#too specific in saying how we want this or that. of course this has ruined things.
Text
hey so i finally wrote more witch au!
enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part
pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T
Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.
“Since when?” He’d asked.
“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”
“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.
“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.
“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.
“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”
“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”
“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”
“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”
“...I’m sorry, honey.”
“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.
Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”
“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.
“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”
Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”
“No!” Robin belts out immediately.
“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”
“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”
“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”
“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”
Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.
Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?
It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?
Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.
He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste.
“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.
He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.
That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.
Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.
Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home.
He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.
Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.
He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.
Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.
If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.
Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.
The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.
He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression.
It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.
“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries.
Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.
Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.
“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly.
The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”
“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.
Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.
“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.
Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.
“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.
She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”
He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”
She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”
He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.
As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.
“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”
He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.
Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.
“I have a date!”
Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.
“Steve?”
Should he put soap in it?
“Steve!”
No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.
“Steven Otis Harrington.”
“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.
“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.
He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”
“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”
He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”
“Steve, the bowl?”
“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”
“He? Who’s he?”
“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”
“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”
“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.
The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.
Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”
“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.
“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”
“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”
“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”
“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.
He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later.
As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.
Whatever.
All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—
Wait..
Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?
Is…
The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.
What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?
That..sounds right....why is that so famili—
Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.
Is he…?
And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.
tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts
also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#witch!eddie#witch!steve#work song#hozier#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#stranger things#st#robin buckley#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve has good grandparents#steveddie#eddeve#witch au#noelle writes
340 notes
·
View notes
Text
I did catch on to that part of it with him bouncing between jobs so frequently, and some of the other things like the fridge freezer, but they were still included in the jumbled up thoughts I listed out partly because I was thinking about them before coming to an answer, and partly because I'm not fully sure if those answers are all there is to it.
Cause, yeah, there’s the newspaper clipping rebuking him for being “unprofessional and brash” (which damn that’s also just rotating in my head because Vince was clearly reading this specific clipping earlier and blatantly lied saying Rody hadn’t been mentioned at all, later scribbling out the section talking about the waiter), he’s very clearly messy and unkempt in pretty much every aspect of his life, and even if he gets the to-go question right in the tutorial, Vince appends the "Good work." with "keep tone in mind."
But, the thing is, he does know a lot of the basics. Much of the tutorial is really just for the benefit of the player to know how the mechanics of the game works, Rody meanwhile nods along and does whatever task is needed without comment, only getting tripped up when Vince mentions the way the menu for his bistro works, and when the aforementioned customer asked if he could get boxes to go or call in his order ahead of time. Which I think are reasonable things to get tripped up on! Those seem like things that would vary depending on the establishment he was working for.
I keep thinking about his reaction when Vince pivoted the conversation of "do you actually like your job" onto Rody. His awkward response that it paid him money. Vince voicing specifically “I doubt you wanted to wait tables for a living-”, and that being met with how there was “something” Rody went to school for, that he was too hesitant to tell Vince, feeling he’d get made fun of. The impression that its some passion he had that just didn't work out. The revelation later that the “something” in question was him majoring in hospitality.
He was afraid he'd be made fun of for actively going to school and choosing to study for skills that, either ironically or purposefully, would've been useful for his current job of waiting tables. A goal that he flunked out of. He has had 28 jobs in the service industry over the course of 7 years. He keeps losing his job, but he also keeps getting hired.
I keep thinking of the post-credits scene of the Best Served Hot, whisky lemon cake ending. "I can't keep watching you ruin any semblance of progress you make with yourself while trying to make me happy, it's exhausting-"
He's only 4 days into this job when he approaches Vince for a raise. He already figures he'll have enough to do something nice for Manon, his "girlfriend," by the end of the week, but he wants more to make it really special. He is very clearly told 'no.'
On the 5th day, when his shift is finally over and done, we don't next see him as we usually do, back at his apartment. He's still at the bistro, all the lights turned out. The only other person presumably being Vince hacking away at the meat in the freezer that'll be used for the meals in the morning. The first time I went through that night, I presumed Rody had just been selected to stay late and help clean up for the night, with whatever Vince was doing in the background ominous horror ambience to be unsettled by.
But we can't really do anything while there that would support this initial assumption. There are only two things you can do. Snoop around in Vince's office, and... steal from the cash register. Whether you avoid doing the latter as I did or not, it has no bearing on whatever ending you get, but just the fact that it's even an option to Rody...
How many other times did he allow his love for Manon to rule over his decisions, making choices in the pursuit of what he believed would make her happy, no matter the cost, before finally facing a price for his obsession beyond the scope of his worst nightmares?
...
And after all that I do want to defend the rollerskates a bit because
Rollerskates in restaurants are kinda a thing, in the 1960s (the year this game is set) they were a pretty popular gimmick/tool for diners in the U.S. at least, not sure about elsewhere in the world unfortunately
Yeah he canonically brought and proceeded to wear rollerskates to work at a fancy bistro. But that also means Vince watched him show up to work one day, wearing rollerskates, and just let him do it. Just watched Rody roll around his fancy bistro attending to customers that expect the highest of professionalism, and said nothing.
#dead plate#dead plate spoilers#rody#bit of play experience#sort of#hopefully this makes sense for others reading this my thoughts still feel very jumbled up
720 notes
·
View notes
Note
Angsty Idea for Ruben Imagine:
Y/N has been on a girls trip and Ruben promised to pick her up from the airport and spend the day together but he forgot and goes out with the boys. Y/N is hurt and feels like he doesn’t care about her and they get in a big fight but make up at the end !!
This request was great. The people thought it was great. And so here it is, greatness.
Ruben Dias x Reader - The Only Girl In His World
⚠️Warning ⚠️
+18
Enjoy!
You called your mom as soon as you got into a taxi outside of the airport.
"Y/N, this is the third time!"
But calling her might have been a mistake.
"Mom, Ruben hasn't forgotten to pick me up before."
"No. But last week he forgot to e-mail you the plane tickets for your trip and the week before that he had trouble remembering which country you and your friends were even visiting. It's how it starts honey and you need to put a foot down, or else."
"Or else what?" You frowned, although deep down the truth hurt.
"Or else you'll end up alone in a big house with four kids whilst your husband is running around living his life like some hot shot bachelor."
"Mom, that would never happen. You know Ruben, besides he doesn't even want kids." You defended, just like you had defended Ruben's mistake to your friends, saying he had alot going on and therefore forgot to e-mail you their tickets. "....At least we haven't talked about that yet."
"And you won't need to." She said. "Because he'll forget to pick you up for that meeting too."
"Jupp, okay. I see where this phone call is going mom. I'm hanging up now..." You had already cried at the airport when, after two hours of waiting, you realized that your boyfriend had forgotten about you. Your mother was not about to ruin the make up you had to redo because of that.
"Y/N, I just don't want you to get hurt." She said, more sympathetically.
"Like I said mom. It's Ruben we're talking about. He would never hurt me, ever."
The phone call ended.
Thirty minutes later the taxi pulled up to Ruben's apartment building. You took the elevator up and felt your heartbeat with longing for a hug from the love of your life, however, all you were met with was an empty apartment and no Ruben.
"Baby?"
You went from room to room, switching on the lights just to confirm that "Jupp." Your boyfriend forgot about you, or he simply couldn't care less about you. The worst thing was the realization that today was Ruben's day off, and thst at some point he had been home, and not alone. The Playstation was still plugged into the TV and there were empty bottles of that recovery drink that Ruben loved. However you couldn't imagine he'd ever recover from this, you'd never allow Ruben to make you feel this way again.
"Y/N?"
It was around eleven o'clock at night when you heard keys turn in the lock. Ruben must have sighted your open suitcase in the living room, for he was shouting your name.
"Fuck me." You heard him sigh. "Y/N, are you here?"
"In here!" You shouted from the bedroom. You were on the floor emptying drawers of all of your things.
"Oh my god, Y/N. I'm so sorry baby, so fucking sorry." Ruben appeared in the door frame, a pale look on his face, knowing damn well that he fucked up by forgetting to pick you up at the airport.
"I swear you said Sunday." He said, which was not an excuse, you thought. Why hadn't he checked with you if he was so unsure? A quick text message would have sufficed.
"No Ruben." You mumbled. "I specifically told you four o'clock, Saturday."
He slapped a hand over his face and sighed. "Fuck, I must have mixed up the dates."
"Of course you did."
"So...how did you get home?" He asked, the question so dumb that you wanted to slap that stupid look of innocence that he wore on his face.
"I took a taxi Ruben. Another will be here in a minute to pick me up."
He frowned "Why?"
You stood, a pile of folded clothes in your hands. "I'm leaving you Ruben. I'm tired of feeling like I'm always second best to you. So I'm prioritizing myself by leaving...you."
"What?" He blurred out. "W...what do you mean?"
You pushed past him as he stood in the door, once in the living room you dumped your folded clothes into your already packed suitcase.
"Baby, what do you mean your leaving me?" Ruben was close behind you, demanding answers. Why he was upset you couldn't even fathom. "Is this you breaking up with me or something, and for what, because I forgot to pick you up from a fucking airport?"
"And you forgot to send me my plane tickets! And you forgot which fucking country I was even in!" You shouted, with tears trailing down your face . "Did you even notice that I was gone Ruben? Did you even care that I was gone?"
"Baby?" He looked confused, confused as to why you were shouting and crying. "Why would you even ask me that? Of course I cared that you were gone. That's why I've had Bernardo come over here and play FIFA with me everyday since you left. "I...I don't know what has made you come to this conclusion about me...about us?" He looked to the suitcase on the floor with terror in his eyes. "Please, let's just talk about this first before you decide to do anything neither of us want.
You hated that he made you feel like the dramatic one, however he was right, the two of you should talk things out before you did anything that might be irreversible in the end.
"I don't wanna talk." You muttered.
"No?" Ruben looked on the verge of something, something he wouldn't recover from. "W...what do you want then?"
"I want to feel loved."
"Fuck." He sighed, rushing to cup your face in his hands. He lifted your head, bending down, kissing you. "Of course I love you. Your the only girl for me." He kissed you again, harder.
"Prove it." You said, pulling away from him.
"What?" He looked confused, so confused and afraid, afraid of losing you.
"Prove that you love me and only me"
"Y/N, how would I even do that?"
Your eyes looked him up and down, indicating nothing more than what you needed right now. "Fuck me."
Ruben's brows lifted.
You smiled. "Fuck me like I'm the only girl in the world."
Nothing more was said. Ruben didn't even let you leave the living room before your clothes came off. He had your legs spread wide with his cock thrusting in and out deep in side if you. He fucked you right there and then, on the living room couch, like you were the only girl in his world.
#fanfiction#football imagine#ruben dias#man city#manchester city#ruben dias x reader#footballer imagine#footballer x reader#ruben dias imagine#football angst
179 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about Iris' very open disdain for spirit channeling and how it seemingly contradicts many other elements of her character.
Let me explain—Iris prior to the end of BttT is a woman who only knows facades, covering up the truth, and only presenting herself exactly as she wants others to see her. We see this over and over again throughout the course of the story: she hides her real identity while dating Phoenix, she does damage control for Dahlia and Godot to help them avoid blame for their crimes, and she is extremely selective about which information she chooses to disclose to specific people depending on whatever role she finds herself playing in that moment (daughter, girlfriend, accomplice, etc). Her demeanor as a whole is also rather meek and unassuming, and she's shown to be exceptionally kind; she expresses favorable opinions on most everyone she meets, even those continuously treated poorly by other characters (like Larry) or those that have objectively done reprehensible things (like Dahlia).
All of this stands in stark contrast to her saying in no uncertain terms that she hates spirit channeling:
This stands out to me because it is one of very few things that Iris is completely forthright honest about in the early portion of this case. After spending all day avoiding Phoenix and now carefully dodging his questions towards her in hopes of preventing the truth of her deception from coming out (all of this while actively avoiding her responsibilities at the Inner Temple because of Larry's "blackmail" letter which also threatened to expose her "secret"), why is this the one bit of truth she chooses to divulge here? Or rather: why is this the one thing she seemingly cannot lie about?
Obviously the answer lies in Iris' past and the permanent damage that was done to her and her family due to the politics of the Fey clan, with the Kurain Channeling Technique at the root, and the DL-6 incident as the event that brought everything to ruin. Iris bore witness to her mother Morgan losing the title of Master of Kurain due to her inferior powers and the despair that caused her, then three years later saw her aunt Misty who, despite purportedly being so much better than her mother, made a mistake while channeling that led to an innocent man's conviction, disgracing the Fey name and causing her to flee the village in shame. With this in mind, it makes sense that Iris would feel so strongly about spiritual powers doing more harm than good; after all, she has firsthand experience of the damage that can be done to the women that have it.
