#... sorry i don't want to be in the tags so not typing out his name

[sweeterthanficstion]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[lmvari]

do you mind? (repost)

summary. sharing a table with a stranger at a crowded café, only to realize they’re far more interesting than you expected.

characters. xiao, scaramouche, heizou, venti, kazuha x gn!reader (separate)

tags. modern au, fluff, crack

warnings. kind of ooc xiao and kazuha, alcohol in venti's

XIAO

Internally panicking, but he welcomes you to the table with a small nod. He’s the reserved type—the kind to look anywhere but in your general direction just to avoid eye contact. Archons, how many times has he glanced out the window just to stare at that decorative plant? He even counted the leaves.

Social interaction isn’t his strong suit. And it certainly doesn’t help that you’re attractive.

If he had his way, he’d sit in silence, letting the passing seconds fill the space between you. But his own discomfort betrays him. Hands fidgeting under the table, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, gaze flickering to anything but you.

He feigns indifference, arms crossed, posture rigid. 

But then—you speak. Because, for some reason, you find him interesting.

You introduce yourself first, then ask for his name.

His heart stumbles in his chest. He’s unsure if it’s from nerves or the sheer absurdity of the situation. Someone willingly trying to talk to him, despite his obvious attempts to fade into the background.

Though his palms are slightly damp from tension, he keeps his voice steady, his expression unreadable. Flat tone. Unwavering gaze. A carefully maintained air of disinterest.

You frown. A subtle shift, but he notices.

That’s a cue, isn’t it? A signal that you’ll leave him alone now. That’s what he wanted… right?

Then why does something in his chest sink when you simply nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, offering nothing more?

He exhales quietly. Curses himself. He just lost the chance to get to know you.

But this is the first time someone’s been able to catch his attention. So he thinks of a way to redeem himself.

"Oh. Okay." You say in response to his answer, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. But truthfully, you’re embarrassed.

You spent a whole ten minutes bouncing your leg, debating whether or not you should make the first move, only to be met with disappointment after finally mustering up the courage.

You bite your bottom lip and tap your fingers on the table, falling silent. Now, all you can do is wait for the servers to call your order so you can leave. You seriously don’t want to embarrass yourself further in front of this stranger.

“I, uh...”

A voice cuts through your thoughts.

You don’t assume right away that he’s talking to you, so you keep your gaze averted, pretending not to notice.

Then, a cough. Loud enough that you instinctively glance up in concern.

Your eyes widen slightly when you find him already looking at you.

“Yes?” You ask, taken aback that he was referring to you. There’s a flicker of curiosity in your expression, maybe even a bit of hope.

He hesitates. “…I'm sorry.” His voice is quieter this time, almost unsure. “I didn’t mean to come across as cold earlier.”

The shift in his tone is subtle, but you catch it. Gone is the detached, indifferent edge from before.

You smile, relieved. "No, no, don't worry about it! I get like that sometimes too."

He exhales lightly. Almost as if… reassured. After a beat, he offers a small, hesitant smile in return. It’s brief, but it’s there.

It suits him, you think.

It’s cute that he chose to apologize instead of just letting it be. Most people would’ve moved on, unwilling to make things more awkward. But he didn't.

And then—

"I'm not used to people." He pauses. “…Especially ones like you.”

A beat of silence.

You blink. Wait. What?

His own words seem to register a second too late.

You watch as his shoulders tense slightly, his fingers curling into a loose fist on his lap. The tips of his ears are… pink?

Oh.

Oh.

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was he flirting with you? No way. He doesn’t seem like the flirty type. He’s definitely more socially awkward than you. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that.

But before you can overthink it—

“…If it’s okay with you, may I have your number?”

SCARAMOUCHE / WANDERER

Glares at you menacingly. Like a cat trying to hiss someone away.

Him? Sharing a table? With some random nobody? Absolutely not. This table is his.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his bag on the chair in front of him. A silent warning. Don’t even think about it.

"It's occupied," he deadpans before returning to whatever he was doing.

You, unimpressed, grab his bag and dump it on the table. Then you plop down into the chair, arms crossed, staring him down as if to say: "Try and get me out of this seat, you brat."

His mouth parted slightly, just for a second, before snapping shut. Did you just—? The audacity.

A scoff escapes him as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his glare sharper than ever. His fingers drum against his bicep as he mutters under his breath—something that sounds suspiciously like, "At least you're not completely spineless." Not that he’d ever say it directly.

But since the café is packed and dragging you out by the collar would be frowned upon, he begrudgingly allows it.

For the most part, he ignores you. Or at least, he tries to. You pretend not to notice the irritated glances he throws your way every time you smile at your phone or stifle a laugh.

Then a server approaches.

She sets your drink down and takes a brief look at the two of you. No food orders yet. Her eyes brighten as she leans in slightly, all smiles.

"We actually have a 25% couple's discount for two strawberry shortcakes!"

Silence.

His stare darkens.

He looks at her like she just personally insulted his entire bloodline. If he had one in this universe, anyway. His lips part, undoubtedly to say something cruel enough to make her rethink her entire career.

But before he can, you slap a hand over his mouth.

"That sounds great! We’ll take it!" you chirp, grinning at the waitress as if your life doesn’t currently depend on keeping Scaramouche from verbally eviscerating an innocent employee.

The server’s eyes sparkle with delight as she scribbles down the order. She even hums. 

He looks personally offended.

You heave a sigh as the server finally walks away. Just as you’re about to relax, you feel a vibration against your palm. The glaring stranger is trying to speak, his voice muffled against your hand.

Then, before you can react—

His tongue moves.

He licks your palm.

Slow. Wet. Deliberate.

"Gross!" You yank your hand away, scrubbing it furiously against his sleeve.

He swats you off instantly, recoiling like you just infected him with the plague. "Get your germs off of me!" he snaps.

"You're the one who just licked my hand!" you retort, scandalized.

His scowl deepens. His expression alone speaks volumes.

"The hell was that for? First, you hog my table—"

"I wasn’t hogging it, we needed to share!"

"—interrupting my peace with your presence—"

"I was minding my own business!"

"—and then you have the absolute audacity to make us out as some kind of couple?!"

"Shut up, they might hear you! We’ll lose the discount!" you hiss, glancing around in case the staff overheard. The people in the vicinity gave looks of concern at your direction.

He scoffs. "You have some nerve."

You roll your eyes. So dramatic. Acting like you just ruined his life.

"I had to grab the opportunity. It’s strawberry shortcake."

He clicks his tongue. "That’s your excuse?"

"It’s strawberry shortcake," you repeat as if that alone explains everything.

He huffs, crossing his arms. "Fine. Go eat your stupid cake."

"You don’t want some?"

"I hate cakes."

You blink. Who the hell hates cake?

"Why?"

His eyes narrow. "Why? Because I hate them. I hate sweets in general. Life isn’t sweet. Life is full of bitterness and sorrow. I don’t get how people manage to laugh in this world. It’s annoying."

…Wow. That escalated.

How did a conversation about shortcakes turn into a monologue about the inherent misery of existence?

"What the hell? Who hurt you?" you mutter.

"My mother."

You suck in a sharp breath. 

The words are so blunt, so casually spoken, that it takes you a second to process. Your lips twitch. No. You shouldn’t laugh.

But the longer you stare at his deadpan face, the harder it is to hold back. A chuckle slips out. Then another.

Hey, this guy is kind of funny. He's growing on you.

He gives you a baffled look like you’re the crazy one for finding humor in his trauma dump.

His brows furrow, and for a brief second, his gaze lingers—not in irritation, but in something else. Something almost mesmerized. He mutters something too quiet to catch before looking away, resting his head on his palm.

You inhale deeply, composing yourself. "Fine. I'll eat both cakes, then. I'm the one paying anyway."

He doesn’t respond, just glares at nothing in particular.

Minutes later, the same cheerful server returns with a tray of two servings of strawberry shortcake. Just as you reach for your wallet—

A hand beats you to it.

The stranger slaps down his own cash before you can even open your bag.

The server’s grin widens. "Ah, paying for the date? How chivalrous!" she chimes, her voice far too amused, before skipping away.

You freeze. Wait.

Did he just let her think that?

Your gaze snaps to him, utterly bewildered. He doesn’t even deny it—just grabs one of the plates and starts stabbing the cake with his fork.

"I thought you said you don’t like sweets."

"That’s right," he mutters before taking a grumpy bite.

You narrow your eyes. "Then why—"

He chews, swallows, and then shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Would be a real waste of my money if I didn’t enjoy it with you."

HEIZOU

Has been watching you since you entered the café. Not in a creepy way, just subtle, observant, like he’s solving a case. And wow you are stunning. The way your eyes scan the room, looking for an open seat, tells him you’re about to approach him.

He makes his move first.

"Over here!" he waves, voice warm and inviting, like he's an old friend waiting for you. You hesitate, confused. Do you know this guy? But with no other seats available, you accept with a small, grateful smile.

Big mistake. Or maybe the best decision you’ve made today.

Because once you sit, he talks. And flirts. And teases. And somehow, he already knows things about you.

Will ask you all sorts of questions: What's your name? Your age? Your birthday? Your favorite color? Any pets? Exes?

Even taking guesses as to what your answers might be. and he got them all right, if not, then close. But every now and then, he throws in something completely unexpected: 

"What's your ideal type? Is it me?"

"Aside from being pretty, what do you do for a living?"

"Have you ever committed a crime before? Because now you have."  He says while clutching his chest. 

You nearly choke on your drink. Heizou just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

"Alright, your turn. You can interrogate me now," he offers, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And so you do. Because he’s interesting. Charming. Smart. Too smart. And when he leans in slightly, studying your features like he’s committing them to memory, you feel yourself getting drawn in, too.

Heizou hums in thought. "You’ve got the kind of face that belongs in a painting," he muses. "I’d describe it more, but I’d rather see how flustered you get first."

You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile.

He'd be the type to reach out and take small bites of your food while chatting. He does it so shamelessly that you're impressed, so you just let him.

This boy is so confident with himself, flirting so casually like it's second nature.

He wouldn't go as far as to touch you, of course. He knows his limits and will keep his hands to himself. But he acts so relaxed and friendly with you that you think maybe he's just playing you.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s interested in you.

It’s not like he’s being subtle about it, either. The lingering glances, the teasing smirks, the way his eyes light up whenever you react to his words. It’s obvious.

And sure, you feel the same way. But still. 

Is this how he always approaches strangers? Does he flirt for fun, or does he actually mean to follow through? How many people have fallen for his tricks before?

A thoughtful hum breaks your train of thought. Heizou taps his chin lightly, then suddenly snaps his fingers. A habit you’ve noticed ever since you sat down.

"Your expression tells me you’re doubting my motives. Correct?"

You blink in surprise. Then chuckle softly, shaking your head. Damn, he’s good.

"That’s right. A point for you, detective."

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Funny you say that. Being a detective is my full-time job."

Your lips part slightly in surprise. He never mentioned that before. But now it all makes sense. The way he reads you like an open book, the way he asks questions so effortlessly, the way he makes it feel like you’re being studied and he’s enjoying every second of it.

"That’s quite… attractive." You admit, cheeks warming slightly.

Heizou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "You think so?" His grin widens, but there’s a new glint in his gaze now.

"Then allow me to clear up any lingering doubts, sweetheart." He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

"I do plan on pursuing you."

Oh.

Your heart stumbles. You were not prepared for him to be that straightforward.

Heizou watches your reaction, clearly amused. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head. "Only a true detective can crack the case of this heart theft, you know."

A teasing pause. Then, the final blow.

"And my prime suspect… is you."

VENTI

When you approach him, the faint yet unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air. He’s drunk. In the middle of the day. At a café.

Wait. Do they even serve alcohol here?

His head rests lazily on his folded arms, eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was fast asleep. Beside him, a humble coffee cup sits suspiciously untouched. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you lean in for a peek.

Yep. It’s alcohol.

How the hell did he sneak that in? More importantly, how has no one caught him yet? You glance around, half-expecting an employee to scold him, but they just pass him by like he’s invisible. Maybe he’s a regular here.

Deciding not to wake him, you quietly settle into the seat across from him, giving him space. 

Then, without warning, he jolts awake.

"Oh! Hello, stranger!"

He’s suddenly wide awake. No sluggish blinking, no groggy confusion, just pure, unbothered energy. You flinch at the unexpected enthusiasm.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He doesn’t even bother to ask your name. Instead, he jumps straight into conversation as if you’re an old friend who’s been here all along.

And somehow, you go along with it.

With an animated grin, he launches into the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard.

"Earlier, I saw this red-haired guy absolutely demolish some blue-haired guy in a fight. It was spectacular! Ehe~!"

You blink. Excuse me?

That’s just one of the things he shares. He never runs out of things to say. Wild, chaotic, oddly fascinating things. Like?? Does he see stuff like that on a daily basis?

And despite nearly passing out five minutes ago, he speaks so effortlessly that you start questioning if he was even drunk to begin with.

Like Heizou, he will also steal some of the pastries you ordered, albeit in a more subtle manner. He thinks you don't notice this lol.

"You've got fine taste in sweets, stranger!" he hums, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Tell me, what's your opinion on wine?"

You blink at the sudden shift in topic but answer with an amused smile. "I don’t really know much about it. I just drink whatever I feel like."

Venti gasps dramatically, "Hah, I thought so! I cou—"

His sentence is abruptly cut off by a hiccup. You barely suppress a laugh as you slide a glass of water toward him.

"Whoops! My bad!" He lets out a bubbly giggle, taking the water with a flourish. After downing a few sips, he clears his throat with an exaggerated ahem.

"As I was saying—" He pauses for effect. "If you're interested in wine, I’d be delighted to educate you! I’d say I’m an expert.”

You tilt your head playfully. "I can tell."

His eyes twinkle with mischief. "But if you're not..."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper.

"I'm still very interested in having a drink with you sometime. You’re quite the gorgeous stranger, you know."

Before you can fully process the compliment, he winks. Smooth, confident, entirely shameless.

"So," he muses, resting his chin in his palm.

“What do you say about keeping in touch?"

KAZUHA

Kazuha is probably the most normal one out of the bunch. No glares, no drunken ramblings, no interrogation-like questioning. Just a warm, endearing smile as he gestures toward the empty seat across from him.

He even stands up, gently pulling your chair back for you. A small but thoughtful gesture. One that makes your heart skip just a little.

"Please, have a seat." His voice is soft, and smooth, like a passing breeze on a summer afternoon.

As you settle in, he strikes up a light conversation, asking about your day with genuine curiosity. He listens intently, nodding along, occasionally offering small comments that make you feel at ease.

And unlike a certain maroon-haired flirt or a wine-loving bard, instead of stealing your food, he offers you his. With a slight nudge, he pushes his plate toward you.

"Would you like to try some?" His expression is hopeful.

You shake your head, feeling too shy to accept. "Oh, no, it’s yours. I couldn’t."

He pouts. Actually pouts.

"Come on, just a bite. Humor me." He even throws in the puppy eyes.

And damn it, how could you refuse that face?

Reluctantly, you take a tiny piece with your fork, just enough to taste.

He notices. And he’s not having it.

Without a word, he cuts a larger piece, lifting it toward your lips with his own fork.

"Say aah," he coaxes, his smile both playful and teasing.

Your face burns hotter than the café’s espresso machine, but you comply, letting him feed you.

His expression softens, eyes twinkling with quiet satisfaction.

But just when you think it couldn't get worse—

He leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Before you can react, he reaches out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of your mouth.

Then, with a casual grace that should not be allowed, he brings his thumb to his lips, licking off the stray bit of cream.

And smiles.

Innocently.

As if he didn’t just send your soul straight into the abyss.

You stare at him, utterly flustered, while he simply sips his tea, acting as though he didn’t just casually destroy you in broad daylight.

"You're acting awfully sweet to a stranger," you point out, tilting your head at him.

Kazuha hums thoughtfully, swirling his tea. Then, he gives you a small, shy smile.

"Am I? Well... how could I not, if the stranger is you?"

Smooth. Too smooth.

He gives you a shy smile. "We could fix the 'stranger' part. How about friends?"

You giggle softly. "Are you sure just friends?"

He gives you a playful look. "Well, we could be more in the future."

His laugh is light, airy. Like the whisper of wind through maple leaves. But then, something seems to dawn on him, and his expression shifts.

"But—" he pauses, suddenly looking sheepish. "If you're already seeing someone, being friends is enough."

Oh, that's adorable.

You giggle behind your hand, heartwarming at his sincerity. After all that flirting, he's still worried about stepping over a line.

"Don't worry," you reassure him, "I've never dated anyone."

His eyes widen slightly, genuine disbelief flickering across his face.

"Is that so?" He tilts his head. "That's surprising. I thought someone like you would be off the market by now."

You shrug, smirking at him. He leans in just a little, voice dropping to a gentle murmur, as if sharing a secret.

 His gaze locks onto yours, warm, admiring. 

“I get to find and keep the treasure, then? What an honor.”

note. ah yes the work i was most proud of back then lol anw i’m planning to make a part 2 for this idk when tho maybe when i feel like it. i improved a few bits from the original and this is not proofread! i literally just skimmed through the text and changed a few stuff hope u enjoyed say hi if u remembered this

© lmvari do not repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works on any platform.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 16: "The one with the unnamed surprise" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Domesticity wraps itself around your days with Frankie. He asks you to cover your eyes. In front of you, an unnamed surprise. In front of him, a named one. WC: 9K

A/N: So, here’s the thing... yesterday I said I was going to post a snippet, but when I sat down to choose one, I got distracted writing, and one thing led to another and I ended up writing and editing the whole chapter so here it is part 16 YAY!!! Also, sorry for being MIA. I had a minor surgery this week (I’m okay, don’t worry) and I have two exams next monday (not yay). Thank you so much for your comments and messages—I promise I’ll reply to all of them 🤍🫶🏻 In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

Sunday, October 27th

You stepped out of Helena’s front door and into the soft warmth of late-morning sun, your cheeks catching the light like it had been waiting for you. The front yard smelled faintly of leaves and old roses. Behind you, Frankie’s shoes thudded against the wooden steps.

“It was really lovely to see you, sweetheart,” Helena said, her hand settling gently on your shoulder. “Don’t wait so long next time, okay?”

Before you could answer, Frankie cut in automatically. “I won’t, Mom. I promise.”

Helena turned to him with a half-laugh, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you. Although, frankly, you could stand to come around more too, don’t you think?”

You smiled, unsure where to look. Frankie exhaled a soft laugh behind you, his hand brushing your back.

Mai came out then, barefoot, a Tupperware container clutched to her chest.

“Here,” she said, holding it out. Her hair was messy, in a effortless way that made her look even younger. “Apple pie. Still warm, so don’t tilt it or whatever.”

You nodded, the pie heavier in your hands than you expected. “Thank you.”

Mai lingered for a second, then added, “I’ll text you about the party, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, already imagining her message appearing on your phone screen later that evening. Then you felt it—Frankie’s hand sliding onto your waist, just resting there.

“And what about me?” he said, a crooked smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You’re not gonna text me?”

Mai didn’t even look at him. “You’re part of the package deal.”

You lingered after that—talking a little more with Helena about your next visit. She insisted on dinner. Mai, predictably, lobbied for a restaurant this time. There was laughter. And comfort. And something that felt like belonging.

It had changed, coming here now. It wasn’t performance anymore. You didn’t have to manufacture the way your shoulder leaned into his, or time your glances like stage directions. You didn’t have to imagine the tension. It existed, dense and unmistakable and terribly real.

And maybe that made everything more complicated. Because now, it mattered.

You wanted them to like you. Not because you were pretending to belong—but because, somehow, you already did. 

A few days ago, Frankie had mentioned that his sister, Sofía, was organizing an event at her flower shop. She did it every year with her best friend Caroline, who owned a small bakery a few blocks away. People would gather at the shop to read poems, short stories, essays they’d scribbled into journals or typed up on quiet Sunday afternoons. Frankie admitted it wasn’t really his thing—he said it made him tired, that he never stayed long when he did go. But he looked at you as he said it, a crooked half-smile at the edge of his mouth, and told you he thought you'd enjoy it. So he wanted to take you.

And he was right. You spent most of the afternoon in the flower shop, the scent of eucalyptus and dried lavender hanging in the air around you. There were too many folding chairs and not enough standing room. The walls were lined with pale wooden shelves holding glass vases and hand-lettered signs. Helena had come, too, along with Grace, and the four of you drifted in and out of conversations while people took turns reading at the front. Grace stayed close to you, asking you questions with a curiosity that didn’t feel invasive. She spoke with this open, thoughtful cadence that made her seem older than she was.

At one point, she leaned toward you and whispered, “I’m glad you’re dating my uncle. You’re a good person. It’s kind of a relief.” You turned toward her with a small, surprised smile.

You thanked her softly, genuinely, but there was a slight weight tugging at the corners of your expression. That word relief had a way of sticking. You didn’t ask what she meant by it, but you thought about Rachel. You didn’t even want to think about Rachel, but your mind circled back anyway. That vague, unfinished narrative that hovered somewhere behind Frankie’s eyes whenever her name was mentioned. You didn’t have the full picture.

Later, when the readings ended and the chairs were folded and stacked near the counter, Helena invited you both to her house for lunch. You said yes without thinking. It felt easy, natural.

And now, days later, you were in the car, the sky clear and quiet above the windshield, your hand resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. Full. Content in that lazy, familiar way that comes after a big homemade meal.

“Your mom is such a good cook,” you murmured, stretching your feet out and leaning your head against the window. The glass was cool and the sunlight flickered through the leaves. “I could go over there more often.”

Frankie chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the road, one hand loosely on the wheel.

“I mean, no pressure,” you added, glancing at him. “You don’t have to be there. I can go on my own. Girls’ day, you know?”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch your face. “Oh yeah? And what would that look like?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Talking about books, stuff… things you probably wouldn’t care about.”

“I like girls’ days.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you?”

“Sure. I can blend right in. You won’t even notice me. It'll be like I'm part of the decor.”

You laughed. “I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

He grinned, unfazed. “You could have your girls’ day. I’ll just be in the background. Silently appreciating your dynamic. Maybe even bring snacks.”

“Or,” you said, playful now, “you could have your own boys’ day. With Santiago and the rest of the guys. Talk about cars, or fishing, or whatever ancient rituals you people do to reaffirm your masculinity.”

Frankie looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I think I’d prefer both.”

You groaned. “God, don’t be corny.”

“A little corn never hurt anyone.”

“Yes, it did,” you said. “It hurt this conversation.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked real irritation.

“Okay,” he said slowly, dragging out the syllable like he was preparing to make a point. “But you've been to a lot of those hangouts with the guys too, don’t you think?”

“Sure, because Santi invited me. Or Benny. Or someone else who actually wanted me there.”

He glanced at you with a crooked grin. “And what, I’m not included in this girls' night elite invitation circle?”

You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning back against the car seat.

“Nope. You're not.”

He made a sound with his tongue and tilted his head toward you.

“Wow. Okay. I guess I won’t show you the really interesting and extremely cool thing I had planned.”

You laughed under your breath. “You don’t have anything to show me.”

“I do, actually.” He looked over at you again, sideways this time, as if the full force of eye contact might give too much away. “Something you would’ve loved. Not just liked—loved. Like, told-Emma-about-it kind of loved.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Guess I’ll just take you home then. Let you sit with your own bad decisions.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, don’t even try it, Francisco. You’re not going to manipulate me. That routine doesn’t work on me.”

He let out a genuine laugh this time, brief and low in his throat, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the road.

Ten minutes later, you were standing at the threshold of his house. Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and slid it into the lock. The mechanism clicked. He paused before pushing the door open and turned toward you with something mischievous flickering behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, stepping in closer. “I need you to close your eyes.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I’m deadly serious.” He moved his hand up and gently placed it over your face, fingers spanning nearly the whole length from your forehead to your chin. “Eyes shut until I say. Do you understand?”

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his palm against your skin oddly reassuring. “I promise.”

“Good.”

You heard him exhale, the door creaking open. The sound of hinges, followed by his fingers slipping away from your eyes. A moment later, he took your hand. His grip was easy, steady. He guided you through the doorway and into the house, and you could hear the sound of the door closing softly behind you. You let him lead you, each step unfamiliar in the darkness behind your eyelids. The scent of something floral lingered faintly in the hallway—laundry detergent, maybe, or whatever candle Helena had dropped off last time she visited.

You felt the soft shift of air as you entered the living room. Frankie’s hand never left yours.

There was a strange sound from another room, and Frankie let go of your hand.

“Okay,” he said, already stepping back. “I’ll be right back. Just don’t open your eyes. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you said with unnecessary urgency. You clamped your palms over your face like a child playing hide-and-seek, and you grinned into the darkness of your own hands. You didn’t understand what was happening. None of it made sense, and yet you felt giddy—completely, irrationally light.

One, two, three… The seconds moved unevenly. You listened for Frankie’s footsteps, the shift of weight in the boards. A faint scuff. Silence. Then movement again, closer this time. You could feel him standing in front of you before he spoke.

“Okay, when I say—” he started, but his sentence was cut short by the softest interruption.

A high-pitched, unmistakable sound.

“Shit,” Frankie muttered.

Then—clearer this time—a meow. Thin and sharp and impossibly small.

Your hands flew from your face, your eyes wide, your mouth already forming words before they reached your tongue.

“No way.”

Frankie stood just inches away, his hands lifted carefully near your face. Between them, resting in the cage of his fingers, was a tiny gray kitten. The animal looked impossibly fragile, like something made of silk. It couldn’t have been more than three months old.

You stared at it, stunned.

“Frankie,” you whispered, as you extended your arms without thinking.

He gave the kitten to you and his face broke into a smile.

You cradled the small body close to your face, kissing its downy head with a tenderness that made something in your chest ache. The kitten let out another soft meow, its voice small but certain. Your heart did something strange, an internal somersault.

“I adopted him yesterday,” Frankie said, running a hand down the kitten’s back. “Doesn’t have a name yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, eyes still fixed on the animal now curled into the crook of your arm.

He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you. Thought you’d like it.”

You glanced up at him then, holding his gaze for a few seconds, long enough to see the affection that sat just beneath the mischief in his expression. Then you looked back at the tiny creature curled against your chest.

“How did he sleep?”

“He followed me around all night,” Frankie said, his voice softer now. “He's really affectionate. At first I thought he was hungry or needed water, but he didn’t. He just wanted to be close. Eventually I put him on the bed, but I was terrified I’d roll over and crush him. So I set his little bed right next to me. Figured it was safer. He still cried for a while, though.”

You smiled. You couldn’t stop smiling. The kitten was pawing at your fingers now, then gently nibbled one, its teeth more curious than sharp.

“You’re just the most beautiful little thing,” you murmured, stroking its impossibly soft fur.

Frankie watched you quietly. 

Frankie nudged the bedroom door closed with the side of his foot, careful not to spill the two mugs in his hands. The scent of the tea rose with the steam.

You were already stretched out on his bed, legs tangled loosely in the sheets, wearing one of his T-shirts that hung off you like it had been made for someone else, which it had. Underneath, nothing but a soft pair of underwear. Your hair, still damp from your recent shower, clung to the sides of your neck and the cotton collar.

Sunday was drifting by in its usual, hazy rhythm. After arriving at Frankie’s place and being introduced to the skittish little kitten he had just brought home, the two of you had spent some time lying around, throwing out names—nothing had stuck. Every suggestion felt either too much or not enough. At some point between giggling over how serious he looked when he vetoed “Frankie Jr.” and the slow weight of contentment settling in your limbs, you’d dozed off.

He hadn't minded. A nap after a good meal felt like the natural conclusion to a Sunday afternoon. He normally reserved these hours for fixing things around the house or grabbing a beer with one of the guys. But with you here, in his space, smelling like his soap and stealing his shirts, the idea of doing absolutely nothing became not only acceptable, but preferable.

