#while I need a calculator for basic basic shit

[tentakrule]

me to my partner, who has largely been present while I'm listening to my tech course presentations: y'know you could get into this too, it's really not that hard!

he: I don't think I've felt so out of the loop on something in my fucking life, my dear. this is so Greek to me that my brain is actively melting. I am taking psychic damage.

[anghraine]

I know it's well-understood at this point that Kirk/Spock is much more of a nerd4nerd ship than a nerd/jock thing, but it's just been kind of percolating around my mind that both of them aren't just space nerds but space nerds who were personally bullied.

Like, 18-year-old Kirk was targeted by an older bully who combines "total asshole" with "the most grating man in existence":

MCCOY: Well, yeah, I'm beginning to feel a little bit picked-on, if that's what you mean. KIRK: I know the feeling very well. I had it at the Academy. An upperclassman there. One practical joke after another, and always on me. My own personal devil. A guy by the name of Finnegan. MCCOY: And you being the very serious young— KIRK: Serious? I'll make a confession, Bones. I was absolutely grim, which delighted Finnegan no end.

This was five years after Kirk survived a genocide, btw, and likely well before his stint as an Academy instructor known to be strict and demanding (which is the period the "stack of books with legs" description of him comes from). By the time he's 33, fifteen years after all this, it turns out one of his deepest fantasies is just beating the shit out of his bully, but only if he can do it According To The Rules (the replica of Finnegan sneers, "Always fight fair, don't you? True officer and gentleman, you").

Spock, meanwhile, is viciously targeted by his Vulcan peers for being biracial from at least age 5; he's described as being tormented by other boys by that age, and "at home nowhere except Starfleet." I think he'd have been 18 or 19 when he left for Starfleet and it's... the least bad of his options, but he seems to have spent his entire career among humans and being persistently subjected to raw racism and profound disrespect for his culture at every turn.

Like, their histories of being metaphorically shoved into lockers are not identical or anything, but I think it's interesting that they both have them.

[conkreetmonkey]

Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.

You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.

You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.

This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.

The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.

I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.

[thephantomsdream]

"If you keep staring at me like that, I'll have to ask you what are we?" Imagine being the witness of a serious crime, but the team thought you were involved somehow and needed to rule you out. Cue to big, scary, mysterious, masked Ghost trying to intimidate you by existing near you.

Soap snorts and pats Ghost on the back, which earns a glare from him, all after the man blinked confused. He had pretty eyes. Gaz moves to a corner to smile way too much, and Price sighs loudly.

After a few more minutes of explaining that you were just on your way to your shitty job and that they needed to wrap this up before you are to inevitably getting fired, Ghost still looks straight into your soul, now with more intensity somehow.

At this point, you grit your teeth. You might legit not have a job after this, since you're already half an hour late, and this (weirdly cute) fucker is trying to read your thoughts.

"Oh, you're really into me, aren't you?" He blinks seemingly uninterested and you raise a brow at him, starting a staring contest until Price (as he previously introduced himself) got in between you two.

"I don't think you understand the situation that you're in." It took all of your will to not groan like a child and roll your eyes at him.

Cue to another round of you doubling down and explaining that you're extremely lame but a good person, all while Gaz still looks you up.

"She might be telling the truth, boss." He whispered to Price in the corner of the abandoned shop they broke onto to have some privacy. The man has been trying to confirm your identity all this time, meanwhile you looked up at your number one fan to say "I told you so" and gave him an exasperated sigh when you already caught him intensely staring into your eyes.

"Seriously..." You mutter and you almost believe seeing a crinkle of amusement in his eyes. Your eyes almost twitched. "I pronounce us husband and wife." You say, rolling your eyes at him. Yeah, take that, fuck-face. You childishly thought, absolutely thriving at his slow, surprised blink. Soap cackled and tried to hide it with a cough.

Long story (not) short, you were indeed let go after Gaz confirmed you're broke, lame and basic. No secret villain or anything. After they kinda apologized, Price basically tried to gaslight you into thinking everything is fine then tried to dip his toes into mansplaining the importance of greater things beyond you, he nodded to himself and patted you on the back before barking an order to his soldiers to move. Pretty brown eyes stayed glued onto your soul until you were pretty much skipping away out of sight, rushing to your job incredibly annoyed.

You couldn't really explain your absence to your boss and he didn't care much either, he told you to get to work.

Surprise, surprise, though, because at the end of your shift, he sugarly informed you that you're fired. He gave you the pay he owed you and there you were. Jobless. And probably homeless in a month's time.

A week later and some intense job hunting done, you're at your wit's end, truly. Job market is shit and nobody is looking to hire. As you enter your ratty apartment, you sigh and almost want to cry in frustration. You've been cursing the terrorists, soldiers and any motherfucker involved in last week's incident, entering your kitchen to grab a drink and eat some air since you needed to save money, when you froze in place.

In the middle of your tiny living room stood a massive dark frame, the outside lights shining through the balcony door behind him made the man unrecognizable. You were getting robbed. You just caught a dude right in the middle of robbing you. As if it was the cherry on top, every frustration you felt erupted out of you, and while you were still terrified by the massive frame, you growled a "Get the fuck out of my house."

A deep chuckle was your only response and you felt dread.

