Hi I Was Wondering If You Could Write Something About The Fan!reader Having A Small Business And Harry

FOGGY WOULD BUY MATT THIS, IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS IDC IDC IDC FOGGY WOULD BUY MATT A TINY DAREDEVIL PLUSHIE AND MATT WOULD PRETEND TO BE MAD ABOUT IT BUT WOULD TREASURE IT FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE

smile like you mean it - chapters 1-3 (reupload)

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapter four // chapter five

music

You’re broken up.

Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.

You’re broken up.

Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.

But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.

Nothing.

Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—theRoman Roy? You? You?

Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.

And now you were suffering for it.

It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.

It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.

…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.

“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

🌃 Several years ago 🌃

Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.

There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.

But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.

In other words, your boss was a dork.

He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.

“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.

Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting. 

As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.

“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.

Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”

“You got me coffee?”

“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”

“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.

“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”

“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.

He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.

“Is everything okay?”

Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”

You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.

He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”

“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.

“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.

“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.

You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.

Like his soul.

He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”

“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”

“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”

“So hire an assistant.”

“I am hiring an assistant.”

“Hire your own!”

“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”

In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life. 

Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.

“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”

“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”

“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”

“It was in a mocking tone!”

“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”

“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”

Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”

“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”

The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.

“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.

Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.

And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

Hell was not some fiery, underground inner sanctum. It was sitting next to Roman Roy on a private jet (the Roys’ second private jet, which Roman affectionately deemed “Family Torture Chamber the Second”) en route to Herefordshire, England for Siobhan’s wedding.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”

Oh yes, I do.

You were only three months into being Roman’s personal assistant, and you already felt like he was taking years off of your life.

Today had been a rough day, to say the least. You were under the initial impression that you were going to board “Family Torture Chamber the First” (also known as, “If You’re Not First, You’re Last”) along with the rest of his miserable excuse for a family earlier that morning. But then Roman took it upon himself to inform you just as you were walking out onto the tarmac that they had all departed for England several days prior. He said some routine maintenance was being done on the jet, and a few seats were removed so that they could be repaired. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for two additional passengers. So here you sat, stranded alone with your boss in an unusually cushy torture chamber.

It was almost sad, the way you were actually kind of looking forward to the original travel plan. If you managed to shove your way into a seat next to Willa or Greg (who reminded you that normal people did, in fact, exist) it would’ve been a welcome reprieve from the world in which you lived, otherwise known as Roman’s world. It was kind of like Elmo’s World, except actually not at all.

Elmo’s World never made you contemplate throwing yourself off a bridge.

Roman’s world: a cruel reality in which everything was all about Roman, all the time. During your time served thus far, things had been—for lack of a better word—weird. It was bad, sure, but not quite in the way you had expected. You anticipated that you would be yelled at, talked down to, and forced to overhear things you would never be able to scrub from your memory. And there certainly was a bit of all of that. 

But mostly, you felt…smothered.

At any given hour, it was rare that Roman didn’t have you practically glued to his side. If you weren’t readily available or even simply within eyeshot, he would make up some dramatic excuse to reel you back in. Everything that involved you doing something independently became a major issue. There was a never ending list of monotonous tasks he would create for you to complete.

“You’re gonna have to stay late again tonight. You might have to stay over, actually. I need you to fill out this paperwork I don’t feel like pretending to read.”

“I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable, just forge my fucking signature. I’m telling you you can. Oh wait, look, look! How about this? I’ll make it all better. I’m openly threatening to fire you if you don’t, so now you’re under duress. Not liable if shit hits the fan, unless you fuck me over and make me change my mind. Who’s even gonna know, a handwriting expert? What kind of maniac under sixty sits down and writes anymore, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s 2am, you’re tired. So is everyone. I need you to pick up some groceries for me. Yeah. Right now. I don’t trust someone from one of those delivery apps knowing where I live. Inevitably someone’s gonna tweet about how hot I am in person when I’m just trying to have a quiet night in, and you know how much I hate drawing attention to myself. Also, I’m kind of drunk right now, so…”

“I don’t pay you for nothing, beautiful. If I have to go for a run at disrespectful o’clock in the morning, so do you. Don’t be mad. We can get donuts after.”

Somehow, you had allowed things to cross the line from weird to downright ridiculous. The only time you spent away from him was to go home and sleep, and that didn’t always happen, either. He liked “working from home,” aka, leaving the office early and making you come to his house so you could work from his home. During that time, he would just sit and relax, or talk at you for hours until you became visibly agitated. Those seemed to be his two favorite hobbies as of late.

You would be answering emails and creating spreadsheets and doing god knows whatever else he asked you to do so late into the night that he just started letting you sleep there. Or rather, insisting that you sleep there, in one of several guest rooms of your choosing.

The first time you passed out on his couch—long after he had gone to bed himself—you were horrified. You had never once done that at Kendall’s house. But he always made sure to let you leave at a reasonable hour, and on the rare chance that you had to stay late, he would send for a company car to take you home.

Roman was totally unfazed when he found you that morning. You could vividly recall him waking you up by hitting you repeatedly with a $300 throw pillow.

You did all of this and more, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You were starting to feel like you sold your soul, and for what? A check? To live in an insanely expensive city without any friends, without any family, completely alone? Was sacrificing your dignity and virtually all of your free time really worth the money he paid you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to come home to, not even a cat or something. Your family lived out-of-state. What else were you going to do with your free time? Why not work 24/7, if anything, to distract yourself from how empty your life truly was?

You had been poor once, not long before you started working for Kendall. You could just barely afford basic necessities, sometimes having to live off of granola bars for weeks at a time. But you were determined to remain afloat. Leaving, going back home to a family that wasn’t much better than the Roys, would feel like giving up. It would feel like you had failed. Getting your degree, working multiple jobs, going through roommate after roommate, struggling for all those years just to return to the place you were so desperate to escape…it seemed like such a waste. It would’ve been all for nothing. You had become so rundown that you were prepared to lay down and die like that, prepared to surrender.