It was nearly four now. The TV hummed in front of the bed, soft and unobtrusive. The white curtains were drawn shut, letting in a gauzy sort of light that made everything feel suspended in time.

He placed both mugs on the nightstand, then eased into bed beside you, careful not to jostle the tiny, curled-up kitten resting on your chest. You were propped against the headboard, your fingers stroking absent-mindedly over the kitten’s fur, eyes on the screen.

Friends was on—your choice. The London wedding episodes. He remembered you saying they were your favorite, though you claimed not to like Ross all that much.

“The tea’s hot,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in a little closer. He took one mug. “Give it a minute before you try it.”

You turned your head toward him, a small smile ghosting your lips.

“Okay. Thanks,” you said softly, taking it from his hand only to place it gently on the nightstand next to you.

Frankie exhaled, a quiet breath through his nose, and turned his attention back to the television. It happened every time—you'd put something on, usually a show or movie he wouldn’t have chosen himself, something with fast-talking characters and emotional subtext, and without realizing it, he’d be completely pulled in. He told himself it wasn’t his taste, too light or too messy or too sentimental. But here he was.

“Jesus, I don't get it,” he murmured. “I never understood people who obsess over weddings.”

“Yeah, you seem like someone who’d get married in your backyard, on a random Tuesday, without warning.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him now. “Without warning, though? Like, totally unplanned?”

“Wouldn’t that make it more romantic?”

You lifted a shoulder, then let it fall again. “Eh. Maybe. Depends on the context, I guess.”

“What kind of context?”

“I dunno,” you said. “Just… depends how it all feels in the moment?”

Frankie nodded like he understood, though maybe he didn’t, not completely.

“Well. If I did get married like that, it’d probably be because something forced my hand. Like—some kind of bind.”

“Forced your hand? A bind?” you repeated, laughing now. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to be my fake fiancé, then.”

You were teasing, but your voice was warm. The kitten had migrated from your chest to the space between you, burrowing under the quilt.

You shifted onto your side, pulling the pillow beneath your cheek. Your face was close now. Relaxed. Peaceful. He could see the faint dampness at your hairline, smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his laundry detergent—all of it mixing with something that was purely you.

Then you asked, your voice quiet: “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t nothing either.

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the TV and back to you.

“I used to,” he admitted. “A while ago.”

“You did?” 

“Yeah. I thought about it.”

You turned your face toward him.

“With Rachel?” you asked, voice soft.

He gave a small nod, his brows lifting a fraction, like the whole thing felt absurd in retrospect. As if that version of his life had belonged to someone else entirely. Someone naive.

For a second, he considered brushing it off. Letting the moment pass. But there was something about the way you were looking at him that made it impossible.

“I was ready to commit to her,” he said. The words felt strange, but not painful. He hadn’t spoken them out loud in a long time. And for once, they didn’t come with the usual sting.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, turning his eyes to the television, as if that might steady him. “I thought I had everything mapped out. Marriage, maybe a family. It felt like, like it made sense.”

You made a soft sound, not quite agreement, not quite disbelief. Just something that acknowledged the weight of what he’d said. Then you went quiet again, eyes shifting back to the TV.

Frankie waited, listening to the faint background noise of the sitcom. But he looked at you again, and something in your face had changed, barely—your mouth a little tighter, your eyes distant.

“I was wrong,” he said then. “So wrong. And honestly? Her leaving… that might’ve been the best thing she ever did for me. Who knows where I'd be if she'd never ended it.”

Your mouth curled into the hint of a smile. “Yeah. I mean, you definitely wouldn’t be in bed with me and a kitten right now.”

That made him laugh, softly. It was absurd, when he thought about it—how different his life might’ve looked if things had gone the way he wanted them to, back then.

If Rachel had stayed, maybe he would never have unraveled. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to the point where getting out of bed felt impossible, where everything tasted like dust and felt like noise. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to start from scratch.

He might still be with her. Maybe engaged. He remembered thinking about it right before she left—rings, apartments, timelines. He’d known he wasn’t in the right place for any of it, but he’d considered it anyway, hoping commitment might anchor him somehow.

And you? You would’ve stayed exactly where you were then—Santi’s younger sister. Someone he vaguely tolerated, someone who rolled her eyes at his jokes and didn’t bother to hide it. You probably would’ve kept ignoring each other, kept your distance.

The thought landed heavily in his chest. Not dramatic or painful, just strange. Like something important could’ve slipped past him without him ever knowing what he missed.

Because now he understood what it felt like; being near you like this, existing inside the gentle bubble you created just by being close. It startled him sometimes, how long you had been in his life without him realizing the possible weight of it. Five years orbiting each other, brushing past in doorways, exchanging sharp looks or dry remarks and fights. All that time, and he’d never imagined what it could mean if he let the distance between you collapse.

You spoke then, cutting through the quiet and his thoughts. “No matter what happens, I think I’ll end up being the cat lady anyway.”

He looked at you, startled by the sudden shift in tone, the slight smile playing on your lips as you cradled the kitten in your hands. You were touching its tiny ears like they were the most delicate things in the world. Frankie had the absurd urge to be jealous of the kitten.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

He watched you for a moment longer. “Don’t you want a family?”

You let out a small laugh. And Frankie realized a second too late how personal the question had been. Too direct. Too much, maybe. But you didn’t seem bothered.

“Of course I do,” you said, gently. “I mean, yeah. I’d love that. It’s just… if it doesn’t happen, I don’t think it would destroy me. I know I’d be okay. I’ve made peace with the idea that some lives don’t go the way we plan. And anyway, Santi’s definitely going to have, like, four kids at least. I can always be the fun aunt who spoils them and teaches them weird facts about everything.”

Frankie smiled. “Yeah. I get that. I feel the same way, I think. And I’m already the cool uncle, so I’ve got that covered. Lucky me.”

You laughed, then reached out to tap his arm lightly with your fist. He reached for you instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you into his chest. You came easily, your body folding into his.

“I always thought I’d have a daughter,” you said after a minute, your voice muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. “I mean… I’d like to. If I ever become a mom.”

“Just one?” 

“For now, yeah. I think I’d have to see how it goes first. Test the waters. Parenting seems like the kind of thing you can’t really prepare for, doesn’t it?”

“You’d be good at it.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Darcy can confirm.”

You smiled again. “I'm not sure it's comparable. But yeah. I’m already a great cat mom.”

The sound lingered between you for a moment before dissolving into the quiet of the room. On the screen, Monica was spiraling; her mother had said something sharp at the rehearsal dinner, something small but wounding in the way only a parent’s words could be. Neither of you commented on it. The glow of the TV washed your faces in warm color, but the air between you shifted.

Frankie felt it. Not something visible, exactly—just a subtle tightening in your body, a pause that wasn’t there before. He had learned to notice these things with you. How your energy moved. How your breath changed. His body, attuned to yours now, picked up on every slight retreat.

You leaned further into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, and let out a soft breath.

“I had a scare once,” you said quietly, eyes fixed on the television. “With Harry.”

He didn’t move. Just listened.

“My period was late and we’d only been dating two months. I remember this one day, how everything just kind of… froze. Like time stopped working the way it was supposed to. I couldn’t focus on anything. It was like my body had slipped into this other version of my life and I couldn’t get out of it until I knew for sure.”

You paused. The kitten shifted between you, curling into a tighter ball.

“I didn’t tell him. I went out and bought a test, did it alone. It was negative. Then, after I was sure, I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if I needed anything. That was it, really. No follow-up questions. No conversation.” You gave a small, humorless huff of breath. “I started taking the pill that same week.”

Frankie looked at you then, but you kept your eyes on the screen.

“Sounds smart.” 

You clicked your tongue, not quite annoyed, but something close.

“Of course. But I still needed more than that. I needed to feel safe. And I didn’t. Not with him. That was the thing—I realized how completely terrified I was at the idea of having a baby with him. And I couldn’t even say it out loud. Couldn’t tell him how scared I was, because I didn’t trust what he’d do with that information. I was afraid of his reaction, of whether he’d be happy, make it about him or minimize it or just… shut down.” Sheepish now, your voice softened. “It made me wonder why I was with someone I couldn’t even share a fear like that with. But I was so sure of how much I loved him, I just... I didn't care.”

“Harry’s an idiot, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. I think he is.”

“He is—”

“So you wanted a family with Rachel?”

He blinked at the TV for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. 

“You’re very direct,” he said finally, a little surprised. A small laugh escaped him. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I like it.” He shook his head, the smile still pulling at his mouth. Then he exhaled. “Yeah. I did. Of course I did. I thought I wanted that. Which feels kind of absurd to say out loud now, because looking back, I don’t think I was ready. Not even close.”

He paused, considering.

“I still don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. It’s not just a wish, it’s... a whole reality. One that I’d like to live in, maybe. But I’m afraid I’m not built for it. Or that if I am, I’ll do it wrong. Like, ruin something I can’t take back.”

You were quiet for a beat, then asked gently, “Why do you think that?”

He hesitated, then let the words come.

“I mean… a child. That’s not just a responsibility. It’s a person. Someone with their own thoughts and their own pain, eventually. And I’d be part of shaping all that. That’s terrifying. I want to be good at it, I really do, but what if I mess it up? What if I do something without realizing and it sticks with them forever?”

Your fingers brushed over his arm in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then you looked at him, your expression soft, eyes warmer than he felt like he deserved. A faint smile curled at the edge of your mouth, and for a second Frankie thought about tracing it with his thumb. Just one second of indulgence.

But he didn’t.

“No one knows everything about parenting before they’re in it,” you said. “Even the best people make mistakes. There’s no such thing as perfect parents, or perfect kids.”

“Oh I know that.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’d be a good father, Frankie. You’re patient. Kind. You actually listen. You’ve been great with Jamie.”

Frankie sighed. “That’s different. He’s my nephew. I can always hand him back. I don’t have to make the hard choices. If I was in Henry or Luna’s place, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging a little. “I don’t think anyone really knows until they get there. You can plan, sure. But life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. All you can do is love the kid, pay attention, and try not to let anything get in the way of being there for them.”

“Yeah, well...” Frankie said, reaching out to stroke the tiny kitten curled up in front of you. His hand moved gently, fingers threading through its fur like he was trying not to scare it. “Anyway, I doubt it’ll happen. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to figure out how to take care of a cat.”

“I doubt it too,” you replied. “I swear, there’s nothing that messes with my head more than the thought of being a mother. Or not being one.”

“How come?” 

You exhaled, your eyes fixed on some invisible point in the room. “I’m terrified of not becoming a mother. And also, equally terrified of becoming one. It’s like... both possibilities feel too big.” You laughed, but it was a thin sound. “Infertility scares me. Fertility scares me.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. He was breathing in the faint scent of your hair, and it made everything feel a little more real than he wanted it to. Conversations like this were difficult for him—not because he didn’t care, but because the thought of a future that stable, that rooted, felt like trying to imagine himself on another planet. There was a version of him that could handle it. He just wasn’t sure that version existed yet.

“You’ve got time,” he said at last, his cheek pressed against the pillow.

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco,” you said, smiling as if to soften it. “And as much as I hate the phrase, the idea of a biological clock is very real.”

“Thirty’s nothing,” he said, matching your tone, rolling his eyes.

“No, I know,” you agreed. “It’s not. But still.”

He shifted beside you. “Maybe by forty you’ll have it all figured out.”

You let out a laugh. “Wow. That’s a lot of confidence in my decision-making abilities.”

“I’ve seen you order at restaurants. That took several minutes.”

“Hey. That’s important. You don’t want to mess up your one meal.”

Frankie grinned, then looked over at the kitten, now kneading the blanket with its tiny paws.

“Also,” you added, “did you know that after thirty-five it’s technically called a geriatric pregnancy?”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s true.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up. You rolled away from him to check it, and the space where you’d been moments ago felt immediately cooler. Frankie didn’t say anything, just watched you. The kitten padded across the bed toward him and climbed onto his chest. He picked it up in both hands. 

What a tiny creature, Frankie thought, watching the kitten as it curled into itself, like a little comma. Its paws were absurdly small, its ears too big for its head. It looked like something you’d win at a fair, a prize made of felt and buttons, only this one breathed and blinked and yawned so wide you could see the pink of its gums. It didn’t seem entirely real. He found himself hoping it would grow big, sleepy and adorable. Like Mr. Darcy.

You were scrolling through your phone beside him, your head propped on one hand.

“Mai sent me the invite,” you said without looking up. “It’s a QR code. They’ll give us wristbands when we get there.”

He nodded, eyes still on the kitten. “Sounds fancy.”

The Halloween party was an annual thing hosted by Kairos, some artsy production company Mai had been involved with for years. She designed the wristbands and the promo graphics, and always managed to secure passes for her friends. Frankie had heard about the Christmas parties too, and the over-the-top New Year’s events where people drank champagne from plastic flutes and danced in dimly lit warehouses. He didn’t go to things like that—loud rooms, too many people, the pressure to make conversation. But earlier that day, over lunch, you’d said something about loving Halloween. Mai had overheard and invited you on the spot. Which meant now he was going too. Because Mai was his sister, and you were—well, you were you.

And honestly, he didn’t mind the idea.

You tapped your phone screen off and turned to him. “Do you know what you’re dressing up as?”

He looked over, smiled faintly. “I don’t know. What about you?”

You shrugged, almost bashful. “I have a few ideas. Nothing definite.”

“Well,” he said, settling back into the cushions, “I’m really, really sure I’ll like and enjoy whatever you pick.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your expression changed—something flickered behind your eyes. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it made him feel warm.

The kitten yawned again and then fell asleep.

Tuesday, October 29th

Frankie leaned back in the lawn chair and took a long sip from his beer. The fire in Santi’s backyard cracked and hissed, sparks rising briefly into the night. The guys were in their usual rhythm (half teasing, half storytelling) revisiting the time Will’s pants split wide open during a yoga class he’d tagged along to, trying to impress a girl.

Frankie wasn’t really listening. His phone rested in his hand, screen dimmed to almost nothing, thumb brushing across it idly. You were texting him.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d gone to try on Halloween costumes, and by some stroke of good fortune—at least in his opinion—you’d decided to keep him in the loop. One by one, the photos came in. A zombie nurse. A ghost bride. A pirate. A vampire in fishnets. Then a Victorian lady. And at some point, absurdly, a towering Marie Antoinette wig that made you look like you'd walked out of a Sofia Coppola film.

Frankie had been more than happy to offer feedback. Encouraged, even. He’d wanted to go with you, truthfully, but work ran late, and he already had plans with the guys. This, this stream of selfies and little captions, felt like the next best thing.

Then finally:

[🍓]: Christine Daaé

And a second later, a photo of a white corset. Silk. Lace trim. The implication was clear.

Frankie had grinned at the screen, then exhaled through his nose like he couldn’t help himself. Of course, that meant he was going as the Phantom. Erik. You’d declared it so.

A bottle cap hit his thigh.

He blinked, looked up from his phone.

Santi was smirking at him from across the fire pit.

“So, can you?” he asked, lifting his chin.

Frankie furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Victor’s boat.”

Frankie shifted in the chair, stretching out his legs. “Ah, right. This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Benny said, yawning as he leaned back, arms behind his head. “You free or what?”

Frankie scratched the edge of his beard. “Actually... I... I’ve got something.”

Santi grinned, like he already knew. “Right. The Halloween party.”

Frankie nodded once, keeping it casual.

“What party?” Will asked, suddenly interested.

“Kairos,” Santi said, turning toward him. “My sister told me. Mai works for them, remember? Costumes, DJs, probably too many people. And look at this guy—ditching me for my little sister.”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and let out a short laugh. He raised the bottle to his lips again, the glass cool against his mouth.

“I’m not ditching you,” he said, though he didn’t offer anything more than that.

And across the firelight, Santi just kept smiling.

“Well, by the way,” Benny said, adjusting forward on the edge of his seat, arms braced on his knees, “why couldn’t you come by last weekend?”

Frankie didn’t flinch. “I was with Mai and my mom,” he said, voice even. And it was true. Mostly.

Sunday had been at his mother’s house. You were there, too. Of course. 

Benny wasn’t done. “And Saturday?”

Saturday had been yours. The morning, the afternoon, the parts of the night that bled into morning again.

“Same,” Frankie said, not missing a beat. He didn’t look away.

Across the fire pit, Santi shifted. He leaned into his right arm, elbow pressed into the chair, and tilted his head like he was squinting at a puzzle that had just gotten more interesting. There was something annoyingly pleased in his expression.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it, Fish,” he said, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted. A grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Frankie laughed—short, breathy, too defensive. “Yeah. Right. You guys are unbearable. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

And the second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Santi’s face changed, like a switch being flipped. The amusement faded. He leaned forward slightly, not dramatically, but enough to close the distance. His eyes reflected the movement of the flames, sharp and unreadable. His jaw didn’t move, but his voice came out even, almost quiet.

“Okay. When the hell were you planning on telling me you’re sleeping with my sister?”

The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed. Frankie’s heart dropped so fast it left something hollow behind. His body went rigid. He didn’t blink. He felt the blood drain from his face, felt it pool somewhere in his shoes. The entire backyard blurred at the edges, just orange firelight and too many, many eyes.

He didn’t say a word.

Benny shifted uncomfortably. Will looked down at his beer.

Santi didn’t move. He kept his gaze locked on Frankie, his expression perfectly unreadable.

And then, just as Frankie opened his mouth—he had no idea what he was going to say—Santi broke. A sharp laugh burst from his chest, and he leaned back in the chair, shaking his head.

“I’m messing with you, man.”

Frankie exhaled. It didn’t feel like relief. His skin was too hot, but his fingertips were cold. He ran a hand through his hair, tried to laugh along with them, but it sounded weak, like an echo of something genuine.

His pulse was still racing. His body wasn’t convinced the danger had passed.

And the worst part was: he hadn’t actually denied it.

A breath left Frankie’s chest, short and shaky. “Jesus, man.”

Will and Benny exchanged a glance, laughing in that unsure, uneven way people do when they’re not totally sure it is a joke.

Santi grinned, still riding the high of his own performance.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, pointing lazily in Frankie’s direction. “Fucking priceless. Relax, will you? I’m messing with you.”

“Right,” Frankie muttered. “I know. I know that.” But his voice betrayed him. “You just—you look so damn convincing when you do that.”

Santi shrugged, all casual confidence. “It’s my talent.”

Frankie shook his head and stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his jeans.

“I gotta take a piss.”

“Did you shit yourself, Fish?” Benny called after him, laughing.

Their voices followed him as he crossed the patio and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The silence inside the house felt abrupt. It made the rush of blood in his ears feel deafening. His heart was still hammering against his ribs—each beat too fast, too hard. Like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that it was just a joke.

Just a joke.

In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink after washing his hands, gripping the porcelain with wet fingers. His reflection looked too pale under the overhead light, his mouth tense like he’d been grinding his teeth. He pressed his palms to his face, exhaled into the space between them. Tried to shake it off.

The truth was: he felt like he’d been caught. Like it was written on him somewhere—I’m sleeping with Santi’s sister. Bold print. Centered. 

He stayed there for a minute longer, trying to even out his breathing. Trying to look normal. He wasn’t sure it was working.

When he finally stepped out, the hallway felt colder somehow. As he passed the kitchen door, a voice called out.

“Frankie.”

He stopped. Turned his head.

Will was standing by the open fridge, hand already wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. He looked casual. Not suspicious. Not accusing. 

“You want one?” Will asked, nodding toward the bottles.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Frankie stepped into the kitchen fully, nodding once as he accepted the bottle from Will. The glass felt cool in his palm. He leaned back against the counter, the edge of it pressing into his spine just enough to remind him he was still in his body.

Will moved with efficiency, pulling three more bottles from the fridge, setting two on the counter with a dull clink, and uncapping the third for himself. He sat across from Frankie, perched casually on one of the stools, the bottle already pressed to his lips.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. Frankie watched the floor. Will watched Frankie.

Then, finally, Will spoke.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out. “How long has this been going on?”

Frankie lifted his head. “What’s been going on?”

Will tilted his head, eyebrows raised in mock innocence. “You know Santi’s basically your brother-in-law now, right?”

Frankie smiled—tight, crooked, tired. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a quiet laugh escaped him, as if the idea were absurd. But it didn’t feel absurd.

“No... I mean—”

“I saw you at the bar,” Will cut in, one eyebrow arched. “On Benny’s birthday. You two were talking. I was heading over to order another round, and I saw you leave. Together.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, a quiet, defensive sound. “That’s not—”

“And,” Will said, leaning in slightly now, clearly enjoying this, “the next day, Santi told us you said you'd spent the night with someone. Said you wouldn’t say who. And then, that day at the river, you said you were seeing that woman. What a coincidence, huh, Fish?”

This time, Frankie didn’t try to argue. He looked at Will, really looked at him, and saw the certainty there. Not speculation. Not a guess. Certainty.

There was no point in denying anything anymore.

Frankie sighed and shifted his weight.

“You can’t say anything. You hear me?”

Will threw his head back, a triumphant laugh spilling from his chest like he’d just solved a mystery no one else had noticed.

“I fucking knew it.”

“Shh,” Frankie hissed, glancing toward the hallway. “Man, shut the hell up.”

Will shook his head, grinning like he’d just heard the punchline of a joke that had taken too long to land.

“You two really aren’t being discreet, you know that?”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, exasperated. “You can’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Will said, holding up a hand in mock solemnity. “Promise. No need, anyway. The others will probably figure it out without my help. You’re not exactly subtle.” He gave a small shrug, then leaned back in his seat. “To be honest, I still wasn’t totally sure. I had my suspicions, yeah. But the look on your face out there?” He let out a low whistle. “Jesus, man. I thought you were about to pass out.”

Frankie let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I kind of thought that too.”

There was a pause. Will’s expression shifted, softened. He took another sip of beer and then sighed, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the counter.

“So?” he asked, his tone more curious than nosy now. “What’s going on? How did that even happen? I mean, how did things change between you two?”

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. His eyes drifted. First to the far wall, then to the patch of floor just beside Will’s foot. He searched his memory, trying to locate the exact pivot, the precise beat where everything had begun to shift. But it was like trying to pinpoint the first moment he started falling asleep. You just wake up in the middle of it, already half-under.

How had things changed?

When?

He could think of a dozen interactions that might’ve mattered. But the one that surfaced—the one that rooted itself in his mind now—was less cinematic than he wanted it to be. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even particularly romantic. But it had cracked something open in him. And after that, he started noticing you differently. Or maybe not differently... just more.

It embarrassed him, how fast it had happened for him. 

"Your mother, your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching." You had said that night, the day before his mom's birthday.

Frankie exhaled, the sound half-sigh, half-growl, and pressed his hip against the edge of the kitchen island. 

"It’s different." He muttered, voice weighed down by something that felt like exhaustion

"Different how?"

"Because Santi’s my best friend. And you’re his sister. It was weird."

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you gestured vaguely in the air between you, where the tension had been gathering like dust. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he corrected automatically.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you were speaking with that infuriating kind of calm that always had annoyed him. "A fucking—"

Frankie’s hands were on your face before he processed the shift. Fingers at your jaw, thumbs resting just beneath your cheekbones. His grip wasn’t rough, just firm. And then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t timid. It wasn’t theatrical either.

He kept kissing you longer than he should have. He knew it, could feel the line being crossed even as he leaned into it, even as his heart stammered in his chest.

And then—just as suddenly—he stepped back.

His hands dropped, and his expression shifted into something smug and irritatingly collected. He clicked his tongue, the sound almost playful.

You weren’t moving. Your posture was stiff, your breath uneven. He noticed the subtle rise and fall of your collarbone, the slight part of your lips, the fact that your eyes were still on his mouth.

He turned from you and folded his arms across his chest, like that might hide something.

“I can do that, no problem,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

Your mouth opened—probably ready to snap back, but the words caught somewhere between fury and shock.

He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned against the island, pretending to study the floor, as if that helped him ignore the sound of your breathing.

“Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend,” you snapped. “I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Frankie’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?" 

He pushed away from the counter then, dragging a hand over his stomach before reaching into his pocket to check for his keys. An instinctive gesture, like trying to remind himself he still had an exit.

He walked over to the couch and gave Mr. Darcy a half-hearted pat, then turned back toward you. You hadn’t moved. You looked pissed.

He didn’t blame you. Not entirely, anyway.

“I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Or what? You're going to leave without me?”

Frankie paused, hand already on the door. He looked at you. Then he stepped aside and held the door open.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, like a warning.

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked out, jaw tight, the echo of his shoes fading with every step. The door clicked shut behind him, a final-sounding noise that filled the quiet he hadn’t noticed until then.

Frankie took the stairs two at a time. Something urgent buzzed beneath his skin—irritation, maybe. Or something that required irritation as a cover. When he hit the street, he didn’t hesitate. Got into his car, turned the key, pulled out of the space like it owed him something.

But a few blocks later, a red light caught him. The first real pause.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

His fingers lifted, almost without thought, brushing against his lips. They felt warm, too warm—like they’d been branded. His mouth still remembered yours. Not just the pressure or the shape, but the feeling. The pull. The part of it he hadn’t expected.

He sat there, one hand on the wheel, the other grazing his mouth, eyes unfocused and fixed on nothing.

That was the moment. The first one that counted.

That was when it started for him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Frankie said quietly, his thumb pressing against the condensation on his beer bottle. “It just did. One day I hated her, and the next day I didn’t. And that confused me as much as it probably confused her.”

Will raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly.

“Well, doesn’t confuse me. I knew it from the start—remember? Everything makes sense now. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Frankie let out a sigh and nodded faintly. “I couldn’t tell her, though.”

Will blinked. “You mean all those years you two were at each other’s throats was because you couldn’t be honest with her?”

“No,” Frankie said, laughing in spite of himself. “No. I genuinely didn’t like her after that. I wasn’t pretending.”

Will looked at him, unconvinced. “Okay, sure. But what about now? Did you tell her how it?”

Frankie shook his head. He didn’t explain why. He didn’t know how to.

Will nodded again, slower this time. “And is this—whatever it is—serious?”

At first, Frankie laughed. A short, instinctive sound. Because the question felt too big, too final. But then the laugh faded. His smile disappeared, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

And just like that, the answer was there.

You placed your toothbrush back in the cup and flicked off the bathroom light with the back of your hand. The apartment dimmed into quiet shadows as you padded barefoot toward your bedroom. Mr. Darcy followed you, tail held high, as if he too were ready to call it a night.

But before you got into bed, you paused beside the vanity and looked once more at the costume hanging on the door. Just one last look.

You hadn’t found it in one of those over-lit costume shops filled with synthetic capes and plastic tiaras. You’d gone to a small gothic boutique tucked between a tattoo parlor and a record store. The corset had been waiting there for you—white, embroidered, delicate.

The idea had arrived in your head fully formed: Christine Daaé.

Once you had the corset, everything else followed easily. You found the dress online and paid for priority shipping without hesitation. It was arriving tomorrow morning, and you had already cleared a hanger for it. The pictures online had shown a soft, off-white fabric with dramatic bell sleeves and a neckline that dipped just low enough to make you blush. It ended just below the knees, but a single slit ran up the side of the left leg, high enough to make it interesting.

You had paired it with white thigh-high stockings that fastened with lace, the kind that sat snug against your skin. The whole outfit was beautiful. Romantic, theatrical, sensual. You couldn’t wait to wear it.

Frankie hadn’t protested when you told him your idea. In fact, he had agreed almost too easily. You bought him a white half-mask online and found a soft, 19th-century-style shirt with ruffles at the collar. The woman at the shop, who had probably seen a hundred Phantom couples come through in October, still smiled when you told her what you were planning. She even helped you pick out a black vest with subtle embroidery. Frankie said he’d handle the rest.