But what of the women that don't have it—namely, Iris herself? What happens to a spirit medium, born of the Fey bloodline, daughter of the then-master of her channeling school, when she's shown to not have any spiritual powers? I'm of the opinion that Iris' hatred is not only a product of what she's seen happen to her mother and aunt, but also very closely tied to what is, essentially, her earliest failure in life—after all, what good is a medium who can't channel? Fey women are raised to believe that their worth is linked to how well they can perform the service of their clan, which is the same reason why Maya beats herself up for failing to channel Mia in Turnabout Goodbyes and Pearl does the same with Dahlia later in this case. In a sense, Iris' hatred of spirit channeling is an externalization of her own self-hatred—unlike Dahlia, who mainly copes by lashing out and seeking revenge on those who wrong her, Iris is far too gentle and loving to lay blame on any one person. But all that repressed guilt and anger still has to go somewhere—and it manifests through this one small crack in her otherwise flawless facade. The one thing she cannot bring herself to find beauty in no matter how much she tries. The one thing that should have given her purpose but didn't—leaving her no choice but to mold herself beyond recognition over and over into roles that aren't truly her own, but at the very least give her meaning where she was denied it before.
And knowing her? She probably hates that flaw more than anything.
#ace attorney#pwaa#ace attorney trials and tribulations#aa#iris hawthorne#iris fey#iris of hazakura temple#phoenix wright#dahlia hawthorne#morgan fey#misty fey#aa3 spoilers#meta#my meta#i still have a BIT more to say about iris choosing to stay at hazakura temple in spite of this hatred#and what that says about her. but that'll have to wait for another day bc this post is already quite long#guys i love iris soooo much did you know that#local woman going feral over sister iris ace attorney for the 261478th time. more at 11
76 notes
·
View notes
Note
hii can i request your regular jeff the killer headcanons? :) they don’t have to be smutty
Hello! thank ya for requesting! honestly, i should get aroundto posting all of my creeps head cannons but Jeffy boy is a good start! hope you enjoy!!
also please suggest any other peeps you want headcanons for!
<3
Wordcount: 605 words! so a quick read <3
𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕁𝕖𝕗𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤!!!
warnings: will include smut head canons at the end so be warned. Other than that just Jeff being a loveable ass!
𝕊𝔽𝕎 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤:
okay, let's get this out of the way. he's an asshole.
an asshole who cares mainly about the people he loves.
STILL he's a douche sometimes.
he's not very showy when it comes to his more romantic side. Hell, he struggles to say I love you in front of others and definitely isn't going to admit how fond he is of you to anyone else, even to Liu.
but he is very observant-
He listens, taking notes on what you like. Oh? you mentioned you like a specific type of cookie- there are 10 boxes in the cupboards the following morning.
Oh? you like wearing his clothes, here take a hoodie. (he would be very nonchalant about the situation and if you prod any deeper he would deny deny deny. getting annoyed but still handing you the hoodie.)
he has his sweet moments but still, he's more of a cocky narcissist
handsy too (he will never leave your ass alone!)
my dude is 5'10 on a good day but will totally round it up to 6 foot. He likes being taller than you
if you are 5'10 n up. Well prepare for him to show off his strength instead.
"Give me your hand."
"What?"
"I can beat you in arm wrestling. Give me your hand!"
Of course, you let him win, cuz if not he would challenge you to a race. (like a goddamn middle schooler)
He is quite toned but still built lanky
this man can surprisingly cook decent enough and if you're lucky he will cook for you
ONLY SOMETIMES again with the whole not showing any romantic affection thing
he's a little nerd since before the whole randy, troy, keith thing. He was a quiet kid and ya know quiet kids tend to be nerds n stuff!
he's defintely a nerd when it comes to rock and metal bands.
he has a couple of band tees def.
he doesn't know how to drive- also he's a passenger princess.
ℕ𝕊𝔽𝕎 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤:
minors get out right now!
so we all know this man is kinky in bed, of course!
one huge thing with him is def a knife kink. he absolutely gets off on the fear in your eyes when he presses one of his trusty knifes against your throat. how you tremble underneath him, feeds his massive ego.
he will definitely press it harder while he is fucking into you, he loves seeing you like this underneath him, also loves knowing that you would do this only for him.
he loves ruining you
he has a blood kink of course and will totally fuck you on your period.
his dick is 6 inches and pretty thick, slight curve to the left.
and he knows how to use it.
IF you're into it. Def let him carve his initials into you and watch him go absolutely feral.
he was already into marking with hickeys and bites, but this is like marriage to him i guess.
you're fully his now.
not only is he a passenger princess- his favorite position is reverse cowgirl.
he loves watching you ruin yourself on top of him and sometimes he will thrust up against your increasingly sloppier bounces.
his fingers roughly rubbing your clit
all the while whispering the filthiest things he can muster in your ear:
"cum all over my cock, doll"
"that's right, doll. go stupid on my cock, sweetheart. let me fuck your little brains out."
"you like my knife pressing into your thigh? makes your little clitty throb~"
his aftercare is surprisingly sweet, kissing all over you while he holds you close.
sometimes leaving marks as well, plays back to his whole ownership kink.
there it is! it is rough. i barely edited it so please enjoy. if you didn't like it umm- im sorry :(
#creepypasta smut#creepypasta x reader smut#jeff the killer x reader smut#jeff the killer smut#jeff the killer x reader#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader
560 notes
·
View notes
Text
let's learn about spanish with haikyuu!
if you’re an argentinian animanga fan, you might have seen this image before. this is a panel from ivrea’s edition of haikyuu which has gone viral a few times in our country. if you’re not a native spanish speaker and you’re interested in knowing what makes this panel so special, i got you!
as you know, spanish has many different dialects and their own regional variations. and when i say many, i mean it. here’s a list of dialects you can find in the americas only (and that’s not even all of them). of course, spanish speakers from different countries can understand each other, but these dialects vary so much from one another when it comes to slang, pronunciation, accent and even grammar that we can easily get lost when we hear fellow hispanics speak. back in the 20th century, this was a problem for foreign companies that wanted to enter the hispanic market. making dozens of different translations that catered to each hispanic country was too expensive, so they came up with a more profitable solution: they created español neutro (neutral spanish), español internacional (international spanish) or standard spanish. this type of spanish is an artificial variation of spanish used exclusively for commercial purposes. it's limited to latin american only, while peninsular spanish speakers (the standard spanish dialect spoken in spain) have their own standardized version.
español neutro is supposed to be a variation of spanish that speakers can’t associate to any specific place or region. that’s why it omits any type of slang, colloquial language or intonation that might be confusing for its audience (though it’s modeled after standardized mexican spanish). that’s the spanish we’ve seen in many books, tv shows, movies and games growing up. people don’t actually speak español neutro. but it's been around for a long time, so we're used to it by now. obviously, we can recognize why this type of spanish feels unfamiliar to us. imitating how characters speak in tv shows is even an on-going joke here.
(disclaimer before i go on: i don’t want you to think our dubs are bad because of this, they’re great. though i’d say our most beloved dubs are the ones where voice actors have more freedom and they choose to include slang and intonation. the dub for adventure time’s jake the dog is an all time favorite here in latin america, but after five years of giving life to to jake, cartoon network told his voice actor to stop using “mexicanisms” and stick to the script.)
as i said, we’re used to it. maybe too much. people are so accustomed to it that they find it weird when they read or watch localized media in their own dialects of spanish. that's where manga comes in. the two biggest argentinian manga publishers, ivrea and panini, localize their works. they’re translated to español rioplatense or rioplatense spanish, which is the standard dialect of argentina and uruguay. that’s a rare translation choice. and, of course, people complain about it. they say it's vulgar or too informal, that it's not "pure spanish" like español neutro or that it just makes them uncomfortable, and even more.
[translation of the post: Why does IVREA use so many localisms? It ruins the immersion and they seem excessively forced, you can use "girl" instead and it sounds much more natural.]
i can assure you that denji saying power es buena mina is extremely natural. it's slang, we say that all the time in everyday conversation. es buen pibe (he's a good guy) and es buena mina (she's a good girl) are common expressions. besides, denji's not the type of guy who speaks formally. this choice goes well with the tone of the work. the only difference between chica and mina is that the latter comes from lunfardo, which was the jargon of the lower classes in buenos aires in the late 19th/early 20th century. lunfardo was influenced by european, african and indigenous languages, integrating words and phrases from all of them. over time, it became part of our own vernacular, and many of its words and phrases are used now in everyday language, regardless of class. if you ever heard argentinian words like laburar, chamuyar, pibe, boludo, facha, etc., those are lunfardo.
so, let’s get back to manga. personally, i love these translations, and a lot of other people enjoy them as well. what some consider unfamiliar or weird, others consider refreshing and fun. the panel i used to introduce this post is a great example of rioplatense localization in manga. in this scene, hinata and kageyama ask tsukishima to help them study and he refuses. in the original japanese, hinata calls tsukishima kechishima (kechi: stingy + [tsuki]shima). the official english translates it to "stupishima" (though i should add that "stingyshima" is the more popular nickname, popularized by the official anime eng sub).
ivrea’s translation does the same pun here, but instead of using spanish equivalents like tacaño, mezquino, egoísta (or even more colloquial language like agarrado o amarrete), it chooses the word ortiva/ortiba.
ortiba is also lunfardo. this word is the result of reversing the order of the syllables in batidor (whisk). this word formation mechanism is called vesre (revés: reverse). it’s similar to back slang in english. this is extremely common in argentina. some popular examples of vesre are garpar (pagar: to pay), jermu (mujer: woman), garcar (cagar: to cheat, to swindle). here’s an example of vesre in dorohedoro:
sopermi = permiso (excuse me)
the term ortiba was originally used to refer to informers that worked for the police, snitches. nowadays, that meaning mostly fell into disuse. it’s more common to use ortiba for people who usually refuse to take part in certain activities or plans (which has some similarity to its original meaning, someone that betrays their peers). you can also be called ortiba if you’re someone grumpy or someone who doesn’t let other people enjoy themselves. there’s not really an agreement on the spelling, people use both ortiba and ortiva interchangeably. it can also be used as a verb (no te ortives). i think buzzkill, spoilsport, killjoy or party pooper are english nouns that are similar in meaning. let’s give an example:
rioplatense spanish:
a: ¿te pinta salir hoy?
b: no, ni ahí.
a: fua, qué ortiba.
english:
a: feel like going out today?
b: no, no way.
b: wow, what a buzzkill.
so, you probably get the gist of that haikyuu panel now. hinata is calling tsukishima un ortiva because he doesn’t want to help them with their studies, and suggests they should call him ortishima. i fear this will only be funny to you if you’re argentinian, but at least you learned something new about spanish today! yippee!
135 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love Me Tender/ j.m.k
Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader
Word Count: 2589
Warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI romantic josh, marking, oral sex (m & f receiving), whole lotta kissing, fingering, light biting, super light foot stuff (bare with me), very intimate & unprotected sex (wrap before you tap pls), breeding (do we expect anything else from me…), smoking
•
•
•
•
•
“C’mon, mama. We’re gonna be late.” Josh’s voice echoes from your shared bedroom into the bathroom.
The statement is quite ironic, Josh is almost always the reason you guys are “fashionably late” as he calls it. He didn’t disclose what he had planned for tonight, but he bought you a gorgeous black dress paired with silver heels. You assume something special as he’s finally home from tour, perhaps a small celebration of being back. He’s adamant you wear this specific outfit for tonight, but there’s one issue.
“I’m trying, baby! Can you come help me zip it?” The zipper starts at the middle of your back, making it almost impossible for you to zip on your own. You hear his footsteps through the bedroom.
He knocks his knuckles on the door frame. “Can I come in?”
“Of course, my love.”
He creaks the door open, walking up behind you in the mirror. Josh places his hands on your waist and his chin on your shoulder. He plants a kiss on your exposed shoulder before looking at your reflection in the mirror.
“Mm, fits you just how I like it. How’d I do? Does it feel okay?” He can’t take his eyes off of the plunging neckline in the reflection.
“It’s so pretty, the zipper’s in a weird spot, though. I can’t reach it.”
“Here, let me get it, angel.” He pulls away from you, leaving your back exposed to the cool air. He glides his hands down your hips and across your ass. You watch his reflection as his eyes lock onto the back of your lacy red bra he bought you for Valentine's Day.
“Y’know, I always liked this little number.” He runs his fingers under the elastic of the bra, tracing down your spine until he reaches the zipper.
“It always ends up on the floor before you get to see it!” You tease him.
“To be fair, I do like it better on the floor.” Josh is trying to get the zipper, but his fingers can’t grasp it.
