directly to Sid’s profile. “The one Maggie showed us at the club.”

You found the post and turned your phone towards the girls. The expressions on their faces made it very clear that Luna’s hypothesis was not far-fetched at all. Maggie looked delightfully murderous.

“Jungkook thinks Sid got it from his phone,” you said, “but what if—wh-what—”

“My phone was in your bag. He could have downloaded it from my gallery,” Maggie concluded, staring at the screen.

She wasn’t just angry about her stolen phone or the filter Sid had put over a perfectly good picture. She was also angry about him using a photograph that she was proud of to stir up trouble.

“That fucking loser,” she said. “That massive fucking piece of shit. Fucking good-for-nothing rat. Motherf—”

“Yeah, Mags,” you interjected, knowing she might not stop for a while. Last week, she had kept mumbling curses under her breath for forty minutes straight after Jimin ate the last pack of tomato ketchup crisps that she’d brought with her on tour. “We agree with you.”

Luna continued to bite her lip until it took upon an angry shade of red. She did not want to be responsible if she’d just led you in the wrong direction. Maggie already seemed prepared to crush your phone in her hand as she stared at Sid’s post.

Luna tried to reason, “we don’t know if that’s really what happened, though.”

“No, but it makes sense. You have to be right,” you insisted, glancing at the clock above the door. “Fuck. I—I have to—I have to get the band together before their soundcheck, but after that, I’m—I’ll talk to Minjun.” You brought your hand through your hair, angrier at yourself than you were at Sid right now. “We should have left the club right after I talked to Jude. It was a shitty call to stay there. But we’ll find your phone, Mags. And if Sid was really the one who took it, he’s—well, he’s not going to be taking shit from anyone anymore.”

Some of the tension in Maggie’s posture eased at your words.

“Well, we couldn’t have known they’d do something like that when we decided to stay,” Luna said, her voice comforting. “If they indeed—”

“Alright,” Maggie interrupted, taking a deep breath and returning your phone to you. “Let’s kill him.”

The room fell silent. You did not know if Maggie was aware of the undeniable resolve in her voice. She’d said that like she would have said, “let’s get lunch,” while already holding boxes of take-out in her hands.

“Or, you know,” she added in response to your and Luna’s expressions, “let’s beat him up. That’ll work, too.”

You glanced at Luna and the smile spreading on her face made you lose your calm, too.

“We’ll do that,” you promised Maggie, grinning as you wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned your head against hers. “If we can’t come up with anything better.”

“Hell yeah,” Luna agreed, joining you on Maggie’s other side. “He’s got a few teeth left, right? We can start counting who knocks out more. Jungkook is in the lead right now, but I don’t like losing, so—”

You and Maggie burst into laughter so loud and sudden that Luna flinched in surprise. Maggie even had to clutch your arm for support as she bent over, struggling to breathe in between wheezes. Her laughter was so infectious that Luna couldn’t keep a straight face much longer, either.

You were convinced that you would fix everything.

You’d find Minjun and ask if he had talked to Sid or Jude since Wednesday. If not, you’d get to the two of them yourself. Maggie would take care of them if they had your bag. And if, by some lucky chance, they would turn out to be innocent, you’d go to the police to find the real culprit.

You gathered the band—and Namjoon, of course—in the changing room of the venue before the soundcheck. Mindful of your limited time, you started by sharing the updates from CJ – the festivals next summer, the arena tour, and finally, the strategic shift that Jett Records was planning for Rated Riot, including your promotion and the expansion of the management team.

Once the cheers and the high-fives died down, you asked the boys to settle down for one last thing.

“The opening act,” you said, scrolling to the very bottom of the meeting agenda you’d prepared on your Notes. “Ren is still recovering from his broken foot, so we—”

“Because Ren is a whiny baby,” Jungkook chimed in helpfully. He was leaning against the wall instead of sitting around the table like the rest of his bandmates.

You gave him a look that was not particularly grateful but lacked any real threat. He grinned.

“So, Poison Tongue might be out for the rest of the tour,” you went on. “We’re talking to several other bands that might join you instead. Ivy will continue to support you on the upcoming shows in London and Paris.”

The band members nodded. They’d grown accustomed to Ivy’s presence—she used to be a tattoo artist and brought her equipment with her when she travelled, which everyone on tour appreciated. You and your girls personally found it wonderful to have another girl around.

“Alright. That was the last thing on my list, but it—there’s something else we have to discuss,” you paused, glancing around the room to keep your voice steady. Jungkook gave you a firm nod of support from the back of the room, no longer fooling around. “Uh, there was a picture posted last night. I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Namjoon took care of it; he informed the label that it’s the leaked cover of your upcoming album. But I want to emphasise that it doesn’t have to be the cover of anything. We can say it was one of the options, but we settled on something—”

“I like it,” Taehyung interjected. “The picture, I mean. I think we could use it as the cover for our next single, at least. It fits, right?”

“It does,” Yoongi agreed. You felt a tingle of unease creeping down your spine. “The lyrics match the picture very well.”

That was understandable, given the subject matter of the lyrics, but you were grateful that Yoongi did not elaborate further. You felt Jungkook watching you from across the room and your skin was burning.

“And it fits in with the rest of our album covers, too,” Hoseok joined, solidifying the consensus.

The decision had already been made, so Jungkook only shrugged when your eyes slid over to him.

“I say we use it,” he said. “It’s a great shot.”

For the first time since you joined Rated Riot, you genuinely worried that you might not keep your composure.

Every person in this room—and many people in the corridors, working on Rated Riot’s show—knew that you and Jungkook were the people in the photograph, and they all agreed to help you hide your relationship in plain sight. Aching discomfort and heartfelt gratitude fought a fierce battle inside your chest.

“Well, then, alright,” you said, your voice quivering slightly on the last syllable. You fixed your gaze on the white table. “That’s, uh, settled, then. Thank you, Namjoon, by the way. That was great quick thinking on your part.”

“No problem,” Namjoon replied. Hoseok leaned back in his chair to pat him on the shoulder and Namjoon gave him a smile before explaining, “I didn’t mean to jump the gun, but—”

“No, no,” you cut him off. “You did great. It’s—well, it’s good PR, claiming he just leaked the cover art. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Maggie’s the one who took a great picture.”

Hums of agreement filled the room, and you nodded, too. Maggie had always been a field photographer. She felt claustrophobic in a closed photo studio, she needed the space, the action, the emotion. And she knew how to capture it all. It was a great picture. It was a shame what Sid was trying to do with it.

“She did, yeah,” you said before noticing the time on your phone. “But, uh, anyway, that—that was all. Any quick questions?”

No one spoke, and the momentary silence in the room felt a little disconcerting. These were the loudest people you’ve ever met, so you did not enjoy feeling like a teacher, asking for volunteers to solve an excruciating equation. Actually, you did not enjoy standing here at all right now; pins and needles chased each other all across your body.

“In that case,” you locked your phone and set it down on the table, “go out, and get ready for the night. It’s going to be a good one.”

Someone cried out, “fuck yes!”—it was hard to determine who, due to the immediate shouts of agreement that followed—and the boys tumbled out of the room, making as much noise as they could. Right away you felt a little better. Everyone had already been excited about the concert tonight, but the news about the extended tour and bigger venues only amplified their emotions.

You ended up watching each of the boys leap over the threshold of the door for no reason whatsoever, just to see who could jump the farthest—until Jungkook smacked his head right into the top of the door frame.

Pouting, he walked over to you after everyone else had finished laughing and left. You fixed his hair, trying to bite back your laughter, and he pulled you into a hug, groaning in disapproval when he felt you chuckle softly against his chest.

“Is your head okay?” you asked, the humour in your tone undeniable, despite your attempts to suppress it.

“No,” he said, tightening his grip on your waist until he heard your quiet gasp. “Oh, now it’s a little better.”

“Oh, it’s better,” you retorted, evidently taking up the challenge. “I see.”

The force of your grip was nowhere near as strong as his—although it was very impressive, he had to admit; he did lose his breath for a split second—but you felt his smile spread as he leaned his head against yours, and that was good enough.

He hummed against your neck, swaying with you in his arms, and you realised that you could not think about Sid’s picture or Maggie’s phone now that it was just the two of you in the room. That was good. You wouldn’t have wanted to speak to Jungkook about any of that right before his concert anyway.

“Now it’s okay,” he whispered. “Fifteen more minutes and I’ll be good as new. Maybe twenty.”

You smiled, but one of your hands had stopped drawing soothing patterns on his back.

“You have to go, though,” you reminded him reluctantly. “Jin will rip you a new one if you’re not on stage in two and a half minutes. He and Jimin got into an argument with one of the local sound engineers earlier today, so he wants to finish the soundcheck as quickly as possible.”

Jungkook groaned, releasing you, but keeping his gaze on yours.

“Can I just tell him I hurt my head,” he asked, “so I deserve special treatment?”

“Not sure,” you replied. “I think that only works with me.”

His laughter was loud and unapologetic. Before you could say anything else, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you back into his chest again, resting his forehead against yours.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, concerned about his poor time management and the relatively open space that you were in. The door was closed this time, but not locked.

“Nothing,” he replied softly. His lower lip brushed against yours as he spoke. You felt dangerously light. “If you say I’m late.”

“Well, n-not yet... You have about,” your breath hitched momentarily when he pressed a gentle kiss just under your jaw, “a minute and forty-five seconds left.”

“Well, then,” he lifted his eyes to look at you again, but only for a moment, “I have to make the most of my,” his lips touched yours slowly, but firmly, “one minute and,” his quick kiss gained more force, “thirty seconds.”

You were laughing by the time he kissed you again, and he could not stop himself from smiling, too. He knew he was running late, but he kept his lips on yours, the kiss focused, lingering, and locked your taste in a separate part of his brain—a part so full of you that it was beginning to overtake other, much less important parts.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away.

His lips glistened slightly from your gloss. Your heart, having already finished three laps around the venue, had now taken up parkour in the crevices of your chest.

“I love you,” you replied. You ran your fingers down his cheek, forgetting yourself, almost, when he leaned into your touch. Then you pulled back and nodded at the door. “Go now. I’ll see you after the show tonight. There’s, uh—I have a plan I want to discuss with you.”

Jungkook was about to object—you couldn’t remove your hands from his skin so abruptly, there was a certain procedure you had to follow to ensure he could still breathe when you were no longer touching him, similar to replacing nicotine patches for someone trying to quit smoking—but then he realised what you were saying.

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow and stayed still despite your utmost attempts to push his shoulder to get him to turn around. “About Sid?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll explain later.”

You expected him to question this, to try to find out what the plan was right now, but he did no such thing. He felt happy and optimistic—kissing you might have helped with that—so he did not need to know more. You could have said that you were taking all of your staff to Argentina to escape Sid, and he would have grabbed his sunglasses.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m in, either way. Operation Cobra-Rabbit.”

“Operat—” You scoffed, suddenly remembering your conversation after the film yesterday. “We’re not calling it that. It’s not a secret operation, it doesn’t need a name. You’re going to your soundcheck now, and then we’ll—”

“How about Operation: Escape from London?” he suggested, dragging his feet as you pushed him towards the door. “Since, you know, we’re in—”

“No,” you said. “Go.”

He didn’t protest this time, because Seokjin’s angry, hurried footsteps were already reverberating down the corridor, and Jungkook did not want to piss him off more. Still, he paused again by the door, giving you one last overly dramatic nod over his shoulder as if he were in a spy film. Then he left with a triumphant fist in the air after finally earning a chuckle from you.

You shook your head as he shut the door of the room behind himself, leaving you alone—not for very long, however.

Less than a minute later, as you returned to the table that Hoseok and Yoongi had dragged to the centre of the room for your meeting, you heard the door open again. You lifted your head, ready to scold Jungkook, and saw Namjoon instead, peeking inside sheepishly.

“Hey,” he greeted, hesitating in the doorway. “Didn’t want to interrupt your meeting, so I, uh, waited until it’s over. Do you have a minute?”

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach. There were too many things that already took you by surprise today. You were not sure how many more of them you could take.

“You wouldn’t have interrupted,” you said, mustering a smile. “You’re part of the team. Come in.”

Namjoon slipped into the room without any sound at all and took a moment to close the door, his hand lingering on the engraved knob.

“Yeah, uh—I just want to have a quick word with you,” he said, turning around. “About why I called CJ in advance.”

“Oh. You don’t have to explain that,” you said. “It—that was a good decision. Thank you for thinking of it. You might have really saved—”

Namjoon started to speak in the middle of your sentence as if he hadn’t heard you.

“I was with Yoongi in his room, working on the song, when we saw Sid’s post,” he said, clearly battling his guilt about the extra attention the picture had gained because of him. He wanted you to know that he had no bad intentions. “It was about four in the morning when we—well, actually, a fan sent it to Yoongi, and asked, “oh my god, is this the cover of your new album?” Obviously, Yoongi and I thought that was impossible; we haven’t even decided when we’re releasing this new song. We could tell that Sid was just trying to mess with Jungkook, and that it had to be you in that picture with him.”

Self-conscious when he gave you a questioning glance, you brought a hand over your neck. “It is.”

“Yeah. So, I called CJ right away,” Namjoon continued. “I don’t think I even had a clear plan of what I was going to say to him or what time it was for him. But he picked up, and I just blurted out, “our album cover leaked,” because that was what that fan had assumed. And why not, you know? If the fans think that’s what happened, why not utilise that to eradicate whatever Sid was trying to do? The picture’s really good. Might as well use it for—for a good cause, instead of whatever Sid was hoping for.”

“Right. Yeah. Exactly,” you said. The more words you used to agree with him, the clearer it became that you still wished you could have escaped this situation. “And now Sid’s caption makes it seem like he’s just—”

“Congratulating them,” Namjoon finished for you. “Happy for you, he’d said. Makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you allowed for several quiet moments to pass, lost in your own thoughts. Namjoon shifted his weight to his right leg and tucked his thumb into his belt loop.

“I, um—I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, though,” he said, looking up. “I knew things might get… weird if I didn’t do anything. The picture itself might not have caused any harm, but given the speculation surrounding it, and your upcoming promotion… I thought that using the picture as an album cover was just safer.”

“Yeah, it—no, I—I’m glad you did that, really,” you said, a little thrown off by the mention of your promotion. “I don’t know if I would have thought of a solution like that.”

Namjoon believed you would have come up with a similar plan quite easily. The problem was that you did not want to draw even more attention to the picture.

“Y-you said—um,” you added, “did you know that CJ was going to call me?”

His pursed lips turned into a timid smile.

“I heard some things…” he admitted.

You arched a surprised eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I hear a lot of things you wouldn’t want to know.”

You nodded. You were fortunate to work with many amazing people, but you had heard their stories. You knew what this industry had been like to them before they reached this point. And you felt very blessed that these same people now shielded you from the negativity that they had not been able to escape themselves.

“Alright,” you said. You were glad, all of a sudden, that CJ had not elaborated on his decision to suddenly promote you. “That’s fair enough.”

You returned to your belongings, sliding your phone into your pocket, and Namjoon observed you in silence for a second, only moving to assist you when you began to push the table back to its original place by the window.

“So,” he said, once the room was restored to its former order, “how come you look so worried? Head Manager! That’s great.”

“Oh,” you said. “It is great.”

Namjoon knew there was more. The two of you hadn’t had many chances to have private conversations during this tour, but usually, you were the person he came to talk to about the problems in his job, and he expected the same from you.

He gestured towards the couch next to the table and waited until you took a seat before sitting down next to you with an expectant look on his face.

“It—well, really, this is great,” you said, clasping your hands together as you rested your elbows on your knees. This was standard, Namjoon knew. You needed a minute to admit what was bothering you. “I’m grateful. There’s just a lot of stuff going on right now. Nothing I want to trouble you with, but, uh, this promotion feels… well, it feels like my work had very little to do with it. They found out about Reconnaissance and just decided to promote me. I’m happy, of course, but I wish they had waited until after the tour, so I could say, with confidence, that this was due to everything I’ve achieved with Rated Riot. And not just because Nick Zhou called me one time.”

Namjoon appeared to be highly interested in one specific crack in the floorboards.

“But this is because of everything you’ve achieved with Rated Riot,” he said, not looking up. You wondered if he did that on purpose, to make you feel less like you were talking to a specific person, and more like you were just talking—so you would not feel bad about sharing your troubles. “You took the abstract concept of a European tour and brought it to life. And then Rated Riot got on stage, and the whole Europe fell in love with them. But you brought them here. You looked after them. And the staff. And, actually, their personal belongings. Sorry about Tilburg.”

You smiled, recalling the Lost Laptops of Tilburg.

“It’s nothing. I was just doing my job,” you said. “And everyone on this tour looks after one another. That—well, that’s the whole point, I—”

“No,” he disagreed, finally giving you a look. “You’re never just doing your job. You’re always doing more. You earned this. Accept it.”

Namjoon had used a very similar tone to defend you from bitter, middle-aged men who had a problem with your promotion after CJ’s assistant had brought it up at the last Zoom meeting with the executives at the company. Their issue was your young age. Namjoon did not think a person needed to start balding to be awarded for their great work.

“CJ actually didn’t even give me the option to refuse,” you said, your smile turning wry. “He just told me I’m getting promoted and I felt like I had to go along with it.”

Namjoon nodded knowingly. He had several similar experiences with Christian Jett before. He had even played tennis with him once and called him Chris—not CJ—by accident. Luckily, he managed to duck before a tennis ball came hurling at his head. Namjoon knew CJ did not give suggestions; he gave orders.

“Would you have refused, if he’d asked?” he asked you.

“No, but…” You spun your ring around your index finger and settled back against the couch. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I am—honestly, I’m also worried about my relationship with Jungkook,” you said.

Namjoon noted that this was the first time you brought this up to him without encouragement. Despite his surprise, however, he did not want to let the awkward silence take over the room, so he coughed politely into his fist and tried to reply, not particularly smoothly.

“What do you—what are you worried about?” he asked, even though that was obvious.

“I talked to Jin the other day,” you said. “He said that as long as the band makes a profit, no one’s going to care—which is true enough. But with this happening, with Rated Riot growing more and more popular, with my promotion… they will have to care. Our relationship has, obviously, never been strictly professional. And now it could hinder their plans for the band.”

Namjoon mulled over this for a minute, his gaze drifting to the expanse of the empty room. He had obviously had similar thoughts as you when he made the call to CJ, but now he realised that this was only half the picture.

“If they’re promoting you,” he began, his voice steady against the subdued air in the room, “that obviously means they want to keep you in the company. So, when they learn about your relationship, they definitely won’t immediately decide to fire you. I suppose they will ask you to end the relationship, or they won’t care about it at all. Those are the only two logical possibilities, right?”

“Right,” you agreed.

“If they tell you to end it,” Namjoon continued, “I think you’re in a position to present them with a similar ultimatum. Tell them that you will leave if they won’t accept your relationship. That is risky, I’ll admit. But they need you. And, from what I hear, they know you have other options.”

There was a quality about Namjoon that you really admired. Often, when people wanted to make someone feel better, they said things that they knew would lift their spirits—you appreciated that as well, just in a different way. Namjoon, on the other hand, managed to offer comfort tempered with rationality.

You took a deep breath and stretched your legs.

“Yeah,” you said. “Negotiate, is what you’re telling me.”

“Yes. More or less,” he confirmed. “But, of course, you have to decide what, uh—what you will do if they refuse to do it your way.”

You shook your head.

“I’ve already decided,” you said. The smile on your face was as sad as smiles could be. “If they will tell me it’s one or the other, I won’t choose to stay at the company. I’ll choose him.”

Namjoon nodded and hung his head. He hoped you would think he did that in solidarity, but, really, he was trying to hide his smile. Of course, he was a little worried about the label’s reaction. But he was also happy for you and Jungkook.

Not to mention, he had been roped into joining the bet about your relationship backstage—Seokjin was very loud, and Namjoon embarrassed very easily—and now he might have been the first to find out that he’d won.

He couldn’t resist the urge to ask, “I—are you guys, um, back together, then?”

“Honestly,” you said, snickering at the absurdity of your position, “at this point, it feels like we never even broke up.”

Namjoon’s smile was too big to hide it. “So, you are, then.”

“We are. And, it’s—you know,” you said with a shrug that was not one bit nonchalant, despite your best attempts to make it seem so, “I’d love to still be able to keep working with you guys despite that, but, uh—I’ll deal with whatever happens. If they will think this is unacceptable, I’ll leave.”

“It may not come to that,” he said, his tone reassuring, yet grounded. “There’s still a good chance that the label won’t care. I mean, Taehyung is in a relationship.”

“Yeah,” you gave him a skeptical look, “but Luna isn’t working with him.”

“True,” he acknowledged before pursuing his point further, “but that relationship only has a positive impact on the band. He’s relaxed when she’s here, her presence helps him cope with the stress of the tour… on and on this list goes.”

That was a great observation, of course. Not to mention, you enjoyed having Luna around, too. But you knew that there was more to the story.

“I had to fight for that, though,” you said. “Jett Records didn’t think we should allow any girlfriends, friends, or relatives on tour. I had a different opinion.”

Namjoon did not know this, but his surprise quickly turned to pride.

“Oh,” he said, beaming. “But you won, though. They allowed our loved ones to join. You got your way.”

“Yes, but that could be because they didn’t think the tour would be this successful,” you countered. “Sure, most of the dates sold out before we came here, but it—that’s the minimum requirement. You know that. So, alright, the label already knew that Rated Riot would gather two or three thousand people every night. But they didn’t realise there’d be another thousand waiting outside the venue in every city we visited. Their attitude might change now that they know about the level of interest in the band.”

Namjoon noticed a tentative smile tugging at your lips. Despite your concerns about the future, the fact was that this tour—with all its mishaps and accidents—had already surpassed everyone’s expectations. Rated Riot were on a clear path to success and the unexpected crowds at each venue made it impossible not to feel excited, no matter what happened next.

“That’s just the thing, though,” Namjoon said, his eyes kind. “When you came to manage Rated Riot, they were still playing in bars and restaurants. All they had was potential. But with you, they’re starting to live up to it. Not to mention... there has to be a reason why Nick wanted to scout you for Reconnaissance. The label knows they need you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be in such a rush to promote you without even asking if you agree.”

You realised you hadn’t thought of it like that. But Namjoon was right. Everything he’d said to you was true.

You loved your job, and you were good at it. It was just this one hiccup in your otherwise excellent performance as the band’s manager that made you doubt everything you’ve done for them: you were dating the lead vocalist.

But you listened to Namjoon now, and you realised your thoughts weren’t fair. Your relationship with Jungkook did not—and never would—impact your ability to do your job, and do it well. It was not an indicator of the quality of your work. It was not proof of your lack of effort or motivation.

You were learning, through agonising trial and error almost every day, that these two roles—manager and girlfriend—could co-exist. You did not need to relinquish one to succeed at the other.

Namjoon noticed that your eyes seemed brighter, your shoulders were less hunched and you no longer averted your gaze when he looked at you. The melodic strains you heard as the band finally started their soundcheck likely helped you calm down, too.

“I realise,” you admitted, “that I am nervous about big changes. About multiple big changes, concurrently.”