You had always loved Halloween in the way certain people love early autumn or thunderstorms—something about the atmosphere, the anticipation, the slight eeriness that made everything feel more heightened, more alive. It was one of your favorite days of the year. Or at least, it used to be.

Lately, the holiday had come and gone like most other days. Last year you’d planned a solo horror movie night. Candles lit, snacks laid out, a carefully curated film queued on the screen. But you’d fallen asleep before the opening credits had even finished rolling. You woke up sometime around midnight, your head slumped against the couch cushion, the room dim and quiet and too still. You didn’t try again after that.

This year, though, there was the party.

It was happening Friday night—even though Halloween fell on a Thursday—because that was how adults did things now. Convenience before tradition. It didn’t bother you. The point was that someone had invited you, and more than that, you wanted to go.

You hadn’t been to a Kairos party in years. The last time, you’d gone with Emma, and the two of you had danced for hours, stealing sips from each other’s drinks and rating costumes like it was a red carpet. But Emma hadn’t been able to make it the past few years and your other friends always had other plans. So, you stayed home.

But not this year.

You folded the corset carefully and placed it back inside its tissue-lined box. The shoes were already tucked away on the top shelf of your closet. You smoothed your hand over the duvet before pulling it back, ready to settle in for the night. Mr. Darcy was already curled up at the foot of the bed.

And then the doorbell rang.

You paused. Checked the time on your phone: 10:03 p.m.

A crease formed between your brows as you walked toward the kitchen, the soft shuffle of your slippers brushing against the floor. You turned the corner and peered out through the narrow window that faced the street. And then you smiled. Frankie.

You didn’t bother asking what he was doing there before heading downstairs. The air outside was crisp when you opened the door to the street, the pavement still holding the warmth from the day.

He was standing there with his hands in his denim jacket pockets, looking at you like he hadn’t really meant to show up but had ended up there anyway.

“Hey,” you said, stepping toward him, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him—just a quiet press of lips, familiar now, but still electrifying. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you at Santi’s?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a tired kind of smile, the kind that suggested he’d had a long day but was happy to be standing there with you. His hands found your waist almost without thinking and he stepped past the threshold as you moved aside for him. Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “but I needed to see you.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Did something happen?”

Frankie let out a low laugh. “Well, first of all, Will knows about us. Did you know that?”

You blinked. “What? Wait—what do you mean he knows?”

He lifted his shoulders in a helpless little shrug. “I’ll explain everything upstairs, okay?”

There was something in his tone that told you it wasn’t urgent, but it still made your stomach flutter.

You nodded anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

You let go of him to close the door behind you, then turned to find him already looking at you with something unreadable in his expression.

“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What? Don’t say it like that. You’re scaring me.”

Frankie shook his head immediately, pressing his lips together like he regretted phrasing it that way.

“It’s nothing bad. I promise. It’s just… something about when we first met.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @thedilfdiaries @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @deatt @yslgreen @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline @crayolacraycray @wencontre @peepawispunk @berryispunk @billionairecowgirl @blub-senpai @madpanda75 @joelmillerpascal @thatdbeagoodsticker @dtftheavengers @jessthebaker @yourallaround-simp @vingtetunmars @deatt @pedges-world @vickie5446

[yoiisa]

what kind of drunk are they?

all characters aged up (20+)! tags: alcohol consumption

a/n: FIRST POST YAYYYY!! I wanted to cast a wide net with this one, so when I say I had like five tabs of character wikis open at once of all the different shows, I mean that. Im sure I still missed someone's fav characters tho, and Im sorrryyyy ToT.

Anyways, tag yourself as what kinda drunk you are, or tag your other favs as their type of drunk. I'm mopey/cuddly!!

THE MOPEY ONE!

"[name]!" You turn your head from your drink to see your boyfriend hunched over the counter of the bar. He throws his head back as he wails for you, before putting his head back onto the counter. You giggle and walk over to him, just for him to open his mouth and call out, "[name]!!" As you approach the counter again, one of the bartenders gives you a relived look. "Thank god, he's been like this for the past ten minutes. Are you his partner?" they ask. You nod and take the seat next to your boyfriend. "He gets like this when he gets really drunk. I'm sorry if it's a disturbance." The bartender shrugs. "As long as he's not shouting anymore-" "[name]!!" "Oh my god, I'm here, I'm here," you laugh and pat his head. He lifts his head from where he'd burrowed it into his arms and pouts as he stares up at you. His eyes are wide and wet, and he sniffles. "Where'd you goooooooooo? I was so lonely..." "You were drinking babe," you giggle, petting him softly. "I thought you were kept company?" His pout somehow grows deeper and shakes his head. He leans into your touch and shakes his head. "I only wan' you..."

NAGI, CHIGIRI, hiori, YUTA, CHOSO, INUMAKI , KENNY ACKERMAN, porco, CONNY, SHINICHIRO, chifuyu, baji, kokonoi, inui, BAKUGOU, KAMINARI, tamaki + (Your Favs!)

THE CUDDLY/GIGGLY ONE!

There is absolutely no universe where you should've been able to actually carry your boyfriend home from the bar. Maybe the alcohol had given you super strength though, because here you are. "Stop going to the gym," you groan as you dump your boyfriend on your couch. You stare down at him, considering the likelihood of him throwing up. No. He wouldn't. You don't think so at least. He stares up at you and smiles. A string of erratic giggles pour from his lips as he reaches up to you, his arms ready to wrap around you and yank you straight down to his chest. "C'mere!" he cheers. "Wanna cuddle!" "Umm," you laugh, "wait, stay like that." You reach for your phone from your pocket, but your heart stops when you notice it's not in your pocket anymore. No, no no no no- Did you leave it in the bar? Did it fall out of your pocket on the way home? Hopefully it's in the car maybe- "Looking for this?" he asks coyly, holding up your phone in between his thumb and index finger. He waves it in front of your face, "Snatched it from your pocket!" You sigh and rub your hands over your face. "Thank you, now give it-" "No!" he shouts and tosses it onto the floor. You watch it for a moment as it (thankfully) falls onto the plush carpet. In your moment of fear and surprise, you freeze and he attacks. He leaps from the couch and wraps his arms like a vice around your shoulders. Before you can think, he practically drags you down to the couch with him. He legs wrap around your waist and he nuzzles his face into your neck. "Perfect," he hums and you finally give into your fate.

BACHIRA, kunigami, REO, nanase, ITADORI, gojo, TODO, armin, takemichi, KAZUTORA, izana, RINDOU, KIRISHIMA, MIDORIYA, SHIGARAKI + (Your Favs!)

THE STOIC ONE!

You could not stop laughing. Your stomach was beginning to hurt. Your boyfriend - sweet, perfect, loving boyfriend - looked so fucking stupid right now. His face, flushed from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, was still as stone. You had your camera in his face, and was prodding his cheek, but he would not look at you! For anything! It was hilarious. He was so laser focused on just being able to stay upright, you honestly felt a little bit bad. But then he'd do a frog blink, where one eye'd go down before the other, and you'd be back to losing your fucking mind over his state. "Maybe you had too much?" you suggest, but the silence you're met with makes you burst out into giggles. You try to take it a step further after another moment, and prod him in his stomach. You're gaze drops to his side when you feel his abs. There's no way. This fucker tensed his stomach. In fact, he's tensed his whole body! You slump against his shoulder and try to calm down, but it's a bit of a losing battle. You look up at him once you've finally slowed down and beam up at him. "Baby boy, how much did you drink?" Finally, you seem to snap him out of it. He slowly turns his head to look at you, as if he's terrified that if he moves too quickly, his head'll twist right off. When he finally manages to meet your gaze though, his heart stops. Perfect. Oh my god. You're so perfect. You're eyes are glowing in the dim lighting of the bar, your skin glows red, but it's just the right amount to make you look like you have a romantic aura. Your hair is falling just right over your forehead, and your cheeks are puffed up in a smile. His mask finally cracks ever so slightly, and he leans down to press his forehead against yours. His nose brushes yours, and you hum. "I think I had too much," he whispers. "I might puke." "If you puke on me, I'll poison your toothpaste." "Gothcha."

ISAGI, baro, RIN, KAISER, MEGUMI, EREN, HANGE, REINER, nicolo, JEAN, zeke, NAOTO, ran, IIDA, TODOROKI, sero, + (Your Favs!!)

THE SOBER ONE!

You're head was pounding, and you blearily looked around at the shot glasses, martini glasses, champagne flutes, wine glasses, and every other type of glass known to man. You'd dared your boyfriend that you'd be able to out drink him, but right now you just felt like crying. You and him had drank the same amount, who knew how much the tab was. And yet, you were the one completely drunk out of your mind, while he was chilling in the stool next to you, watching you with a smirk. No, actually, you were pissed as hell. You whip your head around to look at the bastard, and all you get is blurry vision and a sensation akin to getting shot in the head. "It's okay, shh, shh," he says, petting your head and cooing. "Just cool down, I ordered you water." "Nnnnnnnoooooo! Screeeeeeewwwww you!" You slap his hand away and whimper. "My head hurts..." "Yeah sweetie, I'm pretty sure you drank half your weight in alcohol . . ." he sighs. He adds, more to himself than anything, "I didn't even know that was possible." " 'Ts not fair," you whine. "You always beat me in everything!" "You're so whiny all the time," he teases. You punch him in the ribs. "Babe, what the fuck!" he coughs. He doubles over and his head hangs as he tries to regain his standing. You giggle and his heart aches at the sound. He looks up at you and his eyes soften as he sees you laughing softly. "Well, you're stronger than me so at least there's that." "Mmmmm, carry me!" you ask, stretching your arms up, even though he's still hunched over. "Yes princess," and after he pays for the tab, he has one arm hooked beneath your knees, another wrapped behind your back, and your heels dangling from his fingers.

SAE, AIKU, shido, GETO, NANAMI, SUKUNA, toji, LEVI, ERWIN, draken, MITSUYA, aizawa, shinso, DABI + (Your Favs!!)

[koy6na]

conflicted

xavier isn't really your type, so you say. so why does being with him feel so incredibly right? tags: 4.8k words, nsfw, overstimulation, creampie, spit mentioned, mating press, fem reader

a/n: i wanted to write reader as someone who has trouble knowing what she wants and is in denial of her feelings. xavier is very understanding of this. also sorry this got wayyyy too long i went on a weird tangent towards the end oopsie:3

he’s not the type you typically go for. he’s a bit of a basket case and his eyes are unusually assertive. maybe it was the unavoidable fact that he was your co-worker that made him desirable to you that night. maybe it was those annoyingly alluring blue eyes whose gaze you tried your hardest to avoid. either way it wasn’t like the two of you were dating. if you asked him exactly what you were he’d probably categorize you as colleagues.

sure, you had hooked up a handful of times. you’d “mistakenly” stumble upon his doorstep, claiming it was a drunken accident after a clumsy night out. he’d insist on getting you your first sip of water in over four hours and a nice meal to combat the liquor. before bed when you’re washing your face in his bathroom, you tell yourself it that it doesn't quite feel right. he’s too uniform, too clean, and way too normal. you didn’t mean to lead him on. you never thought he'd grow to like you this much. you're not sure how to feel.

your last hookup was with a friend of a friends at a lackluster party, your last relationship ended with a sad last hurrah, and though you don't really want to admit it, you hadn’t really been seeing anyone other than xavier for the past year. it wasn’t like you to be so still, so stagnant with someone who you didn't call a boyfriend. his soap smelled nice and his towels were soft. you swear you’d never seen a cleaner bathroom in your life. today when you show up unannounced at his door he doesn’t question you. he simply stands aside as you saunter into the living room. things were strikingly casual but you liked it that way. it was simpler, easier to digest. no strings or promises to uphold. it was just sex, and anyways there was the matter of workplace etiquette. the two of you could only be considered colleagues after all.

his living room is neat, everything in precise order. his house smells nice, but you can’t quite name the exact scent. when you take a seat on his couch he doesn’t hesitate to take the spot next to you. "did you ever get the lab results from those aether cores we found last week?" you ask as you lean against his side, fidgeting with your phone. you can feel his eyes boring into you. "no not yet. who are you texting?" he asks bluntly. "tara." the conversation lays flat against the two of you. it never goes too low or too high. right in the middle where it's comfortable. you go from laying against his ribcage to having your head in his lap. the movie you'd turned on was beginning to drag, the popcorn he'd made an hour ago was stale. you couldn't help but wonder if maybe the two of you had gotten too casual, but you also don't know why you care so much. you knew what you wanted from him because there was only one thing standing between you.

the first time was a mistake. an honest mistake on a bad night out. you're not sure why he was there or why you even went over to him in the first place. there was a stumble to get into the elevator. you were certain you'd pressed floor 5. or had you even pressed the button at all? a part of you believed that xavier had beaten you to the chase and maybe led you straight to your doom after all. when you both arrived at the sixth floor you couldn't bring yourself to protest xavier's suggestion to come in, just for a bowl of ramen.

upon entering his apartment you can recall the shuffle of feet and the thrashing of tongues. you remember the flush of his face and exactly what his fingers felt like. to your horror you had been able to remember too much of what had occurred the night before.

you were terrified the next morning to discover just how far things had progressed. yet when you saw him, it all became weirdly normal. there was something calm and yet slightly unnerving in the way he looked at you. at first it creeped you out, although discomfort quickly turned to intrigue. it seemed like he actually enjoyed knowing that the two of you had slept together. a strange feeling of lust mixed with something more complex overcomes you with a chill when you remember.

when you sit up slowly, face inches from his, he barely reacts. you see the twinge in the diameter of his pupils but remind yourself that a normal person would've never noticed something so trivial. "what is it?" he asks, his voice is still calm. "i was just thinking that we could be doing something else right now. something fun." you whisper. you're sure he can feel the vibrations in your voice from the forced proximity between you. he swallows thickly, and you feel the motion in your bones. "what are you suggesting?" he asks, the corners of his mouth twinging upwards.

you're both smiling at each other. you waste no time begging or being extra suggestive. you slip your palm over his crotch as your lips meet his. his lips move against yours making you feel the contrast in tempo. xavier's tongue gently melts against your wild, convulsing muscle. it's so like him to be so sensual and particular. it's annoying. a casual hookup isn't supposed to be all lovey-dovey like this. from what you've experienced they're usually clumsy and messy and typically you want them to be over as soon as they start. you always have to push him a little to speed things up.

you can feel how hard he is. the material of his pants is taut against the growing tension. when you start to unbutton him he quickly grabs your wrist. you gasp lightly at how abrupt he is. "someone's feeling bold today." he whispers, the words flutter against your lips. "you don't want to?" you ask, knowingly. he laughs breathlessly. "i didn't say that." he mumbles before dropping your wrist into his lap. your hand instinctively cups his cock. a muffled whimper escapes him. to others he might seem restrictive towards his emotions but his boyish tendencies often showed during moments like these. he was actually quite easy to read. you were sure xavier hoped for something more than a sleazy happening. you were sure from the way that he looked at you that he saw more than a hookup, and much more than a colleague.

the drastic contrast that reverberated in waves between you and xavier was becoming too stark. he was exceedingly successful in his work and he seemed to you like the world’s most reliable guy ever. you were clumsy, disorganized, and hopeless at times. sure you worked harder than ever as part of the hunter's association, but your reasoning dwelled deeper than a good work ethic.

you didn't have time for a relationship, and certainly not a relationship with someone as put together as xavier. although there were times it felt like there was a different side to him, something less proper. something more like you. it flickered in his face like candlelight before blowing away like smoke.

you start to take off your shorts, trying to ignore xavier's searing gaze on you. when he finally lets you unsheathe him, you don't waste any time. his eyes grow in shock when you slide yourself into his lap. your clit bumps against the underside of his shaft as you shamelessly grind against him. you've never done it like this with him. you want to take whatever it is you need from him, unapologetically so he gets the idea. whatever's going on with you two, it was strictly for pleasure. you moan louder than you intend to when you finally slide down on him.

you can't help but be a little embarrassed at how wet you are from just a little bit of kissing but you definitely can feel how much he's twitching inside of you. you grin at the way his hips stutter against the back of your thighs. he's got it worse than you. "i didn't think you liked it this way." xavier's voice is strained as he remarks. "of course i like it this way." you respond unequivocally. you're breathless as you grind up and down onto him. you know he's gonna cum first, you can feel it as you increase the tempo. the stretch is honestly remarkable. he's definitely the biggest you've ever been with but you try not to think about it too much.

for such a docile guy he can be a bit surprising in the bedroom. so when he tightens his grip around you and starts pistoning in and out, you can't stop the hitch in your breath and the pathetic moan that tumbles out of your mouth.

his head is buried in your chest. he's close enough to where you can hear each frenzied pant. you get the sudden urge to tease him, just a little. you can’t help but smile as you loop your hands through his hair, petting the back of his head. he shudders a bit before forcing himself deep into you, your thighs crush against each others with unexpected strength. the angle he's hitting feels nothing short of insane to you. like he's putting every ounce of effort into forcing his cock inside you and pulling an orgasm straight from within.

ugh, he always does this, you think to yourself.

you know he's close and before you know it, he's almost getting you there. the rhythm of his thrusts starts to slow. he loosens his grip against you, snaking a hand between the two of you to thumb against your clit.

he's looking at you now, and you despise how good he looks.

his cheeks are flushed and somehow his eyes look even bluer than usual. his lips are parted and his panting is gradually becoming more like moans. your hips falter as your mouth parts slightly.

his thumb moves in brisk pulses as his hips are shaky and uneven. when he cums, your whole body moves with his. a couple short, hard thrusts into your spasming hole cause your moans to go high pitched and sharp. the staccato of your bodies transposes notes to your voices. you're so close you can practically grab it with your own two hands. he's cumming in you, it's so hot it's nauseating. you can't seem to remember when you starting letting him do it raw.

all that you can recall is that it was definitely his idea.

his thumb hasn't stopped circling that tender spot between your legs. his thrusts have stopped completely and his head rests on the couch now. your hips raise, unintentionally before coming back down. you start to find a pitiful rhythm to fuck yourself on his dick to. he's so overstimulated, one because he just came and you're so tight, and wet, and so so warm,

but also because he almost can't bear to see that unbelievably desperate face you're making.

"fuck, fuck i'm cumming." you whine, tilting your head back as your eyelids shut tightly. when you cum it's like your whole body freezes, you're only able to slide your cunt over his softening cock. you're losing yourself to pleasure and yet you hate that you can't pull yourself together in front of him. you know for a fact that he's got his eyes locked on your expression. so why do you let your mouth fall open? why do you let that desperate, breathy moan slip out for him? when you barely flit your eyes open you catch a glimpse of him.

he looks like he's in pain almost.

he's wincing at the strangulating feeling of you cumming on his flaccid cock. eyebrows scrunched, heaving like he just can't seem to catch his breath.

the aftershock of your orgasm makes your thighs shake like a new born deer. your breathing is uneven as you lift yourself off of him, your own breath hitches when you hear him hiss sharply. you collapse against him on the couch, unable to pry your eyes from the sight of his creamy, softening dick in front of you.

his pants are still halfway on his thighs, yet they're perfectly clean and black. you can feel his cum slipping out of you and you try your best to hold in a moan. when you get the chance to slip away into the bathroom you find yourself in a strange mood. you knew it was time to get cleaned up and head out, but you're fidgeting in the shower, stalling almost.

just a second more to breathe in the misty scent of his shampoo. you hope he doesn't bother to even say goodbye, that he only let you in to have a measly fuck. when you turn the faucet to the right, the sudden absence of the scalding water leaves goosebumps along your skin. you run your hands over your slicked body. you remember his hands around your torso, and his lips against the shell of your ear. you think about the fact that he likes having his hair played with and that face he makes when he puts it in like it's the first time every time. he always lets you cum no matter what and do whatever you want to him. you know exactly how he feels about you, so why are you hesitating?

you know the right thing to do is leave. go back to your apartment and stop playing house with someone who deserves someone other than you. but when you open the door to see him sitting, waiting for you on the other side, you feel sick to your stomach.

his head immediately perks up at the sight of you, wet hair and still dewy from the water. "that was a long shower." he says liltingly. you're speechless for a second before fickly reminding yourself to not let the lines blur too much. "sorry. i think i'm gonna head out soon. got some work to do." your voice is colder than you intended to make it. his eyes lower, as he turns his gaze to the side. you're not sure what to say for the millionth time in this apartment.

you hate how uncomfortable this whole routine is and you can't help but feel sorry for him. for the past few months he's been giving you the same response when you leave. like a child being left with an unwanted babysitter.

like he thinks he'll be fine after you leave and yet for some reason he doesn't want you to go.

he always looks angry at first but you watch in silent regret as it turns to disappointment. you press your lips together in awkward reform. you expect him to give you a lofty goodbye. to walk you out with a chaste kiss. instead he's pulling you in. "we both know you don't need to be doing any more "work" than you've already done." he says sweeping you into his arms. you're frozen as he leans in. "you're always so quick to leave." he whispers as his lids grow heavy. your hand rests on his tricep, you smile at him nervously.

you can't tell if you want to melt into his touch or to run far away. the lovesick look on his face is adding fuel to the fire burning a hole straight through your sternum. "i've just been slacking on paperwork. i guess there's more to being a hunter than just killing wanderers." you reply. you're desperately trying to combat this strange occurrence, but you can feel your voice getting sweeter as you sink into him.

you're think you're actually sinking into the ambience of the room and the idea of how domestic this whole thing is. "but i've got dinner going on the stove, so you can't leave yet." xavier's rocking you back and forth in his lap slightly and you can't help but flush with embarrassment.

since when did you become so sappy?

you don't push him away when he kisses you, once on the cheek and twice on the lips. there's the familiar feeling of being doted on far too much for your sanity. you feel smothered by the sudden desire to lay in his lap and kiss and never be apart. "stay. you should stay the night." he whispers lowly. before you can stop yourself you're nodding at him.

dinner tastes like affliction when you're scarfing it down to avoid saying too much at the table. he won't stop looking at you. even after your useless tirade about different aether cores and whether or not your evol could resonate with people you don't like. he always answers as honestly and as thoroughly as he can.

when he reaches his hand across the table to grab yours, you're tormented by the way his thumb caresses the back of your hand. you smile that same feeble smile you seem to be producing whenever you're shown affection and try to play off the way you awkwardly snatched your hand back. with a nervous laugh and a pang of anxiety rushing through you, you can't really seem to think straight. when you slip under the table, between xavier's knees the look on his face makes the guilty, sunken feeling in your stomach a thousand times worse.

you've done this before, so why is he making that face? like he feels sorry for you. like maybe he thinks this should be the last time you see each other. you're not sure what to do or say to him when he's like this. because this was complicated. this was the exact reason you didn't want to get involved with him in the first place. there was no shame in having sex, however the shame that overcame your senses under xavier's gaze was becoming too much to bear.

the signals in your brain are getting all mixed up, your nerves are reacting in the worst way possible. why is this so diffucult for you to navigate? you want to go home and bury your head into the blankets. instead you're sliding your hand up and down xavier's hardening cock."what's this about?" he asks, dully. you're unable to stop yourself from glancing down in quiet humiliation.

"i thought you wanted this." you mumble, barely above your breath. you let go of him and sink back on your knees, your hands resting in your lap. xavier makes a noise, telling you he knows what you're referring to. when he zips his pants, he's looking down at you with an unreadable, yet dormant expression. he scoots his chair back and gently moves the hair from your face. "come here." his voice is still calm, but you can't ignore the sweet, nurturing tone.

when you stand between his legs, still gazing at the floor he laughs lightly. "what's wrong? did something happen to make you act all weird today?" he teases. a million complex questions run rampant in the front of your mind, the simpler ones start forming as solid thoughts. what are we? why didn't you turn me away that night? why do you keep looking at me like that?

instead, "can we go to sleep now?" is the only thing you can manage to say. you can see the confusion behind xavier's eyes but you don't retract the question. "sure. are you tired?" he says while standing up. "no, not really." you respond, turning your back to him.

you're jumping his bones as soon as you enter his room. the way your teeth clash against his hurts, but it doesn't deter you or even slow you down.

you know he won't push you away so you persevere. this is what feels right. no guilt or shame in fucking each others brains out. at least not as much as holding hands at the dinner table(or something). once you're on your back you can sense that alter ego of xavier's lingering on his fingertips as he lifts the hem of your shirt up. he immediately attaches his mouth around your sensitive nipple. you quiver in time with the movements of his tongue, making you whimper.

he's kissing down your stomach, head dipping low. you grab his face with both your hands before he goes lower. the two of you look at each other for a moment, breathing heavy and staring with deep intent. "just put it in, please." you manage to spit out, more sweetly than you intended. he obliges, shedding his shirt onto the floor. you inhale sharply at the sight of his pale skin in the light of the moon. he kisses you, hard and messy. it makes you moan and grasp at the ends of his hair. the sound of his zipper gets you excited. the look in his eyes makes you anxious. "you always want it to go as quick as possible." you're looking straight into his eyes but you know his cock is probably so hard and weepy in his palm.

"you never let me savor it." when he spreads your legs apart you know he's got it out for you.

he slides his dick, clad against your clit. the tip sends shivers through you, and you can feel yourself clench harshly. you're biting your lip as you stare in anticipation at the sight in front of you. back and forth and back and forth. your legs are shaking already and he's not even inside yet. it's like he knows exactly how to get you going. every time he glides over your clit it brings you a step closer to an orgasm. you can see precum pooling on his tip as he grinds against you.

you’re embarrassed that you’re already so close. you feel pathetic when you cum as he replaces his dick with his nimble fingers. when they rub at your clit with precision, you feel a gush of arousal coat his fingers. your eyes are closed shut as a throaty moan exits your opened mouth. your head drops back into the bed as you fail to compose yourself. when you try to close your shaky legs, he slides a hand against the back of your thigh, cupping the underside of your knee.

he gently keeps you from shutting him out. "see, i know you like it better this way. why do you always deny it?" he says, matter-of-factly. you're at a loss for words, mind still overblown with leaky pleasure. when you can't muster a response to him he smiles, lovingly. "ok, i'm sorry.” his hand rubs circles over your outer thigh as his free hand palms his cock. “i'm putting it in now."

you can feel the heaviness of his cock resting against you when he says that.

the initial push is slow and brutal. the tip spreads you open so nicely. as he gets deeper and deeper your face contorts in pleasure. when his hips finally bottom out you can see the way his self restraint starts to diminish as you clench around him.

"you act like you want to run away from this, but your body never wants to let go of me."

when you open your eyes slightly you notice that his are laser focused on where your sex meets. he moves at first in shallow thrusts. this way you can really feel it when he hits that one overly sensitive place. he notices it right away from the way your body tenses up. you hate how observant he is because now he's guiding his cock with his hand to really grind into your g-spot.

you swallow thickly at the feeling. when he starts rubbing your clit you curse yourself for letting him unravel you this easily. when he sees how much of a mess you are underneath him xavier dips his head into the crook of your neck.