Destined to get the dress zipped, Josh gets on his knees behind you. He places his hands on your hips for support as you feel his nose brush against your back. He’s attempting to pull the zipper up with his teeth. The feeling of him behind you like this drives you crazy, but you try to contain yourself knowing he has something planned for tonight. Your wandering mind is suddenly brought back to reality.
“Fuck!” Josh’s grip on your hips gets tight in anger.
“What happened, baby?” You were so busy daydreaming you hadn’t been paying attention.
“The fucking zipper broke.” He seems really upset about the faulty zipper.
“My love, I think I have a little black dress in the closet.” Before Josh can stop you, you make your way to the bedroom, and see it’s decorated with rose petals on the bed and unlit candles across the dresser.
“Josh, what’s all this for?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise for when we got home…” He stands in the doorway, looking defeated as all hell.
You feel bad for ruining his surprise, but in the same breath it turns you on knowing what his plans were for the night. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his neck, he places his hands on your waist in response.
“Joshy, this is so cute, I love you.” You pout your lip at him.
“Yeah? I love you, too, baby.” He pulls you into his chest and kisses your neck.
The kisses begin to grow deeper as he starts to leave hot marks across your skin, you let out a small moan in response to his touch.
“You know we could just stay here if you want.” Josh says between the heated kisses on your neck.
“I’m good with that, yeah.” Your hands run down the warm, soft skin of his neck before finding themselves resting on his pecs.
You slide your hands down, fidgeting with the end of his shirt before working your hands underneath the thin fabric. The dragging of your nails against his stomach causes Josh to let out a breathy sigh. He runs his fingers through your hair, gently tugging at the base of his grip. You slowly fall to your knees, running your hands down his torso and thighs, locking your fingers into the waistband of his pants. You maneuver your head under his shirt, your lips finding their way to the soft flesh of his navel. You begin peppering kisses across his tummy as your hands trace small circles on his barely exposed hip bones. His cock is growing hard against your throat, begging for attention under the rough denim. You inch his pants down his firm thighs, hands finding their way around his ass. You place soft kisses on his clothed cock as it twitches under your sweet touch. Running your wet lips over him through his boxes leaves a smudged stain of red lipstick around his length. You dip your fingers into the waistband, knuckles dragging over his prominent hip bones. You unveil him to yourself, taking in the great detail, each one telling a different story. With your hands on his hips, you run your tongue from the base of his cock up his shaft, lips finding their way around his leaking tip. The swirling of your tongue makes Josh moan as he places his hands on top of yours.
“Baby?” He gently whispers.
“Yes, my love?” His eyebrows furrow in almost sadness as you pull away from him to respond.
“Let me do my thing first.” Josh wasn’t asking, he was telling you.
His hands find their way cupped around your face as Josh pulls you to your feet. He lowers himself onto his knees, swapping the roles of which you each occupied moments before, bringing the dress down with him. The heavy, black fabric rests at your feet as Josh kneels eye level with your core. He hungrily kisses you through your bright red panties, eyes glistening with pure lust. He brushes two fingers against your middle and pushes the lacy number to the side, letting the cool air excite your pussy more. Josh begins placing heated kisses up your thigh before reaching your core, burying his face into your warmth. His nose is brushing against the light patch of hair you keep, per his request, as his lips position themselves around your aching clit. He begins eating you out like he’s been deprived of your taste, or perhaps had never been fed. Through breathy moans on both ends, Josh makes a point to periodically look up and check he’s pleasing you the way you deserve. Suddenly you feel two fingers rubbing through your folds before they press through your entrance. You let out a sharp moan, one that Josh knows to be a good sign. He starts curling his fingers inside of you slowly as he continues making love to your clit. Inching closer to the edge, you reach your hands down and rake your fingers through Josh’s hair, grabbing handfuls at the scalp. You writhe under his touch, rocking against his motions to gain more friction from his tongue.
“Feels good, hm?” He hums into your aroused flesh, you’re growing tighter around his fingers as you near your climax.
“Cum for me, mama.” Josh’s fingers start to pick up a faster pace as you reach your high.
He works you through your orgasm as he replaces his tongue with the pad of his thumb, moving his body in line with yours. The room spins around you as Josh slowly takes his fingers out from your throbbing cunt. Taking the hint from you toying with the bottom hem, Josh removes his shirt exposing the soft, blushed skin of his torso. You run a hand down his heated body moving down to stroke his length, placing kisses across the skin of his neck and chest. He burries his face in your neck and begins tracing the dip in your back with his fingertips, running his fingers up and down your sweat coated skin.
“Josh?” You sound needy, almost begging for the attention you already had.
“Yes?” He lifts his head from your shoulder and moves a hand to push back fallen strands of hair blocking the view of your face. His palm lingers beside your face, his thumb rubbing over the highest point of your cheek.
“Can we fuck?” You always felt silly asking, but you liked to make sure you were on the same page. There had been plenty times in the past where Josh wanted nothing more than to pleasure you, not worrying about his own release.
“Yeah, of course, mama.” The lust-filled look never left his eyes, but was now seemingly brighter at your request for more.
The two of you find your way over to the bed. Josh gently pushes you back into the pillows, sending the white rose petals flying around you. Josh slides the dress off of your ankles and tosses it onto the floor. He slowly takes your strappy, silver heels off of your feet, placing soft kisses along the bottom of each one followed by the circular motion of his thumbs. He positions himself between your legs and hovers over you, an arm on either side of your head as you trace the defined muscle of his biceps with your fingers. He leans his head down to touch his forehead to yours, making his cold pendant press against the heated skin of your sternum, cooling the triangular shape it rests upon your skin in. Foreheads touching, alongside the tips of your noses, Josh takes in all of you.
“Look at me, angel.” You open your eyes and see his brown doe eyes staring back at you.
His stare wasn’t anything fierce or scary. Usually prolonged eye contact made you uncomfortable, but his never did. From the moment you’d met Josh, you’d yearned for his eyes to be fixed on you any chance they got. Josh always loves to mention how the eyes are the windows to the soul, and each time he performs this act on you, you easily welcome him into your unlocked home. It’s always felt like he belonged there, inside of your soul. He has been the only one to see you so deeply and show you how it feels to love and be loved. He’s taken the time to make every sexual interaction with you feel connected no matter how heated the moment got. The soul bonding goes on for what feels like an eternity, but in reality only a few minutes have passed. During the time of getting lost in eachother’s minds, bodies and spirits, your legs found their way wrapped around his waist. Josh breaks the eye contact with a series of loving kisses to your plush lips. The sweet flavor of mint toothpaste, cigarettes and weed lingers on his tongue, a combination you longed for while he was gone.
“I missed you, and this…” You whisper between his taste.
“I missed you, too, mama. And I missed her.” He says as he dips his hips down pressing his solid length against your needy core.
You reach a hand down to grab onto his cock, rubbing him between your velvety folds before resting him at your entrance. You open your eyes to see if he’s watching, but his are screwed shut paired with furrowed brows and open lips. Placing your hands on either side of his face, you lift your hips into his, feeling every muscle in his body tighten and fall into the feeling of you.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He opens his eyes and presses his forehead to yours again, returning to the art of staring, this time more intimate than the last.
He moves his hands from beside your head to underneath your back, pulling you into his chest in a strong hug. Josh slowly moves his hips back and forth, making sure to dip down at the end of each stroke to rub against your clit. You run your fingertips over his bare back as his grip deepens into yours. Josh can make you cum almost instantly when he wants to, but he was taking his time, wanting to feel you for as long as he can. Sweat begins to form on each of your bodies, his wet curls resting against your forehead.
“I’m so close, baby.” He loosens his grip on your back and snakes his arms out from underneath you.
He places them against the headboard, pushing himself up from you but never leaving your shelter. Josh reaches back for your legs and throws them over his shoulders, lifting your lower back off of the bed by a few inches. His strokes become longer with more desire behind each one as he places a mix of kisses and soft bites on the inside of your calf. One of his hands finds its way resting on your lower stomach, his thumb hovering above your clit, applying heavy pressure as his hips crash into yours. You start wiggling and whining under his touch as you near your second orgasm, you can tell he’s getting closer to the edge too by the faltering in his movements.
“Keep fucking me right there. Just like that.” You let out a crying moan. “Fuuuck! Oh my- Josh! That feels so fucking- oh my god I’m-” Before you can finish your thought, Josh brings you to another climax as he follows shortly behind.
“Oh, mama. Fuck, you’re so tight. Want me to cum in my tight little pussy?” You’ve always been entirely his, but hearing Josh claim ownership makes you melt into his touch.
You nod yes and he wastes no time following instructions. His hips stutter and you feel his twitching cock fill you to the brim, his warm release coating the inside of your orgasm swollen pussy. The prolonged eye contact is broken as Josh’s head falls back, his lips parted and neck on full display. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he attempts to catch his faltering breath. He brings his head back where it belongs. Looking entirely fucked out of this world, he slowly lowers himself ontop of you peppering kisses along your jawline. You wrap your hands around the back of his head, running your fingers through the sweat-soaked curls at the nape of his neck. Once Josh catches his breath he rolls off of you, laying on his back. He lazily reaches over into the top drawer of the dark oak side table that resides next to your shared bed. You turn to your side and lean up on your arm to watch the movement of his bare body. Josh returns with a pack of yellow American Spirits and a black lighter. He flips the top open and presses his lips to the pack, pulling one cigarette out in the sexiest way anyone could. He closes the top and lets the pack fall into the dip of his chest, bringing the lighter to the cigarette.
“You want one?” He puffs the cigarette and blows the smoke away from you.
“Can I?” You reach for the pack but Josh waves your hand away.
“Let me get it, mama.” He returns the pack to his hand, this time grabbing one out with his index and thumb.
He presses the cigarette between your swollen lips and lights it with the cherry of his own.
#josh kiszka smut#greta van fic#greta van fleet#greta van fluff#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van smut#gvf fic#gvf smut#one shot#josh kiszka#josh m kiszka#joshua michael kiszka#josh kiskza fanfic#fan fiction#greta van fanfic#gvf fanfiction#fan fic#fanfic
329 notes
·
View notes
Text
♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖? 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖?! ₊˚ˑ༄
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: hiii!!!! hru? i have a little bit specific request, hope thats ok!!!
idk if u know the translation from the song “karakuri pierrot” by miku, but basically shes gettin dumped cuz her crush left her waiting on the date and never came 😭
id like to request smth based on this song with fantasista squad, like, they forgot abt the date and then theyre like😨😨😨😨((a happy ending would be appreciated <3
sorry if its too much, if it bothers you just ignore this LMAOAAOAO😭😭😭
anyways ty and bye!🤍
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hii! I'm sorry but u don't do songfics but it still sounded interesting so I just based it on your description! Hope it's alright!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff
Affiliation with @virtualbookstore
"What the hell is wrong with this strand..."
Akito muttered to himself as he tried styling his hair a bit more elegantly. He had a date at a restaurant with you today and he prefered to look properly on it.
He was fully focused on his hair, getting a bit annoyed... he let our so many curses, even Ena came to his room and gave him instecutions just so he could shut up! But despite her tips... he had that one annoying hair strand that he couldn't get a hang of...
He finally decided to just look up some tutorials on internet, when he noticed the time... it was half an hour after the time you agreed to meet! And the amount of messages he got from you only told him how pissed you could be now...
He decided to drop his tries at calming the strand and just get to you as soon as he could, hoping that you were still there... you didn't leave this place yet, right? At least you haven't texted him about it...
He tried not to run to not sweat in his suit, so he settled on quick walk. When he arrived he noticed you getting up from a bench, clearly disappointed and about to leave, and he couldn't blame you for it...
"I'm sorry... I... I had a little problem."
He points at his hair strand as soon as he walked up to you, and you couldn't help but chuckle. He was dressed formally but that strand was ruining everything about this style!
"Hehe~ You really did. You could've asked me, I would've helped you..."
"I guess I will next time... you look beautiful, thank you for waiting for me... let's catch up, alright? My treat. And we can go to mall after it..."
You knew how much he hated going to mall, and now he didn't even said anything about not caring your bags so maybe he will? He really looked like he wasn't lying so... might as well forgive him for this one time situation, right?
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @hayillaaaaaaa - come get your pancakes lover!
Toya actually wasn't late, he'd be even 5 or 10 minutes early in this tempo so he walked calmly. It was when he was walking past some granny who was clearly struggling and he couldn't just walk past without caring...
"Excuse me, are you alright?"
And that's how it started... it turned out the older lady had a problem with getting 2 bags up to 4th floor, so of course he helped. And after he did that? She offered him some cookies, cup of coffee and even a small chat... she was so nice and chatty he couldn't just say he needs to go...