Namjoon had to lean in closer to be able to hear you—Hoseok pounded his drums behind the wall as if his life depended on it.

“I think that’s normal,” he noted. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He hoped to remind you that it was very easy to get lost in your feelings and experiences, and convince yourself that you were going through them alone—but you weren’t. And you saw that very clearly today.

“And it’s okay,” he continued. “I can’t make decisions for you, but you’re—you have us. We’ll always have your back. We won’t sit idly if we find out the label made you resign.”

You took a breath and finally allowed the gratitude in your heart to really settle.

“Thank you,” you said. “For everything. I really liked your advice about standing my ground. I think I’ll try to follow it.”

Namjoon smiled at this and nudged your shoulder with his. Smiling in response, you nudged his right back.

You’ve found your family when you met Rated Riot. They made bets about your relationship, they teased each other at nearly every possible moment, they complained and argued, but they supported each other with unwavering loyalty. And you were prepared to fight, if it came to it, to stay with them.

You were convinced that CJ had put a hex on you, because you had to spend the rest of the day on your phone, arranging interviews, giving comments about the band’s plans for the future, and pacing in the corridors of the venue. You could not even return to the hotel to pick up your forgotten laptop, you had to do all the work on your phone.

You still had to figure out what happened to Maggie’s phone, but you resolved to track down Minjun and ask him about Sid and Jude later, after the incessant calls stopped. For some reason, everyone demanded to talk to you in Dutch or Swedish or something that sounded vaguely German, and all you could gather from their speech was ‘Rated Riot’ and a questioning tone at the end of the sentence.

You still hadn’t finished by the time Rated Riot began their set on stage, so you had to return to the dressing room for some silence, no matter how much you’d missed hearing the way the audience responded to the band. Thankfully, you only had two more calls to get through—both in Swedish, much to your enormous joy.

After you left the changing room to finally join Luna by the stage, you heard a peculiar sound—a soft, conspiratorial shushing from somewhere in the corridor backstage, like someone trying to beckon a cautious cat.

“Psst. Psst. Pss—hey!”

You did not immediately realise that this was aimed at you. Stopping, you looked around warily until you finally spotted Minjun’s head peeking out from behind the corridor wall. He was trying not to attract too much attention to himself, so he did not use your name.

“What’s going on?” you asked, approaching him. “Why—”

“Come with me.”

“Wh—” you began, but Minjun’s hand darted out from behind the wall, joining his head, and he seized your wrist.

He pulled you down the corridor with an urgency that made your heart drop to your knees and he refused to stop no matter how much you struggled to watch your steps.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, altering between genuine fear and irritation.

“Jude’s here,” Minjun said and tripped over something as soon as he did, forcing you to stumble, too.

“Jude—with Sid?” you asked, your insides stirring with newfound horror.

Jude never went anywhere alone, and you did not like this rush that Minjun was in to get to him. You tried once more to stop running, or slow down at the very least, but Minjun was a train, running late on schedule.

“No,” he said, his grip on your wrist firm, his eyes frantic. “Alone.”

“Why?” you pressed.

He did not reply until he brought you to a halt outside the door at the far end of the corridor, leading to what appeared to be either a utility closet or an unusually small dressing room.

“Come in,” he said then, without any explanation, and held the door open for you.

You pushed the door further.

Jude stood before you inside the room. He looked more transparent than he had at the club the other night, and you weren’t sure if this wasn’t just a hazy memory. He was holding your handbag in his hands.

You wished you were back on the phone with the impatient Swedish journalist from before.

“Hi. This is yours,” Jude said awkwardly, extending your bag towards you.

You stood in the doorway and did not move. “How did you get that?”

Minjun had to gently push your arm with his shoulder so he could enter the room. Jude appeared very small as he held out your bag and tried to find his words.

“I, um—after I talked to you at the club,” he said, “I told Sid that I saw you, and he—he made me hang around and wait until you weren’t paying attention. I told him I knew which table you and your friends were at, and he thought—h-he wanted your phone.”

He waved the handbag, his alarmingly thin arms growing tired, and you finally took it from him. Maggie’s phone was inside, snug among scattered receipts.

Luna had been right—not that you doubted her for a second. And it made sense now, why Jude had lingered that night: he was waiting for Maggie and Luna to pick a table.

“I ju—I just had to wait until you all went dancing,” Jude continued, his voice unsteady. “A-and I was supposed to grab your phone. Sid was—he was desperate.”

Your posture was rigid, your eyes locked on Jude in a way that stopped him from breaking eye contact, and even Minjun felt a little uncomfortable. He knew more of what happened, after all; Jude had to explain it all to him to persuade him to find you. Minjun did nothing to interfere now, however. Jude was the one who wanted to talk to you, so he should have been the one to convince you to listen.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice cutting through the tense silence, and slicing into Jude’s fragile confidence.

He glanced at Minjun, who gave him a small nod. Encouraged, Jude rubbed his hands together and began to speak. He could taste bile at the back of his throat, but the bitter sensation had been there for a while.

“He was looking for something to use against you and Jungkook,” he explained. “He hoped to find an old picture or video of the two of you together. When you were—when you dated. He wanted t-to cause a little trouble. If he couldn’t find anything, then h-he would have called Jungkook from your phone to, um—to give him the wrong idea.”

You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself that Jude was the accessory and the messenger. Your desire to slam someone’s face into a wall was not aimed at him.

“This isn’t mine, though,” you said, nodding at the phone inside your bag.

“Well, wh—it doesn’t matter,” Jude dismissed it with a shrug that seemed to propel his whole body backwards. “There were a lot of pictures from backstage in the gallery. Sid thought that was good enough.”

You wished Luna or Maggie were here with you right now, maybe both. Granted, Maggie might have attacked Jude—and you weren’t sure if you would have tried to restrain her, given your own urges—but at least you wouldn’t be standing here alone, trying to make sense of what was happening. Minjun’s quiet presence in the corner of the room did not offer much comfort. He was poised to intervene as if he was waiting for you to throw a punch.

“And why are you here?” you asked Jude.

You noticed that he was leaning slightly to one side despite standing firmly on both feet, and you wondered if this was a sign of how accustomed he was to standing on Sid’s right. Or maybe he was just drunk or under the influence of something stronger.

“Because you—you don’t owe me anything,” Jude replied, and you felt even more confused. His eyes looked watery, the edges of his pupils blurred. “You hate me, actually. And you have that right, I haven’t—I haven’t been very nice to you over the years. But you—you’re the one who told me to be careful. And Sid—I was—he left me for dead when he got bored later that night.”

You frowned, meeting Minjun’s brooding eyes across the room. He knew about this, you could tell. But he wanted Jude to do the talking.

Jude continued, “it started with a nosebleed. Then, I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. I don’t—I don’t know what happened. Sid tossed me another bag of ice as if I hadn’t already taken enough.”

You were slow to grasp that “ice” did not mean frozen water in this case, and you wondered how many different ways to describe meth Jude knew at this point.

Then you needed another second to stop your heart from overexerting itself. Your initial plan for Sid paled in comparison to the new one burgeoning in the dark depths of your mind.

“A-and then he left the hotel between my third and fourth wheeze,” Jude finished. “He said he didn’t have time for this shit.”

You allowed Minjun to give the appropriate reactions to the story—and he nodded empathetically every few seconds—while you were only half-listening.

This happened in their hotel room, then. And Jude had said, another bag.

How many bags of methamphetamine did Sid keep in his hotel room in a foreign country with possibly very strict drug regulations?

“I-I remembered you, sud—suddenly,” Jude stammered when you did not respond. You looked up, surprised by the weight of your presence in his memory. “You told me to drink water. I drank a lot that night, but it—it obviously wasn’t water. Water was—it’s not what we usually drink. I didn’t—but there was half a bottle in the room, so I finished that. I could see a little clearer after that. Or so I thought. I went to the sink, and—and drank as much tap water as I could bef—before I threw up.”

“You might have overdosed,” you observed, studying his appearance again. His bronze complexion had taken an unsettling, ashy pallor. His hands were shaking and he kept rubbing them together. He looked cold, but beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Are you—”

“I don’t—it’s not my first time taking a bit too much,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow after he sensed your scrutiny. You blinked and looked away. “I’ve never really—never thought I would die before, so that was new. B-but I don’t think that I—I didn’t overdose. I think I just lost track of time because I was—I was waiting to steal your bag. For Sid.” His right hand trembled so awfully that he had to clutch it with his left to steady himself. “I’m really sorry.”

“Jude, I’m—”

“He left me for dead,” he reiterated before you could suggest calling a doctor. “You were right. He doesn’t care. I-I could have—I was de—dehyder—”

“Dehydrated,” you supplied.

“Yeah. That,” he affirmed, pausing to give you a grateful smile, then looking at Minjun for approval. Minjun did not move. Jude lowered his gaze again. “A-and he thought I was being a nuisance. He thought another dose would help me, and he just left.”

“And are you sure you don’t need help?” you finally asked. Your tone was strict, but Jude was touched by the sentiment so much that he swayed slightly on his feet. “You look like you could use some.”

He cast a pleading look at Minjun, and you feared that he was teetering on the verge of tears.

“Shit—y-you see,” he said, though it was not clear if he was addressing you or Minjun. “That’s what I mean. I don—I am—I’m fine now. I’m—I’ll be fine. I’m going home. I won’t go back to the hotel.”

Your surprise was quick and obvious, prompting Jude to launch into a hurried, almost fanatical explanation. He was eager to break through the formidable barriers of his usual reticence, which felt awkward and embarrassing now that Sid wasn’t here to tell him to keep quiet.

“I don’t want shit—I don’t want to deal with his shit anymore,” he said. “I’m flying home. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that. Y-you don’t even—you didn’t have to say anything to me, especially after all that I’ve done, but you said that, you told me to look after myself, a-and I don’t know. You might have saved my life that night. And—and you’re—y-you want to help me now. I’m—I’ll be okay. I’m just—I’m sorry.”

You winced at his exaggeration about your conversation at the club, but Minjun was the only one who’d noticed it. Jude was oblivious in his fervent need to get the words out, to explain, to apologise, to tell you how thankful he was.

You thought his gratitude was misplaced. He would have realised what to do in that situation anyway; he’d said something similar had already happened before, even if it hadn’t been as severe. He knew he had to drink if he took substances that could lead to overheating—you just happened to repeat it to him at a convenient time.

But just as you prepared to reply, the words died on your tongue.

You realised you could use his gratitude and guilt.

“Jude,” you said, breaking the rhythm of his laboured, frantic breaths. “If you really are okay, how—how would you feel about getting even with Sid for treating you like that?”

He stopped breathing for a second, confused. “W-what do you mean?”

Your gaze shifted to Minjun, whose initial surprise quickly melted into a realisation that lit up his features. He nodded enthusiastically.

“I have this idea,” you continued, returning your attention to Jude, who remained anchored against the back wall of the room, resembling a child caught drawing on the walls with a permanent marker. “But I would need you to stay in London a bit longer. Just a day or two. Could you do that?”

“That would be fair, I think,” Minjun added hastily. Jude hadn’t even processed your request yet. “It’s the least you can do after she practically saved your life—which she really didn’t have to do. I mean, you stole her bag.”

“I—but Sid asked me to do that!” Jude protested, panicked once more. He looked at you, his brows knit in an expression of profound desperation. He genuinely felt indebted to you, and he was dying to make it right. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t want to. You’ve never done anything wrong to me.”

“Well, exactly,” Minjun continued before you could respond. He could tell that Jude’s abnormally energetic apologies troubled you. “You kind of owe her, you know?”

Jude knew. You could tell he knew because he began to rub his hands together faster, his fingers restless, agitated as they ran over his calloused skin. He looked frightened. He looked like half of a person.

You felt the first threads of remorse coil around your mind for taking advantage of him in a state like this.

“Well, I—I—o-of course, I guess,” Jude acquiesced, though his compliance seemed strained—much like the rest of his actions, really. He needed to lie in bed for a week or two. “W-what would I have to do?”

You turned back to Minjun, who appeared to be waiting for you to give Jude any command whatsoever. Jude, in turn, appeared willing to comply with any command.

It occurred to you that perhaps Jude’s obedience to Sid did not stem from a specific attachment to him. Perhaps Jude had simply chosen to surrender his free will, and now he gravitated towards anyone who could make decisions on his behalf—as long as he could justify it to himself: a decades-long friendship with Sid, or a perceived debt he owed you.

Jude—as Minjun had suggested before—just didn’t know any better. And it was so easy, so very simple for him to just let someone else take the reins. To float down the stream instead of fighting it.

“Just keep spending time with Sid like you used to, okay?” you instructed. “Act as if nothing happened between you, like everything’s alright. Yeah? And we’ll be in touch with you.”

“Yeah,” Jude replied slowly. It took him a few seconds to grasp what had been said to him. You wondered if he’d always been this way, or if this was a lingering effect of all that he had to endure in the past twenty-four hours. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“That’s great,” you said. And then, because he continued to look smaller than his shadow, you added, “I, um—I understand you’re not a fan of hospitals, but how do you feel about pharmacies? They have a great selection of supplements I think you should try.”

You handed Minjun your handbag and he watched, in bewilderment, as you led Jude out of the room. You gave Jude step-by-step instructions—in excruciating detail that Minjun thought Jude did not deserve—about what to say at the pharmacy, which vitamins to seek, what nutritional products to consider, how to drink water, what fruit to buy on the way back to the hotel, and what to tell Sid if he asked questions about any of this.

Jude wrote it all down on his phone—a process that consumed an additional twenty minutes outside the venue—before he finally thanked you, apologised another dozen times, and walked away, leaning against the side of the building for support.

When you rejoined Minjun, you felt like you had just finished teaching six kindergarten classes.

“He’s gone,” you announced, sinking into the only armchair in the cramped room. Your foot came to rest on the handle of a discarded broom. You still weren’t sure what the purpose of this room was.

“Why’d you do all that for him?” Minjun asked, handing you your bag and leaning against the wall.

“Because I don’t want Rated Riot’s opening act to be Jude dropping dead,” you retorted. “He’s severely malnourished. Does he even eat when he—anyway. I don’t know what’s going on with his nervous system, he was shaking the whole time he was here. I don’t—I’m not Sid. I can’t stand to talk to someone half-dead without trying to do something.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said, still a little amazed at your lack of hesitation when you walked Jude outside. Jude had certainly never been as terrible as Sid, but he was still Sid’s closest friend. Yet, you were eager to help him feel better, when even Minjun had given up. “You’re not Sid. That’s what got us to this point. But you, um—you still didn’t have to go to such lengths for Jude. He… he’s always had withdrawal issues. He’s going to take something as soon as he goes back to the hotel, and he’ll probably be fine again.”

You exhaled. Probably was a very heavy word to carry on your shoulders everywhere you went.

“Yeah, but at least now my conscience won’t keep me up at night,” you said, stretching your arms over your head. “Besides, we’re kind of using him, so we obviously need him alive.”

“True…” Minjun faltered, his eyes shifting to the only minuscule window in the room and squinting. He could not see anything beyond the thick glass, obscured by rain residue. “It, uh—it’s great that Jude can be our man on the inside. I’m glad he realised what a fucking bag of shit Sid is. But, honestly, I’m not sure we can trust him if we send him straight back to that hotel. He might have a change of heart.”

“I know,” you admitted. Even if Jude felt indebted to you and demonstrated that by returning Maggie’s phone, his gratitude could prove temporary. Sid had an exceptional talent for coaxing good people into bad deeds. “That’s why I’m not telling Jude anything else we’re going to do.”

Minjun turned back to look at you, intrigued. “And what is it that we’re going to do?”

“I need to do some research first,” you said, your thoughts speeding a hundred miles per minute. “Did Sid reach out to you at any point over these past few days?”

“No.”

“Alright, so it’s just Jungkook, then.” You leaned forward, considering this. “I-I don’t get it, to be honest. I mean, I get that Sid is the spawn of the devil, but really, why is he—why does he care so much? Because this isn’t some prank. He’s digging up old videos, posting pictures that could have serious consequences for us, and he’s—he made Jude hang around the club to steal my fucking bag. That’s so stupid and over-the-top that I’m not even—I mean, does he really have nothing better to do?”

Minjun did not seem to share your confusion, and your shoulders slumped in disappointment. Clearly, Minjun did not think this was out of character for Sid at all.

“Well, yeah, he doesn’t have anything else going on,” Minjun said. “He doesn’t have a job. He has money and twenty-four hours in a day. Might as well torment people. Besides, he feels wronged. He won that bet he had with Jungkook, but—”

“No, I get that,” you interrupted, your gaze drifting to the same window that Minjun had attempted to look through before. “He’s always done this. But it makes no sense to me. Fucking with people just because he thinks they’re not miserable enough. That has to be some sort of a latent inferiority complex, this need he has to prove to everyone that he’s better than them. But I don’t—he’s going to have to take his insecurities elsewhere. He’ll have to fuck off. We’ll leave him no other choice.”

When you did not succeed in seeing past the thick fog over the glass, you turned back to Minjun again. He was grinning, for some reason, his bright smile standing out against the sombre atmosphere in the room.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” He chuckled, excitement twirling in his eyes. “I’m glad you and Jungkook are back together.”

You looked away, pensive.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself off the wall. “Let’s go defeat evil. I’ll help with your research.”

Minjun ended up providing fantastic assistance, and by the time the two of you had exhausted all the keywords in your Google search, you had a rough outline of what you’d do with Sid. You and Minjun both agreed that you needed Jungkook’s input, so the three of you would need to meet sometime later to finalise your strategy and set it into motion.

In the meantime, you had to find your friends, return Maggie’s phone, and update them on everything that had happened since you’d last seen them.

When you entered Rated Riot’s dressing room, the walls were pulsating with the beat of an old Arctic Monkeys song, blaring unapologetically from Yoongi’s Bluetooth speaker. You had thought you felt completely drained from this day, but the sight of everyone celebrating as they always did—as if it were the final show of the tour, the venue filled with their laughter, the floor wet from their spilt drinks—lifted your mood and your energy levels immeasurably.

Maggie was the first to catch your eye in the crowd of people. As soon as you returned her phone, a tipsy Yoongi interjected affectionately, “you find everyone’s lost eletornicks!”—which was almost an actual word, so you figured he still had room for more alcohol. He drifted away before you could say anything else, moving his shoulders to the rhythm of “Snap Out Of It” and joining Hoseok by the drinks table.

Luna noticed the slight commotion and approached you. As soon as you finished telling the girls what happened to your handbag, she broke into a surprisingly graceful, but very, very drunken performance of flailing her limbs and singing, “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” while Taehyung watched her from the doorway with unmistakable fondness. He had genuinely never looked more in love.

Then Maggie caught you off guard by wrapping her arms around you—as if you’d crossed Middle Earth and battled Smeagol for her phone—and you realised how safe, happy, and comfortable you felt here. It was such a stark contrast to the unease you had felt in Jude’s presence that you found yourself laughing, your chest feather-light.

Someone behind you suddenly cleared their throat—with such force that it sounded like they coughed up half of a lung—and Maggie pulled back, allowing you both to turn around.

Jungkook looked like he had been waiting for you to notice him for a while. Your friend snickered and hugged you once more before taking an intentionally ostentatious step back and bowing.

“She’s all yours if she wishes,” Maggie proclaimed to Jungkook, who turned to you, his eyebrows raised.

You nodded. “She wishes.”

Chuckling, he pulled you close. He was still high from the concert and just as lively and animated as everyone else in the room. The second he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck, he refused to let go, finding that only fair since you had ended up missing his show tonight.

You realised, while fighting for breath in his suffocating grip, that the two of you did not look strange or inappropriate to anyone who noticed you, despite standing almost in the middle of the room, wrapped around each other. You expected to feel anxious about the public display, and were surprised to feel comforted instead.

No one cared.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet backstage had ended, and now that everyone here knew that you and Jungkook were back together, they were no longer invested. They won their money—or lost, in a few cases—and moved on to make bets about whether Taehyung, who was too prideful to sing without his bass, would start singing along to Luna’s playlist on Yoongi’s phone.

No one cared.

Surrendering to Jungkook’s touch, you abandoned your other plans and relocated with him to the far corner of the room, separated from most of the dangerous festivities—Seokjin and Hoseok had bumped foreheads while dancing just as you walked past them—by a heavy rack of clothes.

Jungkook lied down on the couch with his head on your lap, recounting how he had accidentally turned off his microphone in the middle of his break during the encore and had to yell his speech at the audience because he couldn’t turn it back on.

“I’m glad your throat is alright,” you remarked. The warmth of your touch and the lightness of your tone filled him with something that tasted like honey on his tongue. “The rest of the guys also sound like they just got off the tallest ride at the amusement park.”

Jungkook’s laughter was soft, laced with a lingering echo of the concert that still reverberated in his mind amidst the lively chatter and the music in the dressing room.

“After the show,” he said with an unusual gravity in his tone, juxtaposed against the serenity in his eyes while you ran your fingers through his hair, “someone asked Yoongi and me about our new music. They asked if the picture on Sid’s account was a leaked album cover. We said yes. So, that—that’s confirmed now.”

Your hand stilled, and Jungkook lifted his head. He did not like the emotion he saw in your eyes when he looked at you and he felt melancholy, all of a sudden, for the moment you’d just shared. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Oh,” you replied. “That’s good.”

But it didn’t feel good. He couldn’t shake the memory of the way you’d looked after the band had unanimously decided to use the picture as the cover art for their next single. It seemed like the fact that everyone knew about your relationship was physically weighing on you.

He hadn’t said anything to you earlier, not wanting to exacerbate your anxiety, but he couldn’t keep this to himself now.

You’d promised each other communication.

“I—uh,” he sat up properly and you felt an odd ache inside when his head was no longer resting in your lap, “I know you’re not comfortable with us using the picture for that, um—for that particular purpose. And—and I get that. I just, uh—I just wanted to ask if y—if the actual problem here is that others know about us.”

The look on his face was an echo of your conversation last night. It threw you off balance, this statement, not even an actual question, and you were all the more aware of the loud beating in your chest and in your head. The music drowned out any chance of others overhearing your conversation, but it also muffled your thoughts.

You took a deep breath, so you could explain everything.

“No,” you said. Then once more, to make sure he heard you, “no. That’s not it. I don’t want—my problem is that we barely had one day together, you know? I would have liked some time alone with you before it all exploded. But Sid posted that picture, and now—now everyone in this room knows we’re definitely together. I mean, they already suspected it, since we’re not as discreet as I liked to think. But, uh, still. I am learning to be okay with others knowing, though. And I want you despite that. Despite others. Despite everything. I want to be with you. I just wanted to reveal our relationship to the public in our own time. Not Sid’s.”

Jungkook was not sure if you said anything else after I want you, because he certainly had not heard a word.

Frankly, he didn’t care about any public pictures. He wouldn’t have cared if a hurricane swept through the place, tearing down buildings and leaving debris that spelled out your names in the shape of a heart. But he knew you cared.

And yet—I want you despite everything.

He was crazy. Positively mad. A raving lunatic, really. He wondered if there was any medicine to subdue his symptoms because he did not think this was good for his health.

“Okay,” he said, looking down to get his feelings and his thoughts together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re good,” you said. “It was—a lot of things happened today, and I was—I feel like I’m losing my head a little bit. But you and I are not—we’re not one of the things I’m confused about.”