"i know you're indifferent, but you always let me do whatever i want to you without complaints. i like that about you, among everything else."

he whispers lasciviously into your ear, igniting a spark in deep in your shivering core. you make a poignant face at him when he lifts his head before kissing him. it's sweet and needy. it's exactly the kind of kiss you hate to initiate. it makes you look weak, but you suppose that xavier's not the only one with a secret, contrasting side to them.

he pulls back to cup your face, still thrusting in and out of you with precise vigor. you lean to the side to kiss the palm of his hand, earning a soft groan from xavier's swollen lips. he pulls his hand away, cautiously as if nearing the jaws of a carnal predator.

you follow his movements and your eyes light up when he places two fingers on your tongue. you quickly envelope them with your wanting mouth. bobbing your head and sucking at them as if they were his cock. you watch in delight as his lips curve into a circle as he drinks it all in. "you're not playing fair." he says breathlessly. he quickly yanks his hand back, sticking his own fingers in his mouth. you watch entranced as his cheeks hollow out as he sucks your spit from his fingers. "you're sick." you say, a genuine smile creeping onto your lips.

xavier scowls in obvious embarrassment. he firmly plants his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he leans in close. "it's your fault." he says lowly. at this new angle you can really feel the fullness of his cock plunging in and out of you. the wet,clicky sound of xavier fucking you fills your ears along with his frequent, airy moans. "does it feel good?" he asks, his voice is shaky and lighter than usual. it makes your face hot and tingly. it makes your head hazy and unnavigable.

your lack of a quick response only annoys xavier. he wants to hear it from you just how worked up he's got you. you gasp sharply when he mounts you fully. the girth of his cock stretches you out and though it burns you find yourself moaning louder. it's music to his ears. each moan includes a frantic babble of his name and a broken sound which he can tell is signaling your release.

the soft sound of skin on skin is somehow egging you on. you can't help but want to be fuller, more cognizant of his dick. to feel him everywhere across your skin in burning hotspots, forming mountains, geysers, earthquakes all like across your trembling body. you think about the food still on the dinner table and your wet footprints on his bathroom floor. there's probably strands of your hair entwined together on the walls of the shower and your fingerprints cover every surface of the apartment. was that the totality you craved? you weren't sure.

the only thing you were really sure about was that xavier was hitting all the right spots at all the right angles and you were falling apart in his hands. the worst part was that he knew it too. the way you felt around him. you didn't need to say anything. not a word. without even really thinking about it xavier finds his fingers on your clit again, coaxing you through it. "-m, i'm cu-" you start to babble, "i know. go ahead. for me." he can barely get out that last part. you're gushing around him keeping your eyes barely open just enough to gaze at him. he can't help but smile at you.

he can't look away from you. he just knows that this is how it's supposed to be. you, in his bed, cumming your brains out all over his cock. that's normal to him. or at least he's working on feeling normal about you.

"fuck, xavier. you feel so good." you whimper as you come down from your orgasm thoughts are pooling in your head. you start to put it together just how good he is. you're intimidated by the fact that he's amazing in every aspect of his life. you're drawn by how magnificent he appears to be compared to the masses. you're watching his expression as he cums. you memorize his eyes, his flushed cheeks, and the ever-changing shape of his mouth as he releases more cum inside you.

you can feel his cock flutter and twitch. you're shocked and enamored at how hard he's cumming. he can't speak or even form a coherent thought. he can only muster out a symphony of pathetic moans before he practically collapses on top of you. his head falls next to yours. the weight of him is soothing you as you keen in on his breaths, matching your own pattern to his.

"can i stay the night?" you whisper breathlessly, the growing smile on your face translating to your words. xavier says nothing, his face still adjacent to the satin sheets. he simply buries his head into your neck, slithering his arms underneath you. he holds you tightly, paralyzing you in his grasp, before he puts the blanket of the two of you.

[cinnamoonblue]

The 'Nice Lady'

ONE SHOT (REQUEST) - Portgas D Ace/Reader (female)

REQUEST: I am not sure if you take requests but if you do, can you do a small fluff of ace introducing y/n as his wife in alabasta to the strawhats!

WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, use of pet names, Ace is a little touchy but you don't mind, stealing, fighting marines

WORD COUNT: 3,7K

✰ MASTERLIST ✰

NOTE: This request was so fun to write so I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did ♡ I know that it took me a month to post it and that is why the end is kind of rushed, for which I'm sorry, but I hope you guys understand that things take time and that writing is just a hobby for me ♡ Thank you for all the support ♡ Feel free to like, comment and reblog as it helps reaching more people ♡ Enjoy♡

Arabasta – the hottest island and country you have ever been on. Sand and endless kilometers of desert between each city are everywhere. Right now, you are in Alubarna, an ancient city and the capital of Arabasta. The city architecture is manly domed buildings and towers, with ruins from the past all over the outside parts of it, making it very exotic and attractive for people from other islands to visit and explore, though now it is mostly local people around as the country has suffered a big lack of water so the drought that has taken over the country is life treating, except for the capital.

Looking for an escape from the burning hot sun in the busy market streets in Alubarna, you have found yourself in a small clothes shop, trying on different and typical for the country dresses or two-piece sets. Taking look at the mirror and twisting your body left and right you will lie to yourself if you say that you haven’t fallen in love with the current two piece set you are wearing. It is a beautify long white skirt with golden belt on top of the waistline with small Caribbean blue stones attach to it. Your chest is covered by a white top – white see-through long sleaves and a bra part, covered in white and golden sequins with a beautiful crafted Caribbean blue stone in the middle of it, you have never felt prettier in a pair of clothes as you feel now. Looking at the mirror you feel like a princess of the desert.

“You are definitely coming home with me.” You murmur with a smile to yourself as you check yourself out one last time. “How much are you by the way?” Tapping with your hands trying to find the price tag your eyes widen once you have found it. “A thousand and five hundred berries! Are they crazy?” Shaking your head in disbelief you take the price tag in your hands and tear it away from the skirt. “Not like I was planning to pay for it anyway.” You whisper with a smile as you gather your own clothes in the small green zebra print bag you have carried with yourself. Stepping out of the changing room you look around carefully before going to the cash register.   

“Oh, I see you have liked the set, m’lady.” The middle-aged man, the owner of the shop you guess, says as he sees you approaching him.

“Yes, I did – in fact I plan to buy more, but you see...” Your gesture to him to get closer to you like you don’t want the rest of the customers to hear what you are about to say. “I’m very pretensions and I was wondering - do you by any chance have something that it hasn’t been displayed yet?” You flutter your lashes at him. “The price doesn’t matter.” You give a little wink as you see him falling for your little act.

The middle aged, slightly round and bald man’s eyes spark with happiness as he hears this – you are his favourite type of client. He tells you to give him a second and that he will be back in just a second and the moment he leaves the cash register you don’t waste any time and run out of the shop. After a moment you hear a scream, a yell, something among the lines “Catch the bugler!”, but it is too late now as you have already escaped and blend yourself with the crowd in the market.

Walking along the streets you start to look around for your husband. He has to be somewhere near by, you just hope he hasn’t wandered somewhere far away, as sometimes he has the habit to does so.

“Buy this apple and you will be able to live up to thousand years.” You hear a merchant offer his scammed goods to someone.

"Sorry, I'm not interested in living thousand years. I just need to live today." You hear the person responds, and a sly smirk appears on your lips. Fixing your posture and lifting your chin up a bit, you start walking around the market a bit more confident. It doesn’t take long before you hear a voice behind you. “Who in their right mind has let you wander around all by yourself?”

Biting on your inner cheek, trying to stop yourself from smiling, you answer. “My husband.”  

“Ah, what a fool is your husband. Letting a gem like you all alone.” The person walking behind dramatically says. “What if someone steals you?”

“I doubt someone would dare.” You shrug with one shoulder as you make a turn, walking into a small dead-end alley, away from preying eyes.

“Hm, how so?” The man behind you smirks as he has followed you and now stands even close to you.

“Because my husband always finds me.” You smile as you turn around to face the man standing behind you and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a burning, full of passion kiss.

“You look beautiful baby.” Ace says as he pulls away from you and checks you all without any remorse. “Damn, I really need to stop letting wander by yourself, because someone might steal you from me for real.” He pulls you close to him as he runs his hands around your bare waist, feeling your soft skin under his fingers.

“I can say the same for you Portgas.” You giggle as you place your fingers on his broad muscular chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers. He is always so warm, even without the burning sun, Ace is like a walking one, but you don’t mind it, you never had and never will. After all you have gotten a personal heating blanket in the face of your husband for the rest of your life, how can you complain? “Are you hungry my love?”

“Always.” He slowly nods and licks his lower lip, not being able to tear his eyes from the curves of your body in this two-piece set. He usually can’t take his eyes of you no matter what you are wearing, or not wearing, but this piece of clothing is doing something to him.

“I meant food Ace.” You softly sigh as you place two fingers under his chin and lift it up so he can look at your eyes. “Eyes here boy. So, are you hungry?”

“Always.” He says as he pulls you close to him once again and kisses the top of your head before you get on your way to dish and dash somewhere.

You are both sitting at the bar in the first restaurant you have found. While Ace is already on his third plate you are still on your first, taking your time savouring the taste of the tipical local dish you have ordered for yourself, enjoying the new flavours that you are trying for a first time ever, while your husband just appreciates the fact that the food is good.

“Have you got any leads so far?” You ask your raven-haired husband.

“No.” He answers with frowned brows. “But I’m sure I have something on Lu-” Hearing a loud splash noise from the plate of your husband, you jump on the side as you don’t need to look to see that it is in fact him having a narcolepsy attack midway lunch.

“Thanks God, he didn’t eat something with sauce on it.” You breathe out relieved, after checking your outfit to see it has gotten a spot or something from the food. People in the restaurant gather around your worried, but you told them not to worry as you got this. Pulling Ace up, you clean his face with a napkin as this has become like a second nature to you now, as he slowly starts to wake up.

“Sorry, baby. Please don’t tell me I ruined your clothes.” He gives you an apologetic look as he checks you out to make sure he hasn’t splashed any food on you. You shake your head with a smile and before you get the chance to respond to him - he is gone. Your husband is literally gone, as he has been swept away with a force straight through some walls and now instead of him, a guy identically looking like your husband, stands next to you.

“Ha, now this is interesting turn of events.” You chuckle as you observe the boy with the straw hat standing next to you. “Running away from trouble Luffy?” You ask like you have known him for years, even though this is the first time ever you see your husband’s little brother, whom you only know from stories and his bounty poster.

“Yes, this annoying Smoker doesn’t leave me alone.” He answers to you without even questioning how you even know him or what is he running from. “Hey, are you eating all this by yourself?” He looks back and forth between you and the three extra plates left with food from your husband.

“Eat them if you are hungry.” You smile and hand one of the plates to the young reckless pirate and his eyes widen from happiness as he takes the plate and devours it in seconds. “You can take the rest as well.” You say standing up as you make your way to where your husband has been sent flying to make sure that he is okay, you know he is, but you are sure he would like to know that it was his little brother who caused all that.

“Thank you, nice lady.” Luffy screams after you with full mouth.

You just giggle as you make your way through the broken walls. “Damn, this was quite the impact.” Murmuring under your breath you finally reach your husband, who is getting up from the ground and doesn’t look very happy with what have happened. “Are you okay, Ace?” Your sweet voice catches up his attention and he just nod. Opening his mouth to say something he is getting interrupt by a yell from Smoker, who you haven’t even noticed until now, but he is long gone before any of you can react as he goes to chase after Luffy once again.

“Straw-hat?” Ace looks at you with excitement.

“Yes, I forgot to mention that the person behind this mess in no other than your little brother, so I think you might want to jump in the chase.” With a little twist of your body to the side you gesture to your husband to go run after his brother.

“You know where to meet me princess.” Ace says as he gives you a quick peck on the lips and runs after his brother.

“Huh? That’s weird. Why am I the only one here?” Luffy wonders as he finds himself in a dead alley sitting on a water barrel, with neither his crew nor brother around. Speaking of his brother, he still can’t believe he has reunited with him after not seeing each other for who knows how long. “Where did everyone go?”

“Sheesh! I guess my letting you escape was pretty pointless.” Luffy hears the too familiar voice sarcastically says somewhere close to him. Looking around and then finally up, Luffy sees his older brother standing there with a big smile.

“Yo, Ace!” Luffy jumps on his feet as his brother lands on the ground.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Luffy.” Observing now his grown little brother, Ace can’t feel anything else but be proud of him and of the man his is becoming.

“You too, Ace.” Both grip on each others’ hands is a strong lock over the barrel. “How long has it been?”

“Good question, but Luffy, it looks like you still go on your own pace, just like you did when you were kid.” Ace smirks mischievously as he can feel his brother putting force in trying to get Ace’s hand down and claim himself a winner.

“You too, Ace. I was surprised you ate a Devil Fruit, but besides that you’re the same.” Luffy says with a big grin.

“Oh, ye?” Ace laughs out loud as he hasn’t expected to hear this. He has definitely changed a lot since they last saw each other.

“Like when you would sneak into the fields and eat a hundred watermelons and then spit the seeds like your mouth is a gun and run?” Luffy blurs out fast as Ace has taken upper hand in their hand fight.

“This wasn’t me. It was you.”

“And then you got big bumps right here.”

“That was you again. I just watched and laughed.” Ace says as he is close to take the hand of his little brother down, but the barrel with water under them breaks due to their strength and their hands stay in the air locked in a firm handshake.

“I guess we’re both the same.” Luffy’s big smile spread across his face as him and Ace unlock hands and go for a high-five. “This brings back memories.”

Walking around town the two brothers are having small talks and catching up to each other, yet Ace still hasn’t mentioned the fact that he has married the girl of his dreams recently as he wants to do this when you are standing next to him. You have turned his life upside down in the best way possible and having you in it makes it finally worth living.

“Say, what kind of crew you have?” Ace is curious to know with what people his little brother has surrounded himself and Luffy wastes no time telling him about his crew – a swordsman, a navigator, a cook, a lair and the latest addition a reindeer. “That’s quite the variety you’ve got there.”

“We also have a princess and a duck now.” Luffy excitedly exclaims. “They’re all so interesting.”

“I’m sure you are the most interesting of them all.” Ace chuckles. “Still, a handful of people for a pirate crew... That’s just like you.” He smirks looking at Luffy.

“And I want a musician, too.”

You are waiting patiently by the Striker. It has been some time now, but you are sure that Ace is just catching up with his little brother. As you are sitting and waiting, finally, you see you husbands silhouette approaching you. You get up on your feet and smile at him once he stands in front of you.

“How was it?” You ask while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You have to meet him officially.” Ace tells you with a big smile. “He is already on his ship so we can make a quick visit. After all I need to check his crew personally, what if they are not good enough for him?”

“Ay, ay commander.” You laugh out.

You and Ace gather your things quickly in the Striker and get to the open sea fast. As you are approaching the Going Merry you notice that there are quite lot of marines.

“I will take care of them.” Ace winks at you and you playfully roll your eyes. He just wants to show off to his little brother and crew, but you won’t deny that you enjoy the show yourself. It doesn’t take long for your husband to take down the three marines ships after all he is Fire Fist Ace, what else is there to be said?

Landing on the railing of the Going Merry, Ace is met with an awe by the entire crew. While they are having their little interaction you have reached the ship with the Striker and quietly made your way up to your husband who sensed you the moment you stopped your little boat.

“Hey, Luffy.” Ace awkwardly says with a big grin spread across his lips. “There is someone I would like you to meet.” He scratches the back of his neck as he is not sure exactly how to announce to his brother that he is a married man now. “You see I-”

“Hey, what are you doing here, nice lady?” Luffy asks confused as he is the first one to notice you standing next to Ace on the railing, and now him, his crew and your husband all look at you confused. A sea of questions start being thrown at you from how you managed to get on the ship to who you are, until one particular question takes everyone out by surprise.

“Nice lady? Why does he call you this?” Ace looks at you in confusion.

“Oh, we met in the restaurant where he sent you flying.” You explain with a smile and Ace���s eyes shit to Luffy who nods his head in confirmation.

“She let me eat for free.” Luffy adds and now it all makes sense to Ace why he calls you the ‘nice lady’. “How you two know each other?”

Looking at you, with all the love and admiration in the world, Ace can’t stop the smile which spreads across his face as he says, “This is my wife.” You return the smile as you two step down of the railing into the deck and interlace your fingers. “Luffy and crew, this is my wife (Y/N).” Ace introduces you to everyone and they are all in awe, now that the confusion and shock has passed away.

“He is a good big brother.” Chopper, the cute reindeer doctor says, and Usopp the guy with unusual long nose nods in agreement.

“Wish I had one growing up.” Usopp adds to Chopper’s comment.

“And he is a good husband.” Nami the navigator of the ship as she has introduced herself to you exclames as she cluches her chest admiring you and Ace.

“A loving one on top of it.” Vivi, the princess of Arabasta, adds as she wraps her arms around Nami.

“I hope I get blessed with such a beautiful, gorgeous wife myself one day.” Sanji, the cook of the ship cries out, and for a moment you even think that if his eyes can turn into a heart shape they will. 

“Simp.” Zoro, the swordsman, makes fun of him, but the blush on his face is not helping as he shyly takes glance at you.

“Wife? Why?” Luffy’s eyes shifts between you and Ace in slight confusion. The whole concept of marriage has been something he has never understood so this is a bit confusing for him.

“What do you mean by why, you idiot?” Sanji screamed at him. “Having a wife as beautiful as (Y/N)-swan must be the closest feeling to heaven.” He cries out again.

You and your husband just laugh at the scene in front of you. His brother is exactly as he has described him, but he is obviously a good kid with good friends along his journey.

“When did you two married?” Vivi looks at you excitedly and Nami follows her with a question.

“How did you two meet?”

“How do you find a woman like her?” The lovesick cook cries out... again.

Before you or Ace can answer any question Luffy interrupts. “Why don’t you stay with us for a bit?” To which you agree.

Two days have past since you have joined the crew and both, you and Ace, are having fun with his brother and friends. The similarities between Ace and Luffy sometimes scare you a bit, due to the fact that you are aware they are not biological brothers by any means, yet they act and look like ones so much.

The night has taken over the desert and you are having fun with the girls, missing the feeling of having female company around you, as the crew you are part of is mostly made of men, which you don’t mind, because not only you have met the love of your life among these men, but also your family.

Everyone has started preparing to go to sleep, while the little adorable reindeer Chopper is having a little banter with Usopp, but Zoro is quick to put an end to it. Meanwhile Ace is observing everyone and everything carefully, enjoying the night, but also lost in his own thoughts.

“Yo, Luffy. Come here.” Ace calls out for his brother and signals to him with a nod to follow him. Stepping aside from everyone and making sure that no one would hear him, Ace looks at Luffy seriously. “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?” Luffy raises one brow a little annoyed with his brother interrupting his fun before bed.  

“If something ever happens to me, I-” Ace can’t finish his sentence as he is quickly being interrupt.

“What do you mean if something happens to you? You have promised me that you won’t die.” His brother is quick to remind him the promise Ace has given a long time ago.

“And I won’t.” Ace replies slight harshly as his brother doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. “Now let me finish what I have to say.” He scolds Luffy. “I’m saying – If something happens to me, I want you to promise me to take care of her.” Ace can’t help but look at your direction. “I know she is strong and can handle herself no matter what, but please, promise me that you will look after her if something ever happens.” He returns his attention to his brother.

“I promise Ace. But you also have a promise to keep.”

“And I will.” Ace winks to his little brother as he pats his back, and they return to the rest of the group.

Seeing them coming back you give Ace a smile – a smile for which he is willing to die for but also keep on living for every day, as his days have become better since the day he saw it for a first time ever. Back there he has promised to himself on the spot that he will call you his wife no matter what, and he did keep his promise.

writing, format, header & dividers © cinnamoonblue ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[cherie-doll]

Cod men reaction .

He and reader were on a mall date and reader suddenly stopped to look at a kids toy/a book/a book series. The thing is, reader grown up as the oldest grandchild, they used to have that toy/book(s), but it was ruined by their younger siblings/cousins.

Based on my real situation. Sorry for the broken grammar, I was typing this with one hand while eating pizza.

this reminds me of how i used to collect the archie comics as a kid and i loved reading them until my younger sibling ruined it bc they slobbered all over the pages like a dog, also, i hope that pizza was good i'm lowkey hungry

༢ུ· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price would turn right away when he noticed you've stopped walking. He's watching you, the skin creasing around his eyes as he smiles and his eyes soften. There's just something to seeing you in awe, recognizing that thing you've wanted for a long time, the nostalgia that must've bubbled up inside of you seeing it again. He'll come up beside you and say "why don't we buy it?".

Simon stared, confused at what could be so interesting, and when he saw it was only a silly stuffed animal. At first he thinks it only caught your attention because it was cute, but it was quite plain, a little ugly looking plush too. But you remember hugging it when you slept as a child, it had a certain smell to it too, until it got ripped apart by your sibling's puppy. You had cried but never got a new one. Without prompting from his part you start telling him the story of how much you loved that thing, and how you still sort of do. Silently nodding and already pulling out his wallet.

Johnny actually pointed out the game you mentioned playing when you were younger, the game you described to him because you couldn't remember the name of it. "Isn't that the game you've been talking about?". You excitedly reply that it is as he picks up the box, your eyes going straight to the price tag but he's already going to checkout to buy it. You ask him what he's doing, "you've been wanting to try it out again, right?" he replies with a smile.

Kyle remembers the time he helped you go through boxes when you moved in with him and how he opened a box filled with old stuff from your childhood. He had found a set of beat up books, some with pages missing, chunks ripped out or with crayon scrawled on them. You tell him it was a series you loved reading as a kid but was messed up by your siblings who played a mean prank on you. He later goes on out and purchases the same set of books and surprised you with them when he arrives home.

Roach once noticed a keychain made of seashells hanging on your bag, some of the shells were broken but it still looked like it had been a pretty little trinket. He played with it, fidgeting with it until he asked you why you still carried the old broken keychain. You tell him it was a gift from your late grandfather that he had made, kids had pulled at it and it had fallen to the floor, breaking in pieces. You had tried fixing it before but were missing pieces. He didn't buy you a new one, instead he spent an evening gathering seashells that looked close to the broken ones and rearranging them in the same order. It was difficult but was worth seeing you happy.

Alejandro could probably late to having to give up your toys to younger siblings or cousins because he had to do the same. So, it feels as if he heals something within himself when you both stop and look at the toys in a secondhand store that bring you a sort of nostalgia. He remembers summers spent playing outside and having to share the toy plane with his siblings. He notices you staring at a toy too and decides to give into making the little kid still in both of you happy.

Rudy has seen how you still keep the little dolls aligned neatly on your shelf. He's noticed how you put up a new one every time you find one when going through your old stuff. He's listened as you tell him how there is one specific doll you remember owning that was your favorite to play with, until it was either taken by some other kid who thrown away accidentally. He spots it at an antique shop and recognizes it because he's always thinking of you. Knowing this will make you feel complete he buys it and excitedly goes home to show you.

Phillip would have been walking along just like any other day he takes you shopping at the mall for you to let some stress out by swiping a credit card. He felt the absence of your hand on his arm and when he turned around he saw you in the toy shop through the glass display. When you held it in your hands, you felt your old emotional attachment to the toy reignite, it was smaller than you remembered but still as secure and comforting as ever. You turn to find Phillip beside you, he only nods, giving you the green light to just go ahead and buy it.

Makarov would hardly deny you from buying anything you wanted. It just strikes him as odd for there to be a change in the pattern you keep of buying clothes, jewelry and other luxurious items for a stuffed animal. But he knew that soft look in your eye, the reminiscing of a memory from long ago still etched in your mind that bloomed in your heart again. His eyes went from plush to you and back to the plush again. He told you to buy it and anymore you might have wanted.

Keegan found it slightly amusing that you had gotten so excited over seeing a children's series you thought had become lost media. He had taken you to the bookstore and instead of finding some cute romcom or some classical piece of literature you ended up in the corner of the kid's book section immersed in rereading the series that had become your escapism when you were a kid. You were going to leave it back where you found it when leaving but Keegan just chuckled and told you to buy the entire series.

König stared curiously at how entranced you were by the plush the kid held in front of you while at the food court. At first, he thought you were having baby fever or something, but really you were more interested in kid's backpack plush. You remember having one as a kid, you used to take it everywhere with you until you lost it, not knowing if one of your parents gave it away. You passed by a store that sold them, and König guided you inside the store to buy one for you. It was funny when the lady at the register asked if it was a gift for your kid.

Horangi knew you always had a thing for collecting adorable figurines, toys, anything that reminded you of when you were a kid. You took care of them so well too, placing them on shelves which he built btw, and dusting them off frequently. When asked why you were so particular about caring for them, you said it was because your old toys were always being broken from your siblings playing too rough with them. It must've broke your little kid heart to see them on the ground, all dirty and chipped off pieces. Now, he is always surprising you with one when he comes back from the store.

Nikto's first thought was that you had picked up the figurine as a gift for one of the kids in your family. At first, he couldn't understand that you were getting it for you, you were staring at the toy so fondly. What memory could have arisen in your mind at the moment? But he recognized the feeling of finding serenity in the little mundane things in life; in your case a toy. He offered to pay for it and as he drove home, he kept glancing over to you and seeing how you had the little thing in your hands, holding it instead of leaving it in the bag. He couldn't even tease you for it.

[miyukisu]

No Matter What .ᐟ

❤︎ | If Umemiya Hajime promises you something—best believe he's keeping it (1.3k wc) ╰ feat. umemiya hajime (winbre) x afab! reader

tags - reader gets hurt, mentions of violence and injuries, angst to comfort, fluff, happy ending, caring ume, friends to lovers -ish, no y/n

a/n - this was a request on my other blog

MEGA MASTERLIST

"If you need help—no matter what it is—just call me and I'll be there."

Those were the words that Umemiya Hajime told you the first time you met him. And maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he only told you that because you were Kotoha's friend. Sure, he was the head of Furin and Furin's supposed to save the people of this town—but that doesn't mean that Ume would always be at your beck and call.

It doesn't necessarily mean that he'll be there for you no matter what.

Because you were just that—Kotoha's friend. You weren't anyone important that the top dog of Furin would come in and rescue you. But, God, you wished that you were.

You let those sweet words float by you at first, but now it was the only thing you were holding on to. That and your dwindling hope.

How did it come to this? Why did they have to come to the cafe at exactly the time that you were alone? Why did Kotoha leave you alone? Not that you blame her... but you do blame whoever these people are—for being so weak that they would hold a grudge against Furin, going as far as torturing the people that mattered to their leader rather than aiming for him themselves.

They were after Kotoha; that much you were sure of. Though, they figured, you could also be someone important to Umemiya Hajime. So they beat you up for safe measure. Perhaps a consolation that they couldn't get their true target.

You could only watch as they continued to trash the place, trying to send a message to Furin that they were dead serious about this feud—a feud that you unfortunately got tangled up in.

With your back facing the door, you were a witness to their wickedness. As much as you wanted to shout or flee for your life, you were frozen in place. Softly, you could only whisper his name—a futile prayer on deaf ears.

But Ume had a knack for turning bleak situations upside down. Too absorbed in fear, you failed to notice an intense presence make its way into the cafe. A newfound weight was put on your shoulders, a coat which you instinctively held on to. It radiated a masculine smell and it comforted you because it smelled exactly like him.

"Can you make do with my jacket for now? Just gotta deal with these guys first," he says, turning to look back at you with a reassuring smile.

Dumbfounded, you simply nodded at him, allowing him what he does best: saving the people he cares about. He effortlessly plowed his way through his opponents. His face showed no emotion, punch after punch. Part of you could tell that he was holding back; he could do even worse to them than this.

When all was said and done, Ume gave them a warning—more so a threat to be honest. The men almost crawled their way out of the place. Only then did you see a speck of emotion on Ume's face.

He was seething. The aftermath of the gang's actions made his blood boil. And to think what could have happened if Kotoha were there...

But most of all—and the reality is—you were the one that got hurt. You were no Kotoha, but Ume cared about you all the same. He was that type of guy after all.

Once he had calmed down, he knelt down in front of you. HIs face relaxed a bit, hoping it could calm you down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I really am."

You quickly shook your head, still holding on to the jacket he perched on your shoulders a few minutes ago. "No... please don't apologize. I'm just glad that you came at all."