"You got spunk. And a shit survival instinct." He stepped closer. You stepped back immediately, calculating your route to the door, hoping he wouldn't be able to catch you. Denial. You knew. But you froze again in surprise. You knew that mask.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" It came more of a whisper, thinking you'd never meet those people again. Even standing up in front of him, he's massive. Maybe he came back for those dumbass comments you made. Oh, this is revenge, isn't it? He's built, he can legit destroy you with a punch. Oh, God, you're fucking dead. They still think you're a terrorist or some shit and he's here to destroy you out of existence.

Your mind rambled until he moved, and when he did, you tensed, mind blank. The man, the Ghost took a couple of steps towards you and placed his large hand on the back of your neck, pulling you close. Oh, you're gonna fucking die for sure. He leaned down to your eye level, making you stare into his dark eyes as he studied you.

"Came back to take care of my wife." He said. It was your turn to slowly blink at him. What?

[galene-gothic]

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES TIP JAR

��� ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

You’re someone who will know everything about everyone. It’s actually sort of funny. You’re a very curious person and it leads to you finding things out about other people in an almost intrusive manner in order to feed it. You will do so in a very innocent manner. Like, for example, you were talking to a guy and happened to really like him but you got ghosted or he just didn’t stay in touch with you even though he seemed really interested in you while you were around each other. You’re going to be emotionally affected but will lean more towards seeking the truth. You won’t let it show externally just how much it affected you, instead, you’re going to find out that they entered a relationship with someone after losing touch with you and it will happen very casually. Like, the person who broke the news to you will have no idea what they just did. It will cause you to connect dots and things will start making more, and more sense the more that you do this. You’ll also know more about people than they’d like you to because of this quality of yours but they’ll have no clue that you know all of these things about them. For example, if you knew that a professor was dating a student, you’re going to continue acting as if you know nothing about it until one of them says something to you. Even so, you’re going to be like “oh really?” Or another example, supposing you were on a date with someone who you knew a lot about because of your top notch research skills, you will continue acting like you know nothing about them, asking them basic first date questions. You’re going to be someone very passionate and fun loving, causing you to talk a lot or/and loudly when you’re excited, and comfortable causing you to be perceived as almost dumb by some people or too busy living in the moment, pursuing goals, living life and having fun to keep a mental note of things but you’re going to be someone who will keep things in your mind even if others think that you’ve missed their words or the details of things completely. It’s almost as if even your perceived innocence and dumbness is a calculated strategy. I think it comes or will come naturally to you but it’s going to be as effective as carefully woven and well thought out strategies. They might assume that you’re a bit more naive and might think that you’re not keeping a mental note of things but they’ll be so wrong. Once they get into a relationship with you, they’ll learn that you’re the most sharp person who memorises every little detail and thinks them through. The closer that they grow to you, the more that they’ll realise that you’re not as dumb as others consider you to be. In fact, you’re quite the opposite, you remember every little thing, connect the dots and overanalyse the situation if required. You might say something that makes them realise how much you analyse people and situations, and don’t forget even the smallest things. “She said this to me and she said that behind my back but she’s not aware that I know what she said.” It’s not going to be a one time thing, you’ll say things like this a lot, making them realise that you’re mentally really analytical. The duality will be wild though because on the surface, even if you know certain things about other people, you will continue acting normal and oblivious. Even if you dislike them because you know what intentions they hold towards you or are at least cautious in your interactions with them, you’ll seem very carefree and will interact with them like normal as if you don’t know shit.

They’ll be highly attracted to you physically and energetically right away. It will simply just be a primal attraction. I don’t think that I can put it into words and even need to. They’ll just be attracted to you in a way that is undeniable, exciting and comes naturally to them. You’re going to be a very passionate and adventurous person, simply just being around you will make them feel something stir within them and they’ll even be able to feel the heat physically. For you, passion, fun and inspired action will be very important. You’re going to be flirty but also the type to disappear because you’re busy doing other things. You’re going to push their boundaries and challenge their authority but it’s going to be almost a method of flirting for you, they’ll really enjoy it. You’re going to be impulsive sometimes but will embrace passion wholeheartedly and naturally act with it. They’re going to be looking at you with soft heart eyes and a soft, natural smile while you’re talking about something that you’re passionate about or while you’re having fun because it will genuinely make them feel warm on the inside. They’re going to adore you so much. Also, you’re going to be someone who is able to self validate and doesn’t seek external validation but will seek praise, and attention from them. It is actually so cute. You’re going to be someone who is unapologetically living life. You will be following the philosophy of “my life is not mine if I care too much about what other people think” and will just be doing you. You’re not going to be one of those wannabe nonchalant people, instead you’re going to think that “nonchalance is the death of passion” and will be accepting, and embodying your nature as it is. If you want something, you’re going to pursue it with passion. If you feel excited about something, you’re going to express that excitement wholeheartedly. You’re going to be very wholehearted about expressing love to them as well as physical passion. They’re simply not going to be able to get enough of you. Everything will feel fun with you and they might assume that you’ve forgotten certain things that they’ve told you about but you’ll remember every little detail about them despite your passionate way of living, and the way you’ll also seek for them to see, notice and praise you will make them feel oh so special. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