He gave you a concerned look as he settled back on the couch. “What happened?”

You took a breath and recounted the story about Maggie’s missing phone, Luna’s observation—manifestation, almost—and Jude’s visit, which sparked the idea to include him in your plan to retaliate against Sid.

Jungkook spent a minute nodding, rubbing his chin, and moving his eyebrows up and down and sideways.

“Okay, that—that’s a lot of—and, uh—” He leaned forward, feeling a bit like the two of you had lived through an entire decade in one day. He could not summarise it all in one word. “What’s your plan?”

You took another breath. You and Minjun had checked and double-checked everything, so you were sure you had this part of your research right. The challenge of your plan came from the parts that couldn’t be researched in advance—the parts where you needed Jungkook.

“Did you know,” you started, “that the penalty for methamphetamine possession in the UK is up to seven years in prison? Apparently, it’s a class A drug.”

Furrowing his brows, Jungkook gave a slight nod of his head. “Uh… okay.”

“Right. Well, see,” you were sitting on the very edge of the couch, restless suddenly, “Jude mentioned tripping on ecstasy and speed that night I saw him at the club. And now, while returning Maggie’s phone, he mentioned Sid casually giving him a bag of meth. Just there, in his hotel room.”

“Mmhm, he—wait.” Jungkook straightened. “W-what are you saying?”

Someone jostled the rack of clothes next to your couch, causing a few hangers to clatter to the floor. You heard an excited shriek, followed by laughter, as two pairs of hands scrambled to pick up the clothes and hang them back in place.

You lowered your voice and moved closer to Jungkook on the couch. “You know what I’m saying.”

“I’m—”

“If a penalty exceeds twelve months,” you continued, “a person may be deported. That also sounds alright.”

Jungkook paused to listen to the sounds inside the room: the clothes rack had now been pushed back, shielding you from the rest of the room again, but limiting his view. He could hear Taehyung singing along to “Do I Wanna Know?” by the drinks table while Luna and Maggie waved the flashlights on their phones dreamily for extra ambience in the dimly lit room. He could also see, most unusually, the way Hoseok and Jimin seemed to be exchanging money right behind the two girls.

Jungkook leaned in even closer to you.

“You want to deport Sid?” he asked. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he spoke. “A-and lock him up?”

“Actually, I want to wring his neck and use his head to scare off pigeons,” you said. “But that would result in me getting locked up, and I really don’t have time for that right now.”

You watched the corners of Jungkook’s lips twitch as he tried to suppress a smile.

“No?” he teased, unable to resist. “I might like that. Think about all the street cred I’d get with a jailbird girlfriend.”

You snorted. “Yeah? Two one-hour visits every four weeks sound hot to you?”

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips. “No. You have a point, that won’t do it. I need you with me. Should we—should we tell Minjun about this plan, then?”

“Minjun knows. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow, okay? But I—I promise we’re going to teach Sid a fucking lesson,” you said. “And then I’m going to tell the label we’re together, and all will be right in the world for fucking once.”

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever wanted to kiss you more than he did right then. The air around you felt static, and the bodies behind the clothes rack did not feel particularly corporeal. The side of his chest was pressed against yours and he could feel your heartbeat speed up when his gaze flickered to your lips.

“You know, you can be really evil sometimes,” he remarked, chuckling when you raised your eyebrows. “I love it. Count me in. Sid won’t know what fucking hit him, and I want to be there to see it. Not going to lie, though, it does sound like Operation: Escape from Londo—”

“No.”

You thought you could feel his laughter resonating in your chest.

“Can we do that, though?” he whispered after a moment. “Can we—you know? Deal with Sid? In-between dealing with the label?”

You nodded. You were determined to find your happy ending and, watching the faint lights reflected in Jungkook’s eyes, you thought you could already see it, waiting for you in the distance.

“If we handle Sid,” you said quietly, “we can handle anything.”

Jungkook liked the sound of that very much—almost as much as he liked the song playing in the background while he breathed in your scent, while he allowed it to engulf him, to drown his senses, to annihilate any sanity he had left.

However, he was aware that for a long time before this moment, he had been making all the wrong choices while dreaming of the right outcomes. It would take some time for him to adjust to the fact that he lived a different life now—a life where you were by his side, and his reality was suddenly significantly better than his dreams. He would need to hear you tell him that it was going to be okay just a few more times.

“And if the label says that no, we can’t, actually?” he asked, his tone hushed.

He was very close and you could no longer look at him without your vision clouding. Your head spun so much that your thoughts felt tipsy. You lowered your gaze to his chest, avoiding the sight of him biting his lip.

“I’ll just leave, then,” you replied.

Jungkook pulled back suddenly. “You—but—no.”

You were breathless and slightly disoriented when you raised your head. The room was very dark, and he was very far away.

“We—we’re staying together regardless,” you said, distracted.

He still looked wounded.

“But that’s not fair to you,” he argued.

You shook your head and sighed. The Arctic Monkeys song on the speakers faded, changing to Rated Riot’s “Cursed,” and the room erupted into cheers as if the band members themselves had stood up to perform the song. You shivered under Jungkook’s gaze.

“That—it doesn’t matter,” you said. “I already told you before. If that’s the only way we can work, I don’t mind leaving the company. I’ll miss everyone, but I’m—we’d stay in touch anyway, I’m sure.”

Jungkook was torn. He wanted to tell you not to go—cast a spell or a curse, whichever worked—but his song played in the background, and you were trying very hard to keep a straight face on the couch next to him. It felt like a spell had already been cast.

He didn’t want you to leave, and in this moment, he felt convinced that you never would. You were not meant to.

“At least fight back,” he said, “if these fucking lawyers have a problem with us being together.”

A smile finally broke through your restraints.

“I will,” you promised. “You want me to punch someone? Knock out their teeth for good measure?”

He grinned, too. His black eye had already healed, save for a few stubborn cuts around his cheekbone. The altercation he’d had with Sid seemed a lifetime away—a lifetime that he was not sure belonged to him anymore.

“Please,” he said.

“Hmm.” You leaned in closer, brushing your fingers over the side of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do without joining Sid in prison.”

He felt the way his skin came to life, the way all of his cells leapt up and screeched, as soon as you touched him. He thought that perhaps he had contracted some sort of eye disease on top of his blatant insanity, too, because the dark room had brightened all of a sudden.

He knew he had gone right out of his mind, and he’d never felt better.

“I love you,” he whispered, and his nose touched yours when he said it.

“I love you,” you whispered back, and the happy ending that you had seen in his eyes felt no more than a breath away.

It approached you in silence, dimming the lights in the room, and in the building, and on this side of the world, so it could light the ones in your eyes and your chests.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jungkook whispered, the tips of his fingers tracing tenderly over your cheek. He felt it coming, too. “And I hope you stay.”

You closed your eyes. “I promise I’ll do everything to stay.”

Your lips finally touched his, and he discovered that you tasted exactly like the medicine he needed to halt his descent into madness, to calm the anxious beating of his heart, to clear his uncertain mind, and to dry the ink he’d used to engrave your name onto his soul.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “exit wounds”

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hanihaato · 2 months

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a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

#i think i write scenarios better than headcanons hmm #honkai star rail #hsr #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #the act

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skamenglishsubs · 26 days

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Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 2

Episode 2 starts days or maybe a week after episode 1. The curfews and phone ban is in place, so Wilhelm and Simon make the most of their one hour of phone sex talking.

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm snapped a quick instant picture of himself and Simon at the palace in the last episode, using the camera we saw on his desk. The heart is still on his hand, so maybe it's the next day, or maybe he's been filling it in every day.

Cinematography: Intense red light typically symbolizes their mutual love, and this scene is overflowing with it.

Lost in translation: They both finish the phone call with "puss", which means kiss, but not exactly. It's more platonic, something you can say and do with your parents, or your kids, or end phone calls with. The other word for kiss, "kyss", is more romantic/sexual, and would be super weird to end a phone call with. Simon is using that word when he says he would kiss Wilhelm's collar bone birth mark.

Subtext: Of course Vincent doesn't believe anyone was bullied. He's the biggest bully, but what he does is just a joke, or the other guy deserved it. This is gonna be a recurring theme™ in this episode, how various characters look back on and remember, or choose not to remember, what happened to them.

Subtext: If you didn't pick up this meaningful glance, you're blind. The initiation porno was totally real, and Nils and August clearly remember it, and weren't as flippant about it as Vincent.

Culture: In Sweden, inner city schools are typically better and have richer students than the poorer schools out in the suburbs. This is the exact opposite of the typical US school demographical pattern.

Subtext: Wilhelm avoids Farima's question by evading it. Note that it does make sense that she doesn't know what's going on at these schools since she's an employee, she's not upper-class herself. Wilhelm's parents know though since they attended Hillerska, but they would of course never admit it either.

Culture: Ironically, this is exactly how the real-world Danish royal family handled the Herlufsholm scandal in 2022 involving prince Christian. Only when the media storm in Denmark got too intense did they pull him out of the school, while furiously denying knowledge of the abuse or that he was involved in any way.

Cinematography: We're in the cursed music room, but the light is soft and golden, and the scene is just cute. No fight this time.

Subtext: We're touching the theme™ again, but from Simon's perspective. He has the same outsider perspective we have; speaking up about abuse is always good, and if the school's closing because of it, that's an obviously good thing. There's plenty of scenes in this episode showing that most Hillerska students don't share this perspective, they really love their school, as fucked up as it is.

Subtext: Although it sounds like a rehearsed PR line and Felice is thinking about her girl group here, it's gonna come true for her and Sara.

Subtext: Yuck. No further comment.

Cinematography: The immediate cut to Felice getting her aggressions out in gym class shows us exactly what she thought of what the principal said and how much it pissed her off.

Blink and you miss it: Simon audibly sniffs Wilhelm's hair.

Blink and you miss it: Micke made dinner for both of them, but in her depression, Sara ignores the cooked food (Pyttipanna, btw), and makes herself a cucumber sandwich instead.

Subtext: Micke is a man on a mission, and he is constantly steering the conversation towards helping Sara get her driver's license. For him, it's a way to make up for having been a shitty parent.

Culture: Sweden has long been a holdout of stick-shift cars, and if you don't do your practical test in a stick-shift, you'll get a restricted license, so it's not out of the ordinary for Micke to be teaching Sara how to drive one. However, automatics have seen a sharp rise in the last decade, and in 2024 automatics will finally overtake them.

Culture: The green ÖVNINGSKÖRNING sign is compulsory in Sweden if a car is being driven by someone on a learner's permit, with a parent or friend as the instructor. There's also a red version of the sign, which indicates it's a student driver with a professional instructor in a dual control car.

Cinematography: The room is filled to the brim with things to do, there's a bazillion board games, they have books, magazines, fidget thingies, they're drowning in stuff, and yet the girls are still soooooo boooored just because they don't have their phones. Except Madison, who is knitting.

Subtext: Here comes the theme™ again, and Fredrika is firmly in camp denial. Everyone else is just lying and exaggerating! The wheels are starting to turn in Felice's head though.

Subtext: Nils and August are finally talking about the initiation without Vincent being present, and they can finally be honest about what they actually thought about it. It happened, they didn't like.

Subtext: Their idea of fixing it however is not to go out publicly and talk about it, but to just quietly stop the tradition, hoping they'll be the last ones. (Since there are no second-year students in the show, we have no idea what happened to them, so we're just gonna ignore that.)

Subtext: And here comes the reason that August wanted to put a stop to it. He was completely humiliated by it, and he doesn't want anyone else to know that he was humiliated, because that just makes it worse. This is also the reason that traditions like this keep on going, no-one wants to blow the whistle on it, because everyone was abused, everyone was a victim, it's hard for abuse victims to speak up.

Cinematography: The talk with Nils triggered an anxiety attack for August, and being inside his small room doesn't exactly help. Him going so close to the camera that he almost bumps into it really shows how he feels like the walls are closing in on him.

Culture: This, kids, is a standard Swedish landline telephone jack. For the longest time I thought phone jacks looked like this everywhere, but it turns out that this particular design was only used in Sweden and Iceland(!?!). You won't find these in newer buildings because landlines are pretty much dying out, and if there are phone jacks they'll probably be using the much more common RJ-11 standard.

Culture: This, kids, is an Ericsson Diavox phone. The former government phone monopoly in Sweden, Televerket, only allowed certified and approved phones to be used on the network, and they only approved a very small set of phones, so everyone had pretty much the same phones in their homes. However, in the 1980's the market started getting flooded with "illegal" phones from other countries, so the monopoly simply stopped enforcing the rule, and you could finally, finally, plug in that novelty Garfield phone that you always wanted.

Blink and you miss it: Sara is studying for her driving test, and she's reading about driving in the dark.

Subtext: We're gearing up for the main plotline of the season, dropping more hints that maybe Wilhelm's image of Erik wasn't complete, and what August says sows some seeds of doubt in him.

Subtext: This song is objectively not very good, please don't kill me, but it is very sixteen-year-old-boy-just-singing-from-his-heart, not thinking about the text.

Subtext: Simon isn't wearing anything purple, but just after he posts his song video, he picks up a purple shirt, drops it immediately, and then the camera lingers on it. Colour theory goes brrrrrrrr. He thought about Wilhelm, and then stopped because his music is more important to him or something?

Subtext: Unlike Simon, Wilhelm immediately understands how problematic the text is for him, and how people will interpret it...

Subtext: ...but since he doesn't want to hurt Simon's feelings, he lies about why he thinks the song was a very, very bad idea. And he cushions it by telling Simon that he thinks the song is jätte-jätte-bra. Giant-giant-good.

Subtext: Yes, but also no, and someone from the court really should have given Simon some media training and explained to him why he has to be very careful about what he posts. But it's drama fuel, which is why this disaster is allowed to happen.

Subtext: A nice little throwback to season 1, this is exactly what Erik told Wilhelm in the first episode, about making sure that their public image is carefully curated.

Subtext: That's some on-the-nose foreshadowing there, since Felice is one of the main causes for the school ultimately closing.

Subtext: We're back to the theme™, Fredrika is saying pretty much the same thing as Vincent. It didn't happen, and if it did, it wasn't that bad.

Subtext: However, Felice isn't playing along this time, she's starting to speak up about the issues, and the result is a long, awkward silence, because her friends are not willing to do the same.

Subtext: Wilhelm and the rest of the rich kids are of course all wearing pretty expensive high-end hiking gear, in contrast with Simon who is simply wearing one of his usual hoodies and his usual winter jacket that we've seen before. That's a damn fine jacket from Fjällräven, btw, the same company that makes the weirdly globally popular Kånken backpacks.

Blink and you miss it: Henry is getting dragged for his actually quite reasonable objection to the tent groupings.

Subtext: Felice physically distances herself from her friends, and joins Simon and Wilhelm, in a nice little foreshadowing of the show's ending.

Blink and you miss it: Did you miss the line in last episode where Ayub said they were also gonna go camping at Talludden with their classmates from Marieberg? Well, here they are, because they pitched their tents nearby, and decided to go check out the Hillerska camp. It's not just Rosh and Ayub randomly walking through the woods.

Subtext: In season 2, we learned that Stella has a crush on Fredrika that she thinks is one-sided, but Fredrika sure has some kind of reaction to seeing Stella being close with Rosh. Jealousy, perhaps? Not clear at this point in time.

Subtext: Read the room Fredrika, for fuck's sake. At least Wilhelm has started learning to recognize privilege. The other rich kids probably recognize their privilege, but they're mostly just enjoying how much better they are than the poor regular kids.

Subtext: But Wilhelm's still got a lot more to learn. Yes, technically he is forced to spend his summer studying, and technically it is a kind of work, but the underlying reasons are completely different. If he skips it or fails, nothing bad will happen to him, unlike the Marieberg kids who rely on their summer jobs to have any sort of spending money.

Lost in translation: Wilhelm's dad says that the queen is going to be "sjukskriven", which is more serious than someone deciding on their own to take some time off or to use some sick days. It means that a doctor has evaluated you and decided that you are not fit to work, and that if you're a regular person, you are eligible for sick pay for the foreseeable future.

Cinematography: Yeah, mommy is really sick and Wilhelm is feeling the weight of responsibility, but take a look at that sunrise! It's so pretty! Wilhelm is completely in shadow because trouble whatever, but look at how that light just pops, with the sky and the water and the sun on the trees! Beautiful!

#young royals #young royals subtext #young royals analysis #young royals season 3

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cambrinkisbae · 2 months

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⁺˚⋆｡°✩needy✩°｡⋆˚⁺

kate martin x fem!reader

themes :

-fluff (if you squint your eyes)

-smut☺️

warnings :

-sexual content

-18+

it was the night that kate and her team would come back from the away game they had two days ago. me and kate weren't always in touch 24/7 while she was away which was actual hell for the both of us. we would only call once or twice a day and could only text a little bit throughout the trip. i spent most of my time taking care of our dog, macy. going on walks more than usual, going to dog parks things like that. since i didn't have my human version of a golden retriever i spent most of my time with our border collie.

every time i got a call from kate i would drop everything to answer. i would jump into my bed and kick my feet while she rambled on about how good she did and i of course would praise her since i watch all the games on tv. words can't even describe how much i need to hear her voice.

this away game was to indiana and kate claimed that there weren't many views she found enticing but she still sent me as many sky pictures as she could. she always try's to share wherever she's going with me. she's caring like that.

i got a call from kate this morning saying that she's finishing her packing. she even facetimed so that she could show me how organized her suitcase was. (it was not organized at all.) we called all the way until she had to get back on the road to get to the airport. the second she got in the car i heard taylor swift playing from the car speakers. enchanted to be specific.

"is that my favorite?" i squeal as i here the beginning of my favorite song ever.

"i forced them to play it baby" kate whispered back into her phone. "alright hun we are headed to the airport now i'll text you once i'm on the plane. i love you"

"i love you too" the words leave my mouth while an immediate feeling of loneliness lingered on my tongue. i hung up the phone and rolled over to see macy sitting next to me with her tongue out. she quickly got riled up as i poked at her floppy tongue.

we played around the apartment for a little while before i sat down to catch my breath. the amount of times i picked up my phone to check if kate texted or called was uncountable. i set my phone down after seeing that she hadn't reached out yet.

my eyes began to get heavier and as i was about to fall asleep i heard macy whining from across the apartment. without hesitation, i stood up and rushed over to where macy was which happened to be in me and kate's room. there my dog was rummaging through a small pile of kate's sweatshirts. i crouched down to the floor to pick up one of the jackets. i remembered that before kate left she asked me to wash this exact pile so thank you macy for reminding me.

after washing the sweatshirts i couldn't help but slip on one of them. it was my favorite after all. a tan-ish fleece sweater that felt perfect around my body. once the laundry was done i took the sweater and began hanging the others up in kate's closet.

------------------------------------------------------------

a couple hours had passed and kate already sent me a couple texts letting me know where she was and how she's doing. i was still in the sweater, cuddled up on the couch watching friends with macys head under my elbow. it honestly seemed like macy was more interested in the show than i was. i couldn't get kate out of my head. everytime my phone vibrated i would jump up to grab it off of my charger and see if my girlfriend texted me.

most away games are somewhat like this but this one felt different. as if the girls were out of state for more than a couple days. this felt like weeks without my girl. and let's just say that my attachment issues have gotten worse and worse everytime kate left.

after a couple more episodes of friends i finally got a text from kate saying that she was getting off the plane in 1 hour then it would be a 2 hour drive. that meant that it was time to make dinner. before kate even left i decided on making lobster bisque for the first time. it just felt right.

before i started cooking i obviously had to play music so i turned my cooking playlist which is literally just taylor swift songs but who cares. i threw on a pale yellow apron and began to get my ingredients out.

the actual time it took to cook the meal was only around a hour but i had to run to the store to get heavy cream. along with the bisque i made some asparagus and prepared a couple drinks.

by the time i finsihed setting everything up on our table, i got the text from kate saying she was only 15 minutes away. for finishing touches i lit a candle and put on noah kahan to play in the backround.

just before kate pulled into the drive way i rushed to my room and switched into some light blue lingerie. i put my shorts on along with that same tan sweater. i came out of the room just in time to catch kate as she walked in.

the first thing i saw when my girlfriend walked through the door was the largest smile ever. my body immediately latched onto kate's chest wrapping my legs around her hips and wrapping my arms around her back. the sound of her laughter in real life was like the biggest breath of fresh air going through my lungs.

i dug my nose into the crook between her neck and shoulder. her chin rested on my back and i felt her laughs run down my spine sending even more serotonin through my veins.

"i missed you so much" my voice was muffled under her skin but by her squeezing me tighter i knew she still heard me.

"i did too princess" kate's hands moved down to under my thighs to lift me off of her.

i flailed my hand to the right to show her the dinner i had set up for us. her hands went over her mouth to cover her absolute awe. she giggled against her palm and pulled me into another hug placing a sloppy kiss on my lips.

"you did this for me?" she said as she made her way to the dining table. i nodded back eagerly while swaying my hips back and forth.

there were so many things we talked about during dinner it's hard to list it all. half of the conversations were me telling her how good she did during her game and that i was thinking about her the entire time she was gone. i noticed her beginning to blush when the lace bra strap peeked through her own sweater.

"i just noticed are you....wearing my sweater?" laughed followed out of her mouth after she swallowed a spoonful of the food.

"yes. yes i am" i said confidently while holding my chin in the air.

------------------------------------------------------------

after dinner was finished we decided to go back to our room to watch a movie. we decided on watching my favorite, lady bird. once the movie started playing i could feel kates hand wandering up my shorts closer and closer to my panties. before anything else happened she lifted my leg on top of hers and left it to rest there for almost halfway through the movie.

throughout the movie i could still feel her fingers teasing with the hem of my (her) sweater and pulling at the drawstring of my shorts. small whines left my mouth everytime i felt her warm hands against my bare skin. a soft shudder left my mouth when her hand finally wrapped around the back of my hips, pulling me ontop of her lap. the movie was out of the picture now.

kate leaned against the headboard as i straddled her hips. her hands had a strong grip on my waist once i found a good position to sit in. without speaking i inched my lips closer towards kate's and gently pressed a few kisses against her lips.

the kiss began to deepen as kate's hands moved between my ass and thighs. i felt her fingernails dig into my soft skin causing me to gasp against her mouth. she slowly shoved her tongue through my lips and intertwined it with my own tongue.

as the kiss got sloppier i began to grind my hips against kate's jeans. the rough material peeked through my thin shorts just enough to send soft moans up my throat. kate's grip on my waist for tighter ad she moved me at a faster pace against her.

i moved my lips down to her jawline, taking my time to kiss every inch of her. my lips left a trail of saliva as i made my way down to the collar of her jacket.

"take this off for me baby" i whispered to kate, letting my lips graze over her ear.

without hesitation she tore her jacket off along with the tank top underneath, leaving her in a just a black nika sports bra and her jeans.

i continued kissing down to her chest, leaving dark marks across her collarbones and neck. kate let out a whine once i began to suck on the sweet spot at her chest.