Ume's expression softened, feeling bad that someone like you had to go through such a traumatic experience. He wanted to tuck the lock of hair behind your ear and to cup your cheek at that moment, but decided against it. There were more pressing issues than giving into his impulses at the moment—like getting you to safety for instance.

That's how you found yourself being carried on his back. You insisted that you could walk, but he was as stubborn as you.

"Are you sure the cafe will be alright?"

"Of course! The other guys should be there with Kotoha now—cleaning around and stuff," he says.

"What about you though?"

"Me?"

"Don't you want to be there with Kotoha? I'm sure the other guys would have been able to help me..."

He lets out a short chuckle. "You want someone else to help you? What's wrong with me?"

"What? I didn't mean it like that. You know what I'm talking about so—"

A smile graces his face, glad to be so quick-witted. "Then just get comfortable behind there and let me bring you home."

Not that he could see your face, but you hid your flustered face behind his shoulder anyway.

────────────

Ume carried you all the way inside your house and at this point you've learned that it was fruitless to refuse his kindness. He gently places you down on the sofa before facing you with his usual positive expression.

"Alright. You got a first aid kit somewhere?" he asked with his hands on his hips, looking around as if he'd find it in plain sight.

"It should be in the bottom cabinet in the bathroom... um, first door to your right when you go up the stairs," you sheepishly respond.

He nods. "Got it. I'll be back."

Sure that he was gone, you let out the breath you've been holding for a while. You were glad that no one else was home. Otherwise, you'd have to deal with explaining as well.

And... maybe it would be nice to be alone with Ume even for just a while.

You see him come down the stairs and jog towards the hall leading to the kitchen. The fridge opens and closes, and you wonder what he's up to. Although, soon as he comes back with the kit and ice pack in hand—you understood the quick kitchen detour.

"Got some ice from the fridge. Here," he says, handing the pack to you. "Your knee looks pretty swollen. You'll need that."

You softly thank him for his thoughtfulness and he kneels down in front of you once more. He raises his hands, "You okay with a bit of touching?" preempting you to his care.

"Yeah... though it's a bit embarrassing that you have to tend to my wounds when I can do it myself."

He already had a cotton ball with antiseptic. One hand holding your leg up with the other dabbing the medicine on your cuts, he smiled thoughtlessly to himself.

"Wouldn't let a lady tend to her wounds herself, would I?"

"Knowing you... I guess you wouldn't."

He looks up at you with a grin. "Besides, I told you I'd always be there for you. Even after we get you all patched up and ready to go to the pastry shop downtown to get a sweet treat to lift your mood—I'll still be there. Someone's gotta carry you, right?"

You didn't think it was possible for you to smile, let alone laugh, after that incident. But here you were, giggling while Ume cared for your wounds.

"We're going to the pastry shop after this?"

"You bet."

It was this day that you learned: Umemiya Hajime keeps his promises no matter what.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note I used to post a lot of WinBre on my main blog, like 40% of it used to be WinBre. But this is my first fic about it on this blog. Hope I still ate.

[uncle-fruity]

Damn, can a trans guy make a singular post about his lived experiences without some fucko coming out of the woodwork to put words in his mouth and call him a transmisogynist?

If you think transfeminism is ONLY about trans women, you don't know what you're talking about AND you're actively contributing to the EXTREMELY HARMFUL ERASURE of trans men and transmascs. Our voices fucking matter.

If you think every trans guy who talks about his oppression in the transandrophobia tag or who critiques "transfeminist" theories THAT ACTIVELY EXCLUDES HIM is implying that trans women and transfems are his oppressors & that the criticisms are exclusively directed at trans women, that is demonizing him, erasing the trans men who also have dogshit opinions, and assuming that he can't be trusted to have an opinion on these things.

If a trans guy makes a post about his oppression and never once mentions trans women or transfems and you accuse him of HATING trans women and transfems, I'm sorry but you are maliciously misrepresenting his argument to shut down conversarions about his experiences and to discredit him within the trans community. You are an active contributer to the bigotry he faces and you should feel ashamed and embarrassed.

It is SO transparent to me that these jerks are just trying to sew seeds of discord amongst trans people, and I'm telling you right now that I will NEVER fall for it.

There is NOTHING you can say to me that's going to get me to throw trans women and transfems as a whole under the bus. I KNOW these tactics. Younger or less experienced trans folks might believe that your horseshit opinions which you spout in the name of trans women are actually representative of trans women, but I know too many incredible and inclusive trans women and transfems to fall for it. And hopefully, with time and experience, the trans folks who think other trans people are their primary enemies will wake up to the fact that we are ALL in this together and that we're STRONGER when we stand up for each other and love each other. If the only people you're listening to are assholes, that's the only type of people you're gonna hear from. Y'all cannot throw other trans people under the bus or treat all trans people as a monolith; that is exactly the kind of divisive shit that causes a rift in transfeminist movements and keeps us fighting each other instead of organizing against our REAL oppressors. And if a trans person IS the one who's harassing you, you should block them and forget they exist. You don't owe them an explanation or a defense. They are nothing but an internet stranger who knows nothing about you, and you don't owe them the effort of saving them from their pit of hatred.

I think all y'all who come onto my posts and try to make a transmisogynistic version of me to argue with are miserable little bugs who need to bully people online to feel like you've got power, but you fucking don't have any power over me and I will NOT sit by and let you slander me without a fight.

You think I'm a transmisogynist? I don't give a SINGULAR HOMEGROWN FUCK about your opinion. I'm tight with all the trans women and transfems who actually literally know me, and YOU don't even know my FUCKING name. If you're so fucking upset about the things I say, you are more than welcome to block me. I will continue to listen to the trans women and transfems who know me, who care about me, and who sure as fuck are not afraid to call me out if I ever said anything *actually* transmisogynistic.

Which is how I know these clowns are acting in bad faith. You press them for proof. You say, "Show me where I'm being transmisogynistic. Break it down for me," and they can't. All they have to show for it is a weak argument that you're "implying" the transmisogyny and a bunch of assumptions about you that have nothing to actually do with you. If there was a real critique and they ACTUALLY wanted to support me or educate me on what I did wrong, I would take them a little more seriously. But they never do. They just make 1001 transandrophobic assumptions, show their lack of basic reading comprehension, and have a little tantrum because they made themselves mad about a person who doesn't exist.

I will never stop loving THE WHOLE AND ENTIRE TRANS COMMUNITY. I will never stop fighting for us. I will never stop trying to build community with other trans people, and your exclusionary bullshit doesn't mean shit to me. The world isn't and never will be boys vs girls. Not to me it won't.

I will never stop talking about transandrophobia. I will never shut up about the experiences trans men and transmascs have. I KNOW my theory. I KNOW myself. You are not going to guilt trip me or gaslight me into thinking I'm a bad person for speaking up on my own behalf.

You will have to kill me if you want to silence me, and don't even think I'll let you off easy by killing myself. Y'all are gonna have to work if you want to silence this loudmouth cockroach motherfucking queer.

KINDLY fuck off, rudeass.

[boofeine]

complicated freak – lsk

pairing: dk x fem reader

genre: smut one shot

synopsis: you feel horrible for pretending to pay attention at anything he might be rambling in front of you right now; your thoughts wherelse, at the image of his thick cock.

warnings: mdni, fingering, dirty talk, roleplay (kinda), one single spank, cum, riding, mention of face riding, fighting dominance, descriptive, protected penetrative sex

song: baby said by maneskin / complicated freak by harry styles / ironically shhh! by viviz also came out :)

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @unlikelysublimekryptonite

Seokmin is a lot of things, but what he's most known for is his sweetness and kindness. That's what draws you in on first place. He's so welcoming, makes your heart flutter just from receiving his attention. You were done for, when you got yourself just a little bit way too into it, into him, the way butterflies come to your stomach when he gets shy on your presence.

It came as a surprise for you too, when he turned a completely different person between sheets. You have no idea in which point you got yourself in here, but it's definitely not your last. You got your body against his more times than you could admit, and crave it more than you think you should. The problem is that he's so soft, it makes you feel dirty for having this thoughts when he's not burried on your pussy.

You feel horrible for pretending to pay attention at anything he might be rambling in front of you right now. Your thoughts wherelse, at the image of his thick dick. He rests his back on the sofa, his spread legs on the floor not doing any good either as you stare at his side profile while he talks.

The outline of his nose making you remember how deliciously it pokes at your clit while he tongue fucks you, a rush of heat spreading on your body up to your cheeks as your core suddenly feel needy for his attention. Every time he looks up to the ceiling like he's thinking what he will say next, gathering his thoughts, your mind is wilding in how you want to climb up that couch and sit on his pretty face.

"What do you think?" Seokmin's voices echoes, making you blink at him, having not a clue what he's talking about as he stares back at you, waiting for some type of response.

"Hm? Sorry?" You tilt your head, not going unnoticed that you weren't paying attention, your heart dropping to a whole, feeling guilty.

"The movies on saturday? That is this one new movie I was talking about..." He starts again but the ache on your pussy is getting unbearable.

"Hum... Hum... Sounds good" You let out. Your hand shamelessly caressing his biceps, going down his arms as you slightly pull it to you. It's not innocently that the motion makes his soft fingers grease against your exposed thighs. You suppress a gasp, your mouth agape, his hands close enough to where you need him the most.

"Oh, sorry" He says, resting his hand on the side of your body instead, as you tug to his arm. Fuck! Why is he so sweet?

He starts talking about something else again. The same guilty creeping through you as you don't pay a single attention, your body going further as if he will be able to read the signs.

"Seokmin, baby..." You interrupt him mid word, his face moving to look at you, the pet name coming out as a surprise to him "I know you want to talk but my pussy is so fucking wet right now" You shamelessly confess as his eyes bulge.

"Oh-" It's all he's able to reply. Your hands that haven't left his arms, pulling it to your legs. His eyes following your motions and back to your face "You know I'm a little sad you weren't listening to me" He says, not true to his words.

"Seokmin... I-" You try.

"No, No" He cuts off immediately "I was saying something that I really wanted you to know but all you can think of it's my cock on your pussy" He mocks, his big hands gripping a hand full of your thighs this time.

"I'm sorry" You pouts and he giggles a little.

"You should be" He says, restraining his hands from your skin as he takes this to where you left it "So, as I was saying, there's this restaurant..."

You groan, your head going back as you get tired of waiting and being nice "Fuck, Seokmin! Shut up" You let out, your hands grabbing and guiding his hand to your pussy. He laughs, he fucking laughs at how desesparate you are. Pushing the skirt of your dress up to expose your clothed core, his fingers greasing over the material as you relax at his touch, your head going back, eyes shut at finally feeling something.

"They do have really good food" He says back about the damn restaurant to provoke you as you grunt, frustrated. He leans a little closer to your face, cupping your cunt through the thong "But don't worry, the only thing I can think of eating is you right now" He lowers his tone to whisper it to you.

"Good" You answer "Thought you'd never shut up" Your smart mouth takes over as he smirks.

His hand pulls your thong to the side, taking a long stroke at your folds as you mewl, a heavy breath getting out like it needed to. Your hips bulking to his hand and legs spreading almost instinctively.

"Shit, you really are wet" he responds. Seokmin gathers the slick up to your clit, massaging the muscle in small circles. the grip you have on his arm getting stronger each motion of his fingers. You're wet enough to hear the sounds of it as he goes down to enter you with his digits. Your nails dig to his skin, your head lowering as your forehead rests where his shoulders and arms meet. The gasps turning into moans as he fucks you. He moves slowly, watching you break.

"Seokmin, baby..." You say gripping his wrist this time. That fucking pet name again, he wont ever get used to it, his cock tightening on his pants. "Wait" you push him out, your cunt pulsating with the loss but just enough to get up and take your thong out and sit on his lap. He welcomes you like he always does, watching you undo his jeans to be met at the sight of his hardening length pressing on his boxers. But before you can even drink in the sight, he's back at pushing two fingers inside you. Your back arch when he curls them inside, getting on your sweet spot.

You moan out his name as he presses the spot continuously with the tip of his fingers. You can't help but roll your eyes, the knot forming on your stomach as an unimaginable amount of arousal slip out of your entrance. "Fuu- ah! Minnie... Not yet, please!" You beg as you feel your legs shake.

Like he's so obedient to you, he stops, restraining his hands as you squirm over him. "You made a show to have it, and now you're going back?" he spits out as you still try to calm down your breathing, eyes slowly opening.

"I want..." You try.

"What? Say it" he demands as his wet hands from your slick goes under his boxers, taking his cock out with a gasp of relieve. You stare at it, the way he spreads the wetness on his cockhead making you whine at the view.

"I want your cock... inside me" You plea as he starts to bump himself, letting out a groan.

"Of course you do" He says smartly with a smirk "Go get a condom on my wallet" He says. You reach for his pocket, knowing he came with anything else, his wallet soon found as you open it, the package on one of his spaces as you take it from it. You throw it somewhere beside you as you immediately start to open the condom. He hands his base, aligning it for you as his other hand digs to your hips, pulling you to him, watching you take over, pressing up on the plastic before sliding it down his length.

He holds you firmly as you take his base instead, guiding his head to your entrance when you get your body up to receive him. You press him inside, feeling the delicious stretch, your body threatening to give up while you slowly sit down on him. You can see his breathing pace fastening, his chest rising and falling, but you're no different, your head going down, your foreheads getting together as you can feel each others breath. You finally bottoms out, your body relaxing while he takes your mouth on his for the first time today. It's all too much, a whine coming out on his lips when his tongue asks for space. The kiss airy and needy as you make out.

When you feel the neediness again, already adjusted to his size, you start rolling your hips, low moans coming from him as he guides you with his hands on your waist. "Fuck!" he swears under his breath, feeling your walls pulsating around his cock. "Was this what you needed, hm? Was that all running on that head while I was talking?" He says, and you just moan, picking up your pace as if it was going to answer him. "The pretty heads, always the nastiest thoughts, isn't it?" But he isn't any different, he thinks. Those thoughts run just the same for him, too.

You are not answering in words but going faster on him. Until even this, It's not enough. Your hips going up just to sit back in. His head going back with a roll of his eyes as you start to bounce on his cock. His hands going back to your ass cheeks, spreading them apart. "Stopped me just to use my cock as your little fuck toy... so unpolite" He speaks again and you groans.

Your palms fastening to press against his lips as he yelps, but you can see the smirk from his eyes. "You don't ever shut up, do you?" You spit out, your thrusts going faster, the skin slapping sounds starting to fill the room "I guess next time I should take my first plan of sitting on your face. At least then you can talk between my legs if that's something you want so much. How does that sound?" You get closer to say those words, your hand prettily silencing him as you stare at his watery glistening eyes. You can feel the way he twitches inside you and the muffled moans coming out. You know he loves it.

You suddenly calm down your pace, turning it into firm deep, slow thrusts. The heat and pleasure building up as you push yourself to the edge. Your walls hugging him tightly as he starts to feel his balls tightening too. "Cum for me, baby. Come on... make it worth it" You talk him through it, his knuckles white from gripping your ass so hard, leaving red marks of his big hands on it.

It comes at a surprise when he bites the skin of your palm, your hands jumping out of him as you yelp "Fuck, Seokmin! Are you crazy!?" You scream, your cheeks turning red. He hands you in place, starting to fuck you instead, thrusts meeting up your hips. You moan, your hands driving its way to his hair so you can tug on something.

"You should learn to behave and talk nicely" He grunts out, the throaty voice and drool over his lips doesn't go unnoticed. Heat collecting around your bodies, both of you getting close to cumming. "Someone has to teach you a really good lesson" He says lastly, his palm arriving to your skin with one loud hard slap on your ass cheek. The skin tingles, your body going stiff and mouth agape, like you stopped breathing for a second, before you finally let it go. Your body shaking as you cum with a breathy moan. Your pussy clenching nonstop as he cums with a loud gasp right after you. His load emptying on the condom.

Both of you rolling your hips messily trying to ride off your highs, until you're tired and giving up. The wetness is thick enough to make him slide out unintentionally as you both whine from the loss.

You sit back on his thighs, staring while he takes off the condom from his flacid length, tying it up with a knot. His balls and inner thighs glistening with your own juices as you hince at the sight, "I'm sorry..." You say it smally, but he smiles.

"It's ok... I love it" He replies, pulling you to him. And for a moment, you two just stay there, tangled up on each other before gathering corage to get up and clean up the mess.

[gothicmisty]

── .✦ too sweet

Chapter 2

18+ no outbreak! joel x f!reader

masterlist | ao3 previous chapter ⋆⭒˚.⋆ next chapter

── .✦ Story summary: “Joel—are you su—” “Let’s go.” A few hours ago, you were sitting in a freezing police station with no phone, no money, and a record waiting to happen. Then Joel Miller—your daddy's long time friend—walked in, spoke six words to the cop, and took you home like you already belonged to him. Now you’re in his house. Wearing his shirts. Sleeping in his spare room. He buys you a brand new phone, stocks the fridge with things he knows you like, leaves cash on the counter like it’s nothing. In which Joel Miller ends up being your sugar daddy who absolutely ruins you.

Chapter summary: the return, the bracelet, and the bath.

word count: 4.8k status: ongoing.

authors note: so, this is mostly just continued story building. the gift joel gives reader, it's one of the three really big ones he does. please remember, both are terrible at feelings. i tried to capture the longing, the guilt, the feelings in ways that aren't words. plus, i'm sorry for leaving off on a smutty cliff hanger again. the next few chapters will be leading to like a ton of angst. reader has no description, it's just for moodboard purposes. (i don't know how many chapters this going to be, i change my mind more than my clothes. but, i upped it to eight for now.)

tags: 18+, female orgasm, fingering, eating out, dbf!joel, joel miller x f!reader, lots of smut, slowburn on romance, dom joel, alternative universe - no outbreak, !light sugar daddy, sugar daddy/sugar baby, joel is bad at feelings, age gap, joel is 50s x reader is 26-27, (honestly you could make her a little older.)

chapter 2: you don't have to say it, i just want to see it.

you don't have to say it, i just want to see it, see how beautiful it can be, when you feel something for me.

Talking about feelings?

That ain’t exactly your thing.

Maybe it’s easier for you to just say it ain’t your thing. Pretend it’s not you. But really–you just never really learned how. Never had someone worth trying to learn for. 

And Joel?

Fuck, he ain’t built for that kinda talk either. He’s worse than you are. He keeps everything locked up tight. Like if he lets one word out, all the walls he’s built might come down. 

It’s been over a week. A week of, long, fuckin’ drawn-out days since you were on your knees in front of him. Since he came in your mouth and walked off like nothin’ happened. 

To make it worse? Joel’s been gone.

Left a note on the counter–

Gone. Takin’ care of some business stuff. 

He left you with his credit card.  Didn’t even say bye when he left.

You pulled up his contact more times than you could even count. Typed out messages you’d never bother to send. 

I want you. Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. 

Deleted every fuckin’ one. 

You even hovered over the camera once. Thought about sendin’ a picture. Thought about makin’ a video of you cumming for him. Moaning his name loud–just for him. 

You didn’t. But, God, you wanted to. 

You felt like you were spiralin’ and desperate as hell. 

This shouldn’t be something you’re feeling. You know that. 

This ain’t exactly the kind of thing that should be happenin’. Not with him. Not like this. 

You spent three days tellin’ yourself you’ll only want him if he wants you first. As if that lie’s gonna keep him outta of your head.

It was too late. He lives in your head now. Doesn’t leave. And it ain’t just about the blowjob. It’s the way he’s looking at you wearin’ his shirt. The feeling of his hand on your thigh like it belonged there, like you belonged to him. The way he’d sit beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat off his skin–but it also never seemed close enough.

The silence was never awkward with Joel like it was with other people. It meant something. Like there was always so much more beneath it. Just waitin’, always. 

Even the fuckin’ simple stuff–watchin’ old movies, drinkin’ beer that you didn’t even like, sittin’ quietly in the morning as you ate breakfast together.

You can’t seem to let it go.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you sigh, eyes tracing the lines on the ceiling. 

This room still isn’t yours. Not really. Tall, plain walls. Nothin’ on ‘em. Nothing that feels like it belongs to you. Most of your clothes still don’t even feel like yours yet.

Joel gave you his credit card and told you to go shopping. He just did it.

And this black nightie you’ve got on? Yeah. He bought that too. 

It was late, you’d been layin’ there for an hour, possibly more. Starin’ at the ceiling, thumb hoverin’ over his contact once more, like you just can’t help yourself.

And then–you heard the door. Footsteps on the stairs. His shadow passing by your door. Maybe tonight…maybe you could get something out of him. More than just, “Not now, darlin’.”

You ease your door open, steppin’ out slow, walking to his room. there he is–Joel. 

Standing in the bathroom of his bedroom, shoulders hunched, back to you. The overhead light flickerin’ a little bit. You lean against the door, arms crossed. 

“Hey,” you say, voice low, testing the waters.

He doesn’t say anything. Just unzips his bag, starts pullin’ things out one by one. Toothbrush, deodorant, his extra clothes. It says more than his silence, like he knew you’d show up. But he just didn’t know what to say when you did. 

“Didn’t know you were home,” you mutter, watching him close.

Joel doesn’t look at you, just looks down at the sink. You try again. “How was your trip?’ 

He shakes his head.

“Stayed in some cheap-ass motel,” he murmurs. “Sheets smelled like mildew. Tommy fuckin’ snored like a fuckin’ freight train all night, keepin–” 

 He turns and stops. His eyes drag down your body slowly, that black lace nightie, those thin straps, the way the slit rides high up your thighs. 

The left strap has slipped off your shoulder a bit. You think ‘bout fixin’ it. You don’t. 

You watch him–watch the way his jaw works, the way he swallows hard like he’s tryin’ not to say what’s going on in his head right now. 

“Jesus Christ.” he whispers under his breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out-loud. 

Didn’t mean for you to hear it.

Then he clears his throat, “Forget ‘bout it.” 

There is silence after. One of those long ones that he was so perfect at.

You can see it–him fightin’ whatever’s goin’ on in his head. He licks his lips. Looks down. Doesn’t say a word.

You step in closer, hand finding his arm–just enough to lightly touch him. God, this is the closest you’ve been to him in over a week.

“Did ya end up gettin’ that new job lined up?” you ask, keeping your voice low. 

“Mmhm,” Joel mutters, noddin’ just once. “We got it.” 

You rub his arm slow, slow. He looks at you, that look that sticks–full of what he won’t let himself say.

“Y’know—” 

“Got ya somethin’.” 

You both say at the same time. Then you blink, head tiltin’ a little.

“Ya got me somethin’?” you question, quieter now. “Ya went off on some business trip and came back with...somethin’ for me?” 

Joel just lifts his hand–fingers under your chin, gently tilting you up to look at him. Right in those eyes that already had you ready to melt.

“S’waitin’ for you in the kitchen. Tomorrow mornin’.” 

“You didn’t have to—”

His fingers press soft against your lips before you can even finish. Not rough. Not sharp. Just done hearin’ you argue back. 

Your breath catches. You should say somethin’. Do somethin’. But all you can do is look at him. And for a second, that’s all you want–to stay in this moment. Right in it with him. 

“I need sleep, sweetheart,” Joel mutters. “Been drivin’ most of the damn night.” 

You lift a brow, mouth pullin’ into a huge smile. 

“This you kickin’ me outta your room?” 

There is a small smile on his lips, one maybe he doesn’t even know he has.

“For tonight,” he says. “Yeah.”

You stand there for a second longer, eyes on him. Hand squeezin’ his arm once, like maybe that’s all you can say without sayin’ it. Then you turn, leavin’ him in the bathroom. 

But his voice catches you. 

“Darlin’.”

You glance back, he’s lookin’ at you. “All that lace…” Joel’s voice is low. “You–you look so fuckin’ pretty in it.” 

“Joel,” you say, softly.

He lifts a brow, waiting. 

“I missed you,” you murmur. “When you were gone.” 

“Yeah?”

“Still thinkin’ about the way you sounded…that night on the couch.” 

Joel doesn’t say a word. Just watches you. You turn, headin’ back to your room. Heart feeling like it was going to leap out of your chest. 

Ain’t exactly a heart-to-heart. But you told him you missed him. And that’s more than either of you’s managed in days.

First thing that woke you was the sunlight. 

It came right through those thin-ass curtains and landed straight on your face. Blinding and no real way to sleep through it. 

The second thing? Some asshole’s truck. 

Loud as hell, sputterin’ through the neighborhood like it was tryin’ to wake the entire block.

You’d think you’d be used to it by now–grew up in the same shitty suburbs of Texas. Same irritating noises almost every morning.

You open the bedroom door–it’s quiet. Too quiet. You slip in his bathroom. The one you’ve ended up sharin’. Not officially, not out loud really. But it’s his, and you’re in it more than the one next to Sarah’s room. He leaves things for you sometimes. Little stuff. A clean towel for you to shower. 

Sometimes he steals your lotion. Never admits it.

By the time you make it down the stairs, you figure he’s already gone. He’s almost always gone by now. But you hear it. Low clang of metal. Truck is out front. Which means…he must be workin’ on somethin’. 

You ease the door open just enough to peek through. He’s out there–head down, sleeves pushed up, workin’ like he always does. Joel’s always been good with his hands. Always fixin’ somethin’. Back when Sarah was little, he’d build her the cutest things. Once he built her an entire swing set, she was so excited to tell the whole neighborhood. Another time he built her a dollhouse, when her other one broke Never made a huge deal out of it. Just did it. 

You lean in a little too much, tryin’ to watch him without bein’ caught. The door lets out a squeak. 

Fuck. 

He turns at the sound and looks your way. 

“Figured you’d still be passed out,” he teases. “Ain’t exactly know for bein’ up with the sun, sunshine.” 

You shrug, lips curvin’ into a little smile.

Sunshine. 

“Got work,” you reply. “Don’t you?” 

Joel just shakes his head. “Took the mornin’,” he says. “Wanted to talk to Sarah. Time’s all fucked up with her bein’ over there.”  London. She was a smart girl, got a full scholarship. 

There was a strange part of you that was jealous, you’d never even traveled away from Texas before. She was across the world learning, livin’ a full life outside of Texas. 

“Bet that’s hard,” you murmur. “I know you miss her.” 

“She got some boyfriend now,” Joel mutters. “Real…irritatin’. Talks like he’s got a damn encyclopedia crammed up his ass.”

He pauses, crossing his arms. 

“Keeps callin’ me Mr. Miller, too. Over fuckin’ video. Like he’s scared of me or somethin’.” 

You can’t help it–you laugh. It’s a bit louder than you wanted it to be.

The image of that nervous british kid from Sarah’s instagram callin’ Joel–Mr.Miller. While Joel just sits there starin’ at the screen wanting him to go away. It’s way funnier in your head, though.

“Next time you talk to her,” you say, “Tell her I said hey…It’s been a while. I forget she’s a college student sometimes.” 

Joel’s quiet for a second. 

“Yeah. I do too.”

Joel pulls off his gloves slowly, sets ‘em down on the workbench. Then he stands, wiping his hands with a rag. “Close your eyes.” “Okay, Mr. Miller,” you tease. 

“Don’t start.”

The way he said it was so soft, so steady. Like he already knew you were going to listen to him. You hear the door shut behind you and open back up. Then the scrape of a chair bein’ dragged out. 

“Can I look?” 

He puts his hand on your back, guiding you over. 

“Sit,” he says, “Go on. Open ‘em.”

You do. Eyes falling onto two blue boxes–each one tired with a white bow. It’s too much. You feel it already. You wanna argue, wanna say he shouldn’t’ve. 

You untie the bows–Tiffany’s logo under it. Spelled out clearly under the ribbon. 

He drove an hour away for business–maybe more—outta town. Walked into some place with fancy fuckin’ glass cases and strange music and walked out with something for you. 