You’re someone who will be very ‘no bullshit’ but not in an egoistic and bitchy manner. You’re going to be a very hopeful person who will have walked away from a lot and will be willing to walk away despite any hopes for the future that you may have had if it starts affecting your mind and peace negatively. I’m not sure if you’ve reached such a point yet but by the time you meet, and get with them, you’ll have experienced life, learned lessons and are going to believe in consequences over negotiations. That’s the best way to be respected because most people don’t believe that they’re worthy of being forgiven and given a second chance so if you let their behaviour slide once, they’re going to do something worse next time. Due to this, your future spouse is going to see you cutting people off left and right. The fact that you respect yourself so much and are still choosing them is going to be a matter of pride, and a point of attraction for them. You might also help them transition away from something that affects them this way for which they’ll be very grateful. You’re going to be their peace and they’re going to love you so much for it. You’re going to be very influential and will truly convince them to let go of whatever is not serving them. I just heard ‘joru ka gulam’ which means ‘wife’s servant/slave’. I don’t think that that’s exactly true but the thing is, sometimes when someone is taken and they start acting differently, they believe that the partner must be controlling them or influencing them in this way, and that will be the case for the both of you as well but it’s not going to be like you’re literally controlling them. It’s more so that you are so convincing and influential that they willingly want to move on, away, and seek peace in whatever way that they can. You’re also going to be someone who is deeply romantic and obsessive but only they’ll get this side of you. Actually no, others will also get this side of you but they’ll get it in a different way. You’re going to be idealistic and will romanticise your life but you’ll do it in a way in which you do not seek attention from others, and instead self validate. Most people do not understand this way of living because they’re very externally focused and so to them you might seem… I’m not even sure about what word to use but it’s just that others won’t get it. Are you the type of person to “OH MY GOD, I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS BEFORE. I JUST GOT DEJA VU!” Even if you’re not, you might be that way with them throughout your relationship and marriage, and they’re going to find this side of you to be very adorable because you will look genuinely excited and amused every time this happens, no matter how many times you may have experienced it already. Wide eyes and all that but back to what I was saying. Many different energies are coming through but I’ll just put forth the one that is coming through the strongest. Overly soft, dreamy and sensitive, that’s how some of you may be perceived by some. Like, they might just assume that you’ve not had to deal with the harshness of life and so you have not matured much but gosh, there’s this duality in which you seem so open but you’re so selective with people. You are going to be very closed off to connections especially romance or will seem like such to them. If not, that’s just not going to be your priority and you will not even give a single fuck about the attention. If you don’t like someone, you are going to make sure that you don’t lead them on even if it may come off slightly tactless or mean. Some of you may not seem soft, dreamy and sensitive but the truth stands, to some level no matter how approachable or unapproachable you may be, you’re going to be closed off to connections especially romance and will not care about external validation so you’re going to seem hard to reach to some extent.

You’re going to be enjoying life wholeheartedly when you’ll meet them, not giving into loneliness and will be validating yourself instead of chasing external validation. That’s something that they’ll find extremely attractive about you because initially, you might be a bit closed off and cautious despite your romantic desires. Like, even if you desire romance, you’re not going to be desperate for it and you’ll be fine without it so you may not display your romantic, flirty, and sexual side right away but when you open up, you’re going to be deeply romantic and also obsessive over them. You, who doesn’t seek or need external validation is going to want it from them and gosh will they feel so prideful of it. They’ll really enjoy giving you this attention because they’ll feel special knowing that it’s only them who you share such a side with. They’re going to feel as though they’re living in a romance movie with you and this side of you will be theirs, and theirs alone. The sex is going to be really good too. That’s all I’m getting. Either or both of you could be a bit more on the private side when it comes to your sex life together but they’re going to enjoy it thoroughly. Actually no, you’re going to have a praise and degradation kink, and they’re really going to enjoy this back and forth. In fact, you might have either or both of these kinks even outside the bedroom. If you have a praise kink, you’re going to want them to compliment, praise and just look at you endearingly, and with pride like a kid who just got an A+, and a star sticker on their exercise book showing it to their parents xD. You might enjoy feeling as though they’re proud of you, when they show you off and also appreciate you equally in private, you’re going to really enjoy it. Something like “good girl” might make you very happy or “I’m so proud of you”. If you have a degradation kink, you’re going to like it when they put you in your place by firmly scolding you in some way while you’re acting like a brat and well, if you have both, you will enjoy both. This is honestly so adorable. You’re going to have many different sides to you and they’ll be contradictory. You’re going to be out of control and the connection is going to be one in which the both of you are going to be opposites of each other or just contradictory and will clash a lot with each other. You will also be highly dramatic at times but it will bring out their own dramatic side too or will just give them an adrenaline rush, and they’re going to love it. You will have a very high ego but maybe it’s only when it comes to them but even so, you’re going to want something real with them and they’re going to want the same with you, and the connection itself will feel very real. It’s also going to be a connection that brings about many new things emotionally and just in life. You’re going to meet them and it’s like seeds will be planted that will cause the both of you to grow through each other, and it is going to happen throughout the connection. It’s going to be thrilling but also grounded and the growth that you’ll both experience with each other is only going to make things seem realer than ever. Not to mention, you’re going to be consistently building together too. If you want kids or ever have them, they’re going to find you very attractive when you’re pregnant with their kid or will just enjoy raw dogging and creampie-ing you, or it might just be a fantasy of theirs. I just heard “my vanilla kink is breeding.” Also, if you use an earthy or woody scent, I specifically heard ‘soil after the rain’, they’re going to find that very attractive. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