"baby please...." kate groaned out.

her voice became louder as i made my way down to her abs still making sure to leave kisses in as many places as i could.

once i reached her belt i didn't wait any longer. i couldn't. i unbuckled her belt while kissing around her hips. kate lifted her hips up enough for me to slide her jeans off and toss them to the floor. i pushed myself back up to her lips, placing kisses on and around her lips as i slowly took of her boxers. one last kiss was pressed against her lips before i moved back down to her thighs.

i got a grip on her lower thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed so that she was sitting up. just to tease her, i left a trail of kisses all the way from her knees to her bare pussy.

as i got closer i used one of my hands to gently spread her legs enough for me to fit my mouth against her cunt. i slowly circled my tongue around her clit, taking my time just how kate likes.

her hands quickly were tangled in my hair as i sped up my pace. my lips molded around kate's clit, sucking in all of her. eventually i felt kates hips buck against my face making a smirk grow on my lips.

"fuck" she tried to stay quiet but covering her mouth with her hand or a pillow.

my tongue lapped through her folds quickly causing kate to let out groans that couldn't be muffled. i continued sucking around her pussy until her thighs were wrapped around my ears making it harder to hear her beautiful voice. i didn't mind though.

"fuck right there" i heard her moan out.

kate's heels slightly lifted up off of the floor once i forced my tongue deeper in her. i finally curled my tongue in just the right place to make her cum on my lips. her thighs loosened their grip revealing her screaming my name.

i pulled my mouth off of her cunt and moved back up her lips. kate's hands were still entangled in my hair but eventually moved back to my hips. i crawled ontop of kate's lap back into a straddling position. our lips continued to melt together while i gently began grinding down on her hips again. she pulled away for a second to push her self back against the headboard again.

once we were back at our first position, kate wrapped her hand around my back scooting my closet to her chest. i felt her fingers fiddling with the sweater that i had on. without saying a word i took of the sweater revealing the light blue bra i had put on for her before she got here.

her hands immediately gravitated to my tits massaging them in a circular motion through the lace. she surprisingly did not ask to take my bra off so she began to move her hands closer to my thighs that were still covered in a pair of shorts.

"may i?" kate teased at the edge of my shorts.

i nodded enough for her to slip off my shorts and throw them in a pile across the room. now that i was left in only my matching bra and panties kate placed her hand right against my clothed pussy. she used three of her fingers to apply pressure against my entire cunt.

a loud whine left my mouth followed by strings of curse words. kate took this as a sign to slip off my soaked panties and toss them away from us.

"my turn then right?" kate cocked her head to the side right before dipping two fingers in my sopping wet entrance. her fingers began pumping in and out at a slower pace. it just wasn't enough for me. i started to move my hips enough to ride her fingers sending an electric feeling through my skin.

my head tilted back at kate hit my g spot. a couple tears began to fall down my face now that kate started speeding up her fingers. she slowly inserted a third finger causing my back to arch.

i tried my best to not look into kate's eyes knowing that she was probably smirking at how much noise i was making.

soon enough kate drove her fingers deep enough to make me cum for the first time. i road out my orgasm and began to work at my next one. i looked into kate's eyes for a split second triggering her to press her lips against mine. since her hands were busy fucking me and holding moving my hips at a steady pace, i moved my hands up to her jawline twisting her head to fit her nose right next to mine. like a puzzle piece.

fuck i missed this.

#kate martin #lesbian #wlw #smut #basketball #vacation #iowa wbb #iowa #iowa hawkeyes #indiana

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squoxle · 7 months

Text

Golden Rule - L.HS ff ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

🎧 pairing: inexperienced!heeseung x badgirl!reader

🎧 summary: your cute and nerdy classmate lets you have your way with him in exchange for help on an assignment

🎧 cw: corruption and exhibitionism kink, oral (m. receiving), religious themes, mentions of bullying, college au, hee’s a bit subby

🎧 wc: 1.4k

You had been feeling horny for the entire week and knew you had to get your hands on some good dick or else you’d literally combust.

Introducing your person of interest: Lee Heeseung.

He was the type of guy you could guess everything about without even speaking to him. From his glasses, the way he tucked his ironed dress shirts into his belted pants, the way you only saw him either sitting with his legs crossed at a church sermon or studying his heart out at the library.

Heeseung was the epitome of a Christian nerd, but it was his insanely good looks that drew your attention to him in the first place.

You two first met at the beginning of the school semester, but you weren’t sure if you could call it a friendship just yet, especially not with the way you’d fantasize about him with your fingers between your legs every night.

It currently 6:00pm: the same time he’d come to the library to study every week day.

“What’re you working on,” you asked, taking a seat beside him at the table.

“Nothing much. Mr. Sweeney gave me this stupid hand written essay that I have to turn in by tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty busy for the next few hours.”

“What for? I thought Mr. Sweeney taught Bible. There aren’t any writing assignments for that class.”

That’s honestly the only reason why you took Bible class this semester.

“He does, but this isn’t a part of the curriculum. It’s a punishment for the prank I pulled on Jake and his crew yesterday… let’s just say, I didn’t get away with it as easily as planned.”

“Oh, so you do have a naughty side?”

“Hardly,” he sharply defended, “All I did was swap their video game discs out with episodes of The Brady Bunch on dvds. But, Sunghoon snitched, so now I’m here.”

“Tough.”

“I know. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, anyways.”

“Nobody deserves to be bullied, Hee. Those guys were assholes and you stood up for yourself! They’re the ones who should be playing Shakespeare for the night,” you argued passionately.

His eyes widened at your use of a swear word, such language that was forbidden by your university code of conduct.

“I appreciate you taking sides with me, but please don’t call it bullying. Makes me feel all… soft, and… vulnerable,” he cringed at his own words.

“You look pretty soft and vulnerable to me,” you mumbled, hungry eyes falling to his pouty lips.

“Excuse me?”

You cleared your throat, “Uhm, what’s the paper on?”

“The Golden Rule.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “The what?”

“Loving your neighbors as yourself? You should really pay more attention during Mr. Sweeney’s sermons.”

You chuckled at his comment, nudging him on the shoulder, “Hey, maybe I would if he wasn’t so damn boring… How many pages does it have to be?”

He sighed, “10 at least.”

Having to come of with 10 pages worth of “Golden Rule” greatness sounded much more challenging than you knew it actually was.

All he had to do was write in VERY BIG LETTERS.

You peered over his shoulder, examining the paper. He was just getting started on page two.

“Hmm. We have similar handwriting,” you added, making Heeseung look at you with his desperate doe eyes.

“Oh my God, ____! You have to help me!”

“Watch out, church boy. The pastor might make it 11 pages if he hear’s you calling the Lords name in vain.”

“Ughhhh,” his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he groaned, “Can you please just help me out?”

“Uh-huh, and why would I do that?”

“Look, I’ll do anything! You’re a way stronger writer than I am, and my brain is in the verge of kermitting suicide!!”

He was right. Writing was never a strong subject of his, so he really did need your help.

“Fine,” you gave in, looking around the library before whispering in his ear, “If you can be quiet while I suck you off until you finish page two, I’ll do the rest.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, “What?”

“You heard me,” you said cattily, sneaking under the table and between his legs.

“____, get from down there!! This is inappropriate!”

“Says who,” you giggled, unbuckling his leather belt.

“We’re not a married couple, ____. Hell, We’re not even dating!” He whisper-yelled from above the table, fidgeting with the pencil in his hand.

You could feel how tense he was just my touching his thighs, “You’ve never been approached like this before, have you?” You asked yet stated.

He took a deep swallow, already feeling himself throbbing in his pants, “Of course not… I’m trying to save myself here, y’know?”

“Aww, that’s cute,” you pouted, rubbing his bulge through his boxers.

“F-fuhh,” he mumbled, screwing his eyes shut at the feeling, “I don’t know if I can do this, ____.”

“With God, all things are possible, Hee! You should really pay more attention during Mr. Sweeney’s sermons,” you mocked, shimmying his boxers down to his ankles.

You adjusted yourself under the table before grabbing a hold of his impressively large dick, starting with gentle pumps.

“I’m not hearing the pencil penciling, Hee. Be a good boy and keep writing,” you slithered in a sing-song voice, licking a stripe up his shaft. The foreign texture of your tongue sent pleasurable shivers down his spine.

“____,” he cried with a surpressed moan, “how am I supposed to focus when you’re down there doing that?!” He worried, looking around as if waiting for someone to catch you two.

You released your lips from his heat with a pop, “Down here doing what, Hee? Sucking your virgin dick in the library? I always knew you had a naughty side.”

“Mmm,” he moaned again, rutting his hips up into your mouth, “please tell me you’re almost done, ____.”

You grinned at the sound of his begging, feeling yourself grow wetter with each second you spent between his legs, “Depends on if you either finish that last page or cum in my mouth first.”

Taking him past your lips again, you bobbed your head up and down, stroking the remaining inches you couldn’t fit comfortably in your mouth.

He tried his best to keep writing, but with that way you were sucking him off, his hands couldn’t help but drop the pencil before getting lost in your hair.

“Fuck,” he whined, finally letting the word come out.

He started to use your head like a toy as you sucked him in even harder, “just like that, baby. Please don’t stop.”

You were surprised by how his body slowly submitted to you the more you pleasured him.

Meanwhile, he was surprised that this was actually even happening. You moaned with the gag that tried to escape your throat, clinging to his thighs as your tried to hold in your sounds.

Your eyes started to poke with tears as he used your head more aggressively than before, finally shooting his warm load down your mouth, panting as if he’d just ran a marathon.

“Shh, you’re so noisy,” you teased, stroking him to a point of overstimulation.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he whimpered, taking your hands in his to stop your ministrations.

You licked the cum that dripped from your mouth before pulling his pants back up, getting from under the table.

You fixed your hair with your hands after literally just getting your face fucked by your sweet classmate, taking in his hot and bothered frame.

“How was it?” You asked casually, sitting next to him as if nothing happened.

You tried to ignore the sticky moisture that stuck to your thighs from your own arousal, figuring that you’d think about this moment while you pleased yourself later.

“Amazing,” he said with a shaky breath, still feeling his orgasm fresh in his veins.

“I’m taking about the page you just wrote, silly,” you teased, moving the sheet of paper closer to you before examining what he came up with, “Dude!”

“What, dude?” He asked back with flushed and sleepy features.

“This is garbage!” You exclaimed, ripping the piece of paper in half.

“Yeah, I don’t know why you would’ve expected anything different.”

“Gimme that,” you retorted, snatching the pencil from his hand, “I’m gonna need some coffee to write all these pages for ya…”

“Ugh,” he groaned, understanding that you were indirectly asking him to get you something to drink.

“Iced?”

“Always.”

He got up from the seat, searching through his backpack before pulling out his wallet, “Thanks by the way,” he smiled, trailing to the library exit.

“What can I say? It’s the Golden Rule,” you replied, jotting down the first of many sentences you’d write for Lee Heeseung, the guy you just blessed with the best blow job of his life.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@chlorinecake @hoyeonheeseung @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon

#enhypen #enhypen ff #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky

Word Count: 2366

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background/minor themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

1. Lemon Cream Tart (with Pistachio Streusel)

“Oh, baby, yes.”

Mary grunts, annoyed that this is still going on.

Her pleasure waned a while ago, nowhere close to orgasm, and she can’t seem to get it back when she’s being fucked this hard. She’s getting too dry now, just wants him to come and have it be over with.

“Yeah,” she says breathily, canting her hips up against where the guy—Dennis, she thinks it is—is fucking into her. He’s going too fast, pulling out too far,and hardly connecting with her body at all before thrusting again. “Jackrabbit sex,” she calls it in her head.

“Shit, Ugh. M’gonna cum,” MaybeDennis grunts.

It’s nice to finally hear him talk. He’s been virtually silent this entire time and Mary’s whined and squirmed and panted, wishing that the sex was better and that he’d just fucking say something to her—something low and quiet in her ear, something confident and knowing, maybe putting a hand on her neck at the same time as he—

“Fuck!” he shouts, close to her ear. His thrusts start to stutter, losing their rhythm as he gets close. Mary grips him harder, and moans loudly like she’s getting close too. It makes him come, and she tenses her body and matches his sounds of relief with some of her own. It’s performative and easy to fake, she doesn’t overdo it, and she sounds convincing.

MaybeDennis groans and collapses against her, resting his sweaty forehead on her shoulder for a moment before pulling out. He flops over onto his back, chuckling tiredly and removing the condom. Mary watches him get up from the bed and pad into the bathroom. He’s a good looking guy, with just a little too much fat in the midsection for her taste. But then, she knows she’s overly picky, especially considering the state of her own body.

Beyond the open bathroom door, the toilet flushes, and MaybeDennis peeks his head out from the bathroom. “Hey, you mind if I grab a shower before heading out?”

Mary resists the urge to grimace and smiles tightly instead. “Nope. Go ahead.” She’s just grateful he isn’t asking to spend the night. “Towels are in the closet.”

MaybeDennis smiles. “Thanks.”

After he leaves, Mary gets her vibrator out of the bedside drawer and shoves the extra pillow between her legs, arranging the toy so that it sits against her just so. She doesn’t think of MaybeDennis as she gets herself off. The orgasm feels good but leaves her feeling bereft afterwards. She scowls and wipes the tears from her eyes, feeling just a little pathetic.

Like most other nights, she gets up and goes to her apartment’s little kitchen, grabs the vodka from the freezer and pours herself a glass mixed with diet soda. She winces in relief as the first sip goes down. It’s eight o’clock now. She doesn’t have to be up for work until seven, so that leaves at least another six hours to get drunk and have a nice relaxing evening in.

It’s her favorite part of the day.

Bucky’s just left the gym after a really intense workout and is feeling pleasantly worn out and relaxed when he decides to try the new coffee shop on a whim. He’s passed it by for months, and when he finally walks through the front doors he’s pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere. There’s a small dessert case next to the register, which he examines while he waits his turn in line. It’s filled with colorful, glossy, artful little pastries that look almost too pretty to eat—almost. He grins as he thinks about what Steve might want.

“Welcome to Angie’s, what can I get for you?”

The greeting sounds mechanical and anything but chipper, and Bucky’s attention shifts to the woman behind the register. He eyes her up and down, noticing both how pretty she is … and how worn down she looks. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her eyes look red-rimmed. They have faint circles under them. Bucky offers her a sympathetic wince. “Late night?”

She blinks at him, unamused. “Yeah, I guess. Do you know what you want?”

“These pastries all look so good,” he says, trying again for friendly. “What would you recommend?”

“Any of ‘em. They’re all good.”

“Are you sure?” he teases.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” she deadpans. “Since I make ‘em.”

Bucky looks back to her, impressed. “Yeah?” He regards her nametag, sees the little handwritten “Mary,” and thinks, aw, that’s cute. He reins in his reaction. Leaning against the counter, he praises, “Well you’re very talented. They all look like little works of art.”

(They’re priced that way, too. $8.99 for a shiny little dome thing? Jesus.)

Mary blushes and smiles a little, not seeming to know what to say to that. But she leans towards Bucky too, receptive to his compliments. She’s not making eye contact, which automatically gets Bucky’s instincts perking up. Not that he has any intention of taking this anywhere. It’s just a little friendly banter, a woman reacting to him in a way that’s naturally satisfying for Bucky. “Thanks,” she says shyly.

“I’m still waiting on that recommendation, Mary,” he says, inserting a bit of flirtation into his tone. She makes eye contact at his use of her name, her lips parting just the barest bit and her pupils expanding. Bucky grins, leaning closer. “Hm?”

“Uh, the … the lemon tart is very good,” she says. “If you like lemon. Not too strong. I balance it out with cream and some pistachio streusel, and the meringue on top of course …”

Now that she’s closer and is talking more readily, Bucky catches the faintest whiff of alcohol coming off of her. He raises an eyebrow and looks at her more closely, noticing how there’s a sheen to her eyes, how she doesn’t look just tired, but unsteady; not just unkempt, but disheveled. He frowns. Is she … is she drunk? “Um,” he hedges, pulling back to stand straighter. “Are you okay, Mary?”

She looks surprised at the question. She glances down to her nametag, then back up at him. “I’m … fine,” she says. “Just tired.”

“You kinda smell like booze,” he whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear. He gives her a searching look. “Are you hung over?” Her eyes widen in alarm and Bucky frowns, concerned. “Are you drunk?”

“I told you that I had a late night,” she hisses. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Bucky gives her a warning look for her tone, and the girl is immediately lowering her eyes. Hmm. Not many people are dominant or submissive the way that Bucky is. It’s considered disordered, so he doesn’t usually play around with testing people this way. But this girl has raised some of his telltale red flags, and he’s curious. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Honey,” he says gently. Then, inserting a careful amount of authority into his voice and watching how she reacts, he says, “Now: I’d like an almond venti chai latté with stevia and cream, double-frothed, to-go. And why don’t you be a good girl and grab me two of those lemon tarts as well? They look too tempting to resist.” Her eyes flick up to his, some strange mixture of outrage and obedience in them, and Bucky feels like he knows, then. She looks the way a woman looks when you’ve just whispered something filthy in their ear. Bucky raises his eyebrow. “Did you get that, Mary?”

“... Yes,” she breathes, making something deeply innate in Bucky stir. She shakes herself out of her stupor and gets to work with a sharpie and venti-sized paper cup.

“Bucky,” he tells her, as he taps his card to the terminal to pay. “That’s the name you can write down.” Mary looks inordinately pleased at having been given his name (another clue). Bucky nods over to the other end of the counter. “I’ll be waiting over there.”

“Okay,” she says, once again back to not meeting his eyes. She seems embarrassed at having been found out for being drunk at work. Maybe she expects Bucky to scold her. He wishes he could. Instead he goes down to where he said he’d wait, and makes up his mind to ask her about whether she’s on the spectrum.

“Here you go,” she says as she hands over the cup several minutes later. “Bucky” is written in neat, sharp letters on the paper sleeve. She pushes a little white box across the counter at him too. “And the tarts.”

Bucky takes them without comment, eyeing her up and down instead. “Mary?” he says, because subs love hearing their names said aloud. Predictably, her eyes snap right up, alert and bright, like Bucky’s just dangled catnip in front of her nose. He offers her a kind look and delicately ventures, “Have you ever been assessed on the D/s spectrum, Honey?”

“What?”

“The D/s spectrum?” he repeats, keeping his voice low because he’s still not trying to upset her. He can see the moment that her brain clicks over in recognition, because her irises flare and her face slackens in shock. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky reassures gently. “I don’t mean any of this in a negative way. I just think you might be on the spectrum. I’m familiar with the signs. And if you’ve gone undiagnosed all this time … well that’d explain it if you’re struggling, you know.”

“I’m not … I’m not struggling,” she stammers.

Bucky gives her a look. “You don’t think so? When here you are, sleep deprived, drunk at work?”

Embarrassment stains her cheeks within seconds. “How dare you? I am not.”

“Not drunk? Or not submissive?”

She blushes even harder, jaw working. “I’m not,” she repeats stubbornly.

“Oh, Honey,” Bucky says, and he reaches for her hand before she can pull it back. He circles her wrist with his fingers, marveling at how tiny it is in his hand. He squeezes—and proceeds to watch her eyelids flutter like he’s touched someplace far more erogenous than her wrist. “I think you are,” he murmurs sadly.

It takes her a minute, but she gets angry again and yanks her hand away, scowling at him. “You’re very rude,” she says. “You can’t just say stuff like that to people.”

“Can’t I?”

Her lip quivers. She pushes the box further across the counter at him. “Take your stuff and leave.”

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” Bucky says. “It’s okay. I’m diagnosed dominant, you know. I understand what it’s like.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying: I’m not going to judge you. I think you should probably get some help, though. It’s pretty progressive if you don’t address it.”

“You don’t even know me!” she hisses, then looks around the shop nervously when she realizes she’s gotten louder. Nobody seems to be paying attention to them, but she still looks back at Bucky with a furiously embarrassed expression. “You're wrong. I’m normal.”

Bucky knows that arguing with her isn’t going to get him anywhere. Instead, he slips the paper sleeve off of his coffee cup and plucks the sharpie from the edge of Mary’s apron. She gasps at the boldness of it and he shoots her a wink. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, as he jots down a number. He hands the sleeve back to her. “You can call that number any time, if you wind up needing help.”

“Oh my god, is this some sort of come-on?” She sneers. “Newsflash: I’m not interested in you.”

Bucky nods placidly while imagining putting her over his knee. “No, it’s not my number. It’s a hotline you can call. To talk about this stuff. It’s free and confidential, and it’s manned by people like you and me.”

She regards the cardboard sleeve like it might suddenly have more information written on it. “I don’t—”

“Here.” On a whim, he jots down his cell number as well, this time on the back of his receipt. He slides it over the counter at her but she doesn’t take it. “That’s my number,” he says. “If you want it.”

“I don’t need these. I’m not some friggin’—”

He cuts her off from whatever undoubtedly prejudiced thing she’s about to say. “I’ll be back to give a thorough review of the tarts,” he tells her, taking the box and his coffee cup and stepping away. He heads for the door, satisfied that he’s done the right thing by this woman, even if his dominance is still urging him to do more. “You should have a coffee, yourself,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Have two, even—Strong ones.”

“I hate coffee.”

He hears her scoffing at him as he goes out the door. She’s right, he thinks: he doesn’t know her. It was ballsy to talk to her the way that he did. To presume her situation from just a few reactions. He could’ve been wrong about her …

Glancing back through the café’s window from outside, he sees her making a drink at the espresso machine. There are no other customers waiting in line. Bucky watches as she takes a sip from it, winces in distaste, and takes another sip anyway. She’s obeying his command. She took it as a command. Bucky smiles sadly from out on the sidewalk. He wasn’t wrong about her. Hopefully she’ll call the hotline, get started on the right path to fix whatever’s going wrong in her life. But even though Bucky’s a dom and thus a natural “fixer,” he can’t solve every sad case he comes across. Especially when the person doesn’t want to be helped. He’s done all he can do, and that’s going to have to be enough.

Shaking his head, he turns away and starts off for home, sipping at his—excellently made—latté, and feeling grateful that he got help when he needed it, back when he was young. He’s one of the lucky ones.

He puts Mary the drunk barista from his mind, thinking instead about how he needs to get home to shower and change into something nice. He’s got a date with Steve, after all.

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httpshujii · 9 months

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 彡 In which . . . Hanma Shuji falls in love.

Listen to this while reading

〔CW〕 — Usage of pet names, mentions of smoking, cursing, first kisses, suggestive themes. long fic (4k words), reader gets called 'Paradise'

〔AN〕 — This is basically me projecting, except I'm not academically smart :D

Hanma Shuji doesn’t believe in love. And he surely doesn’t expect to be loved. And he’s fine with that.

Hanma Shuji went in the wrong at a young age. Falling under the influence of manipulative bliss. Tip of cigarette between sharp teeth, flicker of lighter, and inhaling smoke through mouth, exhaling through nose. Living on the life line of the strong taste of tobacco, the smell of blood, and the sweet intoxication of walking through the streets of Tokyo.

Hanma Shuji walked nights till the crack of dawn. Causing trouble here and there, minding his own business there and here.

Hanma Shuji being a usual delinquent in the lit up streets of Tokyo.