So thinking he has the time, he accepted it and didn't even realize it was half an hour that passed untill he looked at his phone, and finally excused himself.
"<I'm aware I'm running late, please wait just 10 more minutes for me, I'll be there soon and explain everything to you.>"
He texted you in a hurry as he picked up his peace and quickly walked towards location of your date.
When he finally arrived, he was just a little bit out of breath but quickly sat down next to you and as soon as he catched his breath, he explained everything to you.
And honestly, how can you even be mad at someone as pure as him? He just wanted to help person in need after all... sure, it's still 30 minutes delay but just this time, maybe he can be forgiven for that...
"And when I thought she finished telling me about her cat's story for past 15 minutes, it turned out she had 3 more cats..."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @toyaslove @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram - come get your cookie lover!
It may be a simple date, but for Tsukasa? It was big event and he had to look dazzling! He didn't care if he was rejecting 5th outfit by now nor did he about passing time... he thought he still had time and continued looking for perfect outfit for your date!
And when he finally found it... the perfect outfit! He finally reached for his phone but froze upon seeing the time... he was 1,5 hours late already and had around 17 unread messages from you!!
"<Y'know what? Fine. I'm going home. Thanks for nothing.>"
"<I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE YET>"
"<Too bad, I'm already home since HALF AN HOUR>"
He could feel his heart sinking and he knew all of that is his fault alone. So he got up quickly and ran straight towards your house.
After around 10 minutes since Tsukasa's text, you heard a knock on your door, so you of course went to open, just for flowers and chocolates to be showed into your face when you did.
"Please forgive me... I wanted to look my best and... I had hard time deciding..."
"You're always looking your best... you could've just came..."
"I know, I should. And I'm really sorry that I didn't! Please let me take you out on a date... this time I'll be an hour early."
He had desperate look in his eyes as he tried to convince you to give him just one last chance... but whether you give him this chance or not, is only up to you! I mean... he does assure you plenty of times to set multiple alarms next time just in case... maybe he'll indeed do better from now on?
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @bad-the-an-enjoyer @yulikesminori @alicewinterway18 @nenes-numberonefan - come get your future star~
Rui hummed gentle tune to himself while he was working on a robot. He was fully focused but he forgot to mute his phone... so he kept hearing notifications in the background but ignored it, thinking it's Tsukasa having spider under his bed again... and that could wait a little bit~
But when notifications became too much, he finally checked it and his face immidietly turned to pure shock and nervousness when he noticed it's his partner... and it hit him, he forgot about the date! He quickly opened your texts and rushes to respond while he got dressed.
"<We can cancel it I guess...>"
"<Nononono!! I'm coming now, I'm so sorry for making you wait! Please give me 5 more minutes, I promise to run!>"
At this point, he was panicking, he just grabbed essential things and of course little gift he prepared for you, and ran out of his house.
When he arrives, you were just sitting on a bench with head in your hands, obviously disappointed and it was obvious he hurt your feelings. Seeing that, he immidietly rushed to you and wrapped his arms around you and caressing your back.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... It won't happen again, I promise..."
He could only wrap his arms around you tighter and he tried fighting the tears himself, realization of him driving you to this point finally hitting him. But now, he'll do his best to catch up for his mistake and make this date one to remember.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram @superstar-ethereal - come get your crazy inventor~
#virtualnetwork#project sekai#colorful stage#x reader#project sekai x reader#colorful stage x reader#project sekai colorful stage#project sekai colorful stage x reader#akito shinonome#toya aoyagi#tsukasa tenma#rui kamishiro#akito shinonome x reader#toya aoyagi x reader#tsukasa tenma x reader#rui kamishiro x reader#project sekai akito shinonome#project sekai toya aoyagi#project sekai tsukasa tenma#project sekai rui kamishiro#project sekai akito x reader#project sekai toya x reader#project sekai tsukasa x reader#project sekai rui x reader#fluff#project sekai fluff#headcanons#project sekai headcanons
113 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jealousy
Description: You don’t want to get caught up in a friends with benefits situation with Sherlock so you attempt to go on a date. Key word attempt.
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: 18+ p in v sex, oral (male recevng) kinda shaming but not too bad.
——————————————————————————
Your intentions were never to get caught up in a friends with benefits situation with anyone, especially not with someone as peculiar as Sherlock Holmes, but that was before the worst and probably most stressful days of your lives. He had to admit he couldn’t solve a case and you barely got through the day while managing to keep your job after the mess up with authors and the books they had written, honestly there needs to be less people with the surname smith in the world. You had both found yourself collapsed and slightly drunk on the sofa of 221B, you’re not denying it wasn’t good sex. Because in all honesty it was probably the best sex you’d ever had and he clearly enjoyed it because he kept coming back for more, to be specific exactly twenty three times in the space of three and a half weeks. It was becoming clear he never really was stressed every time, but how can you reject an offer from a man so good looking. You’d always been fond of his dark curls, baby blue eyes and especially the way he sirts clung around his biceps. But you hadn’t looked at him that much? Well that was a lie you found yourself staring at him whenever you could, and he enjoyed it, especially when he mentioned it during the deed. But now it has to stop, you have a date and you’re walking down the stairs in the nicest dress you could find, because you like this guy, and that's when he saw you.
“Can we have a moment?” He stood up eyes already scanning your body
“I told you last time was the last time.” You sigh picking up your keys
“Why?” He moans almost like a child
“Because it's not good for roommates to be in a friends with benefits situation. It causes problems.” You weren’t exactly lying, every American rom-com had explained that.
“Fine then, what if we weren’t friends? I never liked you much anyways, there's more to life than books you know. One has to open their eyes to broader horizons” he sighed moving in front of the doorway
“Good to know, now one has to go, I have a date.” You mock him as you push past. You feel his hand on your wrist stopping you in your tracks, his touch burned your skin, your body craves him.
“A date why would you do that to yourself?” He asks
“What do you mean?” You say pulling your wrist away subtly checking it to see if he really did burn you, of course he didn’t.
“Why would you want to go to a semi decent restaurant and conversate with a person you barely know and hope that they’re not just looking for a one night stand?”
“Because I barely know him and he’s a sweet guy who can pick out a good restaurant. How would you know anyways, you’re afraid of commitment.” You snap back but he pulls you again, you can tell by the look in his eyes, somehow you were going to pay for that.
“Don’t make me order you.” His tone depended and his eyes were filled with lust. You rolled your lips together before you said your reply
“I’d like to see you try.” You gulped, never letting go of your eye contact. He let go biting the side of his cheek as he watched you leave the building, he was angry but he felt the need to ruin that confidence. He knew by the end of the night he’d have you on your knees one way or another begging for him.
———————————-
Somehow despite the slight detour of that conversation you had managed to make it to the restaurant on time. Jamie was already there dressed in a smart shirt, fitting for the restaurant you were at. His eyes lit up when he saw you.
“Hey i’m so glad we can finally do this” he stood up and made his way to your side of the table and pulled out your chair.
“Such a gentleman” you laughed as he tucked you into the table. You open the menu and he surprises you with ordering a bottle of wine for the table.
“So how is work?” He asks
“Oh you know same old same old” you sigh
“Yeah but did you close the Anderson deal?” He pressed on
“Unfortunately not yet, but let's leave work at the door.” You ask
“For now sure.” He smiles, the rest of the date was fairly normal with all the usual things being asked. Your gaze switches from picking at your sub average food towards the man entering the building. Oh god, you could recognize those curls from a mile away. For fuck sake Sherlock. The waiter smiles warmly at him as she leads him to the table exactly next to yours.
“I think- is that, Sherlock Holmes?” Jamie exclaims
“Yup” you sigh “unfortunately so” you head falls into your palms
“Oh I didn’t expect to see you here!” He wears a fake smile as he sits down at his table shuffling his seat.
“You two know each other?” Jamie asks excitedly
“Yes we do.” Sherlock replies looking at the menu
“Remember that weird roommate I was telling you about?” You glare at him, ensuring he knows what you’re suggesting
“That's him, no way!”
“This is Thai food, I thought you hated Thai food.” Sherlock looks at you “and have you not noticed the sub standard way he’s dressed along with the notebook he has to take notes to improve his publishing skills. What was it? Uhh, Jason, are you sure this is a date?” He smirks
“It's Jamie, and uh I- well maybe I was” Jamie stutters and looks over to you.
“Why are you here sherlock? And if you wanted help you could’ve just asked. Don’t lead me on for three months then take me on a crappy date.” You begin to pack up your stuff.
“Wait, please I- uh i’m sorry.” Jamie does move from his seat
“Uh huh sure looks like it, hope you enjoyed your free lesson because my meal was crap.” You look over to the manager of the restaurant who looks somewhat hurt by your words. Feeling bad you slam a £10 note on the table before storming off.
“What can I get you?” The waitress asks Sherlock.
“Sorry but change of plan.” Sherlock folds the menu up and places it on the table and hands a tip to the waitress “sorry for the trouble” he smiles and follows you out of the restaurant.
———————————
You stood outside the door to baker street red with anger, not only did he push his way into the date, but he also ruined it. Yeah maybe it was a bad way but it was supposed to be a way to get over his stupid dick, not that he needed to know that.
“I’m sorry, my intentions weren’t-
“Don’t start that Sherlock, you’re a good detective but a shit liar.” You huff pushing through the door.
“Well i was unsure given how you left” he followed you up the stairs, you stopped in your tracks. Oh he’s really done it now.
“How i left?” You sighed, Sherlock stood back slightly he’d never seen you like this before “you mean me telling you didn’t wanna be your stress relief anymore and actually trying to be an adult. What were you so unsure about? Please enlighten me.”
“How about the past three weeks of practically begging on your knees for me?” He snapped back
“Oh yeah sure because it only takes one person to fuck, how about last week or about two hours ago if I remember correctly, do you want me to go on. I told you we can’t do it anymore! Why do you think I was on this date?!” You paused knowing you’d said too much
“What are you talking about?” He tilts his head
“I may have only gone on this date because I didn’t want to think what we had was becoming something else, you don’t do all these normal people things.” You laugh to yourself “I was trying to get over your dick.”
“Why should you?” He stepped closer, you took a stepback back until you hit the wall.
“What do you mean?” You ask, he answered swiftly by latching his lips to yours, pining you between him and the wall, your lips part as he pushes his tongue through causing you to send a whimper into his mouth
“Just admit it, you need me. I know I need you.” He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, he carried you into the apartment and dropped you against the door where he began to take off your clothes. You reached to undo the buttons of his shirt and he smacked your desperate hands away.
“Why?” You whimpered
“Because you wanted someone else, you denied me of what i wanted. Now you have to wait for what you want, until I decide you’re forgiven.” His eyes were dark with lust as he pawed your body removing your layers. He turned you around and spread your legs apart. You heard the familiar sound of his belt unbuckling and then the tingling sensation of him rubbing his cock up and down your slick folds. He entered you with one hard thrust causing your face to press into the hard wood of the door as he fucked you.
“Fuck-sherlock plea-“ he cut you off covering your mouth with his hand.
“Wouldn’t want Mrs Hudson to hear now do we?” He continued his movement causing the door to rattle, he rubbed against the soft spot inside, his thickness and curve entered you perfectly. His cock rubbed your insides just right, tightening the coil inside you.
“F-fuck Sherlock. Gonna cum.” You whimper as he grunts, pushing you closer to your release.
“Fuck- so tight.” He moaned. Your body’s heat began to rise as you grew ever closer to you release, he let it build up gripping harder and pushing deeper waiting, until he stopped. He pulled himself out, wiping the sweat from his brow and straightening his collar.
“What the hell?” You turned around watching as he sat in his chair tucking his hardness away.
“I’m stopping you from getting what you wanted.” He said holding his hands together in his usual pose
“Why would you do that?” You ask slightly irritated at the mess he left you in
“You did it to me, I thought it was only fair.” He tilts his head pulling a sarcastic smirk.
“You’re a drama queen.” You walk over to him “and an ass” you kneel between his legs “and you’re-“
“Choose your next words wisely.” His hand gripped your chin pushing your lips together. You gripped his wrists and pulled them away, snaking your hands down his thighs, back to his hardness.
“And you’re incredibly jealous.” You say with a smile, his thighs clenched as your hands run over his crotch and unbuckling his belt. He let out a long sigh as you took his cock into your hands. You pumped him for a moment, allowing his body to relax into the chair before circling your tongue around his tip, your saliva mixing with the salty taste of precum dripping from him. You licked a stripe up his shaft eventually sinking your mouth down, swallowing as much as you could.
“That's it, take it all for me, good girl.” He hissed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You bobbed up and down moaning onto him, sending vibrations down his shaft. You pulled back up, sucking on his tip and pumping him with your hand. His thighs clenched as he pushed you away. “Not yet, can’t cum too soon.”