Your future spouse is going to greatly desire you. That’s for sure. You’re going to be someone very sexual and will really enjoy… sex. I’m sorry but there was no better way to put it. You’re going to enjoy sex in many ways but all are very intimate. The first one is sort of rough with a lot of manhandling but them holding you close, one in which you can feel each other very deeply and in a primal manner, deep but rough thrusts, and a lot of passion, the type in which you can feel each other’s breath, feel consumed by each other and get lost in the throes of passion. There’s a lot of moaning in this one. Another one in which you might be in bed after a long and tiring day of work but are still enjoying each other in the sideways position, and missionary but you’re just lying there and taking it. Another one in which the sex is fiery and similar to the first one but you’re a bit bratty, talking back, scratching, biting and whining. Another one in which you are enjoying each other sensually and passionately but it is more breathy than filled with moans, if that makes sense. This is likely not all but I’ve now gotten a feel of your sexual nature, the first thing that I got here is that you enjoy being manhandled but are not the type to be passive and not engage either, you instead partake by touching, feeling, rubbing their back, running your hands all over their body, biting, kissing, moaning, talking back and just whatever you can do. The second thing that I picked up on is that you also have days when you’re very horny but may have no energy or just prefer not having to do much and being taken care of, or just lazy sex to put it bluntly. The third thing is that you really enjoy sensual and intentional sex too. One with a lot of touching and rubbing on the right areas, and a more breathy feel. Well, the most important thing is that you’re going to be sexual and they will be too, and the physical connection between the both of you is going to be very strong but besides that, you’re going to be a place of rest for them. You’re going to place a lot of value on intimacy and not just sexual, and will give them the space to lead you but you’re also going to be willing to step up if and when needed, and they’ll be able to lead you in a way in which it favours the both of you. You’re going to be a visionary, offering ideas and sometimes questioning things, and will have a lot of integrity but also a lot of faith in them, and their leadership. Only weak people who don’t trust their own vision get mad when their followers question it, they’re not even leaders, they’re just dictators. Your future spouse going to be a leader so they’re going to take your concerns into account or will explain things properly to you for you to understand it better. They’ll enjoy being a protector and provider to you. They’re going to learn a lot from you and will be taking your ideas, your vision into consideration, and bringing them to life, as well as their own which will make them a really good leader and partner. I’m honestly so happy for you. Also, another thing is that they’re someone very charismatic, they have a big aura and warm, in fact even hot presence, and they’re used to being a leader in various places and situations but even they need a place to rest, rejuvenate, and relax and you’re going to be that for them.

You’re going to be a contemplative person and will need a lot of solitude. Your contemplation is going to give them the insight, ideas and vision that they need to lead you effectively, and your need for solitude is going to be attractive because it will make them crave you more. When you’re going to meet them, you might be going through a period during which everything fell apart and you’re a bit guarded, and wounded. I believe that they’ll have gone through something like this and will still be going through this period of extreme changes, and falls too so they’re going to be wounded and guarded too but meeting each other is only going to cause things to fall apart harder. Even if your physical and emotional world had changed in many ways, you both were deeply stuck in your own ways and meeting each other may cause resistance but will somehow still bring about changes intensely and easily. It is not going to be easy, it will be very hard but it will just happen easily after meeting each other despite any pain or intensity is what I meant. They’re going to love you and find everything about you to be very attractive. They will have experienced intensity with you and will have witnessed you undergo such intense experiences, such falls, and instability and come out of it. They will also feel a sense of familiarity and connection with you, having seen you through such changes that it will feel very deep because even they themself will have experienced such intensity and changed as well. There is a chance that some of you will go through a no contact period before getting together officially. Whether that happens or not, they’ll remember you as being very defensive, wounded and guarded, and they’ll have been that way too but you’ll both have changed, and grown, and the changes will be all thanks to you. In your connection with each other, once you’re finally officially together, you’re going to have a lot of strength and resilience, and will not be willing to let the connection go just because troubles occur. You’re going to push forward stubbornly and courageously, wanting things to work. The thing about connections is that you cannot make excuses. You either make it work or you don’t. “Life happens sometimes” okay, life will continue happening, will you abandon them again and again? Blame the connection and yourselves, not life. Knowing that you’re willing to fight for the connection and truly try, they’re going to be able to do so too, making you both a power couple. It’s not going to be 50-50, 60-40 or anything, it’s going to be 100-100 from both sides. Emotionally, they will have changed so much because of you but also not, you will also have changed so much but also not. It’s like, you’ll either still feel young with and towards each other, having seen each other at such intense, and dramatic yet young times. This does not have to mean that you’ll meet your spouse young, even if you meet them in your 30s or 40s, you’re going to be younger than when you’ll have spent years together. You’re going to have internally changed a lot and so will they, even externally actually but with each other, there’s still going to be a lot of drama. However, there’s also going to be a place to rest at, a person who is a sanctuary and feels like a safe haven :,).