Typical Monday, Shuji sat at the back of the empty classroom. School shirt unbuttoned over a white tank top. Unlit cigarette hanging through his teeth as the early sun caressed his face.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He doesn't usually go to school. Thinks it's too wasteful, he'd much rather pick on younger students in the streets, but no one's available at 6 in the morning.

Shuji didn't sleep last night. Or any night.

"Bored.." He murmured to himself. And just as he was about to leave the class and head back home, a pretty little thing caught his attention.

Bag in your hand and a sweater draped over your other arm.

Your eyes land on him and his cigarette.

"Oh..sorry, didn't think anyone would be here." Shy giggles and hesitant steps take you to your seat that's two rows ahead of his.

You waste no time in placing your bag on your chair and you walk out with your sweater.

The boy's gaze never left your figure. Cat-like eyes stuck on you the whole time. Observing, studying, memorizing. And he's glad you don't notice.

He knows who you are. Everyone knows who you are.

And everyone loved you...Shuji hated that.

How can anyone say they love a girl who was known for her intelligence and her charisma when most of the time nobody knows you as a person?

And that was your thought as you walked around the school. Your beige sweater now on, earphones in ears, and you allow the music to take over you...

Ecstasy carrying layers of notes of different pitches, blissfully pleasing your hearing as the sun rose and started its day.

An hour later and you're back in class, writing down the notes you need to write. This endless cycle continues for the rest of the day, even through lunch you spend your time tutoring other students because you're asked to do so by the teachers.

You're the star student and every teacher's helpful tutor. You can't say you didn't like it because you find enjoyment while helping others.

But it was a bore sometimes...

And so, the day goes by…

Write notes, read, highlight, repeat.

The final period of the day arrives and it somehow goes faster than usual. Just as the bell finally rings…

“Hanma, y/n, could you two come here for a moment?” Your teacher asks as her fingers skim through papers.

Walking towards the desk, you feel a looming presence stand next to you. Your eyes dare dart upwards to see who this Hanma is.

You hear the name everyday when the teacher checks the attendance. Usually there’s no response, and you never paid any mind to his presence.

Your eyes scan over his features quickly. Hair styled up, dangling earring, pointy nose, and hypnotizing golden eyes.

“Y/n I’d like for you to sit with Hanma for the upcoming lesson, and I’d appreciate it if you went over the previous lessons with him as well.”

Groaning internally, you nod politely.

While awkwardly exchanging numbers with Hanma, you couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that decorated his hands. Sin and Punishment. His veins bulge as he typed his digits into your phone. Heat pools at your stomach and you’re forced to look away.

“So, tomorrow at the library after school, sound good?”

“Yeah whatever..” His voice exhales smoky rings of husks. Rumbling down to your heart, making it sprint in place.

Gulping down the sudden lump, grabbing your phone from his hand.

“I-I’ll text you the schedule.”

“Sure.”

“See you.” Waving back at him, you look to see if he’d do the same.

He flicks two fingers at you as a wave and gives you a tired excuse of a smile.

The next day comes faster than expected. Your loafers clap against the tiled floor of the halls. Making your way to the library, you’re surprised to find Hanma already there sitting on one of the many tables.

But…

He’s asleep.

The worst possible scenario.

Is having to wake him up when he looks so peaceful.

What to do? What to do?

Okay.

The options that you have include the following:

A. Wake him up.

B. Leave without an explanation.

C. Leave and text him an apology saying that something came up.

D. None of the above.

You choose D. I can’t just leave him…

But this isn’t like you. The boy barely has any interest in you and you’re aware of that. So why?

Why do you want to wait for him to wake up?

Is it because…

You want to listen to his steady breaths?

Or watch the rise and fall of his chest…

Maybe it’s to stare at him as his eyes flutter.

No, that’s just creepy.

You know what…

Your steps walk towards the table and you start working. Trying so hard to carefully flip the pages of your notebook. Taking your time writing down notes. Stealing glances at him every now and then.

Just enjoying his sleeping presence.

An hour passes, you don’t realize it.

But when you’re about to steal another glance at him, he’s already staring at you.

And oh…

How pretty he looks.

Hair disheveled, eyes hooded, and an unknown emotion swimming in his eyes. Heat pools in your stomach at the sight of him. A good moment passes until he decides to speak…

“Staring is rude y’know.”

“Well you’re staring too.”

“You’re staring as if I look like some monster or somethin’.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re being loud.” “Because you’re making me irritated.” Huffing, you cross your arms.

“Cute…” He hums as he nuzzles into the crook of his elbow, his eyes close momentarily before opening again.

Cute.

Such a complicated word. Hard to know what he’s referring to at this moment.

“Can we start?” You ask, lifting a page in your notebook, indicating you’re fed up and he just gives you a nod.

An hour passes. Shuji hasn’t taken out any notebook or book or pen. But you didn’t question it, at least he’s listening.

“Do you get it?”

“Mhm..”

. . .

“Do you?”

“No.”

A sigh and a pinch to the bridge of your nose.

“Like okay, I get everything yeah? But this part is kinda confusing.” He points to a graph in your book and starts listing what he finds hard.

But you’re barely paying attention.

Well, you are. But on him.

The way he’s leaning over the table, one of his elbows propping his head, as his fist sinks into his cheek. The way his finger taps against your book, your wandering eyes trailing over to his hand. Punishment. Your mind thinks of what his tattoo could possibly mean.

“So for example if this question comes in an exam, how do i answer it?” He asks peering up at you now.

You stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Pretty..” He whispers, he lifts his hand to brush it over the plush of your cheek. But pulling away a moment later, as though you’re too delicate to be touched by his sinful hands.

You didn’t sleep early that night. The phantom of his touch still lingers on you. He left right after you gave him the answer to his question. And you received a text from him once you got home.

“I think I know why everyone calls you Paradise.”

It’s an alias used by students when addressing you.

“Hey Paradise! Can you explain this to us?”

“Paradise, why don’t you come sing karaoke with us tonight?”

Paradise this, paradise that.

You don’t even know why they call you that.

Paradise is…it’s the sprinkle of golden specks across the night sky, it’s the warmth of fire, the coolness of snowflakes. Paradise is long strokes of a paintbrush going down a canvas, the soft washes of waves over the sand, the peaceful layer between the wake and the sleep. Paradise is the intoxicating scent of mysterious glances and peach flavored kisses.

Paradise is anything but you. You have the looks, the brains, everything. But you aren’t the person that you want to be. Being the perfect image for people that don’t bother enough to get to know you is draining. You don’t have friends that last long, you can’t talk to anyone about your day because no one asks, sure you have your parents, but you thrive to hold onto something that would belong to you and you only.

“Why?” You texted him that an hour ago. And as the night continued, sleep taking over, and the rings of the alarm blaring your ears off, you woke up to nothing. Not a text back, not even seen.

“How’s the progress with Shuji going?”

“Good, he’s good at memorizing and catches on quickly.”

“That’s good. You may leave now.”

A long sigh escapes you the moment you close the door of the classroom. Today is colder than usual, and today is worse than usual.

“Someone seems pissed.” The familiar smoky rings of husks. The same playful lilt. And the intimidating sight of Hanma Shuji fills your stomach with butterflies.

It’s been a month since you met him and he texted you every day. Asking if you’re gonna continue studying after school in the library. But he never once answered your question. However, he started sitting with you daily. He changed his seat to sit right next to you, he would sit with you during lunch time and he’d even go as far to buy you a drink from the vending machines.

You don’t know what it is that lures you to his presence. Overall, in your eyes, he’s calm and collected. But it’s only been a month since you’ve met him. There’s still a lot you need and want to learn.

“‘M not pissed.” You grumble clearly pissed as you start walking towards the library.

“Poor little girl’s all mad.”

“I said I’m not mad.”

“Ehe ♡”

“What?”

“We had the same conversation a month ago.”

“Why am I surprised you remember?”

“Why are you surprised that I remember?”

At that, heat tickles your stomach and you just continue walking.

“You’re interesting.” Is what he started with as you took a seat at the table.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

A small tilt of his head and a ghost of a smirk hangs on his lips, “What question?”

“Why.”

Silence hangs in the air. He knows what you’re talking about. He stares at you in a strange intensity, not serious, or playful. You can’t tell what it is you’re feeling. A sharp gulp down your throat and he’s talking again, “You ever been on a motorcycle before?”

“No. Why?”

“Do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“You ask why too much.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Why. Such a stupid word that you tend to repeat. Being sheltered from having friends, you’re not used to discussions outside of the study topic. He makes you feel as if you’re an alien on this planet. He makes you feel curious and…dangerous. You feel dangerous around him.

“Ah fuck it. Lets go.”

“Where?”

“Just come with me will ya?”

Another sharp gulp and your feet are suddenly walking alongside him. You walk outside the school and down the sidewalk, all the way till you reach a small garage. You feel sick. A good sick. The type of sick you feel when you go down a really high rollercoaster.

He walks in and you follow, he grabs your school bag and places it onto a brown leather couch that's tucked into the corner of the place. An old coffee table in front of it and a mini fridge sitting nearby as well. But the main attraction, a motorcycle sits on a platform. A vintage Kawasaki Ninja, styled with a leopard print, and polished so that the finish can twinkle under the light.

You don’t notice yourself when you allow a subconscious ‘woah’ to escape your lips.

“Lovely one, isn’t she?”

You watch as Sin runs along the seat of the vehicle. His eyes stay on you though…

With a nod, he beckons you over. This time your steps are more confident. The minute you stand next to him, his hands move to your hips, lifting you up as if you’re nothing.

“W-what’re you…?”

“Wanna ride with me?”

It’s stupid to ask this question after seating you down. But the way he’s propping himself on the bike, the way his eyes search yours for any hesitation, the way he’s so effortlessly attractive by just tilting his head in amusement.

You tug on the hem of your skirt. Do I want this?

“C’mon pretty you know you want to~”

Your stomach did somersaults, butterflies abused your insides, and the blush on your cheeks was not taken for granted by him. With a soft pinch to your cheeks, “Cute.”

He moves away from the bike and walks towards a locker. He pulls out a leather jacket and hands it to you. It’s heavy, warm, and smells of cigarettes and dark cologne. It smells of him and it intoxicates you so beautifully.

He opens the garage door before finally sitting in front of you. The engine growls to life. A leopard hiding behind a bush, revving itself to pounce at a common prey. His calloused hands find refuge on yours, pulling them to hug his waist. You feel him tense up slightly, he stays there, his hands on top of yours, fingers caressing yours.

You feel a strange warmth, like the sun has nuzzled itself in your throat and it's sliding down to rest in your stomach.

This lasts for a couple of seconds before he revs the bike a couple of times, he goes down the ramp of the platform and the wind is quick to play with your hair. The highway he drove on was surprisingly empty despite it being four in the afternoon.

He drove with surprising ease, you’re scared but you trust him. It’s odd, trusting someone that you don’t know much about. Driving before stopping at a red light. He pats your hand before turning his head to the side slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah..”

“You sound hesitant baby, what’s wrong?”

“Kinda scared.”

“Don’t be, just lean with me on the turns alright?”

“Okay.”

“Atta girl ♡”

He drove you to the beach. And as he carried you off the bike, your eyes never left the crashing waves. Wonder filling your eyes as if you’re a little girl again.

“Never been to the beach before?”

“No.”

“Missing out big time.”

He holds your hand before walking towards the wooden dock. You both take a seat on the edge. You peek down at the blue waters, the sun setting creates divine hues of gold to mix with the palette of waves. So beautiful.

“I think I know why they call you Paradise.”

“Why?”

“Because you are paradise.”

“I don’t get it.”

A chuckle from him and he’s laying back on the wood. He sighs dreamily and closes his eyes.

“I don’t get it Hanma.” You repeat and this time he opens his eyes to look at you. He’s so enamored, so amazed by your presence.

“Ah shit.” Punishment clutches his chest. Sin covers his face.

“I don’t get it…” You mumble once again. Shuffling in place to face him now.

“I don’t get it either,” His words are muffled, he slides his hand down his face, “Fuck!” He yells to no one in particular, but you flinch at the volume.

“What did I do?!” You immediately take yourself as the blame but there’s a smile on your face, he smiles at you and he shakes his head ever so slightly.

Sin moves to brush the stray strands of your hair away from your face, it slides down your face to cup your cheek. He props himself up with his other elbow and looks at you appreciatively.

As if admiring a painting, his eyes trace over every feature of your face. Every mole, every freckle, every line and crease. He wants to kiss them. He wants to kiss your cheeks till they’re burning, he wants to kiss your tears away, he wants to kiss you so badly it hurts. You’re right here, in front of him and in his presence…

So why is it so hard to reach out to you and just kiss the life out of you?

Because he’s afraid. Hanma Shuji is fearless, he lives as a careless fugitive that finds pleasure in knocking teeth down people’s throats, he spends his days and nights laughing with the yells of his victims. Hanma Shuji doesn’t believe in love. And he surely doesn’t expect to be loved. And he’s not fine with that.

It’s been a month for God’s sake and he’s already fallen for you. How?

Is it the way you explain lessons? Is it the way you walk? Is it the way your eyes light up when he gets something right? Is it your face? Your body? Your smile? Your laugh? Maybe it’s the little tilt of your head when you feel confused? Or is it the hesitancy every time you’re with him? Maybe it’s everything and more.

Hanma Shuji fell under the painfully beautiful spell of love in a month. And he doesn’t expect to be loved by you.

You’re too pure, too angelic, too beautiful. Your whole existence doesn’t deserve to be meddled with by a boy that could break your heart.

Everything about him breaks your heart…because you want to have him.

“Hanma-”

“Don’t say my name like that.” Lie. Say my name, say my fucking name like it’s a fucking prayer. He wishes to tell you.

“...Shuji.”

“Fuck.” With a single blink, he’s standing on his knees in front of you. His hands cup your cheeks and he looks down at you.

He’s so lovesick it’s pathetic. How? How can he fall in love this quick? Is this normal? Probably not. Does he care? Yes…and no. His eyes narrow and they trace your lips, so kissable.

His thumb presses on your bottom lip. He’s hesitant now. The way you’re looking up at him so prettily. So innocently. Asking him to do whatever he wants, as if you’re completely clueless on what you want. He knows he shouldn’t give in. He really, really shouldn’t. You’re breaking his heart by trusting him with your purity. He hasn’t even kissed you yet and he already feels like he committed a crime.

A long grumble leaves his lips and his forehead is resting on your shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, as if he ran a whole marathon- well, his heart is.

This hurts hurts hurts. He feels like a child at a museum, wanting to touch an ancient vase but if he does he’d get a good slap on his hand for touching something so valuable.

He’s touching someone so valuable. It feels like a crime. Such a big crime.

Just do it Shuji damn it. It’s just a girl.

But it’s not just a girl, his subconscious speaks.

It is.

Is not.

Sigh, is not.

It’s you.

With another sigh, he lifts his head up again.

“Please let me kiss you.”

He wouldn’t be caught dead saying those words in front of anyone but you. He’s so soft it’s revolting. He sounds so desperate, as if he’s starved and thirsty. Thirsty to feel your lips against his. Hungry to taste you and hold you close and never let you go.

He notices the way your eyes widen, and he admires the way as the sun’s final rays swim in your eyes. So pretty so pretty so pretty.

“You’re a crime Paradise..” He mumbles into your ear. Laying a teasing kiss under your ear lobe, “I’ll be so good to you, I promise.” A kiss to your jaw, “Please…” Lips hover over lips, desperately inhaling and exhaling your essence as if you’re water.

He’s a man in the desert, you’re the refreshing oasis in the distance. He wants to drink you up. Feel you down his throat and in his chest.

With little effort, you manage to push yourself high enough so your lips come crashing against his. Arms wrapping around his neck.

What the hell are you doing? You’ve never kissed anyone, so why are you just as desperate to kiss him? For the hell of it? To experience it? No…

You like Shuji. You like his effortlessness, you enjoy talking with him, even if it’s just a stupid lesson, you enjoy his calmness, you enjoy looking at him, you enjoy standing with him behind the school during lunch breaks to make sure he wouldn’t get caught smoking, you love the small moments when he’d struggle to solve a simple equation, you adore his teasing comments and nicknames, you love every moment with him because you feel relaxed, you feel like yourself around him.

He fills that hole in your chest.

The feeling of having someone that belongs to you is fulfilling and rewarding. You’re overflowing with aching waterfalls of affection and need.

His lips mold against yours, he senses your hesitancy and wastes no time in taking initiative. Slowly moving against your lips to provide you with reality, he genuinely wants this. Hanma Shuji has never taken anything seriously, but the moment he met you, everything changed.

As cheesy as it sounds to him, he’s convinced you’re the only person for him. He hums as he deepens the kiss, detaching slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for any negative emotion.

Discomfort, doubtfulness, hate, anything. And you’re over here, looking at him, wanting more but you’re too shy to ask.

He’s basking at the sight of you, lips puckered and wet, cheeks burning, brows furrowed with frustration at the loss of contact.

“You’re just a little girl aren’t you?” His whisper tickles your lips, “‘m not little…”

“Mmm..that so? You’re pouting as if I took your favorite candy away.”

“I want my candy back.”

“Hehe ♡”

That same night, when Shuji dropped you home, he texted you at midnight.

“Meet me outside.”

“Now?”

“Pls?”

You don’t know why you agreed, there’s no school tomorrow so it’s fine. But sneaking out just to meet him? Your parents would be disappointed.

“Hanma?”

“That’s Shuji for you~ Missed you, pretty.”

You shiver when he wraps his arms around your waist, he lays a quick trail of kisses down your neck.

“You saw me a few hours ago!”

“Still missed you though.” He spins you around to face him. And oh…

Hair down, eyes wider than usual, smile stretched from ear to ear.

He’s like a puppy.

“Why are you he-MPH!”

“Mmm ♡”

He’s so cheesy, but you kiss back none the less. This time, the kiss holds more passionate and lustful intent. He isn’t holding back.

Your back arches as he leans against you, as if trying to get as close to you as possible. Sin cups your neck, punishment holds your waist tightly.

He kisses you deeply, longingly, hungrily. You’re conflicted on what he’s trying to say.

Hanma Shuji doesn’t talk much, and doesn’t enjoy conveying things through words. He believes that actions speak louder.

Can’t get enough of you, he says, making me crazy over you, a pretty angel.

Small whimpers escape your throat and he swallows them gratefully. Relishing in the small vibrations shared between the both of you.

He parts after a good minute.

Inhaling and exhaling as if he took his first breath of pure oxygen.

“You’re so lovely.” His hands brush through your hair and he giggles at the sight of you.

“You’re so lovesick.”

“Only for you pretty ♡”

Tags (open !): @kitorin @beanxiv @kryscent @strawberrypockybox @bejeweled-night-33 @b0nten @natdu @okkalo @maevelevy

#[𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧]#✶≼[TOKYO REVENGERS]#ஜ˳༄꠶ SHUJI #ఌ︎. [SHUJI]#love this sm #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma x femreader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji fluff #hanma shuji x you #hanma x you #hanma tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x reader

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mycatsaidwhat · 10 months

Text

things i’ve heard college students say pt. 29

-you may be into Sucky mpreg but some people believe the holocaust didn’t happen

-humans should have a mating season where we all congregate in a river once a year to find love like salmon

-granted, there is a difference between being a momma’s boy and being Normon Bates

-Only in a poli sci class would you get a picture of the live action winne the poo and Kim Jon un next to one another

-“get ready for the met gala with me!!” influencer vlogs showing up on my suggested as if I don’t make $10.73 an hour

-no way that dog had a blog, dogs can’t read

-in god we bust

-every guys wants to be a golden retriever boyfriend until they wake up with no balls

-graphic design majors are like the diet soda of the art world

-if i could choose between having a successful career and lying down i would choose lying down

-today’s graduation is sponsored by plan b

-going down on a woman and tying her fallopian tubes with my tongue like a cherry stem

-most of the world’s problems would be solved if more billionaires disappeared in submarines

-you come face to face with god at a 24 hour ihop

-she lemony on my snicket until there’s an unfortunate event

-took a shit in the gender neutral bathroom, call that a she/it

-the tornado dodged us cause someone told it that it had to pay a cover for every bar it destroyed

-can I have a cars 2-themed blowjob, please

-the best thing Taylor Swift has done recently is get some girls to consider that they may be the problem

-“I’M LITERALLY SO FERAL” no Ava you’re just drunk and white

#still tagging this as shit i've heard high schoolers say #college #college memes #college problems #college students #gen z #gen z memes #gen z life #college life #gen z problems #school memes #student life #student problems #student memes #student humor #college humor #studyblr

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sassykattery · 6 months

Text

Mentoring

This is a little smut fic I wrote for Diavolo's birthday, but since I have two fics now and this isn't a "birthday-themed fic," I thought I'd post it now.

CW: MC is AFAB and nameless, uses she/her pronouns. Piv sex, creampie, roughness, harsh language.

WARNING: This fic is centered around the CNC kink. I will explain what that is, but if it's something you may not enjoy due to trauma or other issues, please don't read!!!

CNC: Means consensual-nonconsent. The premise of a cnc scene is that beforehand, both partners agree to certain types of rough or aggressive sex that is of "nonconsesual" nature during the scene. The consensual part is the agreement before the actual sex occurs, where safewords, boundaries, and other parameters are in place. Some people call it rape play, I don't necessarily agree with using that as a blanket term for CNC. This is risky and should not be taken lightly, just like BDSM.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

Third person POV, reader insert

18+ only

Enjoy

"So we are in agreement. We're doing this?"

"Yes... I think so."

"You can't just think so. This is something that could go poorly for both of us if we aren't both on board with it."

She was quiet for a moment, deciding what to say next. Diavolo lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes, a softened but serious look in his.

"I want this. We have our rules, we agreed to the rules, and we know our way out should we need it," she answered confidently.

"Then... so it shall be."

She sighed as she gazed at her test score. It was fine, but she wanted better. Quietly, she folded it and set it aside so she could focus on class. That was, until she saw Diavolo walk in, making a beeline for the teacher's podium.

"Good morning everyone. Your professor had to take leave today, so I will be filling in for the day. His message to you all is to work on your assignments due this week. You may ask me questions if you need to. No lesson for today," Diavolo explained.

The class became quiet and got to work as instructed.

Except her.

She stared up at Diavolo for a solid minute until his eyes finally landed on hers. She raised an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth barely tipped up.

Today was the day.

She began to work on her homework for the next hour, counting the minutes and seconds until class was over. It was so much more distracting to have him there, just steps away from her own desk while he sat at the professor's. The anticipation was building, and all she could do was organize in her head how this would go. Her thoughts were consumed with running each scenario, every word, every single movement they could make. It was so important that this went right, and maybe–

"And that's class. Thank you all for coming. Have a good day," Diavolo announced, standing at the podium. Everyone was already up and leaving, having packed their things while she just sat there daydreaming.

Once the room was cleared out, she cleared her throat quietly and got up from her desk, her test in hand as she walked up to the podium.

"Hey, I had a question," she stated confidently but softly, trying not to intrude. She saw the papers on his podium and knew he was likely busy.

"Yes, what is it?" He replied in his usual candor, golden eyes gleaming and bright white smile beaming.