“Why? can't go again?” You smile
“Don’t ask stupid questions love.” He sniped back as you straddled his waist “you gonna cum around my cock” he watched as you placed your entrance above his hardness.
“You going to let me this time? Or are you- shit!” You yelped out as he thrusted up into you. You panted over him as you sunk down pushing him deeper
“What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked and began pushing back up into you as you grinded along with the pace. Your hands gripped his shoulders to steady yourself as the motion rocked his chair. His lips traced your jawline down to your neck, he sucked leaving red marks along your neckline. His arm wrapped around your waist allowing him to hold you up as he thrusted hard into you.
“Fuck sherlock , j-just like that.” You whispered as he cock pushed deeper rubbing perfectly on that sweet spot inside. He groaned at the sensation of your walls tightening around him.
“Fuck, you gonna cum on my cock, soak it, just the way i like it.” He moaned moving his thumb to your swollen clit adding to the sensation. The chair began to rock and creak with the motion of your bodies colliding.
“Oh god Sh-Sherlock gonna cum.” You squealed as your body clenched around him, his touch burned your skin. You needed him, the way he made you feel didn’t even come close to the way anyone else could.
“I bet Jamie couldn’t make you look like this, paralysed over my cock.” He let out a groan as his pace stuttered. “You want me to cum pretty girl?”
“Yes, please, I want it.” You begged rocking on his lap.
“Where do you want it pretty girl?” He grunted
“In me, please, I want you to fill me up. Sherlock please, I need it. All yours, only you.”
“I’ll give it to you- fuck. Gonna paint your insides white.” He bit down on your shoulder, lavishing you neck with kisses as he came, the squelching sound of him pushing his thick white ropes further into you filled the room. You stopped rocking, resting your brow on his with a smile, his eyes locked on yours before he leaned in for an exhausted sloppy kiss. He pulled away admiring the marks he left on your neck.
“What?” You asked as he traced his fingers around them.
“Now when you or anyone else looks at these, they’ll know you’re mine.” He smirked as you sighed
“Your arrogance will be the death of me”
“As long as its only because i fucked you to your grave, thats fine. But don’t go too soon.” He pulled you in for a tired hug, you hummed happily, savouring the moment. It wasn’t often Sherlock Holmes showed you affection.
#bbc sherlock#sherlock holmes#benedict cumberbatch x female!reader#friends with benefts#sherlock smut#sherlockbbc#sherlock bbc#sherlock fluff#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock fanfic#benedict cucumber#benedict cumberbatch#Spotify
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)
genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst
pairing: yoongi x reader
summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.
word count: 16k 🙈
contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡
A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜
A/N 2: as of 5/27, this chapter has been updated to remove the instances of anti-asian discrimination. i want to expressly state how sorry i am to those who were hurt or otherwise upset by the original content. please know that i mean it when i say i am fully committed to listening and doing better moving forward. 💜
an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!
read on AO3!
chapter eight |��masterlist | chapter ten
~*~
You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.
You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.
The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”
You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?
“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.
“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.
You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.
“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”
Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.
“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.
When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.
You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.
“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”
The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.
Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.
Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?
Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.
But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.
Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.
“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.
“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.
~*~
Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.
Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.
She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”
“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”
The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”
Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.
“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.
She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”
You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.
“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”
There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”
It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.
Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.
“Are you fucking kiddin—”
“Hey.”
A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.
“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.
It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.
Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.
“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”
“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”
The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.
He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.
“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”
Of fucking course.
The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.
And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.
“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”
The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.
It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.
~*~
You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.
When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.
Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.
“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.
He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.
The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.
“You wear glasses?”
The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”
“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.
“Wow, glasses? Really?”
“What?”
“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.
You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”
You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”
The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”
You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”
He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.
“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.
“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.
“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”
You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”
“Guess so.”
The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.
His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.
You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.
The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.
At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.
“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”
“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.
“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”
He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”
“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”
The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.
“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”
They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.
“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”
As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.
“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.
The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.
You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.
“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”
Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”
“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”
Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.
“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”
“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”
Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”
You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”
“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.
“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.
“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”
All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”
“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.
“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”
“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.
“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”
“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.
“Is it?”
“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”
You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”
“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.
“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”
A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.
“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.
Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.
You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.
And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.
A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.
You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”
He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”
“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”
“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”
You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”
“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”
“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.
“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”
The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”
Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”
You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”
“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.
“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.
The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.
“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”
“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.
After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.
“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”
You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”
“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.
“So, can I be honest?”
“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.
“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”
You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”
The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”
Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”
A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”
Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.
“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”
“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”
Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”
While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.
A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.
Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.
The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.
So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.
Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.
“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.
“I am?”
“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.
“So are you,” Yoongi counters.
“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”
“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”
“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”
Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”
You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”
There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”
You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”
The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.
True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.
There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.
Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.
Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.
“Are you nervous?”
When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”
“The Grammys?”
“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”
The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?
~*~
You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.
Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.
“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?
But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.
“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”
“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”
He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him.
Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”
When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.
He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.
Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.
“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.
“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”
He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.
“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”
Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.
He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.
“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.
“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.
“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.
But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.
He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.
“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.
It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.
“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”
“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”
When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”
You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”
Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.
“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.
“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.
“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”
Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.
“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”
His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”
The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.
Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.
You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”
His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.
And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.
It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.
Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.
“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”
“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”
“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.
Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.
This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.
“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”
And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.
The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.
“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue.
You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.
“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”
There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.
Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.
Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.
Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.
With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.
But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.
Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.
He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”
Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.
His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”
“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”
“Are you asking for my help?”
Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.
When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.
“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”
“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.
His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.
You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.
His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”
You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.
“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.
As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.
“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.
And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.
“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.
“He has good taste.”
You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.”
You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.
By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.
As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.
“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.
“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”
You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.
“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.
“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.
“Do you know Sakamoto?”
You hum a no as you shake your head.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”
A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”
Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”
It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.
“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.
You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.
Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.
You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt.
Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.
As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.
They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.
You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.
“And the Grammy goes to…”
You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.
Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.
But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.
You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.
Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.
There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.
You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.
He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.
“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”
“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.
The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.
Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.
When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.
“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”
Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.
“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”
“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”
Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”
Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.
“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”
Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.
“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”
Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”
When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.
“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.
But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.
Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.
Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.
“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”
~*~
The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.
“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.
Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.
It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.
You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”
He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”
You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”
Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”
The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”
As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”
“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”
A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”
You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.
Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.
“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”
Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.
You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.
“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”
You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”
With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.
“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”
Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.
“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.
“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”
He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”
“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”
“Uh huh.”
“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”
Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”
“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”
“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”
You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”
“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”
There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”
You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”
“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”
For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.
“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”
“Sounds like a good story.”
“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”
“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”
You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”
“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”
You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”
“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”
“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”
Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”
With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.
“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.
“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”
“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”
Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”
“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”
Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”
“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.
“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”
When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.
After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.
With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.
Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.
“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”
You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.
“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”
The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.
“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”
The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.
Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”
And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.
Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”
When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”
“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”
His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”
Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”
“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.
If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.
You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.
The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”
Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.
“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.
“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.
With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.
You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”
“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”
When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.
“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.
Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.
Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.
The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.
“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”
He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”
You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”
A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.
“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”
Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”
“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”
“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.
Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.
He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.
The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.
“Hey, we’re closing in five.”
You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.
“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”
Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.
Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.
“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”
“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.
You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”
“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.
“You’re what?”
It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.
“In love with you.”
His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.
“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.
The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.
In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.
“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.
“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.
You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”
“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.
“It was,” you echo. “Really.”
The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.
Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.
With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.
“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”
“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.
“Uh-oh.”
“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”
There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”
“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”
“And?”
You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.
“On?” you snap, impatient.
“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”
His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”
“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”
You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”
“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”
You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.
The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.
You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.
There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.
Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.
Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”
You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."
As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.
chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten
A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Secret Weapon
“Imagine saying yes sir/no sir to either Time or Warriors.”
So I did. With Warriors. I should also be asleep right now but yee ask and yee shall have! Enjoy ;^)
- Wizard anon
Content: gender neutral reader, semi public sex (in an alley where they dgaf about being quiet), and of course, use of titles.
Word count: 677
—
You said it as a joke. A sarcastic remark, eye roll and all. Warriors had been giving orders all day, making sure everything was in order and everyone had their delegated supplies. Perhaps he was being a bit stubborn, a bit bossy even, but it's not easy organising rations, medkits, potions, magical items, and general travel gear for nine rambunctious heroes whose general approach to adventuring is ‘winging it’ and nothing more half the time! Especially since you've joined their group, the wallet balancing for the items you specifically require has caused a headache on more than one occasion. (That is partially his fault, he knows. Perhaps he put an extra potion for you in the budget. And some sweets. Nobody's checking him on it.)
Whether you meant it seriously as not, it doesn't change what you said completely blindsided him with how fucking turned on it left him.
“Pack all of this in a smaller travel pouch, for easy access. Spare clothes go in a bigger bag, but keep a small towel on you at all times just in case. And don't forget the potions - those in a quick access pouch too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Plenty of people have called him sir before. It’s a secondary title that comes along with being a Captain. A polite way to address someone you do not know in mixed company, too. But there's something about it coming out of your mouth. Something that alights inside him like nothing else.
He has you pinned to the wall in an alley. The group is supposed to be leaving the town within the hour, but he's balls deep inside you, breath hot against your neck as you twitch around him, hands pulling at his hair.
“Say it again, darling, fuck… does it feel good?”
“Yes, sir, so good..!”
He groans, his grip on your waist tightening to bruise as he pistons inside you. You whine, and he doesn't care that someone may hear. He wants to keep hearing your pretty voice say his title over and over and over. And oh, does it sound divine.
Warriors continues to pound into you, kissing and sucking your neck to feel your words against his lips. When a desperate “sir, please” tumbles out of your mouth for the first time, he bites down and goes even faster, rhythm lost in chasing his own pleasure. The things a simple three letter word does to him, when out of your mouth - he's never going to be able to hear it normally again. The next party he has to go to? It’s going to fill his mind with your moans and gasps and how you milk his cock in this moment, each time he hears it. You've ruined him.
With one more gasp, you orgasm, shuddering around him as he continues to chase his own building pleasure. He pulls out at the last moment, spilling all over his hand with a groan. Some unfortunately gets on your tunic, but you're too busy catching your breath to notice.
You both take a second to breathe, and bask in the afterglow.
“So. How long has that got you going for? Surely you haven't been getting a boner every time someone respects your rank.”
He groans, this time not out of pleasure.
“I don't even know where it came from. Just… don’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, no, this will be my personal secret weapon. I'm keeping this knowledge and using it later. Absolutely - you won’t survive this, gorgeous.” The petname does not dampen the threat, and he silently prays to the gods above that you at least behave in front of the rest of the group.
The prayer is interrupted by your “Aw, man, we got jizz on my tunic! I washed this yesterday.”
He laughs. “Good thing you listened to my instructions and packed a small towel on you, right?”
Your face lights up. At least you were paying attention to everything he said, not just the embarrassing bits. Not that he's complaining. He will want to hear it again. Hopefully soon.
--------------
Time for me to ascend again, I guess 🥴
#submission#.bea answers#🧙 anon#smut#link x reader smut#link x reader#loz link x reader#loz x reader#loz smut
164 notes
·
View notes
Note
Sjskwjskwk I had a cute random thought and I would LOOOOVE if you attempted it!! (Pretty please) Jus a cute lil short of reader attempting to make her own food because she feels she’s a bother to Sanji since he’s always making her things. Kind of like wanting to make him something in return but she fails miserable and he catches her in the act?? Idk random ik lmao but it would be darn cute😪😪💙
That’s TEW cute. Okay, enjoy!
Baking for Sanji (FLUFF)
WC: 900
Black Fem Reader in Mind
CW: None! Alotta fluff though.
-
“So two cups of milk—dammit where is the measuring cup?”
You managed to have the kitchen to yourself now that everybody has gone to bed. Even the cook of the ship considering he was exhausted from not only making meals all day but from having to fight off countless unneeded enemies that approached you all in the sea.
You couldn’t help, but notice how quick and swift Sanji was to save you from many close calls as you were fighting as well and he does it constantly. Sure, you all have grown to respect, know, and even become a family so it’s normal you all have each others back and it’s appreciated without saying, acts of service was everybody’s love language to each other including you, but you also wanted to give him a little something as a thank you. He mentioned he enjoyed a specific pastry once, but he never had the time to make it and you actually knew what he wanted because you’ve had it before in your childhood.
However you wasn’t a very good baker, but you wanted to try it none the less and surprise him that morning. As a thank you.