You’re going to act very intensely with them, bringing out an equally intense side of them, there’s going to be a lot of stubbornness but oh cara mia, how they’ll love you. You are going to cause them a lot of turmoil and make them experience a lot of drama, and intensity but they’re going to share something real with you because of this. You’re going to cause them to feel very mentally vulnerable and vice versa, and this will cause you both to grow individually, as well as develop deep intimacy. You’re going to have them on your mind and in your heart even when they’re away, and will not do anything to breach your connection. The intimacy you both share and the trust you’ll have is something that you’ll not even think about breaking because you are going to be fine with being alone but if there is a genuine connection, that’s all you’ll need and it will be just them that you’ll share such a thing with. They’ll share this sentiment and you’ll have the realest connection ever in which you both grow, avoid showing vulnerabilities and changing but end up deeply changing, and showing your vulnerabilities. Things will be dramatic and intense but you’ll both be stubborn, and determined to make things work no matter how much you may get on each other’s nerves sometimes. You’ll love, adore and desire each other so much. I’m not sure if I expressed the “no matter how much you change, you won’t change” part correctly but what I mean is that they’ll still see you as that vulnerable baby that was going through hell and was overwhelmed no matter how much time passes by. Yes, they’ll see you as who you are in the present too but they’ll be very soft with you because they’ll remember the past soft yet wounded and ‘trying to be hard’ side of you. They’ll also remember how vulnerable, chaotic and intensely they felt, and changed so they’ll feel young and I keep on hearing ‘like a child’. They’ll feel so vulnerable yet so manly yet so fragile yet so strong yet so soft yet so authentic yet so changed with you. They’ll also see you as being the same way with them. How could they not find you attractive? They love you in every way. Oh my god, I’m crying. There may be this thing in which you’re overly submissive with other people which is why you push all your intense energies on them anyway but they’re going to see how meek you tend to act with others and will fiercely protect, and stand up for you. “What did you say to my wife?” “Don’t talk to my wife like that.” “Apologise, right now.” “On that gentle body of yours, I want to fall. Forgetting everything for a while, I want to get lost. Even if it’s just a few steps I want to walk with you, in the depths, I want to dive and see. Your arrival in my life has caused a different effect, look into my eyes, you’re going to clearly see, your own name. Even the fate that won’t bend in my will, must not be deaf. This is my oath to you, I will never leave your side. Whether we have to laugh or cry, it wouldn’t matter. The steps that we are taking together, will not divert for as long as I live.” “Be it joy or sorrow, I’m going to be with you. Whenever you need my support. I can’t love anyone else the way I love you. These are my last words.”

[cloudtransprncy]

Cheat Code

ITZY Yuna x Male Reader | 5k words Part 1 out of ? Tags: PWP, Blowjob, Size Kink, Cock Worship, Mutual Horny Chaos, 2nd Person POV, Yuna Is Down Catastrophic

She said glasses and earrings were a cheat code—so you tested it. No big deal. Just an experiment. But the second Yuna opens the door, she short-circuits, and next thing you know, she’s on her knees. I guess it works?

The car is parked in your usual spot, tucked away from the main road where the streetlights don’t quite reach. It’s summer.

The air outside warm enough that the windows are cracked just enough to let the night breeze slip through. Chill R&B hums from the speakers, blending into the comfortable silence between you and Yuna.

Yuna’s lounged back, slides kicked off, feet propped up on the dashboard like she owns the place. Her phone screen flashes in quick bursts as she scrolls TikTok, fingers moving lazily while she sips from her boba. Cropped pink tank, low-rise jeans that hang just right, a couple of delicate rings on her fingers—casual but calculated, effortless, she knows she’s hot and she owns it.

You’re half-watching, half-zoned out, fingers drumming absently against your drink. Not thinking about how good she looks. Or trying not to.

Then she speaks, totally unprompted.

“Glasses and earrings are such a fucking cheat code for guys.”

You blink, slow to process. “…Huh?”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Like, if a dude who’s my type pulls up with that? Whip it out already, I’m on my knees.”

You choke on your boba. Cough, nearly die, and have to thump your own chest to recover. “You’re a slut”

Yuna finally spares you a glance, completely serious. “I’m sooo serious. Glasses? Hot. Earrings? Hot. Together? Killy me now. Instant buff.”

You recover, rubbing your throat. “Any guy?”

She scoffs. “Obviously he has to be cute, I’m not gonna suck off some rando that's ugly and gross.”

You stare at her, a mix of disbelief and amusement creeping in.

Yuna shifts, folding a leg under her and turning fully towards you, sitting up. Her tank top rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but you don’t look for too long. She leans in like she’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe. “Like, okay, hear me out.”

You sigh, playing along. “K, I’m listening.”

“The glasses just make the guy look smart, but like, not too smart. Unless he’s a nerd, but you get my point.”

“Suuure.”

“The earrings? Hot. Earrings are just hot. Like, I wear earrings. I’m hot.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “I don’t get it.”

She waves a hand, exasperated. “Like, hot but not too hot, smart but not too smart. ya get me?.”

You squint. “But what if the guy’s ugly?”

She pauses, then scoffs. “See, that’s where it’s tough, ‘cause the buff only works if you’re already cute, ya know? Or like… almost hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying some guys are almost hot?”

“Yeah, bro, like some guys just need to hit the gym, dress better, get some earrings.”

You just give her a look, telling her you don’t really get it.

Silence lingers for a beat. Then she shrugs, says it so offhandedly you almost don’t catch it. “Like, you’d actually be hot if you tried.”

Your brain stalls. “…What?”

She doesn’t look up, just sips her boba. “You heard me.”

You’re still blinking. “No, repeat that.”

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across her face. “Nope.”

“That felt personal.”