And then you got a job at Waystar Royco.

You weren’t afraid to quit under Kendall. You knew he would provide you with a glowing reference, as long as you left on good terms. Roman, though…

You would probably have to fabricate one. That is, if he hadn’t totally blacklisted you from being hired by everyone else in the industry if you even so much as hinted at quitting. And he certainly had the means to do that.

Given the amount of time he forced you to spend with him, if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought Roman actually liked you or something. But you weren’t an idiot. Roman didn’t like anyone. He was just, well…

He was a brat. Roman was a brat. There was no better word to describe him. It was that simple. As much as you tried to hide it, he knew you totally despised him. How could he not? You couldn’t tell if he kept you on such a short leash just because he enjoyed torturing you, or if he was genuinely that needy. 

Kendall was sort of like that, too, in his own way. You figured it must’ve been a Roy thing.

Being trapped on a twelve hour flight together probably wasn’t helping to lessen your disdain for him. He sighed dramatically, slamming himself back against his seat. All was quiet for a few seconds until you felt him flick your ear.

“Ow! Roman, why?” you groaned, shoving his hand away. You leaned your head against the window, squinting your eyes shut. “Can you please let me get some rest? I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, figures. You’re probably not used to flying anything but coach. And believe me, I get it. For a wee commoner, I’m sure the plane that Dad only uses when he has no other option is just beyond. Dare I say comparable to, I don’t know, what’s something broke people think is opulent? The water mattress that your dad who only saw you once a year got you for your birthday when you were ten, or something. It’s like that to you. Am I right or am I right?”

If there was ever a time where you really wanted to punch him in the face—and there were many times in which you really wanted to punch him in the face—it was now.

“It’s comfortable, sure, but not comfortable enough to sleep on. Let’s be honest with each other. Who the fuck can fall asleep on a plane?”

“People fall asleep on planes all the time, Roman,” you sighed.

“Some people. Not you, though.”

“Apparently not.”

It was hopeless. There was no point in arguing. If there was one thing you had learned these last few months, it was that in order to get what you wanted from powerful people—powerful people that also just so happened to be awful people—you had to learn to pick your battles.

You were right on the verge of laying down and dying once again the morning after Roman hired you. That is, until he offered to drastically increase your salary. You were certain he did this to ensure you would stick around, not because he valued you as an employee, but because he wanted his brother to know that he won whatever weird little dick measuring competition they were having.

You opened your eyes and rolled your shoulders back.

Just a few more hours. You can do this. You can do this.

When you turned your head to look at him, Roman was leaning back in his seat, already looking at you.

“Oh my god! Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring your question. “It’s not like I would even try and bother you if you were awake. Which you have been, like, this entire time.”

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t try to bother me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly. The look on his face was a drastic shift from the expression he usually wore. Like with most unlikeable people, there were moments where the cracks would begin to show, where you would see an inkling of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was the strangest thing, how he could vacillate from sly fox to kicked puppy.

You wanted to cry. Did he really have the audacity to sound so sincere when he had been bothering you around the clock for three months straight? He had to have known how annoying he was. It was deliberate, wasn’t it? It was always deliberate with him.

You couldn’t even control sniping back.

“You literally just bothered me so that I would wake up and talk to you.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Once again, you were already awake, you little liar. And I don’t want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and laugh at everything I say and hang onto my every word. See? That’s not talking. That’s listening. There’s a difference.”

“You know there are several other seats available for you to enjoy?” you asked, gesturing to the empty cabin. You wished that even just one of the other Roys had opted to fly with you. You silently prayed that one of them would somehow materialize, becoming an unwitting buffer between the two you. “You don’t have to sit directly next to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. See angel, I’m incredibly delicate in body and soul, meaning that I have the circulatory system of roughly an eighty year old man. Therefore I am fucking freezing in here. I basically have to exchange body heat with you or I’m going to die. And if I die, you don’t get paid, so you’ve kinda gotta weigh your options real carefully.”

Suddenly, the somewhat polite, professional resolve you had been trying your best to uphold had collapsed. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was impossible. You groaned and knocked your forehead against the seat in front of you, resting it there.

Roman let out a laugh. “Aw hey, come on. Cheer up. We only have…” he checked his watch. “Seven more hours to go! Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Your circulation is probably bad because you’re cold-blooded,” you said, your voice muffled against the leather seat.

“What, like a snake?”

You thought for a second, straightening back up. “No, you’re not that threatening. More of a lizard. Maybe a gecko.”

“Did you just…what the fuck?” He looked at you incredulously, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Did you just say that I look like a fucking gecko?”

“No, I said that you’re cold-blooded like a gecko.”

“Are…wait, are geckos cold-blooded?”

“I mean, they’re reptiles. I don’t know, Roman. I’m not a gecko expert.”

“Damn shame. And here I thought your knowledge and expertise knew no bounds, Bachelor’s degree,” he mocked.

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” 

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” he mimicked you, raising his voice an octave. “You don’t really have to when you’re fucking loaded. Hey, do you want some wine?”

He got up and grabbed a few bottles from the small wine rack in the corner—yes, a wine rack—and held them out in front of you. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you would think that he looked nice. He usually did, with his button up shirts and his blazers and his many, many coats. He had sharp features, always with dark circles under his eyes. You sometimes wondered if he was just as tired as you were. Even though he could be kind of lazy, it wasn’t hard to imagine that being part of the Roy family was no easy feat. Every once in a while, you wished he wasn’t the way that he was. If he wasn’t your employer and he wasn’t such a horrible human being, you could concede that Roman was really kind of handsome.

In his own weird, rude, cold, apparently gecko-like way.

“Bitter, disgusting liquid or bitter, disgusting liquid? Take your pick. You’re usually pretty predictable, but I cannot for the life of me decipher whether you’re a red wine person or a white wine person.”