Not because you asked. Not because he had to. 

Just…because. 

You open the first box. Inside’s a bracelet, thin, little white diamonds shaped like pansies, glintin’ in the light. By the clasp, there’s a charm. One side’s got your initials, carved clean. You turn it over with your thumb. 

From, JM.

It ain’t the kind of thing you’d ever buy yourself. Hell, it ain’t the kind of thing anyone’s ever bought for you. But it’s beautiful. God, it’s so beautiful. 

“Joel–I—,” you start. 

“Didn’t know if ya’d like it,” Joel says.

He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches over and nudges the second box toward you. You unwrap it. Inside it–diamond earrings. Tiny pansies, same as the bracelet. Set in silver. Just enough for it to make your heart ache. 

“They match,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” 

“You picked ‘em?” you ask, real soft. 

Joel just reaches in the box, pulls out the bracelet.

 Takes your wrist, fits it around you gently, adjust the clasp so it lays just right. He rubs his thumb across the top of your hand after. Slow.  Doesn’t even look at you while he’s doin’ it. His fingers stay there longer than they should. 

“Didn’t let the sales girl pick it out,” he mutters. “S’what you’re askin’.”

You stare down at the bracelet. Stunned. It’s beautiful. Too much. 

And you don’t understand it–this–why he’s doin’ this, what he’s gettin’ out of any of it. 

“It’s…beautiful,” you murmur, your eyes still on the diamonds. 

“Saw the flowers,” he says after a minute. “Made me think of that day on the couch. That movie ya liked so much.”

The night you told him– “Told me once,” Joel says. “Said lilies and pansies were your favorite.” 

Like it was nothin’. But it wasn’t.

To you. Most people would’ve let that slip away–not remembering it, forgetting it by the next day. Not Joel. He remembered. 

You’re quiet. Don’t got the words. Not even fuckin’ close. How the hell do you thank someone for this?

Aint ever been anyone in your life who’d spend god knows how much on somethin’ just to see you happy. Joel didn’t have to let you in. Into his house. Into his life. But he did…now he’s buying you things. Spending time with you. Thinkin’ about you. 

What the hell do you even say to a man who’s giving you all of this?

He lets go on your hand, starts movin’ a few things around on the bench like nothin’ just happened. You sit there, still. Too still. Then stand, just to do somethin’. 

“I got work,” you say. “Don’t wanna be late.”

Joel doesn’t look at you when he answers. “Work too damn much,” he says. “Oughta be focusin’ on school.” 

That ain’t a conversation you’re ready to have. Not now. You don’t wanna say it out loud–but college? It’s startin’ to feel further and further away.

He just moves some stuff on the bench. 

“You don’t have to,” Joel says quietly. “I can help.” 

You wanna say somethin’, anything. Push back the same way you always do when someone tries to do too much. But you just stand there–stunned. 

“Like the bracelet,” he mutters. “Ain’t a big deal, sweetheart.” 

Your mouth is open, but nothin’ wants to come out. And you hate that—how quiet you go around him sometimes. You don’t even know why it happens. You even hate how easy it feels like you can cry at the moment when all he’s done is buy you somethin’. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you murmur. 

It’s the only thing you know what to say. Words won’t come out. Because the truth is—there aren't words for this. Not for what he’s done. 

You start to back away. Joel’s putting his gloves back on, already settlin’ back into whatever he was workin’ on before you walked in. Your hand stops on the door when you stop, turning back to him. 

“Joel?” you say. “Nobody’s ever done somethin’ like this for me.” 

He doesn’t look your way. “Yeah. I know.”

a week later

Calls from your mama don’t come often. 

You can’t even remember the last time one lasted more than ten minutes. And they never end good. 

This one ended worse. She fought with you about stayin’ here. Didn’t like the idea of you stayin’ in a place she walked away from, still. Told you to come to California. Pack up, start over. Like it was just that fuckin’ easy. 

Like leavin’ was the same thing as fixin’. 

“You’re takin’ up space in someone’s life who don’t want you there.” 

Her words. Cold and cruel. 

But they stick. They always do. 

You’ve fought that thought more times than you can even count. That Joel’s just…doin’ this outta guilt. Outta habit. 

Maybe he really don’t want you here. 

He’s bought you a bracelet, earrings, a phone, clothes you didn’t ask for, fixed that necklace when it broke, like it was nothin’. And it’s a strange feeling–someone takin’ care of you like this. Not wanting anythin’ back. It’s a lot. Too much, somedays. 

You just need a minute to breathe. 

So you go upstairs. To his bathroom. The master one–the one he still lets you use like it’s nothin’. And now? Your stuff is everywhere. Hair ties, makeup scattered on your side of the sink. Some of it is new. Some of it barely touched. 

He aint said a word about it, not yet, anyway. 

You crunch down, open the cabinet under the sink. Find a bottle of lavender bubble bath–probably Sarah’s from before she left. 

You’ll replace it before Sarah comes home. Make a note of it, mentally. 

The tub’s old–deep enough, porcelain. Hasn’t been updated since he bought the house. Joel’s not one to fix what ain’t broken. You twist the faucet all the way. Let the water run hot–too hot, really. 

The steam fills up the bathroom fast, fogging up the mirror. Lavender fills the air. You start undressin’, slow. One piece at a time, lettin’ each layer fall into a small pile on the floor. 

You step into the tub. Water scaldin–just how you like it. You sink in til the bubbles are at your shoulders. 

Then you hear it. Boots. Heavy on the floorboards, walkin’ down the hall. Joel. 

You’ve learned the sound now, could pick it out in a huge crowd of people. 

You close your eyes. The door creaks open, you don’t flinch. Don’t move to cover yourself up, just breathe. Joel leans against the door frame, arms crossed. When you open your eyes, his are already on you.

Doesn’t move. Just looks. 

His eyes drag from your face, down the slope of your neck, to where your chest rises just above the bubbles. Then lower, to where your legs stretch beneath the water. 

The bubbles hide enough, but not everything. 

“Hot enough in here for you, sweetheart?” he drawls, low. 

You look up at him. “Not quite,” you reply. “Come sit. Please.” 

You don’t know if it was the please or if he’d already made up his mind. But he steps in. Closes the door behind him–keeps the heat in. Then he sinks down beside the tub, slow, wincin’ a bit before resting on his knees. He just looks at you and you give him the smallest smile. 

“How was Tommy’s?” 

Joel shrugs, his eyes on the water. 

“Same old shit,” he mutters. “S’nothin’ worth talkin’ about.” 

Then, quietly– “What’s got you wound up?” 

You’re surprised he can tell. But you shouldn’t be. You’ve been here for over two months. Seen each other nearly every damn day. He notices things, even the small things.  You don’t know why you hesitate–but your eyes drop toward the edge of the tub. Fingers trail through the water.

“It’s nothin’,” you say. 

And it’s a lie. 

“Ya don’t gotta tell me,” Joel says. “Not if ya ain’t ready.” 

That was the thing about him. He doesn’t push, don’t pry. Just waits. Quiet. Patient. And somehow, that’s so much worse. ‘Cause it makes you wanna talk. Makes you wanna spill things you’ve kept to yourself for so long. Say shit you probably shouldn’t. 

“My mama called.” 

Your eyes stay on the water. Joel doesn’t say nothin’. Just sit there, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. Like you ain’t sittin’ naked in his tub. Like there ain’t a hundred different things hangin’ between you two. 

He rolls up his sleeves, slowly. Like he’s got nowhere else to be. Then his hand dips into the water. 

He doesn’t press. Just waits. Let’s you talk when you’re ready. 

“She, uh…she wants me to come out to California,” you say. “Says I’m wastin’ my time here.” 

He still doesn’t say anythin’. His hands finds your ankle–wraps around it. Slides his hand up slowly over your calf, then down again. Same pressure. Same drag. 

“Feel good?” he asks. 

You just nod.  Can’t speak.  He’s tryin’ to help you relax. 

His thumb presses in deeper. Slow circles, right against the muscle. He shifts–just a little. Closer to the tub. Legs stretched out, elbow restin’ on the edge now. “She say anythin’ else?” 

“No,” you say. “But…y’know maybe she’s right.” 

Joel’s hand don’t stop. Just keeps movin’. The water shifts with him. Bubbles break up around his knuckles. His fingers slide higher–settle just under your knee. “I’ve just…been here.”  you sigh. “Not payin’ rent. Not in school. Not doin’ much of anything.” 

You pause. 

“You’re takin’ care of me and I’m…I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’.” 

Joel leans in a little more. Sleeve soaked near his elbow now. “Haven’t told you to go, have I?” 

Simple. Just like him. And he hasn’t. Not once. Not since that first day–Just til ya get settled. And he hasn’t brought it up since. 

“No,” you whisper. 

You think back to the garage. The way he told you were workin’ too damn much. “Ya don’t gotta go,” Joel says. “Not unless you’re wantin’ to.” 

It’s hard–lettin’ someone help. Hard lettin’ them stay in your life. Letting someone take care of you without feelin’ like you owe them the world back. 

Joel’s still beside the tub. Lookin’ at you like there’s somethin’ he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Just slides his hand up your thigh–slow. Then back down. Up again. Most of the bubbles are gone now, just a few left, clingin’ to the side of the tub. There is a silence between the two of you for a while. His hand on your thigh, helpin’ you relax. You forgettin’ anythin’ to do with that shitty phone call. 

He leans in, voice rough. “Stand up.” 

You blink. “What?” 

“I said–stand up, princess.” 

And that’s all it takes. You don’t ask again. Don’t think. When he says it like that—it’s like your brain shuts off. There is no room to question. No room to second guess anythin’. 

You stand up from the bath and step out. Water runnin’ down your skin, your hair wet. 

He’s looking at you. God, is he fuckin’ lookin’. But he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t reach for a towel. Doesn’t touch you. Just sits there, lookin’ at you, wet, naked, standin’ in his bathroom. 

Not until you whisper, “Joel.” 

He stands slowly, towerin’ over you. His big hands find your hips, pullin’ you against him. You’re still drippin–water soaking the front of his jeans, his flannels soaked through where it touches your skin. 

Then he backs you up until your back hits the sink. 

Joel’s hands slide down to the back of your thighs, grippin’ firm, then he lifts you–fuckin’ effortlessly. Like you don’t weigh nothin’ at all. Sets you down on the edge of the cool counter.

The mirror behind you’s still fogged up. You don’t look at it. Just grip the edge of the sink with one hand–tight. Tryin’ to keep still. 

Joel stands between your thigh, his flannel is clinging to him. Breath ragged. Hands gripping your thighs. 

“Shit,” he mutters. “We shouldn’t keep doin’ this, darlin’.” 

You look up at him.

“Then stop.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ wanna.” 

He leans in. Not enough to kiss you–just close. His breath brushes your jaw, but his mouth never lands on yours. It drives you fuckin’ mad as his hands move along your thighs.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day,” Joel admits. “Can’t get you outta my head.” 

Your hands fist his shirt, and that low sound he makes is all it takes. He drops to his knees. 

His big hands shove your thighs open. The counter digs into the backs of them, sharp, but all you feel is his hands on you. He groans when he finally looks at you. 

“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he growls. “All this for me, princess?” 

You nod. But it’s not enough for him. 

“Use your words. Now.” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel–please.”  He takes his time despite your begging. Kiss the inside of your thighs. Soft kisses, rough beard–just enough to make you feel like you’re meltin’. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Joel—”

His mouth is on you. You bite your lip hard, tryin’ not to make a sound–but honestly, it’s no use. He circles your clit slowly, then flicks it with his tongue–just right. Your whole body jerks. 

He moans against you, low, like he’s gettin’ off by it. He flattens his tongue, licks you slow. Dips down to your entrance, takes his time there like he’s savorin’ every fuckin’ drop. “Goddamn,” he groans. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”  You don’t know what’s wreckin’ you more–his mouth or his words. Maybe both. Maybe it’s the way he’s so fuckin’ into it, like he could stay between your legs forever. His tongue finds your clit again, slow at first. Then circles it with maddenin’ precision before he sucks–hard. 

“Oh–” you moan, fingers white knuckled on the counter. 

Your hips twitch, lifting up slightly. And he growls–tightens his grip on your thighs. “Stay,” he says between licks. “Fuckin’ still.”  You try. Goddamn, you try. 

But he’s eatin’ your pussy like he’s starvin’. Like he’s takin’ his time with it–long, slow strokes of his tongue, little circles on your clit that make your thighs shake. His beard is rough against your skin–scratching in the best way. You’re already panting, one hand grippin’ the counter like it’s the only thing keepin’ you upright. The other’s tangled in his hair, tight. 

You tug his hair, just a little and he groans. 

His mouth works faster now. Tongue movin’ quick, lips sealed around your slit—suckin’ just right. Your moans spill out. He groans again when you grip his hair harder. 

Your thighs start to close around his head. Reflex. Desperation. But Joel doesn’t budge. He plants one hand on your belly–holds you down firm. You can’t move. Can’t back away from it. “Fuck–Fuck—Fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, back archin’ off the counter. 

He doesn’t let up. His mouth stays locked on your clit. Draggin’ you to the edge like he’s got all the time in the world. 

Then–you cum. Hard. Your thighs shake, whole body tight, and the sound you make is near a cry. But Joel keeps goin’. Doesn’t flinch as your thighs clamped around his head. Eatin’ you through it like he wants the mess. 

When he finally is done, he kisses your inner thigh once. 

“One more,” he murmurs against your skin. “C’mon now….I know ya got it in ya.” 

You whine. “No–Joel, I can’t–” 

He slides two thick fingers inside you. The stretch makes you gasp, hips movin’, but god, it feels good. 

“Joel–” you whimper. “Please–” 

“Ya can take it,” he says. “Be a good girl and come for me again, baby.”  Then his mouth’s back on you. Ain’t soft this time. Ain't teasin’. 

His tongue moves in circles while his fingers pump soft and deep. Curlin’ just right, hittin’ that spot over and over like he knows exactly what you need. 

You sob. 

You can’t help it. 

His fingers move faster, fuckin’ deep into you. His mouth seals over your clit, suckin’ hard–no mercy now. Your hips buck up. Your head hits the mirror behind you with a soft thud, barely even registers. 

You’re burnin’. Floatin’. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Joel–” 

His tongue moves faster, fingers drivin’ deep–wet, slick, filthy sounds fill the room. 

You’re soaked. Drippin’ all over his hand, his face, and when your hips roll up–grindin’ down on his mouth like you need it. 

He fuckin’ growls, like he likes how desperate you are for him. 

He sucks hard on your clit. And you cum hard. Your hands clamp down on the counter, whole body lockin’ up. Joel just keeps lickin’ you through it, slow and steady. Fingers still deep, still curlin-draggin’ it out until your thighs are twitching and you’re tryin’ to pull away. 

It’s too much. You’re too sensitive. 

“No–no,” you gasp. “No more. Please.” 

He finally looks up at you. He eases his fingers out, gently, and presses a kiss to your thigh. His beards wet, covered in you. He stands, slow, bringin’ them same fingers to his mouth–sucks ‘em clean without lookin’ away. 

You’re still in another world when he lifts you off the counter. Your legs give out, and you fall straight into him.

“Easy,” he mutters, arm firm around your waist. He keeps you upright while your legs remember how to work. You lean into him–still tryin’ to calm down. He kisses your shoulder once–gently. 

“C’mon. Get dressed, darlin’.” 

He pauses. 

“You’re stayin’.”

You’re still catchin’ your breath. Don’t even hear what he just said. Standin’ there–naked, knees weak, while he opens the door and walks out of the bathroom. Like he didn’t just make you come on the bathroom sink. 

It’s the second time he’s left like you like this–so fuckin’ turned on you don’t know what to do.

tag list: (please comment if you wanna be added.) @chompwoman , @datgirl-audrey , @mewantpeepaw , @whisperingcherub , @ilovetoomanymen , @cliffs-of-insanity-climber , @stormseyer , @ivoryandflame , @javierpenaismyhusband, @mewantpeepaw , @thischarmingmandalorian , @vixorell

[venusbyline]

Opposites ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 09, oct.

— pairing: Derek Morgan x petite!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: size difference

— summary: Derek asks you out on a date after seeing you just keeping company with your best friend at the gym.

— word count: 1.8k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 9th day, female!reader, gym goer!Morgan, size kink, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, hand & fingers kink, curse words, sub!reader, dom!Morgan, shy!reader, womanizer!Morgan, Spencer Reid mentioned. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

When you agreed to follow your best friend's workout at the gym, you were not really that interested in watching sweaty muscular people lifting weights back and forth. You spent all six damn days throughout the month focused on using your phone during those hours, only getting distracted when she asked you to help her pick something up or to record her so she could post the videos on her Instagram Stories later.

You were not a person very interested by fitness life, your mind was more focused on reading, working and watching movies. But you still took time out to watch your friend doing boring exercises.

You went to fill her water bottle for the second time in the last two hours, you were startled when a tall and very strong man approached you. "Jesus, I'm so sorry." You laughed embarrassedly, taking the airpods out of your ears. "I was so focused on the song I barely saw you coming."

The guy laughed too, a soft smile and dimples appearing slightly as he looked you from head to toe, seeming to understand that you were not there often. At least not for training. "It's your first day?

He asked and you flinched. You did not know if that was just curiosity or a mocking hint disguised as a question.

You swallowed hard and shook. "I'm just accompanying my friend." You said, turning off the water and looking at him. "What's your name?"

He smirked, stretching his strong arm towards you with a suspicious way, as if he was making a point of showing how hot he was. "Derek Morgan, princess."

The pet name made your cheeks blush and you nodded silently for a while, before seeing him furrowing his eyebrows and crossing his muscular arms. You lingered for a moment at the alluring sight before looking up, realizing the reason for his confused look. "Oh, sorry again." You gave an embarrassed smile, introducing yourself soon after, stretching out your hand for a handshake and watching him let out a little chuckle and uncross his arms again, shaking your hand, his large palm covering yours without any effort.

"A pretty name for a pretty little princess." Derek teased and then pointed to the crowded gym. "So, little princess... Don't you want to join us?"

Derek's question caught you off guard and you denied it, giving a half smile. "It's not my style. But thank you, I really admire those who follow this routine." You told him and he nodded, hoping you would continue saying anything just so he could hear your sweet voice. "The one over there that brought me here." You pointed to your best friend, who was looking at both of you with a prankish and excited look, as if she was noticing the obvious flirting even from a distance.

Morgan nodded, giving your friend a smile and a brief wave before turning back to you. "She seems like a nice girl. She's been training here for a while now." You agreed with his words. In fact, your friend was one of the best people you had ever met. Kind, funny, beautiful and with a perfect gym body. It was impossible not to be interested in her. "And your favorite hobbies?"

That surprised you a little, since you were absolutely sure Derek would stop flirting after you showed him your friend. Maybe this was just a stupid manly trick. "I like reading and watching movies when I'm not at work."

Derek smiled, crossing his arms for the second time. "An avid reader, then. You'd definitely get along great with Reid." You frowned at his joke. "Who's Reid?"

"One of my best friends and co-worker at the BAU." Derek told you and you were silent for a few seconds before you huffed, moving further to the corner so other people could fill up their water bottles at the gym's water fountain if they wanted. "If you have a crush on my best friend and this is just a way to suggest that you two go on a double date with me and your friend Reid, I have to say that's the worst flirting I've ever seen in my whole life."

Your bitter words left him indignant and in complete awkward silence, a loud laugh leaving his full lips when he finally spoke, wiping away the tear that fell from his brown eye. "Do you really think I have a crush on your friend, princess? If I liked her, I would just go up to her and ask for her number, I wouldn't pretend to have a crush on you and plan a double date just so I could have a least chance of talking to her."

You raised an eyebrow, stuttering and your hands shaking to try to hide your embarrassment. "But... You've already known her here at the academy for months..."

Derek nodded, the mocking and funny expression still on his face. "Exactly. I've known her long enough to have asked her out on a date if I was interested. I wouldn't waste time."

Not really knowing what to do, you looked away and scratched the back of your head, feeling like an idiot for not realizing that Morgan was trying to flirt with you. Having someone like into you seemed so surreal that you could hardly believe it was true. It seemed like a silly prank.

"So... How about a pub after my workout? I bet your friend won't mind lending you to me tonight."

You did not have a very good history with relationships or dating in general. You avoided having casual relationships due to some previous disappointments and you certainly would not have accepted Derek Morgan's invitation if he was not so... Perfect.

Agreeing to go with him to the pub after his and your friend's training had already been quite a step. There was a certain fear in drinking with strangers, especially when they were men. But Derek made you feel so comfortable during the date that you laughed more with him than with all the boys you had ever been involved with. He was charming, even if he was a womanizer.

Either way, you did not care. You felt so excited that just some kisses were enough for you to let yourself go to his house.

Both of you were the opposite of what you always looked for in your partners. You were more used to being involved with introvert nerdy boys. Derek was more used to having sex with gym girls or women who looked like supermodels.

And everything felt so right yet.

"You sure you're not virgin?" Morgan teased as he ripped off the gray shirt he was wearing and clinging to his biceps, making you distracted by the beautiful sight of his black skin and his strong body before you focusing on what he had asked.

"Yeah. Absolutely sure." You grumbled, legs still closed since he removed the skirt you were wearing. "I'm just... I'm just..."

"Just shy?" He smirked, gently opening your legs and exposing your pink cotton panties, already damp from the intense kisses you two exchanged along the way. You cursed yourself for not wearing a lace lingerie, the cotton fabric looking so childish for the situation that you could hardly believe Derek was still horny. "Something like that..."

Your begrudging admission made him chuckle, his large hand sliding down to the stain on your panties, where he rubbed a few circles that made you gasp. "You don't need to be so shy, princess." Morgan's finger continued caressing your clit through the cloth and you were no longer able to think straight, so he continued, his free hand going up inside your shirt, also caressing your petite breasts as you finally let out a louder moan. "Holy shit... You're so fucking wet."

Your cheeks turned pinker and you nodded, looking at him with big puppy eyes, desperate for more touch. Your hand went up to his biceps, holding and pulling him closer, so he could kiss you again. A little smirk escaped Morgan's lips while his strong body was on top of yours, covering you completely as he kissed you, his soft mouth tasting yours as his fingers pushed your panties to the side and rubbed your clit without any fabric getting in the way.

His fingers were cold compared to your warm pussy, you could feel it very well when Derek inserted his middle finger into you, fucking you slowly when he saw you holding your breath and widening your eyes. The lack of sex over the past months has made you more sensitive and tight than usual.

"Fuck, princess..." The movements started to get faster and you moaned almost pathetically, your legs shaking and your body trying to move away from his hand reflexively. "Shhh, relax..."

You whimpered, spreading your legs even wider to try and make the process easier. Derek smirked proudly at the sight of your pussy tightening his finger as you worked hard to get him deep, your tight velvety walls becoming softer when he added his ring finger too.

A whining of pain echoed through the room. But not unbearable pain, just the pain of stretching. "Such a tight little pussy..." Morgan growled, fingering you and reaching down to begin trailing wet kisses down your skinny thighs. "Attagirl... You're so hot..."

You smiled at Derek, the shyness remaining but now also feeling proud of yourself at the sight of Derek's cock tight in his gym shorts, desperately wanting to break free and be inside you, fucking you.

Your eyes narrowed when Morgan nibbled the lower part of your thighs until he reached your groin, kissing your clit, so fast and soft that it made you shiver and squeeze his fingers by impulse. "Derek, please..." Your whining might seem stupid, but to Morgan it was the cutest and sexiest thing he had ever heard. He smirked after running his tongue over your wet folds, licking some of your dripping juices.

"You think you can handle one more finger, princess?"

His question made you stop moaning, your vision now focused on his hand, his two fingers still fucking you rough and fast. They were too big, the possibility of one more inside was almost like being ripped in half. Two fingers inside you was what you were used to.

However, you did not care much about the pain. You wanted every inch of Morgan inside you. You wanted to feel him deep down, you wanted every second of that sex to be worth it. You wanted Derek to make you feel so much pleasure to the point that you squirted effortlessly into his hand, until you wet his face and chest.

"Four..." You whispered between moans when he interspersed the fingerfucking with the caresses of your clit caused by his thumb. Morgan looked at you confused, at first not understanding what you were suggesting. "Four fingers, Derek. I need this..."

Derek gave you a dimpled smile, chuckling softly and licking your clit again, the tip of his index finger already ready to enter you. He licked your folds for the third time before teasing you. "What a pretty and greedy little pussy..."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[heartsickspider]

in another life; in every life (arthur morgan x reader)

a/n: idk if i really believe in the multiverse/parallel lives, but the idea of two people finding and choosing each other over and over again? my inner helpless romantic is SCREAMING. so here's a lil something about that with arthur :') tags: arthur has tb (i'm sorry </3), soft angst, hurt/comfort, grappling with mortality in the gentlest way possible, cosmic soulmates type beat

the stars gleamed in the navy blue twilight, twinkling as they welcomed the moon into their night sky. the air was cool and quiet, the stillness broken only by the crackle of the dwindling fire and arthur's soft, uneven breaths.

you couldn't help but steal the occasional glance at him as you idly whittled away at some wood with your knife. he was focused, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set as he meticulously polished his favorite revolver. you knew that look all too well. he was lost in his head again, thoughts gnawing at his conscience in the same way the illness was slowly withering away at his body.

he'd rarely talk about it, not directly anyway. said he didn't wanna cause you pain, as if watching him unravel before you hadn't already imprinted a permanent, dull ache in your chest. as if ignoring it made it any less real.

the silence stretched on, comfortable but not quite peaceful. you continued to pick away at the wood to form some sort of figure, the rhythmic scraping lulling you into a hazy state. today's ride had been long, and your body was desperate for a hot bath and his familiar arms holding you close.

"y'ever get the feelin'," he said suddenly, setting the gun aside, "like you've lived something before?"

you blinked, his low voice bringing you back to the present. "how so?"

arthur's gaze was focused on the dying embers that gently illuminated his tired features. "don't make sense, but sometimes i feel like we've done this all before. lived this life... the same, but different somehow."

you stared at him for a long moment, hands going still as you realized what he was getting at. arthur had never been one to believe much beyond the physical. notions of the afterlife or fate were foreign to him, silly ideas to be scoffed at. and yet, here he was, contemplating something so far outside his usual ways of thinking. the clumsy half-carving fell forgotten in your lap as his words slowly settled in, soft and steady, easing the weight of your weary heart.

he shook his head, a rasped cough escaping his chapped lips. "it's damn stupid, i know."

"it's not." you reached out, intertwining his calloused fingers with your own. "sometimes i can't help but feel like i've known you forever."

his eyes finally met yours, flickering with vulnerability and a hint of relief. "yeah?"

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "i like the sound of that," he murmured as he gave your hand a soft squeeze. "maybe in another life, this all goes different."

you let out a soft hum and gently ran your thumb across his scarred knuckles. "how would you like it to go?"

he looked up at the stars, glowing brighter now that the sky had settled into an inky black. "reckon it would be just us," he explained quietly. "none of this running and surviving. a small piece of land, a few animals. that's all i want."

the simplicity of his wish struck something deep within you. he was a man riddled with sin, yes, but surely not beyond forgiveness. it was probably foolish to think that way. he'd spilled more blood than several lawmen combined, participated in cons that ripped apart innocent lives.

and yet, all you could see was the man before you. the one who carried the crippling burden of shame and regret like it ran through his blood. the man who stood by those he loved in the name of loyalty, without question. the one who, despite his fragile state, fought every single day just to keep breathing for you. wasn't that worth something?

you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, letting your lips linger just a moment longer than necessary. "we'll get that," you whispered as you pulled away, just as the fire finally flickered out. "i can feel it."