“It wasn’t. But if you feel attacked…”

You scoff, sitting up slightly. “I literally gym, and you gotta admit I dress nice.”

She finally looks at you, eyes dragging over your plain black tee and gray sweats, unimpressed.

You gesture vaguely. “When I go out.”

She snorts, shaking her head but doesn't disagree. “Yeah, aight.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re basically saying I would be hot if I wasn’t ugly.”

Another shrug. “That’s not what I’m saying, but if that’s what you’re hearing…”

You laugh it off, shake your head, shift the conversation elsewhere. But Yuna? She sits with it, lets the words settle.

The idea is planted.

She doesn’t bring it up again, but it lingers. Her gaze flickers to you when you’re not looking, her teeth pressing lightly into her bottom lip like she’s trying not to think too hard about it. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, scrolling her phone with a little too much focus.

A week later…

The drive to Yuna’s place feels normal—same streets, same turn signals, same playlist humming low through your speakers. But today? Today’s different. Today, you’re running a test.

You grip the wheel with one hand, glancing at yourself in the rearview mirror. Glasses on. You always needed them, just never wore them. Now? Gentle Monster frames, clean, sharp. A flex, but a subtle one.

Earrings? Left ear—a small silver star stud. Right ear—a tiny dagger earring. A balance of soft and sharp. Like you weren’t thinking about it, but also? You were.

Your fit? Casual but intentional.

Black compression shirt, snug and sculpting but not obnoxious. Grey wide-leg sweats, laid-back and effortless. Fresh kicks, spotless with no creases.

It’s intentional, but not try-hard. Like you just threw shit on, but somehow, everything fell into place.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.

Let’s see if she notices.

You knock. A shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swings open.

Yuna stands there, the striped pajama set hugging her tiny waist, sitting snug on her hips, showing just enough skin to be lethal. The fabric stretches over her curves, hinting at the toned stomach underneath, the kind of body that looks soft but still tight in all the right places.

Her red hair falls in messy waves, catching hallway light like she planned the whole damn lighting setup. Even "just hanging at home," her skin glows with that I-woke-up-like-this perfection you know for a fact takes at least three serums to achieve. Light makeup—because of course she wouldn't be completely bare-faced—just enough to make her eyes wider, her lips fuller, slightly glossed and parted in what starts as a greeting but dies somewhere in her throat.

She was expecting movie night. Takeout containers. Stupid debates about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. The usual safe routine.

Instead, she gets you. Version 2.0.

Her entire body freezes. Processing.

Her eyes make a deliberate journey: glasses, earrings—that small hesitation when she notices they're mismatched—down to how your shirt remembers every gym session you've been putting in, lingering just a beat too long where your sweats hang low, then back up to your face with the slow-dawning realization that you've weaponized her own words against her.

She straight-up blue-screens.

Her weight shifts subtly, thighs pressing together like she's trying to create pressure where she suddenly needs it. Her fingers flex at her sides, curling then uncurling like she's physically restraining herself. The sharp inhale is audible—chest rising, lips parting before she catches herself. A full system restart happening in real time.

"What. The. Fuck." It comes out flat, almost accusatory, like you've committed a personal offense.

You can't help the smirk. "What?"

Yuna's eyes narrow, flicking to your earrings again with something dangerously close to hatred—not for the accessories, but for how effectively you've played her. Her jaw works, tension visible as she grinds her teeth. The mental battle is written across her face: pride versus want, restraint versus impulse.

"You're a fucking bitch," she mutters, the words carrying more heat than venom.

Your grin widens, victory sweet on your tongue. "Hmm? Didn't catch that."

No verbal response. Just the sudden, almost violent way her fingers hook into your shirt, yanking you inside before kicking the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame.

Her grip on your wrist is tight—too tight to be casual, not tight enough to hurt. She pulls you down the familiar hallway, the same path you've walked a hundred times before, except now your heart hammers against your ribs like it's trying to escape. This isn't movie-night Yuna leading you to her bedroom to argue about Netflix choices. This is something else entirely.

The words barely form in your mouth before your back hits her mattress, the air rushing from your lungs in a soft "oof." Suddenly everything is different. Same room—same fairy lights strung across her headboard, same pile of clothes heaped on her desk chair, same vague scent of vanilla and something distinctly her—but the air feels electrically charged, dense with potential.

She climbs onto you with feline precision, one knee planted on either side of your thighs, lowering herself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture. The weight of her settles against you—warm, solid, undeniable. The smirk playing at her lips is both challenge and promise, a silent I told you so mixed with you're going to regret this in the best way possible.

And just like that, the tables turn.

Your earlier confidence dissolves under her gaze. Your breath catches as she studies you like a meal she's about to devour, eyes dragging from your face to your throat, lingering on the pulse point there before traveling lower to where your shirt has ridden up to expose a strip of skin.

Pure instinct drives your hands to her hips, fingers just grazing the warm skin exposed between her top and pajama bottoms—but before you can get a proper grip, she's caught your wrists. One fluid motion and your arms are pinned against the wall above your head, chest exposed, completely at her mercy. Her nails dig just enough into your skin to send a shiver racing down your spine, a silent warning that makes your pulse spike.

"Yuna—" Her name escapes as a whine, embarrassingly breathless.

"Did I say you could touch?" The edge in her voice is new—commanding in a way that makes heat pool low in your stomach.