You cringed at the thought of having a glass of wine with him. Although you could really stand to unwind, you had a brutal headache that didn’t seem like it was going away any time soon. You knew from experience that wine would only make it worse.

“Neither right now. Thanks, though.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m offering you ketamine or something. I’m being nice, I’m actually asking which kind you like before I give it to you. So what’s it gonna be, red or white?”

Being nice. Roman used that phrase a lot. “I’m being nice.” As if kindness was a rare, transactional behavior to be immediately acknowledged and rewarded. If he was “being nice,” then you had to be nice. Otherwise, he would make you pay for it.

And he could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be. 

You wondered who he got that from, Caroline or Logan. Maybe both.

“Neither. I have a headache.”

“I will literally spit in your drink if you don’t tell me which one you like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you even—then I just won’t drink it.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, uncorking the red. He didn’t bother to grab a glass, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle as he sat down next to you. “More for me then.”

For a short while, things were eerily quiet. Roman was eerily quiet. Then again, he was steadily chugging wine, becoming more and more inebriated as the minutes ticked by. It was about an hour and a half until he finished it off. You were resting your head against the window again, willing yourself to sleep when you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“So. You and my brother,” he said. “You guys…hang out ever?”

“Hang out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He nodded, all tired and glassy-eyed. “Yeah. You ever…” He looked like he was seriously thinking about what he was about to say next, but that might’ve just been the alcohol. “You ever hang out outside of the happiest place on earth?”

“You’re asking if I’ve ever met up with him outside of work?”

“Look at you, putting two and two together,” he exclaimed. His tone changed to one of a pet owner excitedly greeting their dog as they walked through the door. He moved his face closer to yours. “Who’s a smart girl? Who’s a smart girl?”

You placed your entire palm against his face and slowly pushed it away.

He laughed. “Ooooo. Y’know, I actually kind of like it when you do that.”

But you weren’t laughing. Not even a little.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hanging out—” you gestured with air quotes. “—with Kendall?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking a question so I can stop other people from insinuating. It’s all anybody ever talks about when you leave the room.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. People were talking about you? All this time you had been working your ass off, going the extra mile just so you could keep this stupid job and afford to live, and this was what you had to show for it? Your coworkers speculating that you were sleeping with your boss?

Well, former boss.

Why? Just because he was nice to you? And not just Roman nice. Actually nice.

You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“The way he looks at you sometimes, I mean. Yeah, I get it. The dude has eyes, but come on. How fucking obvious can you be?”

“You think I’m sleeping with Kendall.”

“I mean. Are you?” 

He had that look on his face again, the weird one. The nervous one. Kicked puppy. The “I’m trying to get my point across but but I’m afraid of your reaction” face. It was always so jarring when he got like that. You almost preferred the snark. What did he have to be nervous about? Nothing was going on, and even if it was, how would that even slightly affect his life? Why did it matter?

“I think it goes without saying that I’m not.”

“Well that was convincing,” he said flatly.

“Think about it, Roman. When would I even have time to sleep with anyone? I work constantly. I’m literally always with you!”

“Before, though?” he asked. His voice was borderline whiny, like he was pleading. You had a gut feeling that you should get up and move further away from him, but you stayed put.

“Before?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m asking. Before you worked for me, were you fucking him?”

“No!” you snapped. “Roman, ew. Why do you even care? It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.”

He uncorked the other bottle of wine and took a drink. “Wanna hear another fun fact?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna hear it either way.”

“I’m warning you, though. You tell anyone, you die.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll make a blood oath.”

He smirked at you and shook his head, taking another drink. “Oh, you know I love me a blood oath. So glad you’re my assistant, by the way.”

“I really wish I could say the same.”

He placed his hand against his chest. “Ouch. You won’t even give me an inch, will you?”

“Just tell me the fact.”

“So demanding. Fine, since the anticipation is killing you. Fun fact, I’m a nervous flier. More than nervous, actually. Like, I’m more of a terrorized, traumatized, scared out of my mind flier.”

Okay. You were not expecting that admission.

“Really?” you asked. “You’re afraid to fly?”

“Yep. Like a little bitch boy.”

You snorted. “Being afraid of flying doesn’t make you a little bitch boy. Lots of people are afraid to fly.”

“Talking, though. Talking to someone during the flight?” he slurred, as if he was asking a question. “Talking helps me relax.”

Oh. So that was why he wasn’t letting you sleep.

“I’m honestly a little shocked that you’re a nervous flier. You fly places all the time.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he said, taking another swig.

You grabbed the bottle’s neck, trying to pry it from his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. “I think you might want to slow down.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you took, oh, I don’t know, two seconds out of your day to ask me a single question about myself. And clearly you don’t wanna talk to me right now, so getting drunk is really my only other option for getting through this flight. But I’m cold-blooded, right?”

This whole interaction had taken a bizarre turn, and you had no clue how to react. You almost felt guilty, but you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to feel guilty for. Maybe you had been a bit cold when it came to Roman, but how else did he expect you to act? He was awful. Everyone knew that. And he was your employer, not your friend. You weren’t required to ask him about himself unless it pertained to what he wanted you to do. How were you even supposed to ask about something like that? How would it even come up in conversation? 

There was a long, awkward silence after that. He kept drinking and you kept staring out the window, thinking of what to say next. Should you apologize? Should you move seats? Was there a way to create distance from him that wasn’t blatantly obvious?

“I–”

He waved his hand at you dismissively. “You’re sorry, you feel bad, blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t need you talking to me because you feel bad for me. Unlike my brother, I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just go to sleep.”