[lxcalmenace]

Some silly scenarios with bluelock boys

Based on this headcanon post

Characters included < Isagi, Bachira, Nagi, Rin, Sae and Kaiser > X gn!reader (separate)

tw: none?

⟡Isagi Yoichi - Gets into twitter discourse.

After what felt like months, it seemed that yours and Isagi's schedules had finally aligned. You entered his apartment and made your way to the living room to greet Isagi; just then you saw him sitting on the couch, a furrowed expression crossing his face and his phone in his hand. He was aggresively typing and scrolling on his phone that he failed to notice you taking a seat next to him.

"Oh shoot I didn't see you, sorry", he mutters as he shifts, allowing you to sit comfortably.

"Are you seriously arguing on twitter?," was all you said that made Isagi look away in embarrassment. Ofcourse he didn't want to admit it straight away but he was indeed losing the said argument.

"You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone right? And who even takes twitter seriously nowadays?"

You watched as Isagi let of a small huff before turning off his phone. Without a word, he pulled you in a gentle embrace as the rest of your evening blurred out into soft giggles and tender moments.

⟡Bachira Meguru - Very willing to eat inedible things.

You have been waiting to buy those food inspired scented candles for God knows too many days now; until finally, you managed to get your hands on one of them recently. It was a pancake inspired candle. It was so realistic that you could barely tell it was fake—if it weren’t for the wick sticking out of the top, you might have thought it was an actual pancake

As you opened the box, the mouthwatering, sugary smell of pancakes hit you, spreading throughout the room. This candle was too realistic and just like that, Bachira was willing to sink his teeth into the wax block.

"If it smells so good, it has to taste good too! Let me have just a bite please [name]," he whined. Bro dropped to his knees begging and pleading in exaggerated desperation- as if he would've perished due to hunger right then and there. You couldn't help but chuckle at this sight.

"Ok fine...A little bite won't hurt, but don't come complaining to me later," you sighed as you surrendered the candle to Bachira.

Disgust. Pure disgust washed over his face after he took the bite. He looked at you with teary eyes as he desperately tried to get rid of the nasty taste of the wax; which in response, you just shrugged in a 'I told you so' manner. After helping him wash his mouth and feeding him chocolates to counter the unpleasant flavor, you both finally settled down. Bachira swore that he wouldn't eat anything weird after this incident.

He tried eating cotton the next week.

⟡Nagi Seishiro - Uses two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

Nagi was out shopping for some groceries while you were tagging alone for some snacks. It was a sunny day, you both entered the supermarket; Nagi took the basket as you made your way inside. He thinks shopping for basic necessities is a hassle and thus the reason for you tagging along to keep him company. You were free to get anything you wanted so you looked around the store, but nothing caught your eye. So you decided to go back, you spotted your tall boyfriend and made your way towards him. He was in the hygiene isle, eyeing down some shampoo bottles.

"Do you seriously use 2-in-1 shampoo? -" you ask, raising your eyebrow. Nagi looked at you with an unbothered expression as he shrugged, "Uh, yeah. Been using that since forever"

"Why are you asking me this, something wrong with it?" the tall male added while casually putting another bottle in the cart.

"Your hair is always so silky and soft; Its hard to believe that a simple 2-in-1 could give you those results. I mean, people spend a ton of money on haircare products, to achieve what you have, you know?" you replied.

"Then, thanks to my genes, I guess," he smirked as he turned around to look at you. You couldn't help but sigh and let out a chuckle. There was absolutely no point in arguing with Nagi- He always managed to win, even when he wasn't trying. You raised your hands as if you were surrendering, and then you both made your way further into the store.

Nagi is a simple guy, and slowly over time, you are starting to find comfort in his simplicity.

⟡Rin Itoshi - Plays roblox.

"Rin, dinner's ready, come down!" You yelled from the kitchen whilst serving the food on the table. A few unresponsive minutes passed, so you decided to fetch Rin yourself; thinking he might be in the shower or taking a nap. Making your way to the shared bedroom, you knocked on the door before poking your head through.

There he was, sitting on his gaming chair, with the lights out, playing..roblox..? You observed him for a couple of minutes, his face was illuminated by the screen, ever so unfazed; Rin was too immersed playing The Mimic that he failed to notice you slowly creeping up on him. The only time Rin was caught off guard was when you tapped his shoulder to get his attention. You swore you saw Rin's face go pale for a second as his eyes widen in surprise. "You play roblox?," you asked as you raised your brows in amusement.

He took off his headset and he nodded, "Is dinner ready?"

"It is"

"Alright"

You both stared at each other.

"Can we play Dress to impress later? Rin please-"

"NO."

Few moments later, the dark haired striker was seen playing Dress to impress, all the bright colors and outfits flashed on his screen display.

"You're doing incredibly well, who would've thought you had those designer skills in you Rinnie," you teased him

"Oh shut up...I just don't like losing, ok?" he scoffed but there was a small smile creeping on his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing very well that he only agreed to play this if only you were ready to join him in his horror games. It was a win-win situation for both of you.

⟡Sae Itoshi - Had an emo phase

Your phone was buzzing for quite some time now so you finally decided to check who was texting you at this time of the night. Sae was on his way home from practice; Deciding to stay up and wait for him to get home, you layed down on the couch while keeping a random movie playing in the background. As you opened the chat, you couldn't help but burst into laughter- There were old pictures of Sae; eyes lined with eyeliner, hair was dyed dark and swooped to a side and he was wearing dark clothes. You saved all the pictures one by one as you swiped for more, that's when you heard the door open- signaling that Sae had returned home. Quickly turning off your phone, you were trying so hard to contain your laughter, but a giggle escaped your lips.

Sae muttered a small, "What are you up to [name]?" before raising an eyebrow at you. He knew that you had something cooking up due to the way you were smiling at him.

"Sae," you purred, "if hypothetically someone were to leak your embarrassing pictures, what would you do?" you grinned.

You watched as Sae's expressions went from neutral to that of pure horror.

"[Name] don't you dare-" he warned.

"I'm not saying that I have any embarrassing pictures of you tho," you replied, "It was a hypothetical question, unless," a smirk formed on your lips as you looked at Sae. "You never know what could happen next."

His eyes widen in disbelief, he knew that you had something against him. "Fine, I don't have the energy to do this. Tell me what do you want," he sighed, giving up. "But atleast show me these hypothetical pictures you have acquired, and where did you even get them from?"

You giggle as you showed him all of the pictures; to which he openly cringed hard. He was definitely not expecting this. It brought back so many of his memories before going to Spain. He sighed as he accepted his faith and made his way to the bedroom to freshen up. You typed a quick 'Thank you' and sent the chat.

"Rin reacted '👍' to your chat."

⟡Michael Kaiser - Sleeps in till noon

'12:27'

It was past noon. You had finished making breakfast, eating it, doing some chores around the house, watering the plants, having a small snack and watching a few episodes of your favorite show, and yet your boyfriend was still in your bed, sleeping peacefully. You would've chalked it up to him being tired, but he had gone to bed exceptionally early too. It was starting to concern you now. What if he was not feeling well? You made your way to the bedroom and entered it silently. There he was, soft breathing and sleeping peacefully. You sat down beside him and gently touched his forehead to check if he was sick. Everything was fine. You decided to run your fingers through his messy bed hair, untangling any small knots. Michael slowly started to stir and the first thing he did was kiss your hand, which made your lips morph into a small smile.

"Good morning, mein Schatz," He mumbled groggily, "What time is it?" he asked while rubbing his eyes. He let out a yawn as he sat up your bed

"Its good afternoon now, wake up Micha," you continue to run your fingers through his blonde locks as he embraced you, still feeling sleepy.

You pat his head, "C'mon have your lunch, you must be hungry."

"Are you on the menu?" he muttered against your shoulder.

". . ."

"Then no, I dont want to eat"

"Michael no-"

Not proofread so ignore any mistakes and ty for reading !!

[i-messed-up-big-time]

Lonely Birthday - Xavier

Xavier x Non Mc/Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff (happy ending)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, female pronouns, reader is not MC, swearing

word count: 2153

a/n: In commemoration of my birthday that just passed (and when i mean just passed i mean like a month ago), I am going to write this just because I love causing myself pain. also sorry for always causing y'all pain with my reading, i suck at writing things that dont involve hurt/comfort 🥹 i also plan on turning this into a four part series cause as i continue to write xaviers part i noticed it kept getting longer than what i anticipated

masterlist

Rafayel Zayne Sylus Caleb

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･'(ﾟ▽ﾟ)'･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Xavier

Y/N wasn't the type to go all out on her birthday, but that didn't mean she didn't look forward to seeing what her loved ones would do for her special day.

Xavier and Y/N normally spent their birthdays at home just relaxing in bed during the day, and then at night Y/N would make her favourite dish for dinner. There was no way she was letting Xavier into the kitchen to do any cooking so he normally just clung to her like a koala, enjoying the warmth she gave off.

Today was different from the previous birthdays. Xavier was sent out on a mission and would return until the next day. It was a bit disappointing because you thought he had requested the day off.

What made it worse was that he didn't even tell you he got a mission, you just woke up to an empty bed and found out at work when you went in.

"I get it was an urgent mission but why didn't he even message me." You sulked, even though you guys don't even do anything on birthdays, it was nice spending it with Xavier.

You let out a heavy sigh, you weren't even supposed to come in but it felt kind of lonely being at home by yourself. So to not be down you decided to go to work to keep yourself occupied.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Two hours later

After patrolling the areas you were assigned to, you checked your phone for the umpteenth time. Getting more frustrated and upset the more you keep checking.

I get that he's on a mission but he could've at least texted me happy birthday.

Your shoulders sagged in sadness as a frown graced your lips. You made your way back to the Hunters Association to finish your report before signing off for the day.

As you make your way towards your desk you notice a couple of bags on the desk. If anyone was watching you they would've seen the way your eyes lightened up.

Your speed increases as you approach your desk, excited to see who the senders were. Before you got the chance to sneak a peek into the bags, Jenna called out your name.

"Y/N, before finishing up your report there's one more area I need you to patrol." Jenna send all the information I need to my Hunters watch and sends me off with a warning to be careful since there have been quite a few sightings of wanderers in the area.

You got ready to leave again. On your way out you saw a familiar face across the street, the sight in front of you made you stop dead in your tracks.

There across the street was Xavier, who was supposedly on a mission outside of Linkon, with that new hunter. You weren't one to feel insecure about your place in Xavier's life, but there was something about seeing them together on a day like today when Xavier hadn't even texted you a simple happy birthday.

There's no way he would've forgotten right? He's not like that, but why is he with her when he should be outside of Linkon.

It just didn't make sense, you didn't want to jump to conclusions but it just rubbed you the wrong way.

You decided to give him a quick call and see what he was going to say. If you knew what would've happened next you would've just walked away, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he just finished his mission early.

You kept your eyes on the two of them as the line rang, you saw Xavier pull out his phone to see who was calling and with a quick tap on his end, the line went dead and his voicemail tone came up.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief, you tried calling him again only for the same thing to happen again. You went to try again and then saw MC grab his phone and proceed to turn it off before putting it in her pocket.

"What the actual fuck?" You could feel your blood start to boil, not only did he decline your calls, he also willingly let her take his phone and turn it off?

You turned on your heel and headed straight towards your patrol area, praying to god there were wanderers around to release your anger on.

Unfortunately, one should be careful for what they wish for. As you made your way to the site, your hunters watch went off sensing the metaflux fluctuations.

Perfect.

You thought as you readied yourself to fight. It wasn't too bad, the wanderers were far weaker than you expected them to be and the fight was basically over before it even started.

Sadly, it seems like luck wasn't on your side that day because you ended up getting exactly what you wished for. Two wanderers appeared and they were far more difficult to manage than the other ones you dealt with.

It was too much to deal on your own, you went to call for some back up but that short moment of distraction gave the wanderers the perfect moment to strike.

Your back collided with the tree and you felt an excruciating pain in your left wrist. The pain was burning hot, but nothing you couldn't deal with.

Picking yourself back up you move to grab your weapons, pushing through the pain to pull the triggers. In that moment you saw a figure heading your way in that familiar hunters uniform.

Thank god, at least my call for back-up went through.

You're able to deal with the wanderers more easily with support. After all the protocores were collected, the pain that you had pushed to the back of your mind came at you full-force.

You clutched your broken wrist and told the other hunter to head back to the association themselves and to let Jenna know you'll drop by the hospital before coming back.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

The hospital trip took longer than you expected it to, so by the time you got back to the association the sun had already set.

What a way to spend my birthday.

You let out an exhausted sigh, feeling the weight of today's activities way heavy on your shoulders.

As you made your way towards desk you spotted a little sticky note on your computer.

'The report was completed and submitted! Just go home and enjoy the rest of your day. Happy Birthday Y/N!'

The note left a smile on your face, even though today wasn't what you wanted it to be, you couldn't be more thankful for the people you have around you.

You still felt upset about the whole Xavier situation but you decided not let it get you down and that you would pick up your favourite dessert on your way home to enjoy.

The walk home was a bit difficult as you had to carry all of your items with one hand since you weren't allowed to put any pressure on your dominant hand, the wrist would take a while to heal

You entered your home and immediately placed everything down before heading to your room to freshen up. You made your way to your living room, turning on the tv and putting on your favourite show.

You normally enjoyed your time alone, as it was a way to reconnect with yourself, but today it just made you feel even more lonely. At that moment you couldn't stop the tears from falling.

You didn't let that stop you from at least enjoying your dessert. it was s sight to see, tears rolling down your face as you spooned more dessert into your mouth.

A couple of hours passed by like that and you had passed out from exhaustion.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･''･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

It took Xavier longer than he expected to get the surprise he had planned ready. He looked at the time only to notice there was only 30 minutes left for your birthday.

He felt guilty about lying to you and avoiding your calls but he really wanted to perfect your favourite dish and be able to serve it to you. So imagine his face when he came home to see you on the couch, tear stains on your face and your arm in a cast.

he dropped the bag of groceries and presents and immediately ran towards you. The feeling of hands on your face stirred you out of your sleep and you jolted up seeing Xavier in front of you.

You got up and pushed his hands away from you. His face scrunched up in confusion, but you didn't give him a chance to ask you what's wrong.

"Where were you today? And who were you with? Don't lie to me and say you were on a mission outside of Linkon because I know you weren't." You just started firing questions at him, feeling the tears well up in your eyes as you recounted the sight you saw earlier today.

Xavier's eyes widened in shock, he reached out to grab your face but you turned your head away from him, keeping your eyes down.

"Just answer the question Xavier." He knew he messed up big time when you would call him by his first name.

"Okay, I was in Linkon and I was with MC." He spoke up softly, not wanting even the slightest thing to upset you further. You thought the truth would bring you some type of comfort or release, but instead it made you feel like shit.

"Why was spending time with her more important than spending my birthday with me? I know we don't do much but why would you leave me all alone?" You said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, the tears running down your face at a faster pace.

Xavier felt his heart break, he didn't mean for you to be left alone and he would never choose another over you. He just wanted to give you a gift that was more special than anything else.

He grabbed your face and this time you let him, wanting to have faith in the man in front of you. You know he would never do anything wrong, but at the end of the day you're human and you end up imagining the worst case scenarios or let your insecurities get the best of you.

"I love you more than anything in this world and beyond it my star. Everyday spent with you is more precious than any worldly possessions." Xavier wiped your face, he moved so he was seated next to you before pulling you onto his lap.

"I know today didn't go as you hoped. It's not an excuse but I also didn't plan to be this late, I was preparing my surprise for you but in the process of making sure everything went well I lost track of time. I hope it's not too late for you to forgive me for making you cry on your birthday."

He pleaded softly, holding you in his arms as he gently rubbed your injured arm over the cast, feeling an ache in his chest that you got injured when you guys should've been at home.

Xavier took a deep breath before showing you the surprise he had been diligently preparing for.

"I planned to do this over a nice dinner, I even practiced hard to make your favourite dish without burning anything. But I think now is a better time than any other." He pulls you a little away from him so he can look you in the eyes as he pulls something from his pocket.

"Would you do the honours of taking this foolish man as your husband?" Xavier opened the velvet box to reveal a beautifully crafted ring with your favourite gemstone.

This time, the tears were of happiness rather than sadness. Feeling your throat choke up, all you could do was nod with a bright smile on your face.

Xavier slid the ring onto your finger and then proceeded to place a delicate kiss on your knuckles, your injured wrist, your cheeks, before finally placing a soft kiss on your lips.

He pulled back from the kiss, fixed his grip and got up, carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down and quickly got cleaned up before joining you in bed.

"I'll make it up to you. I'll give you the best make-up birthday ever and you won't even have to lift a single finger." He said as he wrapped his arms around your waist before pulling you closer, your head laying on his chest hearing the steady beat of his heart.

In that moment you knew everything would be okay, no matter the ups and downs you guys faced, you would always get through it together and come back stronger than before, as his love for you was as endless as the stars in the sky.

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. Also, Cunnilingus first chap

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8.3k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name.

Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? 💓Materlist💓

(If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓) Lawyer AU

Chapter 1

The music throbbed in your chest, vibrating against your ribs as you navigated the packed dance floor. You weren't much of a club person, but your good friend Maki insisted you needed to 'let loose' after a particularly stressful week doing the LSATS. It had definitely taken its toll on all of you and your friends, but you’d passed, now finally in one of the top law schools after your Bachelors.

Now, surrounded by a sea of bodies writhing to the beat, you were unsure what the appeal was, overwhelming your senses. The heat of the crowd, the energy radiating from every corner of the room, people so close as you stood there it was as if you could not breathe. Everyone was dancing wildly in the club, a club you felt out of place in.

For years you’d pretty much holed yourself up in your room or overachieved in class. you had no time for boyfriends, distractions, fun… not if you wanted a top score and a killer internship.

You were ambitious as fuck.

Maki said you should all be proud, let loose… have fun but you’d damn near forgotten how to.

Maki was dancing with Yuta now, another boy going to the same law school as you two, they wave at you through the crowd, you smile and wave back, then decide to face everyone and go grab a drink finally. You were more of a wallflower than anything, preferring to be at home with a good book rather than dancing around on various college boys, you wish you were a little more fun.

You head over to where the bar is, shyly getting the attention of the bartender, grabbing a cranberry vodka. The social anxiety was creeping in so you figure the alcohol will fix it.

You turn, then smash into someone.

“Shit!” You look at the broad chest you’d bumped into, the only thing in your field of vision, of a very expensive looking shirt you’d just dropped cranberry vodka all over, spreading through the fancy fabric quickly, luckily, it was a navy blue, but you still panicked. You snatch up a ton of napkins and start frantically wiping at it. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Can I pay for drycleaning? Do I need to buy one? I-”

A hand grabs your wrist, big, enveloping it like you were nothing, and your eyes finally rise up to the tall man in front of you, a smirk playing on handsome features. His eyes were the most striking thing about him, blue as the sky after a storm, sparkling with something devious, fringed by white spiky lashes. His face was so pretty it nearly hurt to look at.

Full lips, perfect model cheekbones, a strong jaw line… literally looking like he stepped out of GQ or something. His silvery white hair was striking, and he stood well over a foot taller than you, imposing, tempting…and your hand was on his chest, clutching crumpled napkins, your wrist in that firm grip.

You froze, overwhelmed, confused by your reaction… you’d met plenty of gorgeous men in your life, you had handsome male friends, but something about him drew out something primal in you… Something…

The fuck. The dude has you wet?

Jesus maybe you were due for a good fuck.

Maki was right.

“It’s all right, lots of women have this reaction. I’m just really ridiculously good looking.” He says with a grin, easing the grip off your wrist, taking your hand now, you gasp, mouth open, unsure of what to say. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re… arrogant as fuck! Wow.” He laughs, deep and baritone, and fuck if he isn’t even more attractive as he does.

“And you’re clumsy as fuck.” You sigh, covering your face now.

“I’m so sorry… I am clumsy, ugh. Can I try to get the stain out, please, I feel awful.” He snorts in laughter, looking down at you, intense gaze seeing right through you somehow. His look follows down your body, your low cut little crop top that was nothing like you were usually in, your little skirt…

“Trying to get me naked, hmm?” You scowl as he grabs your waist, but then some sensation hits you… the warm grip and his big fucking hands burn as they touch your bare skin. You falter, in confusion, for you had not even had a drink yet to account for such things.

“I am not at all! I just feel bad. I…” You wouldn’t mind seeing him naked, but you shove that thought down deep in the recesses, clearing your throat with a little blush, for his hand is still on your waist.

“Your own outfit is stained, baby girl. Look.” You peek down and realize what he’d been staring at. “My shirt’s dark, it'll be fine. We need to get that cleaned up.”

“It's okay, it's silky, it should come off.” You now rub the stain on your chest, which he openly looks at, sipping his own drink.

“You look like you don’t belong here.” He gestured to the crowded, loud club, full of dancing bodies, pool tables with beer pong set up, there was even a drunken Giant Jenga game, loudly crashing blocks. You looked back up to him, lost in that gaze, it was as if his eyes held your attention there.

“I don’t belong here.” You managed to say, and he brushed a lock of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. God, how did just those little actions turn you on so much? “I don’t go out to clubs, I don’t really even do shit but study. My friends over there…” You point them out. “They are making me try.”

He smirks as he looks over at them. “Well, shit, then you should give it a shot. Want me to grab you another drink?”

“Oh no, I owe you one if anything. Can I buy you one?” He shrugs casually, smirking a bit.

“I’m so pretty a girl is buying me drinks, hmm?” You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head.

“Just tell me what you like.”

“Something sweet.” He whispers, leaning over you a bit, behind you, chest against your back, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, you wave back at the bartender, who takes pity on you.

“On the house, sweetheart.” He winks, and you blink in surprise.

“Oh thank you so much.” The bartender leans over a bit, smiling, and you feel this stranger next to you tense. “Can I also get a chocolatini?”

“Yummy.” He says next to you, and the bartender just looks at him, then eases back, smiling and handing it to you too.

“Thanks so much again.” You tip him big with a smile, then hand the white haired god next to you the little chocolate drink.

“Hmm, what is this?” He asks, icy blue eyes staring into the glass, stirring the chocolatey liquid around.

“It’s sweet. Try it.”

He takes a sip, licking his full lips, distracting you. “Mmm, this is perfect, shit.” He sips it, moaning and closing his eyes, and it pushes wild thoughts, addling your mind. “Okay, forgiven for the mess.”

“Good.” You start sipping your drink and sighing, letting the tart bite hit your tongue.

“Satoru, by the way.” He says, in that deep voice, a baritone that hit octaves that did wild things to your psyche. You look up at him, realizing just how close you are, feeling overheated. You tell him your name, softly, and he repeats it, sounding far too good on his lips.

“Well, it's nice to literally run into you, Satoru. I guess.”

“Usually I get girls wet, not the other way around.” He says audaciously, with a wink, you snort in laughter.

“You’re something else.” You say with an eye roll, then peek over to see Maki drunkenly making out in a corner, grinding her ass on Yuta as they dance. “Ah shit, I don’t think I’m gonna have my friends tonight. Third wheel life, but they’re my good friends who deal with me being antisocial.”

“You did seem pretty fucking awkward.” He says teasingly, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Dick.” You snort, sipping your drink, the music hits and it’s one of your favorite songs, but you’re too nervous to do anything, just standing there. You peek up at him in surprise. “You don’t have to hang out over here, I am sure your friends want to hang out with you.”

“Yeah… they’re all out of here at this point. I was heading out too, just closing up the tab when you ran into me.” You suddenly feel a weird sense of disappointment that should not exist.

“Oh…” You sip your drink again, hips ever so slightly swaying to the beat of the music, body starting to feel the warmth as the liquor slides through you. “Well it was nice meeting you though? And you got a chocolatini?”

“Yes, and it is yummy.” He stands there, and your eyes lock, something just pulling you towards the man too gorgeous to exist in this world, the conceited little shit who smelled really fucking good. You expect him to leave, but he just stands, sipping his drink, eyes lowering to your hips as they sway.

“How’d you end up here anyway?” You ask, leaning your head to the side, hair falling. He casually brushes it back, you struggle not to show how much you like it, casual fucking little caresses when you're touch starved as it is. But especially from him for some reason.

“I was just hanging out with my friends, Suguru and Kento. Just unwinding a bit, we get together once a month at some random place and get lit.” He sips more of his drink, somehow you’ve gotten closer.

“Oh, that sounds like fun though. I swear I don’t think I’ve been to a club? Is that really pathetic?”

“You’re kinda boring huh?”

“Maybe. I apparently need to let loose and have fun since I got my Bachelors degree.”

“It’s not the worst idea. You like this song don’t you?” He asks softly, and you feel your heart race, nervously trying to stop the swaying of your body to the beat. You nod, instead, and he takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I… what are we…”

“Let’s dance. That'll loosen you up a bit.”

“I don’t know how to…” You say softly, confused, he laughs a bit, shaking his head and setting your empty drinks on the bar.

“Everyone can, just follow your body.” He's so confident and self assured.

Satoru is leading you to the dance floor, the music pounding in your ears along with your erratic heartbeat. He pulls you against him, his scent hits you, something intoxicating about it. He pauses for a moment, looking down at your face intently. Even in your heels you have to crank your neck back to look at him, intimidating in his presence.

“What do I… how do I do it?” You ask, he clears his throat, smirking again, turning you so your ass and back are against him, you gasp just a bit. His hands hit low on your hips, so warm through them, luoure hot and sticky between your thighs.

“Feel the beat of the song.” He murmurs in your ear, moving your hips in a figure eight motion with those big hands. Why were they so big? Fuck. “You’re too tense, close your eyes and just focus on the music and me.”

His words were a velvet caress, you’d do anything he asked when it sounded like that, it was pathetic almost. You close your eyes, and your other senses are heightened then, feeling his touch, hard body behind you, inch by inch, the fabric of his expensive clothes brushing on your bare skin.

“Like that?” You ask, moving your ass a bit side to side, he shakes his head, grabbing your hips, desire shoots through you.

“Nah, loosen up more. There, like that.”

You let your body sway with his, feeling the heat between your skin, the soft brush of his hips against yours, his hand sliding up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. He pulls you closer, and you gasp as his body pressed against yours, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a jolt of want.

His hips begin to move against yours, a slow, steady rhythm, and you lose yourself to the music and him, the way he holds you when you face him now, the way he feels, hard lithe body against yours. His hands move up and down your waist, his fingers digging into your skin ever so slightly, making you shiver, a crazy ache wracking through your body.

You tilt your chin up to look at him, arms around his neck, and find his ethereally gorgeous eyes locked onto yours, pupils dilated, making the blue rings of his eyes glow in the blinking lights of the dim club, and his full lips are parted. He's just dripping fucking sex, he’s way too attractive, it was difficult to keep moving and not just stand there and stare at him.

Satoru seems just as lost in this moment as you are, and it only makes you want him more… fuck you didn’t do this, you didn’t think of these things, you had too much to do, too much to focus on. But fuck… would it be the worst thing? To let yourself lose it in the moment, just go with it?

Were you looking too into it?

The music fades out in your head now, the thudding of your heart pounding in your ears, as you feel the way his hips still move against you, the way your hands grip his neck now, you both are just swaying. You’re on your tip toes in heels and nowhere near his height, and it makes you hornier, how fucking big he is, even his hands. He makes you horny, some random stranger you spilled a drink on in the club.

The air feels thick, almost heavy, and for a moment, hard to breathe as both of your eyes stay locked on each other, his hands slide down your hips, they’d been respectful, but they grow bolder. Every beat of the music vibrates through you, along with something maddening, you’re drawing closer and closer to him.

“How am I doing now?” You ask, breathless, he smirks, fucking hot and arrogant as fuck, drawing you in further.