She leans in close again and you flinch slightly, turning your head, caught off-balance by this sudden shift in dynamic. The predatory smile that spreads across her face tells you exactly what you need to know:

You might have started this game, but she's the one who's going to finish it.

Her grip tightens. "What? You getting nervous?"

And you are. Because you don’t know what she’s gonna do next. Because your hands are pinned down, because she’s taking her time, because she’s in complete control.

"Too late." Her voice is soft as her fingers catch your jaw before you can answer—firm, controlling. She lets it hang there, the weight of her words sinking in before she tilts your face up like she’s testing the weight of you in her hands, deciding whether she wants to break you apart or take her time savoring it.

She doesn’t kiss you yet. Just hovers. Close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, teasing, curling over your lips. Close enough that you can smell her—sweet, like strawberries, something feminine and bright, but dark underneath. Something heady. Something that lingers.

"What..." It slips out soft, almost breathless, escaping before you even realize. You're already leaning in—just slightly, just enough to chase the warmth of her mouth, the phantom touch of lips that still haven’t pressed against yours.

She grins. Pulls back just enough to make you ache for it. Watching, waiting. Letting the moment stretch, letting you need.

Then she finally kisses you—hungry, consuming, impossible to escape. Her lips move like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this, for you.

Her hands roam without hesitation, clawing at your shirt, nails scratching lightly before pressing harder, groping, gripping, taking. She grinds down, pressing herself closer, hot, desperate, soaked through.

Her tongue slides against yours, deep, messy, filthy. She tastes like strawberries and something warmer, something intoxicating. She bites your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before letting go, leaving you breathless, dizzy.

You manage to get half a word out—something cocky, something desperate—but she just presses her thumb over your lips, silencing you effortlessly. "Shh."

Her smirk is wicked, teasing. "Did I tell you to talk?"

One last kiss—hard, bruising—claiming—before she finally pulls back, pupils blown wide, breath heavy, hot against your lips. Still teasing, still in control.

Her eyes flicker, dark and sharp. She lets the silence stretch, lets you squirm just a little before tilting her head, smirking. And then, finally—

“Whip it out when I tell you to.”

She shifts back, slow and deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Legs crossed, arms folded, head tilted slightly—waiting.

“Shirt off.”

You hesitate. Her expression doesn’t change. Just one perfectly raised eyebrow.

You exhale, dragging the fabric over your head, the fabric peeling away from your skin, leaving a fleeting chill before the heat of the room settles over you. The shift makes your muscles tense briefly, instinctively flexing, your lean frame now fully exposed. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches. Eyes dragging down, slower than usual. She’s seen you shirtless before—at the beach, when you work out together—but this feels... different. More deliberate. More assessing. Like she’s realizing something she hadn’t let herself think about before.

Her fingertips trail over your chest, nails scraping lightly as they move down. Her breathing shifts. Not a full pause, but a subtle inhale, like she’s registering something new.

She barely skims your waistband before stopping. Lips part, but no words come out. Just a beat of silence, her fingers still resting against your skin.

Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. Moves like she never hesitated. “Pants too.”

You move to pull them down, and her hand shoots out, gripping the fabric at your waist. Stopping you. Holding you there.

She tilts her head. Smirks. “Hmm, one sec.”

She leans down, lips trailing from your chest to your abdomen, slow and deliberate, each press of her mouth sending heat curling low in your stomach. Lower. Lower. Until she’s hovering over your bulge, her breath warm against the fabric, her smirk returning as she glances up at you—waiting, teasing.

“Whip it out.”

You follow her command, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats and boxers at the same time. You push them down in one slow motion, the fabric dragging over your hips, your thighs, until they pool around your ankles. The cool air hits first, sending a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling in contrast to the heat of her stare. You kick them off, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Your cock, already stiff, springs free, swaying slightly before settling upright.

You expect some kind of reaction, a smirk, a comment, something. But she just sits there. Silent. Taking you in. Making you wait.

Then, the shift.

Her jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough to notice. Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the instinct to reach for you. A single exhale slips out—soft, sharp, involuntary.

“...Hah.”

Her thighs press together.

She blinks once, slow, expression still unreadable before she scoffs, voice flat. "You're joking."

It’s not a question. Not disbelief. It’s irritation. Like she’s pissed off that she’s this affected.

Then, before she even registers it, her hand is on you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, testing the weight. Thumb pressing into the ridge, sliding down, measuring. Her grip is firm, not teasing, not soft. Calculating. Then, she swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum across the sensitive skin.

The slick warmth sends a sharp jolt through you, your stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation. A shudder rolls down your spine, hips jerking just slightly—instinctual, involuntary. She hums at the reaction, amused, dragging her thumb back over the head, slower this time, watching you twitch beneath her touch.

"...You’ve been walking around with this the whole time?"

One slow stroke. Deliberate. Frustrated. Her breath hitches for half a second before she exhales through her nose, sharp and controlled. She’s working through something.

Then she moves.

Slow, deliberate, sinking down until her face is level with your cock. She spreads her knees wider, arching her back instinctively, ass lifting behind her as she dips her head down. The motion is fluid, effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times before—but not with you.

Her breath fans over the head, warm, teasing, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. But the way she’s looking at you? The way her lashes flutter as she drags her gaze from the base to the tip, the way her lips part slightly like she’s thinking about something she shouldn’t? Filthy.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to touch her. To run through her hair, trace over her cheek, press against the plush curve of her lips. But you don’t. You know better.