“Roman, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“You wanted to go to sleep, so go to sleep. Keep acting like I’m not even here. Keep ignoring me, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not ignoring y—”

“Alright. You want to keep this pity party going? Fine by me. But while we’re at it, we’re just gonna nip this in the bud now, okay?” he said, exuding a false sense of cheerfulness. He stood up and stumbled a little ways down the aisle, raising his hand to lean against the overhead compartment as he turned towards you. “I’m sure you’re already well aware, but need I remind you that you’re a fucking coffee gopher? Because you are. You’re a run of the mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian. And you know what else? This is the best you’re ever gonna do. You need this job, and in order to keep it, you need me to like you. And in spite of what you’ve heard, in spite of what you’ve chosen to believe about me, I’m really not that bad.

“In fact, you should be thanking me up and down right now. Because right now, I’m essentially paying you to drink wine, and take a nap, and complain about how much you hate me, and talk about how much you miss working for my cokehead brother on my fucking dime. So if I were you, I would wipe that miserable look off your face and attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Unless, of course, you want to buy your own plane ticket home, which I’m telling you right now, is not gonna be cheap for someone like you.”

You felt like you had just been slapped. You might as well have been. Your chest was heavy, your breathing sporadic as your eyes welled up with angry tears. Your mind was racing as he stared at you, waiting for a response. He could be fairly ruthless, but you hadn’t experienced anything like this.

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying?” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.” 

You were wondering when Roman’s “niceness” was going to reach its threshold. 

There it was.

-

this is a reupload of a story i posted a little over a year ago. i'm really glad to be working on it again 😊 hope you enjoy

FREE USE | JJK (hcs)

PAIRING: roommate!jungkook x roommate!fem!reader.

SUMMARY: headcanons of what it’d be like to let jungkook use you as much as he pleased.

WC: 1.2k

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption, free use dynamics, friends/roommates with benefits, unprotected sex, masturbation, mentions of oral sex (male receiving), fucking while doing mundane things, reader and jungkook are very laid back in this one. Grammar mistakes as per usual.

A/N: idk where I was going with this, but I liked the idea so here it is, enjoy!

Masterlist

Your arrangement started as a simple roommates with benefits type of thing.

It sort of naturally happened.

After a long day of working at your nine to five job and Jungkook dealing with some unnecessary family drama, both of you were at your limit.

You two were in need of some good release.

At the time, alcohol looked like the better option. The best remedy for your miserable day; perfect to leave behind all your concerns and numb your mind for a few hours, until you wake up the next day with an unbearable headache.

Neither of you anticipated that what started as a peaceful drinking session, would end up with both of you fucking desperately to the point of almost breaking the sofa.

After Jungkook finally got a taste of you, however, it became an impossible task to keep his distance with you; despite both of you agreeing to that night being just a one-time thing, and never doing anything like that again.

And so his long nights of jacking off to the thought of you started.

Jungkook would make sure that you were peacefully sleeping before pulling his sweats down, slightly teasing himself by feeling his cock through his underwear.

It was so painfully hard and already leaking.

When his own teasing was too much to bear, Jungkook would pull down the last piece of clothing preventing him from feeling his fingers wrapped around his cock.

He’d start at a slow pace, taking his sweet time to build up his release. He knew the best way to tip himself over the edge, but it seemed like after your one night together nothing could make him cum. His avid fingers weren’t so avid on himself anymore. It didn’t give him the same sentiment that you did. His hand was significantly bigger than yours, on top of being rough and calloused due to all the weightlifting he did on the daily.

Jungkook could notice the stark contrast between you and himself.

He remembers so vividly the way your fingers wrapped around his base, squeezing lightly, before you started to pump his dick at a painfully slow pace. He didn’t mind at the time, but in the darkness and loneliness of his room, Jungkook could only beg for his hand to go faster. However, it wasn’t enough. And that’s how the mental image —the memory of your soft lips kissing his tip came to the very front of his mind. It was hard to forget it; the way your tongue wrapped around his dick, the way you swallowed all of him in one go, just to show him that he could be rougher with you, that it was okay for Jungkook to lose all his self control and fuck your throat only like he knew.

Sadly, those nights filled with the most filthy sounds and moans had to stay a secret for a few more weeks.

Before the unthinkable happened.

Truth be told, you were just as needy of Jungkook as he was of you. And maybe that’s the reason you didn’t think too much before suggesting that crazy idea to him.

“So… Friends with benefits?” His question sounded a bit unsure. “Well, should I say roommates with benefits?” You nodded, agreeing while taking a sip of your coffee. “Yeah, if that’s what you wanna call it. I don’t really care about the name, as long as we’re both on the same page and understand what all of this actually is.”

It was so pathetic how fast Jungkook wanted to agree and say yes to whatever deal you had for him, as long as that meant he could have you all the time he wanted.

And so, it became a recurrent occurrence to be found in the sheets of the one and only Jeon Jungkook whenever life became too stressful.

Surprisingly, the guy learned to read your body in a matter of a few days. His rough hands knew what path to follow; how soft or hard the touch of his fingers had to be to get the exact reaction he needed from you. His warm lips always found that perfect spot on your neck that would steal the sweetest of sounds from your mouth. And his dick would always move just the right way to make you see starts.

But no matter how much of your body you would give to Jungkook during the hardest of days, he would always crave more.

And that’s exactly how you found yourself in the current predicament you were in.

Your hands were acting clumsy due to Jungkook’s hard thrusts. The pencil placed in between your fingers was shaking so badly, and your handwriting was so illegible that not even someone with their 20-20 vision could understand what you wrote.

“Slow down a bit, it’s difficult to write while getting fucked.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

His pace was turned down a few notches, but it only served to feel him inside you ten times deeper.

You see, your initial arrangement got to the point of fucking at any moment, anywhere, any day. No matter what either of you were doing, if it was important or not, if you had time or were in a hurry; if your bodies were ready for it or got taken by surprise. It became normal for the both of you to use each other at any given moment.

Just like right now, you could be having a peaceful moment studying, cooking or even watching a movie and Jungkook would simply slide down whatever clothes you were wearing and slip inside, enjoying the warmth of your velvety walls.