“Dang it!” You screamed the metal mixing bowl slipping from your clumsy fingers and crashing onto the recently cleaned floors. You mentally slap yourself hoping nobody heard and comes rushing in. It was already a pain to get Luffy out of the kitchen before you started.
The kitchen that was usually filled with delicious aroma that could overflow the ship was now filled with burning crust and sounds of the fire alarm going off. Your Sanji’s apron was covered in chocolate and flour as well as your hair, face and arms, you immediately grabbed a towel to fan out the smoke curses flow out your mouth of how annoyed you were at this whole silly situation and you hope Sanji doesn’t get too mad if he caught you ruining his kitchen.
“Y/N?”
You felt you organs drop down your stomach, you turned slowly, face hot as can be hoping it wasn’t the cook, but of course it was.
“What—what are doing? Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry!” You groaned in defeat leaning on the kitchen island, “I am I really wanted to make that chocolate pastry you liked and surprise you, but my dumbass can’t bake for crap so I thought okay maybe if I followed the directions I wouldn’t mess up, but half of your cookbooks are in French and I could only use the pictures, and then I panicked an—“
Sanji Just started laughing, his voice erupted in the room and bouncing off the walls, the look of pure horror and panic was so cute to him. He stared at you the entire time with big round hearts, you were so cute! You had on his apron that he never really cared to use, but it fit you like a glove, it reminded him so much of when he first started cooking. Of course he wasn’t angry, he was flattered.
“Hey! Stop laughing!” You poured out your lip sulking on the messy counter, he wiped his teary eyes and pulled out a cigarette to light before coming next to you and rubbing your back. “I just wanted to surprise you.”
He swore his heart skipped a beat. He would have ate it whether it came out perfect or burnt. The thought of you cooking for him out of the blue made him smile with glee. Sanji turned at the mess you made did happily sighed.
“How about we bake it together, sweetheart?”
You side eye’s him, your cheeks warmed again seeing as he was so close to your side, hand dangerously low on your back tracing shapes on your skin. He grabs the towel and wipes your cheek gently, earning him a small grin from you.
“You’re not mad?”
“Never! I could never be mad at you! It’s the thought that counts, my love! Besides you look so amazing in that apron!”
His heart eyes were all over your body, he truly adorned you and so you both spent the night in the kitchen baking and having some nice quality time together. Sanji usually doesn’t enjoy cooking with others, but you made it fun.
Mostly because all you did was keep him company as you talked and taste tested for him while sitting on the counter.
“And Voilà!” He pulled out the plate to you, they looked and smelled amazing, your eyes drooling over the sweet treats in front of you and there was no mess to clean afterwards.
“Perfect as always, Mr. Prince.”
He blushed, taking a pastry in his hand he held it up to your mouth , “Say ah.”
You do as told and took a bite, he smiled at your happy reaction to the taste, it was heavenly,
“Thank you! Next time I have to bake for you though!”
“No worries, Angel. Its my pleasure to feed you.” Sanji kissed your forehead before giving you another pastry to eat, but this time you pulled him in between your legs and fed him.
“Say ah.”
His face was so cutely pink as you placed it in his mouth to bite into making you giggle, it reminded you of when you were a kidand you expressed that to him before as he was mixing the ingredients which is why he made sure to take his time, because as much as you appreciated Sanji he damn sure appreciated you.
#one piece#TimikosSanji#one piece headcanons#black reader#one piece x female reader#sanji#sanjionepiece#sanji imagine#sanji x black reader#sanji x reader#one piece drabble#one piece fluff#one piece sfw#sanji fluff#Sanji SFW#Sanji Drabble#Sanji x Black Fem Reader#one piece x black!reader#x female reader#female reader#black foot sanji#one piece scenario
576 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please more rookvil content~
Perhaps some headcanons on how Rook absolutely ravishes Vil ❤️
Also on his obsession and subsequent antics
Siiigh how much I love to talk about RookVil~
We do have a couple of headcanon posts about them, and I’ll leave some links in case anyone wants to read them, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get a new portion of some smutty ones, Anon. There isn’t a lot, but they ended up being a bit lengthy, so I hope you enjoy them.
The first RookVil hc post (sfw + nsfw)
RookVil’s first time
Yandere!Rook/Vil
Alright, so the new ones!
They absolutely did have sex after the Beanfest (AND during it too!) and they absolutely did have sex after the first part of the Halloween event… and after the second part too. Both of the times they spent quite a lot of time without sex prior to that, because Vil has this weird thing when he doesn’t let Rook touch him when he’s preparing for something important. Vil always says that it’s just so they can concentrate, but in actuality it’s a mix of him wanting to have a reward for himself and him wanting Rook to be absolutely starved, unhinged and animalistic when they finally get to bang each other’s brains out.
There has been a couple of times when Rook fucked Vil until he passed out. Usually Vil always tries to wash himself as soon as possible after sex, and Rook doesn’t really mind getting all dirty and marinate in each other’s juices for some time (ew), so whenever he fucks Vil so hard that he passes out, he gets so shamelessly happy. And of course he touches Vil while he’s asleep with 0 energy…
Rook knows better than to ruin Vil’s nice designer pieces, but when it’s something easily replaceable, he could rip his clothes off of Vil’s body while undressing him. He’s ruined a couple of his nice shirts because of this + a bunch of Vil’s underwear. Vil could get angry at him for that, but Rook usually puts Vil in a necklock and chokes him right after that. He actually chokes him quite often, and it gets Vil very defenseless and painfully turned on.
Speaking of Rook’s obsessions… I would say that he keeps a diary in which he records every sexual interaction he’s ever had with Vil, but knowing Rook I’d assume that he just… remembers all this stuff. He remembers too many extremely specific details, and Vil always complains that he clutters his mental storage with this non-important junk. But that’s just Vil being embarrassed that Rook remembers every time Vil said something dirty to him during sex.
Rook used to write poems about Vil’s certain body parts and how much he loves to fuck them. He still does this sometimes, but when they just started dating he wrote like 5 poems per day. Vil is conflicted about those: he reads them of course, but still scolds Rook for writing them. But also never throws them away. But also says that they are way too obscene for anyone to read and if someone finds them he’ll have to poison that person.
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
why we work
pairing: non-idol!han x gn!reader
genre: fluff.
word count: ~0.7k
warnings: mentions of couple's costumes (some gendered but reader is never specifically one or the other). reader is mentioned to be more introverted.
daisy's notes: i think abt the skz log where he just has a cozy day at home. relatable. parties can be fun but also sometimes... i simply want to curl up at home <3
“I dunno… I just don’t know how many cute couple’s costumes there are.”
“Ji, my love, there’s absolutely something out there for us.”
From opposite ends of the couch, you and your boyfriend had been searching for a couples costume for the past hour. You didn’t want to be the Ken to his Barbie (why can’t we both be Barbie?), he didn’t want to be the Mary Jane to your Spiderman… And so forth. One of your friends had invited you to bring Jisung with you to her Halloween party next week, and you’d merely told her some kind of ‘we’ll try!’ to keep from fully committing. Jisung had shrugged when you mentioned it to him: he liked your friends well enough, and knew it was kind-of important for you to spend some time with them (not that you didn’t: you literally just met with several of them for lunch the other day) at things like this… even though both of you knew you weren’t always party people. The idea of a couple’s costume had been the one thing getting you through this.
“... You wanna be Mario and Luigi?”
Jisung frowned, looking up from his phone. “It’s not really a couple’s costume…”
“Do you wanna be Peach?”
He chuckled. “Maybe next year,” he said. “I’ll grow my hair out. We could try to be Eric and Ariel?”
You sighed, “I already heard one of my friends is pulling that together with his girlfriend.”
Jisung groaned, flopping backward. “Then what’s the point? Are all the good costumes going to be taken?” He dropped his phone onto his stomach, burying his face into his hands. “We could be aliens.”
“Jisung.”
He pulled his hands back. “Too out there?”
“No, that’s kinda cute, but…” You sat up. “Do you even want to go?”
Jisung stared at you, brows drawing together. “Of course I do. We could still pull something cute together. I think I know someone who has shimmery makeup. We could make it look nice, and—”
“It’s okay,” you said. “You can be honest. I don’t mind.”
With a sigh, he looked away. “I overheard my boss talking about how next week was sure to be busier since the closer it gets to Halloween, the more people seem to be coming in for things… I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to go to a party. But I didn’t want to tell you because you seemed excited.”
You set your phone aside, crawling over to him. He didn’t even have to ask you what you were seeking out, already opening his arms so that you could snuggle into his chest.
“Then I’ll just tell her that we can’t make it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, still not looking at you. You could see the regret in his face in how glum he looked, lips slightly pouty at admitting something you had directly asked him to say. You could honestly guess what was going through his head now. They wanted to go to the party, and I ruined it. Except Jisung, when in his own head too much, often forgot that the two of you were a pair for a reason.
“Jisungie.” You looked up at him, head resting on his chest. “I mean it. I don’t want to go, either.”
He turned his head, eyes meeting your own. “... Really?”
“Mmhm. I saw how many people RSVP’d online. I don’t like big parties,” you turned your head, shutting your eyes as you listened to his heart beating in his chest. “You know that.”
He chuckled, slowly wrapping his arms around you. “Right,” he said, much more at peace with it all now. “That’s why we work.”
You giggled, leaning up to steal a quick peck from him. “That’s why we work,” you reaffirmed.
As much as you could enjoy spending time with friends… You liked the idea of curling up with Jisung a lot more, especially if it meant takeout and movies and cuddling. The two of you would just have to make it to the next party… As long as it wasn’t as packed as this one.
taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm
#wooahaes.fall23#wooahaes.fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#skz x you#stray kids imagine#skz fics#stray kids fics#stray kids fluff#han jisung x reader#han jisung x you#han jisung fluff
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
If you had to pick
Pairings: Carlos Sainz x reader
Words: 5045
Summary: Carlos made a bad first impression, but do first impressions really matter that much?
First time writing for Carlos, so let me know how I did! Also, I have an idea for one more part so let me know if you would like to read it.
>Click here to check out my masterlist<
„If you had to pick one guy from the grid to have sex with, who would it be?“ Pierre asked with a cheeky smile, taking a sip of his wine.
I rolled my eyes at him, taking a sip from my glass as well. It was a typical question coming from him during our so-called ‘truth and wine’ evenings – rare occasions when we could hang out with each other and catch up. We always start off the evening by ordering takeout and drinking wine, while talking about everything that we missed in each other’s lives since we last saw each other. The more we get tipsy, the steamier and crazier the questions usually get. I always have a few good laughs with Pierre by the end of nights like this.
Although, something that annoyed me to no end was when he asked the kind of questions he had just asked me. He was incredibly nosy and we talked about our love lives quite often with each other, but I never admitted to him that I liked any of the drivers.
“Apart from me, of course.”, Pierre added, like it was obvious.
I snorted. “What makes you think I would choose you?”
He looked at me as if I was the one talking nonsense. “I’m the hottest guy on the grid!”
“The most modest one, too.”, I laughed at him.
I put the glass of wine on the coffee table and settled on the sofa I was sitting on. I was getting a bit sleepy. Judging by the tint of Pierre’s cheeks and his half-closed eyelids, he was getting tipsy and tired as well. He was currently sprawled on the couch, with a half-full glass of wine in his hand, motioning with it when he talked, sloshing the liquid around and almost spilling it a couple of times.
“I don’t get why you never want to say it. There has to be someone on the grid that you like.”, Pierre frowned.
Obviously, his curiosity was getting the best of him, but also, he always became a bit more difficult when he drank. He was like a dog with a bone; he couldn’t let it go.
And the truth was, I think he had an inkling who I like. Or to be more specific, who I liked.
There was a period when I would come visit Pierre at the races quite often, which meant that I spent a lot of weekends in the paddock. Since I was a little girl and Pierre started karting I was a fan of the sport, and I followed Formula 1 for ages now. So naturally, I knew every driver on the grid and had the opportunity of meeting quite a few when I visited Pierre, and Charles as well, since I knew both of them since we were kids.
The thing was, I developed quite a strong crush during that time on a certain Spanish driver. Carlos Sainz was Charles’ teammate at Ferrari and they were great friends and colleagues. I had had only limited interaction with him and I thanked the heavens for that. I would always turn into a blushing, blubbering mess when he was around and I think Pierre noticed that. We never talked about it, but he threw a few teasing comments my way. Until one day, my crush on Carlos was absolutely shattered after a night out.
Pierre asked me to join him at a party with a few other drivers, telling me how Carlos will be there and of course, teasing me about him. And I had to admit, knowing that the Spaniard will be there was one of the reasons I decided to go. While the evening started off fun, I noticed how Carlos was always flanked by women, flirting with as many of them as humanly possible and getting increasingly drunk as time passed. It really ruined the image I had of him in my head, which only worsened at the end of the night.