"I got this score on my test, and I really thought I did better... Is there any way I could... get some help?" She answered, handing him the sheet of paper. He looked over his nose at her and nodded, taking the paper and setting it down to look at.

"I'll see what I can find."

He scanned it over, reading every question and answer. If there was any skill he mastered, it was looking at anything unfazed and replying in a similarly unaffected manner.

"I see. So, you seemed to have not totally understood this concept here, and this one could have been better here," he explained, pointing out to her what he meant. She came closer and nodded, listening carefully. "I think this one could have used a few more examples to drive home your point as well."

She sighed. "Yeah... That's what I thought, too. I wish I'd done better..." she murmured to him.

Her mind became distracted again, thinking about how good he smelled, the amber and musk filling her head with ideas other than this test.

"Are you listening?" He asked quietly, bowing his head to look at her.

"Oh, sorry..." she mumbled.

Finally, she turned her own head up to look at him, and she swallowed thickly at the idea buzzing in her skull, the one making her question every fiber of her moral being.

"Is there... anything I could do to improve my score? Anything at all?" She asked carefully and slowly, bringing herself closer and peering up at him with slightly widened eyes, her expression maybe a little innocent.

"Did you have something in mind?" Diavolo asked in reply, his voice pitching lower in his tenor range smoothly.

She mentally took a deep breath, centering herself. I want this. I want to try this, she thought to herself.

"I mean... What are my options?" She asked, her own voice stepping just a hair lower in pitch as well, leaning into the intensity of the moment. Her body moved closer intentionally, now just mere inches away from his.

"Don't be coy, I think you and I both know what you're implying," he answered, a bit dominantly. "I saw how you stared at me all hour. You can't stand here now and tell me you don't know what you're asking."

Here we go.

"Surely I don't know what you mean..." she stated, sounding slightly shocked.

His arm snaked around her waist, and he snatched her closer, a little roughly, and bowed his head down to whisper in her ear.

"Don't lie. You want me to improve your grade in return for something, right? A little mentoring? Well, I know what it is you want, and I know what I want, so why don't we skip the rest and get to the point?"

She nearly trembled then, with excitement and nerves from how he spoke to her so harshly but still yet so seductively.

"I... I don't understand. I just wanted to see–"

"Shut up, and come here," he snapped quietly in her ear, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her over to the desk. He pushed her against it, wrapping an arm around her when she became off balance from the sudden movements to hold her up. "You asked for it, now I'll make sure you get what you want, and I'll get what I want," he murmured in her ear before biting on the shell of it.

"But–"

"But nothing, now am I going to take these off, or are you going to help?" He interrupted her again, pushing her to sit on the desk and slipping his thick fingers into the belt loops of her slacks with a hard tug.

"No, I really didn't mean–" she tried to insist.

Riiiiiiiiiiiip.

"I guess I'm doing all of the work," he mumbled, quite literally ripping her slacks off with his inhuman strength like the material was paper.

"Dia–"

She started to yelp, but he slapped a hand across her mouth to cover it and keep her quiet.

"Now, are you wanting your classmates to know you want your headmaster to change your grade in exchange for sex?" He challenged her, his gaze piercing her soul. She shook her head. "Then be quiet."

With her torn slacks on the floor in pieces, his hand skimmed up her warm thigh, and he roughly opened it out wide so he could stand between her legs. He looked down and smirked as her underwear peaked out in the creases of her thick thighs and soft tummy.

"You were anticipating this, weren't you? Wearing just a black little lacey thong today. Were you going to ask your professor for this too had he been here?" He mocked her, snapping the band of her panties against her, making her flinch and moving his hand from her mouth. "Answer me," he snapped.

"No, I wasn't asking for this! I–"

She clamped his hand on her mouth again while tutting her. "I said be quiet. Do not yell again unless you want this to get much worse for you," he commanded. She nodded. He smirked at her panicked expression, tears welling up in her eyes. "Now, there's no need for that. I'll give you what you want. Besides, you're going to be good for me, right? This is all for me, and I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

She shook her head, and he ignored her as he slid her panties down her thighs. When she started to fight him, closing up her legs and pulling away, they met the same fate as the slacks. His eyes dilated when he started to see his prize, and instantly got more aggressive.

"Don't. Fight. Me," he barked at her, grabbing both her thighs and throwing them open wider so he could see her perfect little wet pussy on display for him. She still tried to fight against him, pulling away and shaking her head while she whimpered. He sighed and rolled his eyes. Finally, he pinned her down against the desk with his massive hands on her shoulders, papers flying everywhere. "Are you done?"

She stopped for a moment, looking up at him. Her hands had gripped onto his elbows, trying to hang on as he pinned her. She tapped her finger once against his elbow before saying, "Stop! This isn't what I meant at all!" She pleaded with him.

"Oh, but I think deep down it is what you wanted, pet. I think you were waiting for the perfect moment to use your little charms to win me over, but now you have cold feet. You know you want this. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," he answered menacingly. "I'll make sure you enjoy it, at least a little."

She shook her head and sobbed. Seeing that she wouldn't stop making noises, and he found them to be rather adorable, he snapped his fingers to block sounds within the room from being heard outside.

"What a mess..." he mumbled with a sigh.

He began kissing her on her lips, hoping to shut her up just for a little bit. He ground himself against her body and let his hands wander her body. His fingers made short work of her uniform jacket and blouse, quickly loosening her tie and gaining access to what was beneath it all. He gave a purr of content as he got a glimpse of her. She laid there, still squirming and whimpering, trying to push him off, but that was like pushing on a brick wall when it came to the prince of hell.

"You are beautiful," he murmured in her ear before licking the shell of it a little obscenely. He ducked his head down and left hard kisses, little bites, and trails of his saliva on her chest.

"Stop," she whimpered, turning her head away from him, but he just chased her down with his lips hot on her exposed skin.

He chuckled darkly in her ear and groaned. "I'll even do you a little favor," he told her while he slipped a hand down her exposed form to her pussy. He danced his fingertips along the slit before sliding them past the crevices to reach her clit where he rubbed it generously.

"Noooo..." she groaned, finding it harder to fight against him. "Please don't do that."

"Ohhh, but you're so wet, pet," he murmured to her, and even she couldn't deny how much more slick she became down below. "You're loving this no matter how much you want to deny it."

He trailed his kissed lower and began feasting upon her breasts, sucking and laving his tongue over her perky nipples with elation.

"Finer than any forbidden fruit, sweeter than any sugar," he mumbled against her flesh. "I can't wait anymore."

Diavolo brought his head up to kiss her with his tongue bullying into her mouth. His hands began to unbuckle his belt and send his slacks to his knees. He quickly shed his uniform jacket and loosened his tie.

"You ready, dulcis? I need you," he said huskily in her ear.

Just after he spoke, she felt something warm and hard pressed against her thighs. Pre-cum started to coat her thigh as he rubbed it against her.

"Please don't, please," she pleaded with him, with a tear rolling down her temple.

"Shh, it'll feel good, just enjoy it," he whispered to her.

The demon pried her legs apart again and stood between them, leaning on one hand on the desk while the other grasped his cock to start rubbing the fat head against her little clit.

"Just a perfect little pussy, and all for me," he mused, feeling her slick coating his length. He bowed his head again to murmur in her ear. "Don't fight me. This will go a lot better if you just take it," he warned her before kissing her temple again. All she did was squirm again beneath him.

After pulling his hips back and angling himself, he slid his cock into her, groaning at the overwhelming tightness of her walls.

"Oh god," she whined, trying to worm away from what was bullying its way into her depths.

He chuckled and kept her in place with little effort on his part. "There's no god here to help you now. It's just you and the Demon Lord," he rumbled darkly in her ear.

It took a few more moments for his cock to be fully seated in her. He took the moments after to breathe in her scent, the glistening light sweat on the sides of her neck, and her sweet, sweet arousal. It was fuel for his fire to keep going.

"You're mine. You're all mine, and I'm not letting go," he stated with a malicious chuckle.

The first thrust was rough, and she cried out at how harsh it was. She couldn't help but cling onto him, her little hands gripping the fabric of his shirt along his elbows. He went back to planting a field of dark blooms, hickies and bites galore. With every thrust, he grunted, fighting the urge to completely lose it. Little squeaks and groans fell from her lips as well, signing conjuction with the rattles of the desk.

"Hells, darling, you're going to make me let go too early," he murmured against her neck. "You can't tell me anymore that you didn't want me to fuck you raw on this desk, not with you dripping down your ass and my thighs."

"I didn't," she insisted weakly, knowing she was losing the fight to stop him and now trying to win the fight to make it through to the end.

He grunted again as he made another hard thrust into her. His pre-cum and her wet walls made it such easy glides in and out, but there was something so cute to him about how she squeaked and whined with every pounding he gave her.

Diavolo chuckled again. "Right, and you don't want me to release inside you too, hmm? You don't want to feel me finally fill you up properly, to give you what you've wanted for so long? You wanted to be fucked, and now you're simply getting the best."

"Oh god," she whined again, clutching onto his shirt along his chest.

"God doesn't save whores like you who beg to be filled so deeply," he replied in her ear, his voice much more serene for someone who was doing this.

He kissed her neck and wrapped his arms around her body, trapping her entirely as he made the last few thrusts count. Using the desk as leverage, he leaned forward more to bring her hips up so he could penetrate her deeper. It took all of just mere moments to start moaning and crying with relief as he hit that sweet spot deep inside, and only that many more moments to make her body lock up as the most intense orgasm of her life befell her. The hot sparks of pleasure bloomed from her abdomen and spiraled out to her limbs. The chasm of pleasure was a deep one, and when the Demon Lord felt her walls contract around his cock and pulse, he was pulled down with her into the abyss of carnal bliss. Hot jets of his cum filled her in waves as his hips rocked forward with each one.

When it was over, the pair lay there, heaving and trying to catch their breath. Diavolo was the first to relax and gain his bearings again. He looked down at his human lover, feeling a wave of passion and simultaneous anxiety.

"My love... My love, look at me, please, baby," he cooed to her, stroking her cheeks with his hand.

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked relaxed at peace.

"We're done... Finis," he softly whispered to her, his hand rising up to pet her hair back. She nodded in understanding and let go of her iron grip on his shirt. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head and reached up with a trembling hand to touch his cheek next. He smiled and kissed her palm, reaching with his to grasp her hand gently. He bowed his head slightly to prompt her.

"I'm okay. No pain," she finally verbalized it for him.

"That's good. Shall I take you home so you can rest?" He asked her in a throaty murmur. She nodded. Standing upright, he reached for his red uniform coat and wrapped it around her as he pulled her up right. It was already long, and on her, the coat looked like a blanket and kept her decent. He then put himself back in order, slacks up and buckled, and shirt back in place.

He slid his arms beneath her and picked her up effortlessly in a princess carry.

She laid her head against his shoulder and asked him softly, "What about the rest of the day? My classes?"

Diavolo chuckled and shook his head, carrying her out of the door, snapping his fingers to use magic to reorganize the desk they just laid waste to with their fornication. "After that, you deserve some pampering and all the care I can give you." He then bent his head down to whisper to her, "Besides, those are the perks of being the lover of your headmaster, no? I make the rules, I say what goes."

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated

Tags: @delphidreamin @biteable-pink-pixie @itsmeninerz

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #obey me smut #diavolo x female reader #diavolo x afab reader #diavolo smut #cnc smut #happy birthday diavolo #Diavolo's Birthday Celebration 2023 #obey me birthday

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nanamimizz · 2 months

Text

tags: 18+ minors dni, a/b/o verse, fem reader, omega reader, alpha john, licking, marking, themes of jealousy and possessiveness. for @prettyboykatsuki with their explicit permission.

synopsis: jealousy comes knocking on our door no matter what or when or why.

He doesn’t smell like you, it’s the first thing you realize when John Marston walks back into camp after taking Old Boy to the horse hitches with the rest of them. It makes your body twitch and stall for just a moment - you spill some water on the table that Mr.Pearson reprimands you for and you can only half apologize. You watch with sharp eyes how he moves, how he walks and how John easily slots himself next to the other men at the table with his hands on his gun belt even when he is passed a bottle of whiskey.

The camp is large and has a variety of scents and smells, one gets used to them and you can identify them as easily as picking out the white clouds from the blue sky. Pine for Charles, lavender for Mary-Beth and firewood for John Martson who is currently being covered by the scent of roses and cherries that you know no one at camp smells like and it makes something inside of you insane at this outsider’s scent. It’s enough to make you excuse yourself, marching over to the scarred man and tugging him behind you, away from the men who watch with amused expressions on their faces as John almost trips with the force you pull him into your shared tent.

The thick wooden beam that supports the middle of the tent is your witness stand as you push the taller, broader alpha to the wood and hold him there by the shoulders, nails digging through the sleeves of his coat. There’s an alarmed undercut to his firewood and brandy scent, agitation and nerves biting against your own as you bare your teeth at him.

“What is it with you, woman?” He asks you, dark brows furrowed and his scowl on his scared face would make anyone cower but you with your stubborn fearlessness that you push him further against the wood as the sweetness of your foreign scent turns sour in your agitation.

“Why do you smell like that - like some, fucking tramp?!” You hiss, voice low but venomous and John has no doubt that if you had a tail it would be flickering behind you with your jowls peeled back like some sort of feral hellcat. John frowns, brows pinched as he tries to free his arms from your grip.

“What you mean? I smell fine.” He throws back, bringing the lapel of his jacket to sniff half heartedly - picking up on nothing out of the usual. You puff, muttering some words under your breath. The only ones he catches are calling him the village fool as you crowd him, pressing yourself flush to him and John is happy that you closed the tent behind you so no one at camp can see how the fullness of your figure perfectly melts into his. There’s a flush to his cheeks that was not there before and you can’t notice it on how you feel sick on the scent of roses. On the tips of your toes, you press your face onto his neck and rub against the scent glands there. Pressing and rubbing until your cheeks shine with the scent of firewood and musk and brandy as you huff into his skin. Your tongue sneaks out to lap at the oils and John jumps beneath your silken touch as you moan softly against his flushed form. The salt of him melds onto your mouth as his scent clouds your mind and the sour-mango scent fogging the enclosed space of the tent blooms in golden nectar and clove.

It’s enough to make him moan, enough to make something heady flush in his mind as your teeth once bared nip and suck until the alabaster skin of his throat turns into purple petals of the jarul flower you would catch along the coasts. You pull away only to be tugged back and John’s voice is reduced to raspy little sounds in your ear as you lick, bite and suck at the other side of his neck until you can see the indents of your teeth as red as a sunset. If you could, you would have stayed there for hours, scenting and marking your John until he reeked of mangos and clove and henna leaves and so many things from the other side of the world.

“You’re mine, don’t ever - don’t ever come back smelling like you ain’t.” You mutter in between nips of your sharpened teeth.

So he’d never smell of anything other than you ever again.

But his name is called by Hosea, who’s voice is like a spear of sobriety through the veil of omega-posession and alpha-want that makes you pull away. John is a vision and you are too, red faced and panting; face slick with drool and oils from his scent glands. Dark eyes look at you with a wanting so deep you are tempted to disobey Hosea’s call until it rings out again clear as day. It makes John swallow, ducking his head and running a scared, calloused hand through his head as he nods to you.

“I’ll see you later, um…okay. I’ll see you tonight. Here.” He mutters, ducking away and out the tent flap cursing when he hears some of the men holler at the marks on his neck and the heavy scent of omega on his clothes. You find yourself unbothered as you step out and return to Mr.Pearson who finds himself unable to look you in the eyes.

#lamb.writes #john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #abo verse #red dead redemption 2 x reader

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hyuwunjinie · 9 months

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Blood in the Snow (pt.1)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,157

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

Today the weather was absolutely wonderful, yet you were anxiously clutching the ruffles of your dress. Your mother sitting next to you had been trying her best to reassure you, to no avail, and your behavior earned you a light tap on the back of your right hand as she clicked her tongue.

“y/n, I know you are impatient, but please, try to keep your dress in one piece, alright?”

Impatient wasn’t quite the right word. You were terrified. The carriage you were in was meant to bring you straight to the Great North to meet your betrothed, a Lord much higher in status than you were. You were already missing the golden fields of amber wheat that ruffled near your home’s stables.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t call this place home anymore, really. Home was now wherever you were headed to, or it shall become home sooner or later, you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t even know when you could come back, of if you’ll ever get the opportunity to. This realisation was breaking your heart, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins was keeping you from becoming too emotional.

Your back was already hurting, and you wished you were horseriding instead of having to sit in a stupid carriage in a stupid ruffled dress. In your opinion, you looked like a porcelain doll. And this was not a compliment ; an overdone makeup with your skin way too fair and your cheeks way too pink, a dress that looked like it came straight from a six years old closet, and a painful hairstyle which took one hour to put in place.

“Mom, I’m just stressed, okay? I am not looking forward to this anymore.” You admitted with bitterness.

“Oh Honey, don’t say this, please. You are gorgeous, there’s no way they won’t like you. give me your hands, they must be tense.”

You always admired your mother’s way to dodge a difficult subject by redirecting people’s attention on another, but this time you silently cursed the gods you were the victim of her stratagem. With a sigh, you gave your hands to your mother who dedicated herself to slowly massage them. Looking out the small window of the carriage, you contemplated the slow change of the scenery, the golden leaves of the south trees slowly giving up their spots for their green cousins. Reminiscing the past, you let yourself drift to sleep under the careful gaze of your mother.

—

“Mom, where does he live ?” You asked, your small frame holding onto her hand in front of the newest portrait in the hall. You were four or six years old, at most.

“Way up north, sweetie.” Your mother answered, her voice calm and collected. Cold but warm, she gave you a reassuring press on your palm.

“... Why can’t he come play here ?” You let out with a pout, puzzled at how distances worked still and scratching your brain to understand your mother’s words.

“It’s too far. it would take him hours to reach this place.” She chuckled, mellowed by your cute face and visible dilemma.

“That’s not fair. I want to play.” You were eyeing the portrait now.

A youthful boy was sitting next to two adults. Their faces seemed warm and inviting, a welcoming sight for the viewer. But you learned fast enough that your focus should be on the other kid. He had short black hair, full lips and almond eyes. Dressed in expensive clothing, he sported a navy blue vest with shorts and dress shoes.

Your mother sighed, a thoughtful gaze etched on her face.

“Life is rarely fair, y/n.” Her sudden grave tone made you look up, and she met your gaze halfway. “See, this boy ? His name is Hwang Hyunjin. One day, you will be his wife. Like your mama and papa.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, contrasting with her small smile. “And you will have a happy, wonderful life with him.”

“...Mama, why are you crying ?” Confused, you could feel your own tears prickling your eyes, but you didn’t even know why you felt this way.

Now at your level, your mother gently put back a strand of your hair behind your ear and embraced you closely.

“... It’s nothing, sweetie. Mama is a little tired, alright ?” She sobbed in your shoulder.

You remember it snowed, that day.

—

“Y/n ! look !!” You were woken up in a rush by your mother who was gently rubbing your upper arm to get your attention.

Barely processing your environment, you focused your brain on your mother who was pointing intently at the carriage window.

You followed her hand, and all you could see was white. Snow, you realised. Snow as far as you could see. It was the first time you witnessed a wintery landscape. In the south, it did snow some times, but it never stayed on ground, melting right away upon its contact.

The light reflected so prettily upon the white mantle outside that you let out an audible gasp, mesmerized by this new sight. getting closer to the window, you could see your breath, and you shuddered, suddenly aware of the sudden drop of temperature you were experiencing. You were hurting still, but you suddenly felt glad to be inside the somewhat warm haven of the carriage.

Reaching for the bag in front of your seat, your mother pulled up an ivory chawl that she put tightly around you.

“I knitted this one myself, you know ?” She chuckled proudly.

“Wait, really ? I thought you hated knitting, mother.” You stared in disbelief at the skilled handiwork of the chawl and its flowery details. You slowly discerned patterns of sunflowers and lilies. You recognised the sunflowers to be you, as it was your favorite flower, and it didn’t took you long to remember lilies were Hyunjin’s favorites.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to surprise you. I was meant to give this to you after the wedding, but I suppose now is as good as ever, right?” She looked at you, gaze thoughtful and unreadable. You stared at each other for a second, before you finally broke the eye contact.

“Thank you, mother. It’s a wonderful gift. I will treasure it greatly.” You stared at the mixed patterns of sunflowers and lilies. “I will use it a lot with these temperatures, I’m sure.” Reaching out for a hug, you suddenly felt as if something changed, in that instant. A realisation that, after the wedding, your parents will return to your- their home. You won’t see your mother every morning anymore, waiting for you at breakfast with eggs and toast and fresh orange juice. You won’t be able to go flower picking together anymore. You squeezed her more tightly.

“...I will miss you, mother.”

“I will miss you too, y/n.”

In silence, you held onto these words for what seemed an eternity.

#kpop writing #hyunjin #stray kids writing #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids fic #stray kids series #hyunjin au #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin fic #fic: blood in the snow

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zablife · 1 year

Text

Before Sunrise

Tommy Shelby x female reader

Summary: One autumn evening, as you and Tommy cause mischief in the forest, you wander away until you find yourselves on the grounds of a grand estate. Too late to return to your family's camp, Tommy breaks a window to gain entry to the empty house and you spend a memorable night together.

Author's Note: Written for @toms-cherry-trees 1.5K celebration with the theme "autumn." Prewar Tommy!!

Warnings: 🔞 language, burglary, smut, loss of virginity

Cheeks sore from smiling and chapped from the wind, you sought refuge behind a large tree, pressing your back flat against the rough bark. Tommy was somewhere far behind, much too slow in his new boots. You, on the other hand, had chosen to scamper off barefoot through the forest, nimble and silent in your movements.

Clapping a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling, you listened for Tommy’s footsteps, loathe to give away your hiding spot. Smiling to yourself at your cleverness, you reached inside the small basket on your arm, plucking a large apple from the bottom to throw at him. He would pay for his constant teasing about your poor aim.

As you stood waiting for the right moment to pelt him, you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to scream with fright. The apple dropped with a thud onto Tommy’s toes and rolled off into the mud. The unmistakable sound of his voice rang out next. “What the fuck?” His strong arms encircled you as you fought his grasp playfully calling out, “Let me go, you stupid git!”

Tommy turned you in his arms, furrowing his brow dramatically. “I’m the stupid git? Look who’s ruined our lunch!”

You broke free, bending down to pick up the apple and polished it against his shirt, handing it to him with a smirk. “You mean your lunch,” you corrected.

Tommy looked down at his muddied clothing and the filthy apple with a frown, pitching it into the forest. “I’m going to get you for that,” he warned, stalking toward you menacingly and you tore off again, squealing with delight.

Basket swinging around your arm, you continued on your way to some unknown destination. You ran and ran, attempting to uncover the mystery and excitement around every corner as you were called to explore it. Zigzagging a path between the trees, golden sunlight twinkled through the branches as though a spell were being cast. The glimmers highlighted your long, flowing hair and Tommy began lagging on purpose just to watch you.

When you stopped to catch your breath, you realized the hour had suddenly grown late and the air crisp with a light evening breeze. As you pulled a shawl from your basket, you heard Tommy approach with an exclamation of surprise. “Y/n, come look at this!”