“You’re not too bad.” He teases, you roll your eyes, easing back, but he grabs you to him, hands on your ass now, and you pause, as he grips it, an ass cheek in each of his big hands. “Now that… that’s fucking nice.”

“My ass?” You ask, laughing, he nods, grinning with those fangs of his glinting in the dark smoky room. “Handsy, huh?”

“Want me to stop?” He asks, and you shake your head, looking down a bit, he takes one of his hands, easing your chin up to look at him. Your pulse is hammering in your throat, as he bends lower, you stare at those lips, growing hot everywhere, breath in little pants.

“Oh! Oh…” Maki comes up behind you, and you pause, whirling your head to look at her, she has a big giant grin on her face. “Well, well, introduce me.”

“This is…”

“Satoru.” He smiles, nodding over to her, but he didn’t let you go, he didn’t even move the hand on your ass until you smack at his hand. He glares, as if you’ve taken a toy from him.

“Maki. I was gonna let you know I’m heading out soon, I figured you would wanna come with… or are you… hmm, hanging out more?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, you cover your face in embarrassment.

“I think he was leaving, weren’t you?” You look up at him, his grip tightens just a bit on your waist.

“I am leaving soon, yeah. Can she stay a little longer hmm?” He asks with puppy dog eyes, leaning on your shoulder. Maki rolls her eyes, nodding.

“I’ll give you all another twenty to… dance? I’ll find ya.” She kisses your cheek, and runs off, surely to tell Yuta. You peer back up at Satoru curiously. His gaze has gone from flirtatious to hungry.

“Did you wanna dance more?” You ask, and he laughs a bit.

“I’d like to eat you out.”

“Wha-?”

“Mmhmm.” He’s just standing there, after saying something so fucking wild, your brows dip low in confusion, and your pussy is wet as fuck.

Shit.

“I… huh?”

“I said I-”

You shut his mouth with your hand, yanking him down to do so, he’s so damn tall, and he’s laughing behind your palm. “I heard you! God…”

“You seem so tense.” He murmurs, easing your hand down, then he kisses it, but it’s not gentlemanly, it’s fucking devious, those eyes are insane. “And you’re crazy fucking hot.”

“Me? You… you are.”

“Aw you think I’m hot?” You sigh, looking down for a moment. “Time is ticking, we have less than twenty, and I like to take my time.”

“Jesus… you just wanna eat me out?”

“What, you haven’t done it?” You look away, clearing your throat, and anticipation is eating at you. “Oh fuck, you haven’t!”

“Shush. Why do you want to just do that?”

“It’s fun, duh.” He rolls his eyes at you, as if it were so simple. Your cunt throbs around nothing now, and you look at his lips.

“Don’t most men ask for a blow job?”

“Not men. Boys. I’m a man, baby girl.”

He practically purrs those words, and you’re getting even wetter. “We haven’t even kissed?”

He leans down, wrapping an arm around your hips, lifting you up, like you’re just some doll. Your breath comes out in a squeak, and his lips are pressed on yours now, your arms wrap around his neck, and he’s kissing you as your legs dangle. You open your mouth, moaning, as his tongue slides in, against your own, shooting desire down through you.

“Better?” He whispers, kissing you softer, little pops of kisses. You moan into his lips, tasting his minty breath, mixing with the sweet drink you’d made him.

“I don’t ever do this.” You breathe out. “I… fuck… okay?”

“Yeah?” You nod.

“Yeah.”

Satoru eases you down, and then you’re wildly following him through the throngs of dancers and clubgoers, until he’s knocking, and you all are slinking into the club’s rather fancy fucking bathroom. You contemplate your life in those moments, but when you’re in the bathroom and he’s shoved you against the door, kissing you again, you just go with it.

He feels so good.

“You’re a good kisser, fuck.” You murmur against his lips, he grins, and you realize you’re inflating his ego.

“Mmhmm, I am. I’m even better at this.” He drops to his knees, and your heart is in your throat, your eyes are wide as he’s lifting your skirt up, easing your panties down, smirking up at you.

“Mnh…” Is all that you manage, when he takes them fully off, putting one of your thighs on his shoulder, kissing the sensitive inner part of it. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders, entire body trembling. “Fuck…”

“Say my name, pretty. Satoru.” He orders, and you nod, then your hand gently goes through his hair, silky and perfect against your touch.

“Satoru… I… you sure?”

“If you want it.” You nod, maybe too eager, and his head dips, shoving your skirt up your hips, and he flicks his tongue up your slit. You cry out, trembling at the sensation, so fucking good your hips jerk. “You’re soaked…” He whispers, peeking up at you with those eyes.

You just nod again, you’re at a loss for words now, gulping, and he’s back down there, moaning against your clit, and you gasp as pleasure hits you hard, clenching in your tummy and spreading. His tongue is hot against you, pressure just perfect on your little clit, your hands enwrap further, gripping his hair, and he’s fucking moaning, vibrating on your cunt.

“Satoru…” You cry out, and you’re pulsing around nothing, wetness pouring out of you in spurts, he drinks you up, the sounds obscene in the little bathroom, the music and loud people fading further and further.

“You taste so good.” He murmurs as he pulls back a bit, you manage a mumbled thank you that he smiles at, his eyes are even brighter, a madness almost in them that surely matched your own. You caress his face, thumb rubbing on his lip, mixed with your cum and his saliva, and he moans then, yanking your hand down to your clit. “Feel how wet I’ve got you.”

“Fuck! Mnh…” You feel your slickness against your own fingers now, shaking as you hit your now swollen clit.

Satoru puts your hand back on his head, dipping back down, devouring you, and you hear how wet you are, hear him slurping you up, you’re falling apart, unraveling for this stranger. A guy you just met in a damn nightclub, what is wrong with you? But he’s giving you an unreal amount of pleasure, you’re pulsing now when he slides a long, thick finger in you.

Someone knocks.

You curse.

“Keep quiet, pretty, they’ll hear you.” He winks up at you, and you nod, holding a hand to your face, arching your hips up for more of his touch, his mouth, and he’s working your clit with his tongue as he’s massaging your g spot with his fingertip, it’s too much, too much.

“Mnh!” You struggle to hide your moans, more people are knocking, it’s banging against your back, and Satoru’s devouring you, every bit of your cunt, and you feel yourself start to shake, pleasure shooting through your entire body, your walls are tightening around those long fingers, stretching you out so deliciously. “Satoru… I… too much…”

“Shush.” He peers up at you, those gorgeous goddamn eyes, his eyes are heavy lidded with desire, his face is half covered in your slickness, glistening. “Cum on my face, let me drink you up.” His voice is deep, hoarse, and you start falling apart on his fingers, he grins, devious. “That’s it. Cum for me, pretty.”

He’s back down there, and his finger hits just so, his tongue flicking faster and faster on your aching clit, and you slam both hands on your mouth as he holds your hips up, burying his face. You fall apart, cumming so hard you can’t even see, it’s all blackness, your ears are buzzing, your body is shaking. You reach down blindly, to balance on his shoulders, and he’s drinking it up.

He’s drinking you.

Fuck.

His tongue flicks a couple more times, as more people bang on the door you rested back on, and he pulls back finally, grinning up at you, having just wrecked you completely. You can’t breathe, you can’t stand, he’d just casually given you the best orgasm of your life, and not even known you, not even known your body…

“Fuck.” You manage, and he stands then, kissing you, bending low, cupping your face with those big hands.

“See how good you taste?” He murmurs, flicking his tongue on your lips, all you can do is moan. He laughs a bit at you. “Those eyes after cumming… yep… that’s the hottest shit I’ve seen.”

“My eyes? Have you seen…”

Someone opens the door then, and you curse, yanking your skirt down, Satoru just casually leans over to look, scowling. “Excuse me, I’m busy.”

“Oh shit, sorry…” The drunken guy who’d broken in stumbles back, and then you hear him throwing up.

Satoru rolls his eyes, and then you both leave, you absentmindedly notice your panties are in the bathroom, up on the damn counter, and run embarrassingly back in to snatch them up. You run back out, trying to see where he went off to, but it’s a chaotic mess, everyone is going this way and that, and before you know it, you can’t even see him, so short compared to all of the people.

Maki comes and grabs your hand, and you follow her, searching for him, where could a tall man with white hair hide anyway?

“What’d you do, oh my god!” She turns you to her, you errantly notice everyone around you getting rowdier, there are crazy fights even breaking out. “You got freaky in the club bathroom didn’t you?”

“Oh god, Maki, shh!” Your skin is bright red now, she’s grinning like a crazy woman.

“He was hot! Get his number?”

“No and… I don’t see him, shit.” You’re trying to look around, Maki does too, but no sign of him. You all look for another five minutes, as things are getting rowdy with a couple of the club goers, fighting over some girl. You both sigh. “Dammit, I really… I think I like him, Maki, and he’s gone. Ugh.”

“It’s okay, love, you’ll run into him again.” She squeezes your hand, and your mind goes to him, to Satoru, who has brought you so much pleasure so quickly. “Ooh, look him up!”

“Is that… stalker ish? I only have his first name…”

“Nah. He seemed interested. Let’s get us home and then we’ll see if he has socials or anything, we’ll find him.”

You sit in the back of the car with Maki and Yuta, who are just making out the entire time, staring out the car window at the street lights that pass. You can’t shake the thoughts of him, of Satoru… you pick up your phone, typing his name in Facebook, nothing. Instagram, nothing. Tiktok? You doubt it, but you try… and, nothing.

Without a last name you were screwed, but there weren’t even any ‘Satoru’ profiles that you could find. Cursing internally, you lay your head back in frustration. You didn’t even tell him you liked him, you just… came on his fucking face? An arrogant, gorgeous man’s pretty face. His tongue had done things that had…

Shit.

Two months later, you found yourself sitting in the lecture hall at the beginning of law school, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation for the journey ahead. You take out your little laptop, hands sweaty and nervous, wishing Maki and Yuta were in this class with you. You were in an advanced program, having scored so high, so you were thrown in with more experienced students.

You also had a big chance at the coveted internship with the top law professor, who taught this very class. You peek at your syllabus, this is supposed to be the top young professor that everyone kept going on about, his name was Professor Gojo. You open up your laptop now, popping open the note taking app on there, when a chatter begins.

As the professor walked in, you barely looked up at first, seeing a tall, lithe body in a pinstripe suit. You look back down, turning off your phone to be safe, hearing the women in the class murmuring.

“He’s so hot!” They kept whispering, you peek around curiously, then look back up to him, seeing a shock of silvery white hair.

Your heart falters.

As he began to introduce himself, writing his name on the board, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him - Satoru.

The man that had made you cum with his mouth.

He was your fucking law professor?

Shit.

As Satoru- or, Professor Gojo apparently, spoke, his eyes met yours, that piercing blue across the room, almost as if he was looking through you. He pauses for a moment, full lips opening then closing, before clearing his throat, putting back on a smirk and an air of arrogance.

“Professor Gojo, welcome to Criminal Law. I assume there are mostly second years. Any first semester students?” You and two others are the only ones that raise your hands. “Interesting. Your name?” He asks the girl to the right of you.

“Yuki.” She answers softly.

“And yours?” He asks the other guy to the left of her, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he saunters across the room, like he fucking owns it, commanding the attention of everyone. The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

“Ijichi.” He says.

Professor Gojo looks at you, and your pulse hammers in your throat, like it’s about to explode. You cannot breathe as his blue eyes laser focus on you, those frosty white lashes framing them, you remember him staring up at you, between your thighs, on his fucking knees.

“And you, your name?” You quietly give him your name, and he smirks at you, upturn to those devious fucking lips. You try not to wriggle under his gaze, tilting your chin up instead. “Ah. All right, so tell me why you’re here today.”

“To attend class?” The class laughs a bit, Gojo just grins, shaking his head at you.

“No, why are you here?”

“To become a lawyer.” You answer, firmer, as he walks up towards you now, stepping up the stairs of the large class and leaning on your desk with one of his long arms, big hand clutching the wood. Hands you can’t help but fucking stare at.

“Aren’t they all? But why did you choose to be?” He asks, leaning forward just a bit. You take a shaky breath, then look directly into that bright blue gaze of his, licking your lower lip, his eyes drop right to the action.

“I wanted to make a difference in people's lives. I want to give voices to those that may not have one.” You murmur, and he exhales, smirk back on, nodding.

“We all start for that, surely. Don’t we?” He asks the class, they nod, attentive to every word of his. He turns, walking back down the stairs and starting to write on the board.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a flush creeping up your neck as you think of that night, burned into your goddamn brain for months. You were the one making those sounds, those moans, as he drank you up, you remember the taste of him, the feel of his tongue on your sensitive skin.

Your fingers itch to touch yourself, to remember how good it felt, and you burn with shame and embarrassment. The amount of times you had played with yourself thinking of him was borderline pathetic, and now here he was, mysterious little shit, and unattainable.

Fuck.

“Don't worry, we'll get along just fine, I’m pretty relaxed mostly. You could say I have the ‘rizz’.” He winks, and everyone snorts in laughter, but you can’t even focus. “I was where you were just a few years back. So it’s doable to advance if you bust your ass. Understood?”

They all nod, enraptured by him. Who wouldn’t be.

“But first, a few rules before we begin. One, you will address me as Professor Gojo, or Gojo, not my first name. I am very friendly and accessible as a teacher but that’s one thing I do ask.”

Satoru. Satoru… you’d fucking cried out. Jesus.

“Two, you will be respectful of your classmates and their opinions, and hear them out, even if the opinions are shit.” They break out in laughter again. “Shit opinions can be shit on later. Let em finish the dumb thoughts first, so I can fix them.”

They’re all nodding, they women are all swooning, he commands the entire goddamn room.

“Three, there will be no cell phone use during class unless it’s something important, which you can step out for. You spend enough time on your Instagram and Snap at home, not here. Using your laptop is fine for notes, not tentacle porn hentai, heathens.”

They burst out laughing now, and even you giggle, bringing his eyes to lock upon you, drinking you in.

“Do you understand these rules, class?"

When he pauses, your gaze meets his again, and you feel like you're drowning in those blue eyes. Does he remember you even? Did he care? A man that looks like him surely has numbers in the stratosphere, and he hadn’t bothered to get your number. Had he dipped all together?

Did he even like it?

Fuck.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice amidst the chaos in your head. You manage to croak out a "Yes, Professor Gojo," with the class before looking down at your desk.

“Perfect. All right, so… Yuki, was it?” The girl nods eagerly. “Now, let's say that a student in this class was to break into my office and steal an exam. What would the possible criminal charges be?"

"Well, Professor Gojo, the student could be charged with burglary, as they entered the office without permission. Additionally, depending on the value of the exam, it could also be considered academic fraud punishable by law."

He nods. “Well said. Now… you.” He says your name, and you sit up straight, panicking, you can't help but notice the way he's looking at you. There's an intensity to his gaze that makes your heart race.

“Yes, Professor Gojo?”

He pauses, fixing you with his piercing blue eyes. "A similar scenario, but change it up. Let’s say you have invited me to your apartment, to stay the night, because I’m so charming.” He winks at the class, who are in a fit of giggles, and peers back at you. “You faint, because I was just that good looking, an understandable response.” He’s walking up to you. You raise a brow.

“I have a stronger constitution than that, Professor Gojo.” The class now gasps, some giggling at your answer. He grins, those white teeth blinding, fangs like a damn vampire showing.

“I see, impressive. But, nevertheless, you’re asleep, and you have invited me to stay the night. What if I steal an item of yours?”

The room goes silent as his words sink in. You feel your heart racing, your palms sweating. You try to gather your thoughts, but you can't help but feel unsettled by his line of questioning, of the images he’s painting in your overheated mind. Him in your damn apartment, between your…

"Well?" He prompts, leaning forward slightly. "What would you think is the appropriate course of action in such a scenario? Seeing as you have trusted me, a very handsome stranger, put yourself in the situation. With no proof."

You swallow hard, feeling a knot forming in your throat, it's as if he knows exactly how to push your buttons, to make you feel vulnerable and exposed. You try to compose yourself, to remember what you know, but you can't help but feel like you're drowning in the intensity of his presence, hard to breathe even.

"In that situation, Professor Gojo, I believe that the law would still consider it theft, even if you had a personal connection to me. The item would still belong to me, and taking it without my permission would be a violation of my rights." You pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "However, I also think that the court might take into account the nature of our relationship and any possible mitigating factors, such as your intentions or remorse."

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you see a glint of amusement in them. "An interesting answer," he says, "But remember, the law is not always concerned with intentions or mitigating factors. It is often a cold, impersonal thing, meant to uphold the greater good."

“That can be true, though without proof of having something I also think you would possibly get away with it. I haven’t itemized and taken pictures of everything in my home, so it could be hearsay.” He nods approvingly at that, grinning.

"That’s correct. Fortunately, however, I don't intend to break into your home anytime soon, so you won’t be fainting. From me at least.” The class laughs a bit at his joke, and you can feel your cheeks flush.

“You can break into my house!” Comes a shout from the back, and Gojo throws his head back in laughter, heading back down the stairs, along with the class.

“Calm down, heathens. Now listen, itemizing things or taking pictures is a good idea. So that when you invite handsome strangers you at least have something to go on. So, you all want to be lawyers, to help others, correct?”

Everyone nods.

“You could say that I was drawn to it for similar reasons to all of you.” He sits in his large office chair, tall brown leather, leaning back casually, throwing his legs up on the large desk. “Personally, I found the intricacies of the law fascinating, and I wanted to make a difference in people's lives too. Like you.” He nods to you, and you want to fall into a goddamn hole.

“But I also saw the potential for it to be used as a tool for justice, or perhaps even revenge in some cases, you can be a regular vigilante batman." His voice drops, taking on a more serious tone, intriguing you now, as did his every movement. "As your professor, my goal is to help you navigate these complexities and find your own path within the legal system. Whether that path leads you to is all up to you."

The classroom feels heavy with his words. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you yet again, and you feel as if he's not just talking about your future as a lawyer anymore. There's an intensity to this moment that you can't quite explain, and it leaves you feeling both exposed and strangely alive, every sense thrumming, including unfortunately your cunt.

Cunt he’d licked.

Fucking kill me.

When he licks his lips, you’re wrecked, how you’d focus at all today would be some sort of miracle.

The time passes quickly, and before you know it, the bell rings signifying the end of class. He is electrifying and intriguing as a teacher just as much as he was at the bar, the random dude that kissed you, that danced with you… was your first…

You gather your belongings, slowly making your way towards the exit. You feel a gentle yet insistent tap on your shoulder. You freeze, and turn around, finding yourself face-to-face with Professor Gojo, or Satoru? What would you call him in your head, and what did it matter. Your throat goes dry.

"Professor Gojo?" You say, a little taken aback, the class is filing out, leaving just the two of you in the huge lecture hall.

"Can you stay after for a moment?" He asks, and you gulp, desire shooting through you mixed with apprehension. You nod, feeling a sudden urge to run your hands through your hair or fiddle with something to steady your nerves.

“Sure.”

“Have a seat.” He says softly, going to shut the door with a click that echoes in the room, you feel like some high schooler about to get punished, but instead of worrying you the very thought thrills you far more than it should.

Stop thinking like that.

"What the fuck, Satoru?” You stand still as he comes walking back to you in long strides. You fold your arms in front of your chest, scowling up at the tall gorgeous man. “What even happened…"

"Shh." He covers your mouth with fingertip, then his thumb is tracing your bottom lip, want shoots through you hot, tummy clenching hard as he looms over you. "You're in my class now, and I need you to focus.”

“Fucking focus? On what? It’s goddamn near impossible.” You smack his hand off of you, glaring.

“I said. Have. A. Seat.” He whispers, commandingly, and for some fucking reason you listen, sitting down in his giant leather seat, as he sits up on the desk, casually crossing his stupidly long legs. “That’s better, pretty.”

“Do not even call me that.” You hiss, and he chuckles at you, rolling his eyes, shaking his head.

“Why are you mad at me when you just disappeared that night?” His thin white brows go low over his eyes, and you blink in confusion, frowning.

“Me? No, you. What six foot whatever-”

“Six-Four.”

Fuck that’s tall. “What Six-foot-four white haired dude just disappears in a crowd? Clearly you left. And if you didn’t like what we did, you could have just let me know and stopped! I-”

He’s standing in front of you now, arm on either side of you, glaring deeply into your eyes. You’re panting, he’s so fucking close… “You think I didn’t like eating your pussy?”

You’re dead silent, all the drive and determination has left you, nothing at all is there but an insane desire for it again. The memories wash over you. You manage a little nod, and he laughs at you, throwing his head back, before looking back over you, menacingly almost.

“You’re not as smart as I thought. Guess what…” He’s bent over completely, overtaking your senses. “I loved eating your little pussy. I can’t get the taste out of my goddamn mind.” You freeze, breathing in little pants, suddenly that blazer you wore to look professional feels too tight, suffocating.

“Why’d you disappear then?” You manage to choke out a whisper.

“I got a call from my friend, and I answered it for a moment when you ran into the bathroom again. I came back and looked everywhere, you were completely gone. I was going to…” He trails off, shaking his head and smirking again. “Never mind. So you thought I dipped. Aw, did it make you sad, poor little girl?” He caresses your face, you grit your teeth.

“Nope. Not at all.” You lie. He frowns, narrowing those obscenely beautiful blue eyes at you. “Just found it rude.”

“Are you sure you haven’t played with that tight cunt thinking of me?” He leans over, whispering, and you throb around goddamn nothing. You shake your heat, jaw clenched so hard it ached. He grins. “Liar.”

“Sue me.” You say with a raised brow, his grin just grows bigger.

“Smart ass little bitch.”

“Don’t call me that, asshole.”

“Don’t call your professor that.”

“Don’t look at your student like that.”

He raises a brow, eyeing your chest, where your nipples are hard against the lace of your bra. “Wear something where I can’t see those nipples perk up. Hmm, I didn’t see these, did I?” His hands brush down the side of your breasts, over your blazer, your blouse…

“And you won’t ever see them.” You shove at his chest, standing, and he grabs your wrists, tightly.

“You’d die for me too, wouldn’t you? Bet it was all you thought about as I did my lecture, me sucking on them. Poor little brat.” He yanks you against him, and you melt unwillingly.

“Nope, I sure the fuck wasn't. You act as if it was so monumental.” You roll your eyes, but you’re full of shit.

“Yeah fucking right, you’ve never cum like that, have you?” You scowl, you want to lie, but you just can’t manage it. His devious shithead grin is in full force. “I Knew it, you fell apart so easily.”

“What’s that even matter? And what do you want, Professor Dickhead.”

"You're a good student with insane test scores," he says, his voice low and serious. "But I need to make something clear. What happened between us will not interfere with your education. I won’t go any easier on you, I’ll push you just the same if not more."

“As if I’d want you to? Like I knew you’re a fucking professor. You seem like a whole idiot.”

He scowls now at you as well, you yank out of his grip, backing up until your ass is against his desk, and he’s barring you between his arms. “I didn’t know you were a fucking law student either. You don’t seem the type.” His eyes go up and down your body slowly.

“Fuck you. Professor Gojo. Respectfully.” You shove at him, feeling his hard chest under your hands, you falter.

“Fuck me, hmm? Baby girl, you can’t, you’re my student.”

“I’m sure the fuck not your ‘baby girl’. Who even eats out some random girl at a club anyway!”

He raises a brow, looking up and down your body, undressing you with his stupidly pretty gaze. “Who gets eaten out by a random guy at the club?”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, he doesn’t budge, your eyes lock onto his and you suppress every base instinct to just kiss his glossy lips. “Fuck you.”

“You like to proposition me. How inappropriate, Miss Brat.”

“I have a name!”

“Miss Brat works better. Fits you more.”

“Professor Dickhead fits you!” He laughs at that, and shakes his head, caressing your face gently, and you freeze. He grows serious.

“I won’t push shit on you. I’m not trying to lose my job, or fuck up your law career, so you don’t really have to worry.” He bends low, a breath away from your lips now, and you tremble, eyes zooming in on them, remembering their taste. “Question is, can you focus when you’re dripping wet looking at me?”

“Oh you conceited fucking dick!” You haul off and smack him then, he grins, deviously, like he enjoyed it, a little red mark on his perfect face.

“Maybe play with your pussy before you come into class, get it all out of your system so you can focus.”

“I can’t fucking stand you! I can’t believe I even… that I…” You feel emotion catch in your throat, blinking it back rapidly, wanting to sob, as you thought you’d felt something, that you liked him.

He pouts a bit, watching you intently, tilting his head and brushing your hair back gently with his fingers. You hate how much you like it. He studies you carefully with those baby blues that you’d dreamt of, a serious look to his handsome face, a jawline you wanted to caress and punch simultaneously.

“That you what?” He whispers, and you shake your head.

“Nothing. I need to get to my next class. Please, move. I promise I won’t be pining away from you or some shit.” He clears his throat, easing back, hands in his pockets again.

“Good, that would be bad for both of us.” He mused, acting so casual, so nonchalant that it infuriated you.

“I imagine shit like that is common for you, right?”

“Eating out stupidly hot girls?” You shrug at that, refusing to acknowledge how that made you feel.. “It’s a favorite pastime of mine.”

“Yeah, that tracks.” You turn, grabbing your books, ass pressing against his hard body, and it makes you throb, thinking of that dance with him.

Something far too big and hard is against your ass, making you both tense. You bend over, feeling like torturing this asshole back just a bit, before standing back up, slowly turning and looking up at him. You smile a bit when you see his flustered look, breaking down the usual cockiness you have seen from him.

“Cat got your tongue, Professor?” You whisper, hugging the books to your chest tightly, he exhales, opening his mouth, and the bell rings again.

“Fuck.” He whispers, backing up just a moment and running his hand through his silky white hair.

“See you in class next week.” You say, and he pauses you again, making you scowl this time. “What are you playing at?”

“I didn’t disappear. I wanted your number or… something.” He mumbles, and you blink in surprise, your heart fluttering. “None of that matters now, anyway, we can’t… do anything. So.”

“Nope, we can’t.” You turn, walking, hearing him sigh.

“Whose class do you have, Miss Brat?” He asks, haughty, you glare at him over your shoulder. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s making things hard.”

“Don’t call me that, Professor Dickhead.” He snorts, you peek down at your schedule then. “It’s Contracts with Professor Nanami. Then after that, Torts with Professor Geto.”

“Fuck you’ve even got my best friends as your other teachers.”

“I really need to go. Just… forget it happened I guess?” Your heart aches as you say it, but what choice do you have? He frowns.

“That’s not happening and you know it. Just get a good vibrator and think of me, it should work. I could give you my business cards to get off to? My picture is pretty.” You flip him off, ignoring his laughter as you walk out of the room.

You struggle to breathe, leaning back against the cold wall of the hallway, wishing it would soothe your overheating skin. The man that you’d been thinking of for two months straight was your goddamn professor, not just that, he was the one that had the top internship opportunity.. You can still taste his lips on yours, taste yourself as he had kissed you…

It only makes it worse.

You walk quickly across campus until you get into Contracts, your cheeks burning from the memory of his hardness against you, and the anger from the way he acted, so fucking conceited, so immature. How the fuck was he the best lawyer for his age? You’d heard so much about him and never knew it was him…

Professor Nanami was ridiculously tall and handsome as well, dirty blonde hair and a tan suit over his buff body. You wonder just what the fuck this school is thinking, hiring all these models as professors, but he had no effect on you like he did the rest of the class. Luckily, he seemed humble, serious, more like what you would expect, but of course…

Your mind was wrapped around Professor Dickhead.

Just what would this semester be like?

And why do you ache so goddamn bad.

Forget him… forget it…

How?

You’re screwed.

Chapter 2

Also on a03 - Ch 1 https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/144669811