I was going to the bathroom, pushing through the sea of people to get there. Turning the corner to get to the hallway, I accidentally crashed into someone, almost falling flat on my ass. Not only that, but not even a second after the unexpected impact, I felt something cold splash against my dress and then drip down it.
“Sorry, I-“, I started yelling my apology so I could be heard over the loud music, but the words got stuck in my throat as I looked down at my white dress, which was now stained and ruined.
Not only did I manage to crash into someone, but I also managed to get a drink spilled on me. Great.
“I’m the one who’s sorry, hermosa.”, Carlos slurred his words, his eyes concentrated on my cleavage and the wet stain which made the fabric cling to my body.
I was speechless when I realized it was him; feeling my cheeks burn red from embarrassment and from the attention he was giving me. I was thankful we were in a dark-lit club so he couldn’t notice how much I was blushing.
He finally tore his gaze away from my dress and looked into my eyes, smirking cheekily. His arm casually slipped around my waist and he rested his palm on my lower back. I gulped as he leaned forward, closer to my face. I was frozen in place, not knowing what to do or where was this coming from. Carlos and I were mere acquaintances and now he was putting his arm around me and getting so close to me that I could feel his breath on my neck? What the actual fuck was happening?
Carlos was now almost completely against my body, with his hands firm on my back and slowly travelling lower. His lips were almost touching my earlobe.
“How about I help you out of that ruined dress?” he asked into my ear, making me shiver.
No matter how attractive I thought he was, at that moment, he completely disgusted me. He was drunk, flirting with any woman who was in front of him, and he thought that I would just say yes to that and jump into bed with him? Not a chance.
Now angry, I lightly pushed him with both hands away from me and muttered a “no, thanks.”
He seemed to process my words a bit as he stumbled back and then he seemed surprised. I never expected Carlos to be such an asshole, but here he was, proving me wrong. Serves me right for conjuring up a whole image of him in my head, without actually knowing him.
From what Charles told me, he was funny, intelligent, and nice, but also very sweet, caring and private. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who did anything casually, but rather searched for commitment and something meaningful. Clearly, both Charles and I were wrong.
I walked away from him that night, absolutely fuming. When Pierre saw me come back from the bathroom, he immediately knew that something was wrong, so he took us both home. I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only said that some asshole pissed me off and that I wanted to leave. I couldn’t believe how stupid I was; how I let myself develop this crush and let myself be so naïve. After a while, Pierre also noticed how I didn’t react the same way anymore when someone mentioned Carlos, how I didn’t smile when I noticed him and how I actually dismissed talking about him or to him completely. Since I didn’t want to explain why and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, Pierre simply stopped with the teasing comments and I avoided Carlos every time I was at the paddock.
Pierre cleared his throat and then snapped his fingers at me, trying to catch my attention.
“What?” I sighed, annoyed.
“Is it Charles?” Pierre asked, grimacing. “Because I don’t think it is.”
“He’s cute, but no.”, I answered simply and Pierre blew a raspberry at my answer.
“Thank God. That would be a bit weird.”
I kept silent, leaving him to think and talk to himself.
“You do realize that I will never let this go until you give me an answer.”, Pierre spoke seriously, sitting up so he could grab the almost empty bottle of wine and pour himself some more red.
He raised the bottle up at me and I offered my glass so he could pour me some more as well. We both settled back into the comfy cushions of Pierre’s sofa and couch.
“I’m waiting.”, Pierre said after a few moments of silence as we sipped the wine.
“Danny is pretty hot.”, I contemplated at loud. “Did you see his outfit for Austin? I sure wouldn’t mind riding that cowboy.”
“Ugh. Gross.”, Pierre frowned.
I laughed at the face he made, loving how easy it was to mess with him. But also, he knew me better than I knew myself sometimes and he realized that I was only joking.
“You asked.”, I shrugged.
“And as always, you lied.”, he looked at me pointedly.
“Daniel is hot.”, I looked away from Pierre’s piercing gaze. “I wasn’t lying about that.”
“Maybe it’s Carlos?” Pierre asked and I turned to face him as he wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively.
I immediately sobered up. “No.”
“Oh, come on.”, Pierre rolled his eyes at me, like I was the one who was being difficult out of the two of us. “I know you had a crush on him. Maybe you still do.”
“I would never date a driver.”, I said simply, taking a few big gulps of the wine.
“Well, I didn’t say date.”
“I also would never have sex with one.”
“Why not?” Pierre furrowed his eyebrows at me. “Speaking for myself, I would definitely show you a great time.”
“Pierre.”, I looked at him sternly.
He chortled, raising his hands up in defence. “Sorry. Force of habit. I always flirt with pretty girls.”
“And that’s my point exactly.”, I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Most of you are complete manwhores.”
“Hey!” Pierre was both surprised and offended at my comment. “That’s not-“
“You’re the prime example and you know it.”, I interrupted him, looking at him sharply. "You're my friend and I love you, but you're a manwhore, Pierre."
Before he could interject, I explained further. “And I don’t care that you are. I’m simply saying, I don’t want that.”
Pierre thought about it for a second. “Okay. Fair enough.”
And that was the end of that.
I didn’t say that yes, I did have a crush on Carlos for the longest time and yes, I kinda still do. He is definitely the one I would pick out of all the guys on the grid. I hated myself for it, but I also couldn’t help it that much. There was a lingering feeling of ‘what if’ and what could be if that night at the club didn’t happen. What was even crazier was that I was actually defending him sometimes and trying to make up excuses for his douchebag behaviour. I mean, how was it possible that both Charles and Pierre, two of my closest childhood friends, absolutely loved Carlos and never had a bad thing to say about him, but I judged him without actually knowing him? My mind wasn’t made up, but rather hopped from one side to another – either hating on Carlos Sainz or making him up to be a perfect guy who only had one mishap that night.
Also, it was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid him since I again started coming to the races more often. There were a few months of me being extremely busy at work and other things that prevented me from going, but I promised Pierre to come to a few last races of the season. Since Pierre, Charles and I hung out together a lot, and since Charles and Carlos seemed joined at the hip recently, it was becoming more of a challenge to pretend like Carlos’ entire existence wasn’t a pain in my ass.
Particularly demanding will be to not bump into him during Pierre’s house party. No matter how big Pierre’s house was, it wasn’t big enough so I could hide at the party with 30-something people there. I thought about bailing, but that was silly; I wasn’t going to miss Pierre’s party just because Carlos made me slightly uncomfortable. I was a big girl and I could handle it.
At least that’s what I initially thought, until I found myself getting ready in Pierre’s room an hour before the guests are supposed to arrive, pacing nervously back and forth as I contemplated about having to endure Carlos in my vicinity for the whole night. It was silly, right? Why was I even thinking about it? I should’ve forgotten about Carlos and this stupid crush a long time ago, but no matter what I did, he always somehow ended up invading my thoughts.
During my little freak-out, Pierre peered into his bedroom to see if I was ready, invading my private moment. I noticed him when he leaned against the doorframe, watching me in both confusion and worry.
“You good?” Pierre asked hesitantly.
I plastered on a smile. “Yeah. Almost done. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
Pierre narrowed his eyes at me in suspicion. “You sure?”
I nodded, smiling still, but it wasn’t convincing enough to fool Pierre.
“Is it Carlos?” Pierre asked carefully.
I was taken aback by the blunt question which came out of nowhere. He never asked directly what Carlos did to deserve my cold shoulder, he was always very wary about it. Pierre knew we weren’t particularly close, but he also realized that something must’ve happened which made me completely forget about my crush on Carlos. Well, Pierre thought that I didn’t have a crush on Carlos anymore, but that wasn’t exactly the truth.
“I’m not stupid, you know.”, Pierre huffed. “I know your whole thing from the other night when you talked about how you don’t date race car drivers has something to do with him.”
I sat on the bed, defeated. Guess we were talking about it.
Sometimes I kinda wished Pierre didn’t have the ability to notice when something was wrong. Scratch that, I actually loved the fact that he was so sweet and caring, but sometimes it was also annoying. He always assumed this ‘big brother’ type of role and acted very protective of me. Which, again, was sweet at times, but again, annoying.
I looked away from him to stare at a wall. “That rule has nothing to do with him.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“You are.”, Pierre chuckled, sitting beside me on the bed. “It’s funny you have that rule because of him, since he is the furthest away from a manwhore, as you so kindly put it the other day.”
I snorted. “Sure.”
Pierre looked at me weirdly. “What exactly did he do at that party?”
He was referring to that party in Monaco, to one I left with a stained dress and a bruised ego, realizing how Carlos was certainly out of my league and how I simply couldn’t and wouldn’t be in that crowd of women surrounding him, waiting who will he pick to take back with him to his hotel room.
"Because if I need to punch him in the face, I think I could take him.", Pierre added in seriousness.
I laughed. "Would love to see that."
Pierre narrowed his eyes at me, giving me a cold look.
Sighing heavily, I let myself fall back on the smooth, plush bed. “I’m gonna sound so bitter if I say it out loud.”
Pierre also fell back on the bed, leaning on his side and resting his head on his hand so he could look at me while we talked.
He waited expectantly for me to continue. “You know I’m not leaving now until you explain.”
So, I did. I told him about Carlos flirting with everyone that night, which wasn’t a problem in itself if he hadn’t approached me the way he did. It was such a stupid thing really, but it showed that he wasn’t the type of guy I would want to go on a date with.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that my crush simply disappeared, which was why I was feeling so crappy about seeing him tonight. Pierre understood, trying to comfort me by promising the two of us will party hard tonight and that Carlos wouldn’t even cross my mind. Pierre’s energy truly was infectious, making me giggle with how enthusiastic he was and also how adamant he was to show me a great time tonight. Something that bugged me though was the fact that Pierre defended Carlos a bit, saying how he wasn’t acting like himself that night and that he was just drunk. I didn’t like that excuse very much. I know that Carlos and Pierre were friends, but I just couldn’t comprehend how Pierre defended him so resolutely.
Once again I found myself in the middle of the same dilemma – was I overreacting about Carlos’ behaviour and making him out to be someone that he’s not or was my bad impression right and he couldn’t be trusted?
I had no time to ponder it, because Pierre was already dragging me downstairs to grab a drink and start the party.
For quite some time, Pierre was successful in taking my mind off Carlos and having an amazing time. After all, a lot of my friends were there and I was surrounded by people who I cared about and who I always had fun with. I didn’t even notice when Carlos arrived and I managed to successfully avoid him for most of the evening, dodging any group of people that he was talking to or drinking with. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but glance at him a time or two, or maybe a few, almost making eye contact with him once because he was already staring at me. I would definitely never admit it out loud, but I also took notice of people he was hanging out with, realizing in surprise that it was mostly Lando and not a pretty brunette in a skimpy dress. A small part of me wondered if this was what Pierre meant; if this was the real Carlos, and the drunk, playboy Carlos was something out of character for him.
Each time I started to think about that more, I took a shot or tried to find one of my friends to distract me. It actually worked, until I found myself leaning on the kitchen island and talking with Charles, noticing from the corner of my eye that Carlos was making his way straight to us. I avoided looking at him, thinking that it was merely a coincidence and that Carlos would just walk past us. That is, until he stood next to Charles and me and I had no other choice but to look at him. The smile on my face immediately faltered and I looked at him in confusion.
I remembered that he probably wanted to talk with his teammate, so I was quick to take my drink, ready to leave. “I’ll see you later, Charles.”
I only managed to turn around before I heard Carlos call out my name over the music, making me freeze in my spot.
“Can I talk to you?” Carlos’ voice was pleading and gentle. “In private, please?”
Turning back around, I was met with Carlos’ expectant facial expression and Charles’ amused one. He was looking at Sainz and me as if he was in the middle of a soap opera. Charles’ eyebrows shot upwards, silently waiting and urging me to say yes.
“What about?” I opted to complicate things, not wanting the anxiety of being in a room with Carlos, alone.
I would probably make a fool out of myself because of my stupid crush and that was the last thing I needed right now.
Charles rolled his eyes at me. “She will. She’s just being difficult for no reason.”
I lightly slapped Charles’ arm, who was already retreating somewhere away from us both, sticking his tongue at me jokingly.
“Such a child.”, I muttered under my breath, making Carlos snigger.
Carlos looked like he wanted to say something, but I was faster. “Just follow me.”
He did as he was told, following me upstairs to Pierre’s room. I was sure that Pierre wouldn’t mind us talking in there, and besides, every other corner of his house was occupied by someone. Along with the music playing, it was impossible to have a normal conversation anywhere but here. Or maybe in the bathroom.