He stood at the edge of a steep bank, a large leafy branch pulled out of the way so he could peer down into the valley below. Coming to stand beside him you gasped in wonderment as you spied a regal looking mansion in the center of overgrown gardens. A few deer munched quietly on vegetation, but no other signs of life could be seen.

“Let’s go have a look,” he said with a look of wild mischief in his eyes.

Looking toward the fading amber light slipping beyond the horizon, you shook your head. “I don’t know, Tommy. It’s getting late.”

“Haven’t you always said you wanted to see a grand house like that? Well here’s your chance, love,” he said, enticingly. It was true, a lifetime of sharing cramped vardos with your family had left you with a fierce curiosity to see how wealthy lords and ladies lived. If this was to be your one chance, you decided to take it. Accepting Tommy’s rough hand, you scrambled down the embankment toward the enchanted looking place, wondering what you would find.

Feet crunching through a sea of red and orange leaves, you made a noisy approach, but that didn’t matter as the house looked as though it had not been lived in for some time. Great, thick vines of ivy grew down the walls and over the window frames. The wavy, bubbled panes of glass made it difficult to see what treasures lay inside, but you could make out a few details with your forehead pressed to the pane. Huge crystal chandeliers hung in several rooms and a large curving staircase led upstairs, undoubtedly to more treasures. However, the sky had now turned to a deep blue with large gray blankets of clouds blocking out the last of the available light, making it difficult to see anything more. You also began to realize the hope of finding your way back to camp would be quite impossible.

You turned to Tommy with a worried expression. “What’ll we do, Tommy? We’re too far away to go back tonight,” you noted.

Tommy nodded in agreement before surveying the surroundings carefully. “We’ll stay here,” he suggested.

“What?” you asked with surprise.

“No one else is using it, so why not?” he asked with a grin, searching the path for a loose paving stone. Without another thought, he hoisted the stone through the largest window. The crash echoed around you as the shattered pieces fell like rain. Running ahead, you attempted to enter, but Tommy grabbed your wrist pulling you back. “Oi, want to get cut do ya? Let me go first.”

“Alright,” you huffed, waiting for him to kick the shards away from below the window with the toe of his boot. Removing his jacket, he wrapped it around his arm and cleared the rest of the frame of broken pieces until he was satisfied it was safe for you to climb through. Then he discarded it and extended a hand to help you up.

Once inside you couldn’t help but stare, mouth agape at the beauty around you. Despite the disrepair on the outside, the inside was immaculate as though the owners had only recently left. The floors were polished to a high shine and furniture remained in every room, though it was covered in white cloths to protect it.

You and Tommy began to remove a few to reveal items you didn’t even have words for, but you knew must be terribly expensive from the look of the fine fabrics. There was a dizzying array of silk brocades, buttery leather and plush velvet so soft you longed to run your cheek over it. Before you could indulge yourself, your eye caught the large horn of a gramophone and you ran to see if a record would play, cranking the handle as you’d once seen someone do with an older model.

“Barely knew things like this existed,” you said to yourself in awe as the sounds of an orchestra reverberated through the empty halls.

Tommy watched you sway to the music before a large gilded mirror, a look of pure happiness upon your face as you enjoyed the tune. “One day you’ll be the lady of the house in a mansion like this,” Tommy said softly as he lightly placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Not likely,” you giggled, but as you glimpsed Tommy’s face through the hazy mirror, you could see he was looking at you with warmth and sincerity. You turned to face him, shawl falling from your shoulders as you reached up to lace your hands behind his neck.

“Is that where you’ll be with all your grand plans, Tommy Shelby?” you asked as a soft smile graced your lips.

Tommy’s hands roamed down your sides and over the swell of your hips, squeezing gently as he nodded. “You don’t believe me?” he asked with a tilt of his head. The light had gone from the room and you couldn’t see his expression to tell if he was serious, but there was a note of doubt in his voice that was waiting for your validation. You pushed up on tip toes to press a tender kiss to his lips as a sign of silent reassurance. Your show of affection must have delighted Tommy because you felt the corners of his mouth pull away from you in a smile.

Truthfully, he was attempting to restrain a wicked urge to tangle his fingers in your hair and pin you against the wall. He longed to slide his tongue into the warmth of your waiting mouth and hear you make little moans and sobs just for him. However, he reminded himself you’d never done anything like that and he was trying to respect your wish to remain pure. He couldn’t deny that he ached to bring you pleasure though.

Unhooking your arms from his neck, he took a step back so you wouldn’t feel the way he was growing hard just thinking of it. Without his body heat to warm you, you shuddered involuntarily due to the draft from the broken window. “Shall I build us a fire?” Tommy asked. “If we’re going to be here all night, we’ll need to keep warm,” he reasoned.

“Go on then,” you said, rubbing your hands together. Tommy led the way until you found a room with an enormous hearth. He did his best to find his way in the dim light, searching for the necessary materials and you busied yourself making a sleeping area using the white sheets and a few pillows you’d collected.

When you were satisfied with your work, you took up a spot in front of a large overstuffed chair. Pressing your back to it and extending your legs toward the fireplace, you wiggled your toes to circulate the blood. Tommy removed his boots and rested on his heels watching the fire roar to life in front of him. Wiping his palms on his trousers, he looked at you hopefully as he asked, “Do you have anything left to eat in that basket?”

You leaned over, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a small loaf of bread and handing it to him. He broke it in half, handing you a portion and you ate in silence for a few moments before he spoke up again. “Imagine being surrounded by maids, food and booze all the live long day like these toffs,” he said with a laugh, wiping the crumbs from his face with the edge of his sleeve.

“Can you think of anything better?” you asked rhetorically as you popped the last piece of bread into your mouth.

Tommy was quiet for a moment as he looked at you, tracing the line from your mouth to your eyes with a longing glance you couldn’t miss. “I can actually, yeah,” he said wetting his lips.

“And what’s that?,” you inquired, biting your lip as you awaited his answer. Without realizing, you leaned forward to hear him.

“Being here with you,” he replied softly. The fire lit up the blue of his irises and they twinkled back at you with such intensity, you felt a surge of heat sweep across your cheeks and the tops of your ears in response.

“Me? Are you serious?” you asked, looking down shyly to pull at the strings of your shawl.

Tommy leaned forward, using his large fingers to move your face toward his gently. Barely more than a whisper he confessed, “You’re the only thing I’d ever need to be happy, love.” He watched your face to see if his words scared you. He’d never been quite so honest about his intentions. Tommy was the quiet type and you never pushed him to say more than he wished.

He couldn’t have known it was exactly what you needed to hear because you felt the same, but didn’t have the courage to tell him. You beamed back at Tommy, feeling as though your heart would burst. You reached a hand out to stroke his cheek and you watched his eyes close contentedly at your soft touch. As your thumb traced circles beneath his sharp cheekbones, he exhaled gently, warm breath fanning over you.

When his eyes opened you couldn’t mistake the note of lust as he dipped his head to capture your lips in a slow, meandering kiss. He didn’t restrain himself as he had before, gently parting your lips to explore your mouth with his tongue. His hand came to rest at the back of your head, fingers massaging your scalp as he felt the exquisite pleasure of your tongue moving against his, mirroring his movements. He wasn’t rough or demanding as other boys had been and you found yourself wanting to stay connected this way forever. When necessity demanded, you broke apart for breath, feeling Tommy’s large hand slide down your back as he placed kisses to your jaw and neck.

He began sucking lightly at a spot below your ear and you clutched onto his shirt front, feeling weak from pleasure. You felt him smirk against your skin as he increased the suction, pulling a moan from your throat you didn’t recognize when it escaped your lips. The sound sent a rush of blood to Tommy’s cock and he shifted slightly as he tongued the bruise he’d made on your neck. Pulling away to trace his fingers over it, his mouth returned to yours with more force than before.

Lost in the heat of the moment, your fingers slid beneath Tommy’s suspenders, sliding them from his shoulders carefully before you returned to trace the buttons of his shirt with your fingertips wanting to feel his skin on yours. Suddenly Tommy stopped you, capturing your hands in his. Pulling away to look into your eyes he asked breathlessly, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

You nodded with a small smile. This was all you desired for some time and now it was becoming reality. Attempting to move your hands, Tommy held you fast. “Please say it, love,” he urged, needing to hear this was what you wanted.

“I want you to make me yours,” you said, laying your head against his chest. You were surprised to feel how fast his heart was beating. If anything it helped calm your own fears to know someone as confident as Tommy was nervous as well.

As you sat pressed against him, the thundering rhythm calmed slightly and you felt Tommy tilt your chin up to look him in the eye. He placed a kiss to your forehead as he promised, “Alright, but we’ll take it slow.” You nodded in agreement, placing a kiss to his lips as you removed your shawl.

Tommy stood, leaning down to help you up from the floor. Turning you to face the fire so you didn’t catch a chill, he slowly began unbuttoning your dress, taking care with the delicate buttons you’d sewn on yourself. As the fabric fell away, you clutched it at your front modestly, but Tommy relaxed you with kisses to the tops of each shoulder sweetly, murmuring, “so soft.” His chapped lips dragged against the smooth surface of your skin, trailing kisses along the base of your neck and spine, the slight stubble of his chin scratching lightly against you. As goosebumps began to prickle your arms, he slid his palms along them soothingly. Working his way down, his palms caressed your sides, inching your dress away from your grasp until it fell to the floor, pooling at your feet.

You turned to face him, butterflies in your stomach as you waited for his reaction to your half naked form. To your delight, he offered a look of overwhelming joy and the wonder in his eyes made you feel precious, any lingering inhibitions leaving your mind instantly.

When his rough palms made contact with you again, he began to caress your soft stomach, fingers dipping to the top of your underwear, but not removing them. The brush of his fingertips against your hipbones made you giggle and he chuckled, “Ticklish there are we? I’ll have to remember that.” The look of devilish merriment that danced in his eyes was the same as earlier when he chased you through the forest and it made your heart thrill with excitement. You bit your lip as you pushed the fringe from his eyes for another glimpse of him drinking you in hungrily.

Reaching up to unbutton his shirt, he allowed you to finish your work this time, sliding your hands beneath the weathered cotton to push it from his broad shoulders. He pulled his undershirt over his head and when the garment had been discarded, you took in the alabaster planes of his chest with awe, running your hands over them to feel the lean muscle beneath, sculpted from long days of hard work in the stables.

Tommy ran a hand over your hair tenderly, admiring you in the orange glow from the fire. As you began to unlace your bra, his throat turned dry in anticipation. When you dropped it at your side, Tommy’s hands traced lightly from the slope of your collarbone down toward the valley of your breasts before cupping them to feel their weight. Rubbing his thumbs over the little buds of your nipples slowly, he watched them turn to stiff peaks, wanting to flick his tongue over them.

Without wasting any time, he ducked his head to take one breast in his mouth, kneading the other in his hand. You carded your fingers through his thick hair as he lapped and sucked, the sensation causing a tingling in your lower belly and a growing wetness between your thighs. When Tommy took one stiff peak between his teeth and lightly bit the sensitive flesh, you cried out with pain and pleasure, an electric shock straight to your core. Your head snapped down to look at him, watching as he soothed you with gentle sucking, his hand snaking down to palm you over your clothed core. As his long fingers stroked over your clit, you realized you were now tugging on his hair with harsh insistence, a growing need building within you and a burning curiosity to explore his body.

Guiding his head back to your face, you peppered him with kisses as you whispered against his lips, “I want to touch you too.” Tommy placed a chaste kiss to your forehead as he took your small hand in his, placing it over his erection. Your eyes grew wide as you felt up and down his covered length, noticing how large he was. You gulped wondering how he would ever fit.

As if reading your thoughts, Tommy removed his face from where he was nuzzling your neck to reassure you, “I’ll take care of you. It won’t hurt.”

Resting a hand on his trim waist as you continued to stroke over him, you nodded. “I trust you,” you said, but your eyes didn’t meet his as you said it.

Removing your hand from him, Tommy kissed the inside of your wrist before placing his hands on either side of your face. Looking deeply into your eyes he promised, “If you want to stop, we can stop anytime.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you said, heart full of gratitude for someone who was so patient. Then you leaned in for a long, sensual kiss, Tommy returning your passion in equal measure, making your toes curl. As he pulled away, he smiled at your blissed out expression. Capturing your hand in his, he pulled you to the armchair and sat you down gingerly. Parting your legs slowly, he kneeled in front of you, running his hands down your shapely legs.

He took his time placing delicate kisses at you ankles and along your calves. Moving higher along your thighs, your breath quickened as his hands neared your apex. You were burning to feel his touch there, but he continued on to your hips, gripping them with a devilish smirk. He gave the right hipbone a few nips as you began giggling and wriggling beneath him from the way it tickled your flesh. You felt his chest rumble with laughter against the inside of your leg as he moved to the other side, torturing you a bit more before you breathlessly whined, “Tommy, Tommy, stop!! I can’t!” He loved the dulcet tone of your laughter, but decided to give you a reprieve, longing to hear sounds of a different sort.

As your breathing evened out, he placed featherlight kisses to your stomach, fingers dancing over your underwear as he moved lower. You inhaled sharply as you felt him pull the delicate material aside to trace your folds gently with his index finger. Soon he was running two fingers up and down your slit with careful strokes, gathering your wetness to rub over your clit in small, tight circles. You tossed your head back against the chair’s cushioning in utter bliss, little whimpers leaving your mouth.

Tommy stopped momentarily, making you sit up fully to find out why he had stopped. Tapping your thigh lightly, he urged you to raise your ass so he could slide your underwear off in one swift motion. You grinned as he pulled you to the edge of the seat, returning you to a reclining position and resuming his worship of your body. Within moments you felt his hot breath ghosting over your sex and you swallowed hard as his mouth replaced his fingers. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of his gentle lapping, at first with long strokes made with the flat of his tongue, then with increasing speed as he flicked over your clit in quick succession. His tongue eventually darted to your entrance, pressing inside you as his nose nudged your folds.

Your hand ran across your chest, feeling the light sheen of sweet collecting between your breasts as your heart rate increased. By the time, Tommy circled back to capture your sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, your hips rose off the chair and he had to place a large hand over your stomach to ground you.

“Have to stay still for me, love,” he chided playfully, blue eyes shining up at you. Your hands slid along the plush velvet fabric of the chair, fingernails digging into the arms in an attempt to hold on as Tommy curled a finger into your sopping heat. Adjusting to the stretch from one of his thick fingers, you began to enjoy the sensation of fullness. “Please Tommy,” you begged, unsure what you were pleading for, but desperately needing release as the coil in your belly pulled tight.

“I’ve got you,” Tommy murmured against the inside of your thigh as he added another finger, watching your face to be sure you could take it. Fuck, you were tight, he thought. He massaged a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl and you ground your hips down against his wrist, chasing your high as his tongue resumed figure eights over your clit. The wanton moans you released were making Tommy painfully hard against his trousers, but he loved making you feel this good. He could feel your walls begin to flutter around his digits and he knew you would cum soon. Seconds later he felt your stomach tense and your thighs begin to shake. Giving your clit another gentle suck, you came hard with a sharp cry of his name.

As the aftershocks wore off, Tommy pulled his fingers from you, sucking your juices from his digits with a satisfied smirk. “You taste so good, love” he told you, releasing his fingers with a pop. You sat up watching him, hiding your smile behind your hand with mild embarrassment. When Tommy noticed he pulled it away, asking, “Do you feel good?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” you said lazily. “But, I want more, Tommy…I want you,” you admitted, through half lidded eyes. You leaned forward to reach for him and he stood to allow you to remove his trousers. As they slipped to his knees, you pawed at the waistband of his underwear greedily, ready for whatever he had to give. Tommy chuckled at your eagerness, helping you by stepping out of his pants and you licked your lips as his cock sprang free against his toned stomach. He was already leaking and it glistened in the low light. Curious about how he tasted you placed your hands on his thighs, scratching your nails over him gently as you asked, “Can I taste you too?” Tommy ran a thumb across your lower lip as he nodded, smiling.

Grasping the base of his shaft tentatively, you looked up at Tommy through your lashes suddenly worried about disappointing him. His loving gaze soothed you and you leaned forward to lick the tip, tasting the salty precum that had collected. He hissed at the contact, sensitive and needy for your attention. You hummed as you swallowed, gathering the courage to lick from base to the tip a few times before deciding to take the head into your mouth. When you did, you felt Tommy’s thigh twitch beneath your palm and a gentle groan escape his throat.

A sense of pride stirred within you knowing you were bringing him pleasure and you continued your experimentation, swirling your tongue around him before bobbing your head down to take him as far down as you could go. The movement earned you another moan and you repeated the action with varying speed and suction, adding your hand to the help reach the area you couldn’t fit. You delighted in all the little sensations of him, the feeling of running your tongue along the large vein on the underside of his shaft and the way he jumped a little every time you flicked your tongue along the slit of his cock head. As your hand worked from his thigh to his tought ass, squeezing appreciatively, Tommy pulled you away gently by your shoulder, panting.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked nervously, wiping the corners of your mouth.

“No, no. You were perfect,” he rushed to reassure you. “But I was going to cum if you didn’t stop,” he admitted sheepishly, running a hand across the back of his neck. Leaning down to kiss you he whispered in your ear, “God, I want you so badly.” He scooped you up into his arms and you squealed in surprise, wrapping your arms around him to steady yourself.

He carried you to the makeshift bed you’d made on the floor, lowering you carefully to the ground until your head rested on one of the pillows, hair splayed angelically around you. Tommy’s breath was stolen by the sight of you like this, spread out just for him.

As he hovered over you, the only sound was the crackling fire at your back and the gentle draw of your own anxious breaths. Your fingertips danced over the rippled muscles of Tommy’s back as he strained to keep his weight off you. Placing gentle kisses to your neck and collarbone, he reached between you to grasp his hard length, teasing you with the spongy head. You whimpered as your nails found their way to the shorn sides of his head, pulling him up to your mouth for a hungry kiss full of tongue and clashing teeth. You were more than ready for him and you began to mumble against his lips, “Want you Tommy, please.”

He hushed you as he began to push into your wet warmth, just the tip at first. His head level with yours, he nudged your nose with his, a gentle sign of affection to ease your nerves. “Gentle,” you reminded him.

“Always,” he said capturing your lips as he slid inside you completely, stretching you more than you thought possible. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as a momentary sensation of pain burned through you and you whimpered out against Tommy’s lips with furrowed brow. Tommy stopped to study you with concern asking, “Are you alright?”

The pain gone and exquisite feeling of fullness in its place, you wanted nothing more than to feel him move inside you and you hooked a leg over his slowly, feeling the way he shifted almost imperceptibly but gently inside you. It was intoxicating. “I’m fine, Tommy. Move, please,” you begged, attempting to raise your hips to his.

Holding himself still, Tommy placed one more soft, open mouth kiss to your swollen lips before rolling his hips into you. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped as he hit that perfect spot inside you and you swore you saw stars. Tommy’s dick twitched within you and he began a slow, constant rocking against your pelvis, brushing against your clit with a delicious friction with every down stroke. The sight of him entering you was mesmerizing as you looked down at where your bodies connected. He followed your line of sight, watching himself glistening with your slick arousal, only to disappear again within your velvet walls and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He was greedy for you, the feeling of your body welcoming him, enveloping him like it was made for him alone. The way you arched your back and called his name spurred him on, driving him to snap his hips harder. He reached for your leg, drawing it up toward his hip and exhaled deeply at the pleasure of sinking into you even deeper. Your head tossed on the pillow, hands gripping the sheet beneath you, feeling as though you might tumble off the edge of the earth. Tommy’s handsome form, now glistening with sweat, pumped into you until you felt him in your stomach and you felt whole, complete with him like this.

As your hand wandered to your breast, tweaking your nipple, you heard Tommy groan at the sight. His hand captured your jaw and you turned your head to place a kiss to his palm, accepting his thumb as he placed it on your tongue. Sucking it deep into your mouth, cheeks hollowed as you had with his cock, you swirled your tongue around his digit with a hum before Tommy removed it. Trailing his hand down your body, leaving a trail of your glistening, warm saliva, he found your clit and began to rub it gently.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, breath coming in short gasps. One hand at your breast and the other gripping the sheet, your heart hammered in your chest as your vision turned spotty. Screwing your eyes shut, a blinding orgasm hit you, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as Tommy fucked you through it.

He relished the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, becoming impossibly tighter and pushing him toward his own climax. He leaned down to run a hand through your hair as he cooed in your ear, “So beautiful, so perfect,” before he picked up his pace, bucking into you with greater insistence.

You felt his rhythm falter soon after and he scrambled to pull himself from you, body stiffening above you as he released his spend onto your stomach. It was warm as it hit your skin, splattering up toward your breasts with the force. You ran a hand down his quivering body, a peaceful expression coming over you as you watched every bit of tension drain from his body. You wondered if he felt as you did, a weightlessness like floating within your own body. A lazy smile spread across his face as he searched for his undershirt, leaving you momentarily to gather it and clean you with the utmost care.

The relief of being with someone who was so kind and gentle made you emotional and tears began to spill down your cheeks. Sitting up to reach for him, he came to you immediately, kissing you softly with one hand holding the back of your head. He pulled away just enough to leave his forehead touching yours lightly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice laced with concern.

“It’s not that,” you assured him softly. “I think...I love you, Tommy,” you said, closing your eyes as soon as the words left your lips. You hadn’t expected to say them to him. You were still young, but your feelings were too strong to deny. You heard Tommy draw a deep breath and you held yours awaiting his reply.

“I love you, Y/n. I’ve known it since we were kids, but I wanted you to make up your own mind,” he told you. As soon as he spoke, you opened your eyes to him, nuzzling your cheek against his. He wrapped you in a warm embrace, rocking you slowly before settling you both back onto the floor. You snuggled into his side, draping a leg over his as you rolled onto your hip. Finding the edge of a sheet, he covered your body first, then his own. A strong arm cradled you there as the drowsiness began to seep into the edges of your consciousness.

The last thing you were aware of was tracing patterns across his chest with your fingertips and placing light kisses to his freckled skin before her found your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours over his heart. You had no doubt it beat just for you and you might have never known it if you hadn’t stumbled upon this place in the middle of nowhere. A mysterious, deserted place where Tommy made you his own for the very first time. It had been your paradise together for a night, discovering your love for one another before sunrise.

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x reader #cillian murphy

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mignonricciardo · 8 months

Text

august | dr3

chapter 5

happy august 31 <3 to celebrate, here is a chapter of august, my daniel ricciardo friends to lovers back to friends back to lovers full of mutual pining fic. enjoy, read the other chapters and let me know how you're feeling <3

warnings: 18+, smut themes, not a mention of sex being protected (5k words)

Day 8 of 19

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the house since the news broke. Daniel shared the news with Michael, and while he was supportive of his friend and the situation, I could feel the tension in the air and the strain on their friendship as they both admitted defeat. It was painful to watch — sagging shoulders and tired eyes. Both men were sulking, but what could I do beyond my own sadness?