You got so used to it that you no longer were surprised by his sudden actions. And just like you did, Jungkook also got used to your impromptu appearance in his room when he was playing video games with his friends, watching a movie, or even just listening to music.

There was one time when he was on the phone with his brother and you easily walked in his room, pulled down his pants and started to suck the life out of him. Surprisingly, Jungkook did good in suppressing his moans while speaking to his brother.

There were other times when he would be reading a manga on the couch, and without previous warning you would get on top of him and ride his cock as if it was your last wish. Even maintaining a conversation while fucking was the usual for you both.

“What are you reading?” Your airy voice rang through Jungkook’s ears, making him look up from the manga placed on his hands, before continuing reading. “Jujutsu Kaisen, the one I told you about the other day.”

“Is it the one with that Gojo guy?” Your movements got messier and faster, desperately trying to reach your high. “Is it— fuck, is it any good?”

“Mhm, it became one of my favorites.” He answered, but even if Jungkook tried to keep his voice steady you could tell he was getting there. “You should read it. I have a feeling you’d— fuck, just like that... I have a feeling you’d like it.” You nodded, not really finding your voice to answer due to your rapidly approaching orgasm. It was a matter of a few more thrusts before you were coming undone on top of him.

At any moment, any minute, any day and most importantly anywhere. That’s how it would usually go for you two.

Both of you fell into the routine so easily and neither were ready to let go of it anytime soon.

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

Obedient

Pairing ▹ Roman Roy x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ▹ After graduating college, you had a hard time finding anything. You were living paycheck to paycheck, until your old college roommate tried to help out with getting you an interview at her job, Waystar Royco. After a mix up, you find out that you were interviewing for Kendall's little brother, Roman. The more time you spent with him, you realized his whole facade of being the weird noisy arrogant douche was just to cover up really dark issues. But how much of it can you take til it just becomes way too much for you? You had your own stuff to deal with.

Notes ▹ I decided to finally start a series about Roman. There is not enough fan fictions about him. There's going to be talks about past traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I plan on making the character have deep rooted trauma as well, but hiding it a lot better than Roman, not as well though. There will be triggers for past child abuse, implied (c)SA, mentions of EDs and some substance abuse. Regardless of the heavy tones, I hope you have fun reading. This is mostly a therapy writing thing.

.・。.・゜✭・.Playlist ・✫・゜・。.

Chapters ▹ Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17

i’m kinda scared to introduce eddie to y’all in the fic i feel like you’re gonna go feral for the dynamic dhdhfhf

logan's icon is from warlockzzz

original under the cut!!

Like We Were In Paris

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, keeping it under the radar the entire time. you’re both invited to the gala de pièces juanes 2025, and it’s the first time you get to see him perform live

warnings: celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is like…mid twenties?), whole lot of fluff, basically ji-yong being a simp, taeyang & rosé being captains of the ship, use of y/n, i don’t use tumblr so bare with me while i figure this out. i tried to keep descriptions of the readers outfit vague so you could imagine it to your liking!

word count: 4.1K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i was convinced into writing a g-dragon fic (by like 3 people). i’m kinda obsessed with this. i had so many ideas while writing it & so im kind of tempted to write more of these two, but i don’t know!! this is my first like… irl person x reader (ive only written one other fic on here lmao) & i am new to g-dragon, bigbang, all that so i kept it pretty current. to me these two are very dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift coded (or just reputation coded), i cant explain why it just makes sense. the divider right below is from enchanthings here on tumblr, and the other one later on….idk its for my wattpad LMAO. anyways i hope you enjoy, and im sorry in advance if you hate it. toodles!

You still remember the first time you met Ji-yong.

You were in need of some inspiration. Working on your fourth album, the intense gaze of your record label, your management, your fans, and your musically gifted peers was crushing you. It seemed to do more harm than good. For weeks, you stared at notebooks and computers and instruments. Your manager tried to get you with various song writers. Nothing worked. So, after some persuasion from your best friend (who knew you better than anyone, having been your best friend since you were kids), you decided to do a vacation. Just you and some required security (per compromise with your team). You decided to go to Seoul, having loved it in the few times you’ve passed through on a tour. The fans there were great; always warm and welcoming and always one of your loudest shows. The culture was breathtaking. It felt like the perfect opportunity.

Your team had found a studio for you to work in. You were only there for a few weeks, but they wanted some hope that you’d come back to America with something. It was week two when you met him. You were walking towards your studio, he was walking out of his. The two of you made eye contact, and you were instantly swarmed with warmth. You didn’t believe in love at first sight (neither did he, to be fair), but you started to question it as you walked past him.

From then on, each of you seemed nosy about the other. He asked his friends who the girl was in the other studio. “Oh! The American! That’s Y/N,” He recognized your name, and now your face. He hadn’t seen you outside of a red carpet or a concert venue photo, so he didn’t recognize you with little-to-no makeup and comfortable clothes. But once it clicked, it clicked. You had asked someone working at the studio about him. They mentioned his name, Kwon Ji-Yong, and you googled him that night in your rental house.

You knew about G-Dragon, the impact he had on K-Pop and the music industry. You had heard a song here and there, but you had never seen him. Not til that day in the studio.

It was a few days until you saw him again. Your schedules just missing each other. Then, one day, your producer was running freakishly late to your meeting time, and Ji-yong was walking out of his own studio. You stood there, more like paced there, tapping wildly on your phone trying to get in contact with your producer, whispering to yourself in frustration.

Ji-yong had the courage to speak up, say hello, and the rest is history. Stories for another time, maybe. 

Your friendship eventually blossomed into a relationship, defying all cliches of long distance and the terrors that often comes with it. It helped that he was on hiatus and you had became a professional of staying out of the public eye. You both wanted to keep what you had to yourself. Your teams did, too, but they got less strict as two months eventually became two years. It was on your terms now, when you'd let everyone know about your status, but neither of you had felt ready to let the world in on something so…yours. So peaceful, so effortless, so pure. It was easy, the two of you traveling between South Korea and America to spend time together, or going on vacations together, or just taking quiet retreats into each others homes. 