I took a few steps away from Carlos to the middle of the bedroom as he closed the door behind him. I tried not to think about how handsome he looked tonight, wearing a simple shirt with his sleeves rolled up and a pair of black pants. Despite his fondness for casual and simple outfits, he always looked effortlessly attractive. His lush hair always looked perfect, but I could notice that he styled it a bit more than usual. Fuck, it wasn't fair that he looked so good.
“I’m listening.”, I said simply.
“I want to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I know why you’re mad at me and I just want to say that I’m sorry about the way I acted.”, Carlos sounded serious and sincere, looking straight into my eyes.
I looked away, not able to handle his intense stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not mad at you.”
“Oh, come on.”, Carlos huffed. “You’ve been avoiding me for months now.”
I kept silent, not really knowing what to say to that, because he was right about that part.
“Pierre told me why you hate me.”, Carlos admitted, going straight to the point. “About the party in Monaco.”
It took me a moment to mull over what he said.
“He did what?” I asked through my teeth, already fuming. “That little-“
“In his defence, I convinced him to do it. Maybe even blackmailed him a little.”, he shrugged it off like it was a normal thing between friends, which apparently it was.
Sighing in annoyance, I folded my arms beneath my chest in a defensive manner. “For the record, I don’t hate you.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”, Carlos smiled apologetically. “Apparently I was acting like an asshole.”
“Apparently?”
He took a big breath, now his turn to awkwardly look away, as if bracing himself to do something he really didn’t want to do.
“I was so drunk that night.”, he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t really remember much of it.”
I tsked. “Ah. Okay.”
Somehow, that made the whole thing even worse in my mind. Here I was, worrying about that one situation that happened, while he didn’t even remember it properly. Or at all.
“Can you tell me exactly what I did?”
I thought about it for a moment. “You offered to help me take off my dress after you accidentally spilled your drink on it.”
He closed his eyes briefly with a sigh, as if disappointed with his own actions. “I promise you I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So, you don’t want to sleep with me?” I asked in a serious tone, trying to fake being stern and also trying to prevent laughing at the face he made.
“No- I-“, he stumbled over his words. “I do! I want to sleep with you! Uh, I mean- Not right now, but like-“
Not being able to hold it in anymore, a few giggles escaped my mouth as I stared at his panicked facial expression, eyes bulging and cheeks red.
“I was just teasing you.”, I chuckled, biting my lip to keep from laughing again.
Carlos shook his head at me as if he wants to scold me, but with a light smile stretching across his face. “Dios mio. Let’s just forget the last few seconds happened, okay?”
“Not a chance.”, I smirked at him. “I have to torture you a little.”
“Oh, yeah?” Carlos quirked an eyebrow, looking at me in curiosity. “How else will you torture me?”
It was my turn to blush now and feel like he threw me off balance, my mind immediately going to the most inappropriate thoughts. I knew that Carlos was just returning the favour and messing with me, but his words paired with that intense stare were making my brain short-circuit. He stepped closer to me, our bodies close to touching, as he carefully put his arm around my waist. Carlos gave me enough time to push him away, but I didn’t, letting him get even closer. Carefully watching my reaction, he continued as I watched intently what is he going to do next.
Instead of pressing his lips to mine like I expected him to, he instead moved his head to the side of my head, so he could whisper in my ear. “Two can play this game, cariño.”
I couldn’t help it; my hand moved out of my own volition to rest on his firm chest as I looked up at him.
“I don’t want to play games.”, my expression changed as I stepped away from him, pulling my hand away.
Just like that, my walls were up again, the image of him surrounded by a group of models at the club who he was doing body shots with flashing bright in my mind. He got nervous again, I could see it.
“I don’t want to play games either.”, he said sincerely, watching me fold my arms beneath my chest again, just like I did before.
I watched him closely, trying to figure out what he wanted then. Why he wanted to talk and why he was looking at me so unsure now.
“I was drunk that night. It was stupid.”, he sighed, moving to sit on Pierre’s bed in a resigned manner.
A few hours ago I sat on that bed in the same way he did; all tense and anxious.
He couldn’t bear to look at me as he continued. “I was going through a bad breakup. I just wanted to get my mind off things for one night. And I fucked up.”
I instantly softened at his words. Oh.
It wasn’t exactly something I had expected him to say, but I understood. We all did stupid shit after a breakup, especially if it was a painful one. All this time I thought that this was all his personality, that he was partying and bringing women back to his hotel room every other night. If this was a one-time, stupid thing… I completely misjudged him.
Silently approaching him, I sat down beside him on the bed. “It’s not that big of a deal. I was just… A bit shocked, that’s all. Didn’t expect that from you.”
Carlos turned his head to face me. He was met with a soft smile.
“I always liked you…”, he confessed silently. “But, I never had the guts to do anything about it. I guess when I accidentally bumped into you… It was my way of drunkenly flirting with you.”
I chuckled. “Smooth operator, huh?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“I think you apologized enough.”, I nudged his side softly. “It’s actually kind of cute when you put it like that.”
He got a bit sheepish again, staring at me for a moment. “So, you forgive me?”
“I do.”, smiling wide, I nodded. “It’s hard not to. Especially when you say you liked me.”
“Like.”, he corrected. “I still like you.”
My smile faltered. Not because I wasn’t absolutely ecstatic to hear that, but because I hadn’t expected those words to come out of his mouth.
“You do?”
He nodded, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, using the opportunity then to caress the skin of my cheeks with his thumb.
“Because… I like you too.”, I admitted quietly, gazing into his eyes, trying to figure out if this was really happening or not.
My heart was thumping wildly in my chest and suddenly I was a bit light-headed. Carlos beamed, smiling wide. He cupped my cheek with his hand, inching closer. Only this time, he wasn’t tricking me, he was leaning in for a kiss.
Right before his lips touched mine, he stopped. “Can I kiss you?”
Almost instinctively, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him gently to close the gap between us. The kiss was tender but passionate, my hands moving around to the back of his neck, feeling the soft strands of his hair. Carlos was gentle, but eager. His lips were soft and he tasted sweet, but most importantly, he was an amazing kisser. Anything that I ever imagined in my head was quickly forgotten, because the reality was so much better. We pulled away from each other only slightly, trying to catch our breaths. Carlos still had his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against mine, and I was mesmerized by the sight. When he opened his brown eyes to gaze at me, I had to suppress a gasp at how handsome he looked at that moment. We were both grinning, satisfied with the kiss and the confessions which were apparently a long time coming.
Completely overwhelmed by what just happened, I didn’t know what to say. Carlos was quiet as well, breaking the silence only with another peck on my lips.
It was so easy. Incredibly easy to fall for his charms and let myself trust him, but there was still this tiny voice in the back of my head wondering if it was the smart thing to do.
But, for now at least, I was too distracted and too enchanted by Carlos to worry about it. When he kissed me again, slowly and hungrily, my mind went blank and I completely let myself go to the feeling. The only sensations I was aware of were his lips on mine and his arms around my body, pulling me closer to him.
#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz oneshot#carlos sainz one shot#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz fanfiction#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x ofc#carlos sainz fluff#f1 fanfic#f1 one shot#f1 imagine#f1 fluff
823 notes
·
View notes
Text
why jfabe is NOT!!!! boring and lifeless and proving that wrong, an informational thread discussing their relationship and dynamic, because honestly im getting tired of ppl saying their boring
contains s3 spoilers!
The relationship between JFK and abe from Clone High is something alot of people within the community discussed, especially before s3, being talked about more after s2's finale. Many speculated that the two would remain friends or even become more than that.
Now with season 3 out, we have a lot more things to work out with, specifically episode 3. It's something a lot of people are too afraid to admit, but jfabe/abefk would make the show a lot more interesting, rather than its repeatable joanabe plotline.
So, I'm here to talk about the inner workings of this pair, why their so interesting, and why they work out so much, whether platonic or not. If ur not a fan of jfabe/abefk, or heavily dislike the ship, I'd recommend turning away from this post.
Introduction, the who, the when, the why, the how...and their differences n similarities
So, we all know these two characters. JFK the beloved, Abe the hated. Something that many people picked out of the 2020 clone high fandom. But what if i told you that the beloved and the hated were truly meant to be together from the start?
What we already know is that they are the complete opposite of each other in many ways. JFK is meant to be a parody on 90s jocks from highschool movies and tv shows. Abe is the weak nerd who desperately wants to be cool.
JFK is buff and shorter, Abe is tall and lanky. JFK is a douchebag, Abe is the nicer guy. The list goes on and on. And they even have stuff in common, such as the fear of abandonment and the fear of ruining things.
But one difference i can note is that Abe is way more naive than JFK, JFK is portrayed as empty-headed, but not empty-headed enough to not realize whats going on. Of course, despite the differences, both characters make a really good team.
And this was even evident in s2 ep10, aka the finale, where they both realize that they make a great "duo of bros who'll remain friends for the rest of their lives". Jfabe shippers were FEEDING on this shit back then you have no idea
So with this stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about my favorite episode out of season 3.
Bible Humpers: A Much Needed Praycation
This episode revolves around JFK getting tired of having meaningless sex with girls and partying hard, and decides to seek out a new life when he and Abe discovers the prayer pals club, hosted by Lady Godiva. And at first, Abe is happy to see that JFK is taking on new opportunities.
"Where the slut goes, the wing slut follows."
But eventually, JFK starts straying away from Abe and his friendship, to the point of even FORGETTING about the broniversary that Abe had planned for the both of them (he literally baked a giant cake for him, look at me and tell me thats straight cmon now).
Seeing how Abe had already lost Joan and Gandhi, he didn't wanna lose JFK either, and does everything he can to make him happy and thats so clear. And even at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Abe even respected his choice on ultimately choosing celibacy.
He really does care a bunch for JFK, liking him for who he truly was (compared to JFK's other dates) and respecting his choices. And despite choosing celibacy over Abe, the two still remain close, which really tells you how great their bond is.
So something HAS definitely changed throughout the years, from them hating each others guts to potentially becoming clone highs next couple...which didn't happen, and I'm still petty about it i will admit.
But even if they didn't become canon at the end, you could really tell that some people who worked on this episode wanted them to be a thing, and that's a good enough sign for me that they could hopefully become canon in the next season if we ever get one (still petty though).
Let's circle back to season 1 again. I'm not making a jfabe thread without mentioning Litter Kills: Literally, which is another episode that jfabe shippers fed on. In this episode, JFK's close friend Ponce dies, and he's left to grieve over him.
And in this episode, we see a side of JFK that we never saw before. He starts wondering why the hell he's feeling all of these emotions, because he's a Kennedy, and he's not used to them. But Abe helps him realize that emotions like this are normal.
And even if the two hated each other, Abe apologized to him in the end and finally realized his mistakes. It seemed like Abe disliked him, yet he cares about him. Abe never knew what if felt like, because he hasn't lost a friend close to him.
So he starts berating Cleo for comforting JFK and was even aggressive towards JFK as well, believing that he was only doing all of this just to take Cleo away from him. That was all because he NEVER knew what it was like. But he finally understood.
He was sorry, but he felt like he couldn't do much to help because he didn't experience the same thing. So he just hugged JFK and held him...for a really long time.
But that was just enough for JFK, all he needed was comfort, and Abe chose to do that. So even at the episode, he couldn't help but ask JFK if he was alright. And by the next episode, JFK was already feeling better. All it takes is someone to tell you that its gonna be okay.
So what I'm trying to say is despite their own anxieties, flaws, characteristics, whatever, their PERFECT for each other. I don't like how people label them as "boring", when their so much more deeper than that.
Jfabe/AbeFK is one of my comfort ships for this exact reason. Their lore, dynamic and relationship goes beyond that, i don't ship them just because i think their cute, but because their interesting, and it may seem like im going insane over a white boy ship, but i truly, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love this ship to pieces, and hopefully people can see that through me. Thank you, clone high.
#clone high#analysis#clone high season 2#jfk clone high#clone high 2023#jfabe#abefk#clone high abe#clone high reboot#clone high season 3#clone high spoilers#i GUESS the alternate title for this should be “in defense of jfabe/abefk” because some of yall needa hop off of a harmless ship#i hope this converts some of you i managed to do that w some mutuals on twitter#long story short jfabe is just a really underrated ship with interesting lore and potential and i never got why people hated it#so now that ur reading this watch the mr peabody and sherman show if you want another good history show to watch (shameless plug)#im so rabid about this ship someone hold me back. no one gets them like i do (except for like 5 people)#yes im the same guy who wrote that one jfk character essay and the jfabe queerbaiting essay can you tell i like them a normal amount#bai
50 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
na99net
NA99 CLub
violetaristea
when am i not tired
hanekdraws
A FERAL FANGIRL
madhu-y
Untitled
soteirahere
Hekate's Daughter