I throw myself into work, spending hours at the Greenhouse Cafe or down by the pool deck, finishing manuscripts and sending edits and brainstorming my own stories. It feels good to get back into the groove of my life before the trip — my life when Daniel isn’t around. It’s easier this way. To remember what reality is like, not whatever alternative universe exists at this house. Since our near kiss at the vineyard, I need every painful reminder of why it can’t happen. I let myself recall memories of too many run-ins over the years that have resulted in nothing but repressed longing and late night tears. Memories of France — the trip that finally broke whatever we were for years — surface in flashes that make my heart clench and stomach roll.

With memories of Daniel comes memories of Dad, and it feels like I’m back to where I was in the aftermath of his death. Thoughts spiraling into the what-ifs, images of what life could look like if he were still here. The thoughts consume me, sending me into a shaking mess as I tuck the manuscript away. My fingers click Elizabeth’s name, typing up the message with shaking hands.

Can I talk to you about something?

The text bubble is quick to appear, and I nearly feel guilty at her response.

Of course, Cal. Want to give me a call in a few? About to put the kids down for bed.

Tell them Aunt Cal says goodnight for me?

Felix says he misses you, and Amelia says goodnight, too. You alright?

Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about something. Girl talk. Jack around?

At the pub with the boys to watch the game. No need to worry about him.

Thank god. Call me when you’re ready.

Minutes pass slowly as lights dim in the house. From the pool deck, the golden lights from Daniel’s bedroom cast shadows dancing across the rippling water. A sense of relief floods me when it goes dark while a second wave of guilt swells in me knowing there’s no way to make him feel better about any of this. The swell of the bugs from the brush culminates, ebbing away into silence as they perform their nightly routine. Waves crash beyond the edge of the property.

“Hey,” I answer the video call, smiling when Elizabeth’s face lights up the screen.

“Are you alright?” she says without hesitation, twisting the top of a bottle of red wine.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I look up to Daniel’s window one more time, waiting for light’s to flick back on. It remains dark against the gray-blue facade. “I just- I don’t know what’s going on, Lib.”

She pours a glass of red wine, settling on the large couch in the center of their living room, “Is it about Daniel?”

All I give is a weak nod.

“Oh, babe. Talk to me about it.”

I start to tell her about everything. The return to the house, the coffee, the movie night, the bar, the waking up together, the vineyard, the feeling of being caught in between Daniel and Michael. It flows from me like an undammed river, and the ever-present listener, Elizabeth lets me tell everything without interruption or interjection. The breeze ruffles the pages of the manuscript next to me on the chair, and I pull the blanket around my shoulders tighter without interrupting my story.

“We almost kissed, Lib,” I whisper, the shame crawling up my throat as she makes a face.

“Cal,” her voice warns.

“I know,” I answer. “After all that time and work, and it was like I was willing to forget everything. I’m angry at him and myself.”

“Have you talked about it?” she asks, sipping from the wine glass.

“The kiss? No, we’ve been pretty much avoiding each other since the vineyard. It’s been weird.” I groan as tears flood my eyes — angry drops slipping past my lashes. “I’m just so frustrated, Lib. Did I make a mistake saying yes to all of this?”

“I don’t know, Cal. I think only you can figure out that answer,” she answers gently. “In my opinion, no, I don’t think you’ve made a mistake. I think you need this trip to see him and catch up — remember what his friendship is like.”

Friendship. Is that what this was supposed to be? The word cuts me up and casts even more confusion.

“Lib, can I tell you something and you promise you won’t kill me or tell Jack?” my voice shakes.

The memories of France rest on the tip of my tongue. I glance back up to Daniel’s room, curtains drawn and room dark, and a part of me begs for him to hear me. An overwhelming heaviness settles in my stomach, but Elizabeth brings me back to reality.

“Usually I’d make a pregnancy joke here, but I don’t think now's the time,” she grins, and I chuckle weakly at her attempt to calm me down. I’m grateful for it. She continues, “I promise I won’t kill you or tell your brother. I can’t promise I won’t want to punch you, though.”

I let out a groan, fighting the anxiety in my stomach at the thought of revealing anything, “There’s a lot you don’t know — that no one knows except us.”

“You and Daniel?” her brows are raised as she takes another sip of wine.

I nod my head, “Remember in 2018 when I stayed with him after Monaco? It was not as friends.”

So I begin, telling Elizabeth about the trip that changed everything. There are moments along the way, like Italy or our final summers at this house, that are shared. Whether Elizabeth is shocked or not, I can’t tell. She keeps a stoic face, once again being the perfect listener without any interruptions. Frustrated tears continue to well in my eyes as my throat burns. Confusion swallows up everything, and when I finally finish with whatever my mouth decided to tell, Elizabeth looks at me with a sense of pity in her eyes.

“Babe, you’ve kept that all to yourself for all these years?” I nod, and she continues, “Why? It’s clear keeping all of that in was affecting you.”

“We agreed a long time ago to never talk about it,” I say, realizing I’m breaking my most sacred promise — a promise I had honored for over a decade. “It was just easier this way. It never felt real if we didn’t talk about it, so it meant we could go on like this.”

“Do you feel better now?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer after a moment of hesitation, brutal honesty in my words. “I guess speaking it out loud makes it real.”

“You aren’t going to want to hear this, but you need to talk to him about it, Cal,” she says. “I know that’s not what you’ve ever done, the two of you, but it has to be affecting him, too, right?”

“He doesn’t act like it,” I whisper, throat burning as tears continue to make their way down my cheeks. “It’s like he can just turn it on and off. I can’t do that, Lib. I care too much.”

The admission nearly stops me in my tracks. I care too much. Is this as close as I’d ever get to admitting it?

“Does he know how much this hurts you, Cal?” she asks.

I shake my head, “There’s no way he could. We don’t talk about it.”

“You need to,” she says, voice gentle. “Even if its just to yell at him for everything, then you can decide not to speak about it again. Either way, you need to talk to him. He’s the only other person who will get it, Cal.”

“Aunt Callie?” a small voice calls over the phone.

Elizabeth’s head spins around, and she smiles as one of her kids approaches. She asks if they want to talk, and Felix’s quiet voice says yes. There’s a shuffling as he climbs into his mother’s lap, and I can’t help the wide smile as his face fills the screen.

“Hey, buddy,” I say.

“Why are you sad?” he says, eyes heavy with sleep. “You’re crying, Aunt Callie.”

“It’s been a long day, buddy,” I say, fighting back more tears at his quiet voice being so caring. “It’s better now that I’m talking to you.”

“I see you soon?” he asks, looking at Elizabeth and then back to the screen.

I nod, “Very soon, Felix. I’m excited to see you. I miss you.”

He yawns, “Miss you, too. Uncle Daniel there?”

I nod my head, “He’s asleep right now, Felix. Like you should be.”

He rubs his eyes with tiny fists, “Woke up and heard Mummy say your name. Wanted to see Aunt Callie.”

The blond curls nearly reach his eyebrows, a reminder of how quickly he’s growing, and my heart swells, “Did you check on Amelia before you came down?”

“She was sleeping,” he nods gently, yawning again. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Mummy and Aunt Callie were talking,” Elizabeth says quietly to him, brushing his curls back from his forehead in a motherly fashion. “We were talking about when we’re going to see each other.”

“And Uncle Daniel, too?” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “We see everyone?”

Elizabeth nods, and I smile as his eyes remain shut, “Felix?”

He hums quietly, and I take the time to answer before he falls back asleep, “I love you. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Love you, Aunt Callie,” he murmurs. “Mummy, go back to bed?”

“Alright, come on,” she smiles gently, grunting as she lifts his tired frame against her hip.

“I’ll let you go,” I say over the phone. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cal,” she says, smiling as Felix echoes her statement.

After the call hangs up, I lean back into the chair, sighing as the conversation weighs heavy on my mind. I wipe the remaining tears off my cheeks, letting my eyes stay shut as the chilled ocean breeze washes over me. It’d be a week before they’d arrive. I let myself relax into the poolside chair, falling into a sense of calm with the distant crashing waves. Half an hour passes as the shore falls into an ebbing sense of quiet, culminating with the symphony of the tide.

“You coming in soon?”

His voice is gentle so as not to startle me, but my eyes fly open to see Daniel towering over me. He looks like he had been trying to sleep, sweatpants and ruffled hair with a hastily thrown on sweatshirt. There are dark circles beneath his eyes despite the soft, ever-present smile on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to make you jump, but I thought I would check. I saw the lights still on out here.”

“Yeah, I was just trying to get some work done,” I motion to the long forgotten manuscript on the chair next to me.

“And work was making you cry?” he says quietly. I look to him with shock, but he motions to my eyes, “I’ve known you forever, Cal. I know what you look like after you’ve cried. What’s up?”

I shake my head, “Sorry if I kept you up. Go to bed, Daniel.”

My tone is sharper than I anticipate, but it doesn’t faze him as he moves the manuscript to the side so he can sit in the chair next to me. Long legs spread before him, and he sighs as he gets comfortable, adjusting his sweatshirt around his shoulders. He lets a silence linger before speaking.

“I couldn’t sleep. I have a lot on my mind, so I was going to come out here to read for a bit — get some fresh air — but then I saw you.”

He turns over the book in his hand, cracked spine indicating it was a loved book from the shelf in the living room. I watch as his fingers slide along the spine before he sets it next to the manuscript.

“Well, I’ll go in so you don’t have to be bothered,” I start, lifting myself from the chair.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks, “That’s not what I meant, Apples.”

Damn that nickname. Our eyes meet, and something in his gaze makes tears tug at my lashes. Warm, brown depths suck me in, and they leave me defenseless. I shake his arm off mine, sucking in a deep breath to regain some sense of control. I stand from the chair, shaking my hands limply at my sides as I pace across the pool deck. I glance up to the house where Michael’s window is dark, taking a steadying breath before turning to Daniel.

“Was it a bad idea for me to come here?” I ask.

The look in his eyes makes me almost regret the words falling from my mouth. He sits up, his elbows on his knees, and his brows draw together.

“What do you mean, Cal?” he looks genuinely confused — no sense of facade to his expression.

“Daniel,” my voice shakes, teetering on the edge of silence. “After everything, was it a bad idea to jump into this?”

“Callie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His calm and gentle tone sends my blood boiling, and the tears start to fall down my cheeks out of frustration. Without another thought, my voice raises as I screech at him, “Bullshit you don’t know!”

My tone startles him, but when he sees my tears, he reaches for me, “Cal, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t touch me,” I fight him off weakly, shrugging off his looming embrace. “I’m angry right now, and I don’t need you to comfort me. I need you to stop pretending.”

I feel guilty. He looks tired, and with everything else going on, he doesn’t need my demands to pile on top of him, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending. He sighs as he settles on the pool chair, head hanging with his elbows on his knees. I watch his every move, body wound so tightly that I could flinch with the simplest of his movements, and my eyes burn with years of frustration bubbling up.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he sighs, avoiding my gaze.

He looks tired, shoulders sagging, but I feel just as exhausted.

“Tell me it was all real,” I say. “Tell me I’m not crazy and all these things I remember actually happened.”

“What things?” he asks, and it sends something snapping in me.

“You know what!” I screech, voice foreign to my own ears as my frustration oozes. “I’m so fucking sick of this game, Daniel.”

He just looks at me, something swirling in his eyes as his lips part ever so slightly. Please, I want to beg. Just say it. Instead, we square off in silence. He stammers out my name, and I snatch the manuscript off the chair beside him, sure to avoid brushing his leg.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I say, spinning away from him. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

Suddenly, his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back toward him. I spin to face him in the process, and something familiar about the close stance floods my senses. I don’t know what compels Daniel to grab my face, but before I know it, his lips are crashing into mine as his hands cradle my jaw. My hands subconsciously find their way into his dark curls, weaving into the strands in a familiar dance. Before I’m processing what I’m doing, one of my hands slides from the back of his neck to rest on his jaw, and my lips part to welcome his familiar caress. He takes a step, and my leg follows backward until it hits the pool chair. The contact sends me spiraling back toward reality, and I break away from him as my chest heaves. We’re staring at each other, chests mimicking the other’s rapid rise and fall, and I barely trust my voice.

“Daniel, we have to talk about everything.”

“There will be time for that,” he is breathless as his chest rises and falls with what he’s saying. “I owe it to you — I do — but right now, please just-”

“What, Daniel?” I start. “Please what? Pretend I want to do this again and forget what happened every time before? When you can’t even admit any of it? Please what?”

He hesitates, warm eyes following the curves of my face, “Just let me kiss you.”

The longing in his voice makes my heart splinter yet every part of my being screams no. One of his hands slides down my arm, tracing across the bones in the back of my hand before weaving our fingers together. My eyes look down to our clasped hands before casting back up to meet his eyes. As much as it pains me, I shake my head slowly.

“You don’t really want this, Dan,” my throat burns. “You’re hurt. This is what we do when we’re hurting. It’s always what we’ve done.”

“I do want this, Cal,” he whispers, eyes pleading with me. His fingers slide against mine, “I should’ve kissed you at the vineyard. I should’ve kissed you at that bar when I came to get you. I should’ve kissed you before you ever left to meet that dickhe-”

Despite every part of my brain screaming at me, I act in defiance as one of my hands hooks beneath his jaw, his beard rough beneath my fingers, and I press our lips together again. He reacts immediately, hand dropping away from mine and rising to slide along my jaw. The familiarity of his lips against my mine — tongues recalling a familiar dance — sends heat firing down my limbs. He inhales sharply through his nose, hands drifting toward my waist where cold fingers slide beneath my sweatshirt.

“Daniel, I’m sorry,” I breathe, fingers weaving through the curls at the back of his head. “This can’t go too far.”

“Fuck, I know,” he groans quietly, fingers brushing across my skin concealed by the fleece sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I’ve just missed you.”

The words hit me square in the chest, and warmth bubbles up and brings my voice to a squeak as his lips press gently to my jaw and neck. My head spins, full of the smell of his cologne and feeling of his lips against my skin, and it tips to the side to allow him access. One of my hands slides across his shoulder, gripping his bicep as his nose brushes against my neck.

“I need to know we’ll talk,” I choke out, legs buckling as his knee slides between mine. “We need to talk about everything.”

“I owe it to you,” he whispers against my skin. All of my defenses crumble beneath his touch.

“I missed you, too,” I whisper, gasping sharply as his cold hands press against my skin beneath the sweatshirt. “It hurt to think about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips still tracing old, familiar lines down my neck. “I’ve always been sorry.”

The chill of the breeze ushers in clouds beneath the cover of darkness, and the stretching black cracks open as gentle rain begins to fall. We’ve barely processed the cold drops falling on our faces, digging through the haze of whatever was happening between us, before the sky opens up and unleashes heavy rain. Our sweatshirts become soaked with rain, hair sticking to foreheads as we look at the other in a daze as our brains scramble to catch up. Chests are heaving and eyelids heavy, and we simply stare at one another as the rain ripples across the pool surface. I see the manuscript flutter behind Daniel, and I curse as I lunge for it, grabbing the soaked papers and pulling my rumpled sweatshirt over them in a futile attempt to save them. I spin around to a laughing Daniel — a true laugh that makes him look like he's 25 again. He doesn’t look so heavy, and his shoulders lift higher than they had since arriving at the house. He continues to laugh as he grabs my hand, pulling me through the pouring rain and across the soaked pool deck toward the house. We stumble into the house, leaving water droplets in our wake, and he continues his laughter, quieter now as Michael sleeps upstairs. He drops the wet book to the countertop, pages already swelling, and he reaches to peel his sweatshirt off.

“Daniel, what is so fun-”

I stumble to a halt, words failing, and my eyes watch as his bare torso is revealed. Biceps flex as he tugs the sweatshirt over his head, and he reaches a hand out to indicate he’s waiting for mine. I’m aware that I’m staring, eyes tracing new tattoos spreading across his skin, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m frozen — trying to recognize something that used to be so familiar.

“I’m gonna put our stuff in the dryer,” he smiles softly. “Cal, you’re freezing. You need to get that stuff off.”

I nod, dazed as my eyes are stuck on the tattoos on his collarbones and spreading down his arm. My fingers tug at my sweatshirt, peeling the heavy fabric away from me, and something about his eyes on me spurs my confidence as I peel the cotton t-shirt away from my skin, too. I don’t hesitate to lose the t-shirt, a sense of comfort in Daniel’s presence, and I can feel the burn of his eyes on me as I tug the shirt over my head to hand to him. Goosebumps prickle across my skin as I stand before him, bra and sweatpants damp from the rain, and his eyes shamelessly stare at me.

“You got more tattoos,” I whisper, unable to take the silence as his eyes watch me. “I didn’t know about them.”

He nods, still holding our sweatshirts and my shirt in his hands, “Picked up a couple since you’ve seen me like this.”

I don’t know what to say, so I remain quiet as I follow him into the laundry room. My eyes drink him in, tan skin stretched across taut muscle and adorned with black ink. His dark curls are wild from the rain. He tosses the soaking items into the washer, adding a full step to the promised routine, and his fingers clutch the elastic waistband of his pants before he tugs them down his legs. I can’t help the sharp inhale that passes through my lips as his sprawling thigh tattoo is revealed beneath sleek boxers, and he faces me seemingly unfazed despite hearing my gasp.

“Do you want me to step out while you throw yours in?” he asks.

My brain screams at me, but in an attempt to play it cool as my mind scrambles to catch up with everything, I shake my head. I peel the sweatpants off my legs, hyper aware I’m standing before Daniel in next to nothing, and pass them to him to toss into the washer. The water starts filling the basin with a gentle hiss.

“I thought we were just drying them?” my voice is unsteady as I take ragged breaths.

He turns to me and I’m suddenly aware of how small the laundry room is with the minimal distance between us. My back is pressed against the edge of the wooden table, and our chests nearly brush with the deep breaths I’m heaving.

“Figured I’d wash them while we’re at it,” he whispers, voice raspy as our eyes meet. “I have to kill some time before I throw them into the wash.”

I nod my head, humming since I don’t trust my voice. His fingers reach toward my face gently, warm digits brushing hair sticking to my forehead behind my ear. I take a steadying breath, stuck in whatever trance is surrounding us, and my fingers brush along the tattooed words on his collarbone.

“Tell me about them,” I whisper, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.

He tells me about some of his new tattoos, voice quiet and raspy as whatever space was left between us slowly closes. My fingers brush across his chest, tracing the ink from his shoulder to his bicep to his forearm as he talks about each new tattoo since I had seen him like this. He takes his time, sharing each story with detail and letting me trace the delicate lines. He tosses the small load of laundry into the dryer when it chimes, briefly breaking our trance before returning to stand in the closing space between us.

“The new one on your thigh,” I whisper, hand slowly reaching for the ink above his knee. The anchor is settled within his sprawling thigh tattoos, hidden unless you were already familiar with them. I notice the sharp inhale he takes as my finger brushes across his skin, “The anchor.”

He nods, throat bobbing as his eyes flutter shut, “It was for you. You’re always reminding me to stay grounded — it’s a reminder of home.”

Tears suddenly flood my eyes as I gasp, and my gaze tears from the ink on his thigh to his face where warm brown eyes meet mine.

“You got this for me?” I whisper, voice low and breath fanning across his skin.

He nods, eyes hood and a honeyed lilt to his voice, “Callie.”

My fingers stop tracing his skin, and my eyes search his for whatever he’s about to say. His hands twitch at his sides, “Did he touch you like I did?”

The first mention of my ex since I had told Daniel we had broken up. It catches me entirely off guard.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Cal,” he starts, voice strong and eyes dark. “Like in France. Did he touch you like that?”

“Daniel,” my voice trails off, brain forgetting how to do anything besides think of him — besides giving me flashbacks of his hands on my skin and his kiss from earlier.

“Did he touch you like how I touched you? I have a feeling he didn’t even come close.”

Our chests are heaving between us, and no matter how much my brain screams at me for what I’m about to do, I’m powerless to fight it.

“I need you to remind me how you touched me.”

That’s enough. Clashing lips and tongues as he lifts me onto the table behind me. The dryer drones away behind us, masking whatever noise is drifting from the laundry room toward the living room and kitchen. Daniel’s hands on my body, palms warm and rough as they slide across my skin, are familiar and warm me from the inside out. His hands press the softest parts of me into the hardest parts of him, and my thighs knock open and wrap loosely around his hips. The dance is familiar, our bodies remembering everything before our brains have time to find excuses as to which this should stop. His hand curls against my spine, pressing me into him and sending lightning through my body, and I gasp as his lips trace over the skin sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

“We need to talk about this, Daniel,” I gasp, bra dropping to baskets full of laundry. “Fuck, we need to talk about this.”

His lips part against my skin, mumbling into my shoulder, “Fuck, I know.”

“Promise me I won’t regret this,” I whisper, fingers curling into his hair and tugging gently along his scalp. “If you can promise me that, we can talk later.”

“You won’t regret this,” he answers without missing a beat. “Callie, its you and me. You know how this is going to go. Do we ever regret it?”

In my heart, I know the answer, but the lust clouds my brain, and before I know it, I’ve got thighs wrapped around him. Any clothing has been abandoned into the baskets around us, and Daniel presses forward as our foreheads rest against each other. The steady hum of the dryer matches Daniel’s steady pulse beneath my fingers, and for the first time, I remove any expectations out of the situation. I simply let myself feel, finding freedom in getting lost in Daniel’s touch. The feel and scent of him, arms caging around my body as he lifts me ever so slightly from the table. It hits me all at once — voice hoarse as my eyes shut — and Daniel isn’t far behind, stilling within me as our chests heave. Any chill from the rain has vanished, and once we catch our breath, the dryer chimes quietly. Daniel pulls from me gently, whispering a gentle I know as I whine helplessly. Before I know it, he’s pulling his sweatshirt over my head, smelling of laundry detergent and faintly of him still, and I watch through hooded lids as he tugs the sweatpants up his legs.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers quietly, hands brushing hair from my face.

“Tired, spent, incredible,” I answer.

He chuckles quietly, “Let me take you to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, Cal.”

He lifts me from the table, setting me down on uneasy legs, and nudges me forward gently. I barely trust my legs as I make my way up the stairs, but Daniel follows behind with large palms resting on my hips. He follows me toward my room, watching as I crawl into bed, and he pulls the blanket over my bare legs. As he goes to leave, I reach for his hand, catching his fingers with mine.

“Will you stay?” I ask quietly, embarrassed at the ask falling from my lips.

He thinks it over for a moment, unreadable look in his eyes, and the guilt burns deep in my stomach. He nods gently, hand squeezing mine before he crawls in next to me, sighing as he gets comfortable on the mattress. I hesitate to curl into his side, afraid of feeling clingy after everything that had just happened, but he rolls onto his side to face me. Our eyes meet, and for the first time this trip, the heaviness weighing around the corners is gone. He smiles as we lay there, grinning as we lay in silence.

“How do we make sure Michael doesn’t find out about this?” I whisper.

“I’ll leave in the morning before he’s up,” Daniel whispers. “Don’t worry about it, Cal.”

I nod my head, but he doesn’t buy it. He pulls me closer to him, arms wrapping around me as I press into his chest. His steady breaths lull me into a near-sleep, eyes lidded and limbs heavy.

“Cal?” he asks quietly, chest vibrating against my cheek. I hum quietly, an acknowledgement I’ve heard him. He continues quietly, words making my heart swell and warmth spread to my limbs, sending me drifting off, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

#daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #august

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