Nobody ever thought of it, either. There was no reason to. Unless they’d been in the studio that day, the media had no way to expect any crossover of America’s Princess and the King of K-Pop. The media would rather gossip about you in relationships with the usual Hollywood celebrities, some of whom were just friends, some you’d never met. Neither of you mind rumors, it kept the media out of your relationship and sometimes they were hilariously ridiculous. So, you let the press talk their talk. You and Ji-yong kept to yourselves, careful on your information you’d share with friends (it was easy for things to be leaked, these days).

When Ji-yong told you he was officially making his comeback to the industry, you were ecstatic for him. You knew how much he loved making music and performing. You also knew, though he’d never admit it, sometimes when he’d sneak to join you on tour, he got a bit jealous watching you sing and dance on stage. He’d watched you collab with numerous artists, tasting just about every genre you could before eventually finding your new sound. It made him sad, some nights, missing that glow you often had instead. But most nights? Most nights he was beaming from behind the stage, watching you do what you loved most. Most people sink in this world, but you? You swam, no, you effortlessly floated in the sea of fame. And it was obvious to anyone around you. Part of what he loved most about you was your creative drive, something he shared. It inspired him, more than you’d ever know. 

Ji-yong's comeback had been more than successful, as expected. Throughout your relationship, the two of you had fumbled with varying songs and styles for each other. Oftentimes more playful than not. You guys fueled each other in the best ways. You released your newest album in 2024, and you were about to start your world tour in the early months of 2025. Ji-yong would follow suit, his first solo album in years coming out soon and then starting his own tour. 

Both of you were wracked with nerves, spending days in rehearsals, wardrobe tests, photo shoots, traveling all over for various projects. It had been weeks since you’d seen each other. After the holidays you were swimming in press for your new tour. He had been equally busy, filming his show, performing at various shows. You both loved it. You loved your jobs and you loved each others jobs. But even you two would struggle on the days where it’d been long, exhausting, and mentally draining; wanting nothing more than each other’s warmth.

The Gala des Pièces Jaunes, a show that helps collect donations for charity in Paris, had invited both of you to perform, along with other various stars. Little did they know, they had invited the world's most popular secret couple. You had been ecstatic. Not only did you love the message the event had, but you loved the idea of sharing the stage with so many extremely talented artists. Including, your boyfriend. 

The night before the show, you had inconspicuously snuck your way towards Ji-yong’s room. You had wanted to get a hotel room together, but knew that you had to be careful with the amount of eyes on both of you this weekend. Still, that didn’t stop you from wondering around until you ended up at his door. With your special knock– each knock a syllable in your names –you waited patiently for him to open up the door to you. His eyes were sparkly, even in the shitty lighting. They always seemed to do that with you. 

“Finally,” He breathed, pulling you into the room quickly. You giggled as he used your body to shut the door, his arms around you tightly. You had seen each other, earlier in the day during rehearsals. Pretending like it was your first time meeting him and Taeyang was hell. Pretending you didn’t know their names, pretending Ji-yong didn’t pick out your outfit on FaceTime, and pretending you didn’t want to latch on to him and never let go. 

The only people who knew about you two were Young-bae, of course. He and Daesung had known about you for a while now, teasing their friend and bandmate for not telling them right away. The other person was Rosé, who’d been your friend for years and one of your closest friends in the celebrity world, both of you having blown up in popularity around the same time. Both of them seemed equally amused, watching you and Ji-yong try to act nonchalant around the other. Young-bae chuckling as Ji-yong watched your rehearsals in a stunned silence. He knew every song of yours by heart (even the ones from before he met you), and even when trying to act like he didn’t he could feel himself mouthing the words as he watched you and your dancers on the stage. Rosé would wink at you when she’d walk past you, and everytime you almost missed it cause you were too busy watching Ji-yong talking with his team.

But now, the two of you didn’t have to act. You couldn’t stop laughing in awe, Ji-yong smothering your face in feather-light kisses. You held on to him, your face turning pink as he continued his full-blown kiss attack. “I missed you, jagiya, so much.” He muttered against your skin. Finally, he pulled back to look over your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. You melted into his arms, your mind momentarily fuzzy. There was nothing else but him. His hands on your waist, his shirt clutched in your hands, his scent that had became your favorite. Him. Him. Him. It was always him. 

“I missed you more,” You whispered, running your fingers through his minty-colored hair. He closed his eyes softly, as if soaking in your touch. Your heart swelled, as it always seemed to do with him. You had never felt this way, not in any of your previous relationships. You had been positive for a while now, Ji-yong was it for you. “Are you excited?” You asked him, tilting your head in curiosity.

He slowly opened his eyes, meeting your soft expression. He loved how you looked at him. It was something you couldn’t hide, not even at rehearsals. He sighed, pulling you by your hand further into the hotel room. “Yes. Nervous, too.” He added. You nod in understanding, he had only performed a few times since the comeback. He loved it after, always, but the nerves had been hard to shake off, even still.

“I’m excited to see you,” You beam, still keeping your fingers interlocked. You hadn’t seen him live, not yet. You had been back in America finishing up your album and starting a press tour at the time, but you always called him right before he went on to give him a final good luck, and you always snuck onto a live stream to watch. 

He rolled his eyes shyly, leaning his head into your neck. “Young-bae is going to make so much fun of me.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m more nervous for you to see my performance than I was at MAMA.” 

You laughed at that, bringing his face into your hands and looking at him. “You’re going to be amazing. More than amazing. You’re going to be perfect.” You reassure him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “And I am not afraid to bully Young-bae,” He laughed at this, throwing his head back slightly. He knew it was true, your friendship with Taeyang almost too sibling-like, to the point you two teased each other about everything. 

“Are you nervous at all?” He asks you, looking over your expression, as if he’s trying to find your answer in your gaze. He did this a lot, knowing you for so long he began to pick up on things, even before you did.

“I am, but only a little,” You decide finally. It was a short set, only a few songs to perform. You had picked your most popular hits and your newest single for the setlist. And your outfit was your favorite part, matching your dancers whilst still making sure you stood out and felt confident. “Oh! I have to tell you about this thing I saw.” You pulled out of his arms, suddenly distracted by something you wanted to tell him about when you were in your room. 

Ji-yong watched you quietly. His eyes filled with a lightness and admiration. He listened to you talk as you grabbed a water, waving your arms wildly to dramatize the story. He smiled, leaning against the couch in his room as he thought about how much he loved you. He loved everything about you. From the way you talked about your passions to the way you scrunched your face when you ate something you didn’t like. He loved the way you danced in the car when your favorite song came on. He loved the way you loved the people around you. He loved the way you waltzed into his heart like it was your home, and wrapped your arms around him like you were his home. You are his home, he’s sure of that. Even now, as you ramble into near nonsense about something he has no understanding of. He still watched you like you had been the most beautiful work of art he’d discovered. He was certain that was true.

Le Gala des Pièces was in full swing. Everything was going well, perfect, all of it. And you were backstage, getting your makeup touched up as you saw someone walk past your open door. You recognized him instantly, you always did. And part of you couldn’t let him go on stage without a final goodbye.  “I’ll be right back!” You pushed yourself out of your chair, rushing after him. You could see him walking through the hall, too busy with his own thoughts to notice you coming to grab his wrist.

Ji-yong felt your touch, his head moving so fast he swore he heard a crack. His eyes met yours instantly, then looked you over in surprise. He hadn’t seen your outfit yet. It complimented his, something he wasn’t sure if you had done on purpose or not. A black and red outfit, the red the exact same shade as his tie. As he looked you over, you could see the different emotions flicker on his face. Admiration, lust, maybe hunger, and love. He looked up at your face again, smiling, “Hi, Y/N,” His name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, now. Over the years, nicknames had become your normal. Another thing to add to the list of things you hated about pretending you didn’t know him.

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you looked at him. You hadn’t been sure if you’d see him before he went on, so you hadn’t exactly planned your choice of words. “I wanted to wish you luck,” You stuttered out, suddenly aware of how many eyes could be on the two of you.

Ji-yong’s eyes were laced with amusement, seeing your cheeks turned pink. “I have to grab something to drink, come with me?” He asked, playing it as cool and casual as humanly possible. You itched to reach for his hand, but kept to yourself as you followed him. 

As soon as you were in a dark corner, away from prying eyes, he was on you. The two of you pressed your lips together like perfect puzzle pieces. Your hands roamed his chest as his roamed your waist. You hummed happily, wishing this moment with him would never end. Adrenaline, nerves, excitement all were running high. From the show, from being around each other, from sneaking around. You felt his hands squeeze your hips, the two of you forcing yourselves to pull away. You smiled up at him, almost dizzy from him simply being in front of you. “Good luck,” You beamed.

“Is that how you wish everybody good luck?” He asks playfully. You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest as you adjusted yourselves. “I’ll see you as soon as I’m done,” He leans to kiss you again, “I love you,”

“I love you more,” You winked as he sauntered off towards where his team was waiting for him. You stayed back a moment, blushing wildly and hopping in place happily before rushing back to your own people.

You watched from backstage, wrapping yourself in a black robe to hide yourself as much as you could from the crew around you. You had passed Taeyang, who gave you a subtle handshake as he passed by for his cue. You watched in awe, seeing Ji-yong, no, G-Dragon on that stage. Seeing him do it all in person…it was ethereal. The way he moved through the stage and carried himself with this aura. He was almost mesmerizing, distracting you from the chaos backstage and your own nerves. It didn’t shock you, you’d known forever how talented he was. You’d seen videos of him from before you met, you’d seen him work for hours upon hours in studios, and you’d seen him on set for his music videos. But this was different. This was really him. This was what he was born to do, if destiny and fate were real. This was exactly that.

“Hey, pretty,” You turned your head to Rosé, Rosie, who only smiled knowingly. She linked her arm with yours, leaning into you. “You happy?”

“Happiest,” You answered, “He’s so good.”

“He is.” Rosie agreed. She giggled at your face. The two of you had met years ago, you had blown up in the music scene shortly after Blackpink. The two of you crossed paths at an event, not knowing anyone else there, and you two stuck by each others sides much like you were now. You two had been closest friends. When you told her about your first date with Ji-yong, she was ecstatic. She knew Ji-yong, and she knew that he’d be good to you. She wanted you to be happy, and that's what you were. Always when it came to Ji-yong, you were the happiest person she'd seen.

You watched the rest of his set. You smiled giddily as he and Taeyang performed together. You bit your thumb nail as you watched him move around the stage in the second outfit with the sparkling black jacket. Rosie nudging you every time she noticed you blush. 

When he was off the stage, he had found you waiting for him amidst the crowd of people. He smiled happily, reaching you without much thought about anyone else. His arms swooped you in, hugging you tightly. You laughed, hugging him back. “That was amazing!” You beamed. For a moment, the two of you forgot where you were. Forgetting the curious eyes who thought you barely knew each other. When your senses kicked in, he was quick to put you back at a friendly distance. Your gaze moved to Taeyang, “You guys are phenomenal!” You hugged Young-bae too, hoping that if you acted friendly with everyone it wouldn’t cause more suspicion. “Thank you,” Ji-yong muttered, suddenly shy again. He bowed quickly at you, trying to play it off. In moments, you were hearing your name called, and his own team was surrounding him. You smiled warmly, disappearing in the crowd of crew and stars. 

Ji-yong wanted to keep close to you. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms until the very moment you were on stage, but that was impossible. You were back in your greenroom, getting makeup and hair touched up, and then you were taking photos with crew members and doing more vocal warm ups. You were being whisked around every which way. He and Young-bae were staying close together, feeling the most comfortable with each other as they simply watched the show continue.

Young-bae was smiling to himself. He had been so happy for Ji-yong when he introduced you to him and Daesung. It was blatantly obvious to see how happy you made him. You made Ji-yong smile at every moment, you'd giggle at his jokes (even if Young-bae didn't think they were that funny), you would help him if you noticed his hesitation. You encouraged him. You built him up. You even started secretly learning Korean, calling Young-bae for help every now and again. The next time you visited Ji-yong, you had managed to say your first sentence in Korean, and it was actually good. You were this ray of sunshine. Anyone who knew the two of you knew that. He was honored to be in on your guys’s little secret. Otherwise, he’d feel cheated out of watching two people he cared about falling in love. 

Unfortunately, Ji-yong didn’t get a chance to see you before you were whisked away under the stage to make your entrance. Still, he watched quietly from backstage. He clasped his hands together, watching the crowd scream with anticipation as your intro started. Fog began to cover the stage, the lights flashing every which way with the music. Your dancers surrounded the area you’d rise from. Once you did, you immediately went into the first song, dancing on every note. The crowd was wild. Ji-yong smiled proudly. On stage you were someone else entirely. You were confident, you moved with ease and exact precision. Your body moved with your dancers, most you’ve known for years. Their hands grazing your hips as you all moved together in sync. Ji-yong never got jealous, knowing how these things worked. He was no stranger to any of it. 

He’d seen you perform, maybe a hundred times now, and yet it never got old. As the song transitioned to another popular track, the crowd somehow getting even louder, he thought about how you might’ve looked earlier. Standing in the same spot, only a short time ago. He could only assume you looked much like he did now. Body swaying to the familiar music, mouthing the words, eyes sparkling at him like he had hung the moon and the stars only for you. He wasn’t sure what he did to get so lucky.

He clapped as the crowd did. You were at the far end of the stage now, dancing with another male dancer to the third song. The song had been written for him, though not many people knew that other than you and him. A romantically charged song. It was one of his favorites. He remembered the day you showed it to him, all shy and quiet, which was unusual for you. You had told him you had a song to show him, wanting to release it as a single in the future. When you played it, you only stared at his face while he stared at the computer screen. He considered marrying you right there. 

As you performed your fourth and final song, he found his way to where you’d end up off stage. He played with his sleeves, smiling shyly as people greeted him as they passed by. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you. 

And he did. You came off the stage, glistening from glitter and sweat. You hugged your dancers and thanked them, high-fiving other members of your crew. As your eyes met his, he could see them light up. But you stayed put, not wanting to make another scene. He winked at you, moving in the direction of your greenroom.

It took you a couple minutes to get your micpack off and head towards your dressing room to change. Once you did, you smiled wide at the man waiting inside. “We did it!” You beamed as you jumped at him. He caught you easily, swinging you loosely in his arms as you pressed your lips against his. It wasn’t rushed or adrenaline-filled like before. This was softer, still full of energy, but only relief, love, and pure joy. “We fucking nailed it, baby,” You said as you looked up at him. He swore he might die from the way you love him.

“You were beautiful,” He hummed, leaning into your hair. He hummed, squeezing you tighter. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You closed your eyes, taking in the moment as best as you could. There was no place on this planet you loved more than being in his embrace. You could be anywhere, at any time, anything could be happening, and all you’d want is him. That’s all you’d ever need, The lazy mornings in your LA home where you’d surprise him with breakfast in bed. The romantic nights in Seoul where he’d take you out to dinner at your favorite place. The bustling mornings when one of you had a meeting to get to. One of you having a mouth full of toast trying to run out the door, only to scramble back to give the other a kiss. Late nights in studios, falling asleep in random spots as you tried to come up with new lyrics and beats. Your favorites were the quiet nights, the two of you tangled in bed sheets as he stared at each other, talking about whatever came to mind as one of you played with the others hair, or traced shapes on bare skin. Gentle kisses passed back and forth. Life was perfect, and he was perfect. 

“I love you, Ji,” You whispered, kissing him again. He hummed into it, smiling. You looked him over appreciatively, fiddling with his outfit. “I need to change, wanna pick my outfit out for me?” You asked, raising a brow. His eyes flicked with mischief as he looked back at the rack of clothes you had. He looked back at you, pulling you back into him again.

maybe i do: “one week without sex”

➵ summary: when a small, petty argument spirals out of control, you and your husband settle on one solution to the problem; betting who can last the longest without sex. it won’t be easy, but you and taehyung are equally determined to win, and you’ll both stop at nothing to secure your victories—even if it means playing dirty. 

↳ part of the maybe i do series!

this drabble can be read as a stand alone, but it is highly recommended to read the series!

➵ pairing: ceo!taehyung x wife!reader

➵ genre: arranged marriage!au, established relationship!au, smut, minor angst, fluff

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 20k

➵ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption (both parties are able to consent), constant sexual teasing, high-class gang cameo!!, getting caught in the act 👀, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, D/s relationship, dom!tae, sub!reader, big dicc!tae, heavy making out, breast fondling, choking, finger sucking, male and female masturbation, sexting/phone sex, use of a sex toy (vibrator), exhibitionism + voyeurism (with each other), drunk sex, rough, needy sex, riding, hitting it from the back, impregnation kink, creampie <3

➵ a/n: and here it is!! again please excuse the ridiculous word count, i’m attempting to work through writing a sequel for the maybe i do series, so these “drabbles” are just me experimenting with the content! i’ll provide more details when I can heheh <33 thank you endlessly to my wife @amourtae​ for beta-ing!!! i hope you enjoy and your feedback is always appreciated!

“You’re gonna be late, honey, be quick.” 

“Who cares? I am not leaving you.” 

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