She tilts her head, lining it up. Comparing.

Her fingers tighten around the base, giving an experimental squeeze, jaw tensing slightly like she’s still processing the math of it all.

She hums, amused. Like she just confirmed something. Her eyes drag from your cock to your frame, mapping out the proportions. She’s smaller, you’re lean, cut where it matters. Her fingers tighten around your thigh—just slightly.

She exhales slow, shaking her head. Testing her own reaction.

“It’s almost annoying.”

A sharp squeeze at the base, like she’s making peace with it.

"You're just big enough to be fucking perfect."

She looks up at you, doesn’t blink. Holds your gaze like she’s daring you to move.

"Look at me."

You do. Try to. But the intensity of her gaze is too much, hungry, piercing, hot. Like she’s devouring every inch of you without even touching. Your body reacts before you can stop it. It’s overwhelming. Too much. You instinctively try to escape it, tilting your head back, but she doesn’t let you.

Her other hand catches your chin, dragging you back down to her. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Your breath shudders. You swallow hard. She notices. Smirks.

Then—she stops.

She knows exactly what she’s about to do. And she wants you to watch.

Lifting her arms, she gathers up all her hair, twisting it tight, securing it with practiced ease. It’s a ritual, a performance, because she knows you’re looking. And she likes it.

The movement stretches her out, making you take in everything—the pull of her arms, the soft dip of her waist, the sleek curve of her long torso. Cinched. Compact. Fucking perfect. Her neck, her collarbones, the bare skin of her armpits exposed for a fleeting second, all of it framed just for you.

"Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot." Your voice slips past you.

She pauses, just for a second. A slow, knowing smirk on her lips as she glances at you.

"I know."

Your fingers twitch, instinct taking over—you reach down, wanting to stroke yourself to the sight of her.

Sharp slap.

Your hand jerks away, stinging. Her eyes flicker up, challenging. Smirking.

"I already told you—keep your hands to yourself."

Then—she leans back down, the same position, same arch. She dips her head low. Her lips purse, and before you can register it, a thick glob of warm saliva drips from her mouth, landing perfectly against the tip. She watches it spread, her thumb smearing it across the sensitive skin, coating you in wet heat before she strokes again—long, slow, deliberate.

She looks up, eyes locking onto yours, smirking like she already knows she's won. "Now sit back and let me enjoy myself."

Then—she sinks lower.

Her red hair spills over your stomach, strands brushing against your skin as she angles herself just right. The dim light catches on the messy waves, glowing warm, wild, untamed. She looks up at you through thick lashes, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth parted just enough to tease you with the heat of her breath.

She’s so fucking close.

But this isn’t about you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, a slow, possessive squeeze, more for herself than for you. She exhales, lips barely parted, watching, taking you in. Her tongue swipes over her own bottom lip as if contemplating a meal she’s about to devour.

Then—she goes for it.

Heat. Wet. The first slide past her lips is tight, hot, an impossible contrast of softness and pressure. Her mouth stretches, lips plush and slick, sealing around you with a perfect, obscene suction. The wet heat of her tongue presses firm against the underside, dragging against every ridge, every pulsing inch, like she’s mapping you out with her mouth. The pressure of her cheeks hollowing pulls a groan straight from your chest before you can bite it back.

It's not careful, not teasing—hungry.

Her nails dig into your thigh as she sinks deeper, her own body reacting, thighs pressing together, chasing the heat curling in her own gut.

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t drag it out like a game. She’s working herself up with every motion, letting herself indulge.

Another moan, this one softer, needier, and fuck, she’s enjoying this. Her tongue presses against the underside, massaging every inch she swallows. She pulls back, spit slick and glistening, gasping softly before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper.

She flicks her gaze up—not to check on you, but to see how much more she can take.

The wet pop when she pulls off is obscene, spit stretching between her lips and your cock before snapping apart. But she doesn’t wipe it away—you can tell, she likes the mess.

She tilts her head, gaze flicking up to yours, breathless, her lips curling into something between a smirk and frustration.

"Fuck, you taste so good." She mutters, voice wrecked, annoyed at how much she’s into this.

You start to smirk, breath hitching as you mutter, "Damn, you really know how to—"

But you don't get the chance.

She takes you deep mid-word, zero hesitation, lips stretching, throat tightening as she swallows you down in one sudden, slick motion. The shock rips a strangled sound from your throat, something between a gasp and a groan, because fuck, that was unexpected.

It's warm, so fucking tight, her throat flexing around you as she forces herself deeper, nose pressing flush against your groin. The wet grip of her throat clenching around the tip sends heat jolting up your spine, and when she pulls back—slow, torturous—a thick string of spit clings between her lips and your cock, stretching, breaking, dripping down onto her own chin. She watches you, gaze locked, eyes dark, sharp, daring you.

"You talk too much. And I haven't told you to open your mouth."

Her voice is wrecked, breathless, but smug as hell. She grips the base, firm, controlling, and slaps the head against her lips, wet and filthy, smearing spit and precum across them before taking you back in without hesitation—deeper, tighter, longer.

Your thighs tense. Your breath stutters. Toes curl, heat pooling low in your stomach, a wildfire spreading through your limbs. Your hands clench into the sheets because if you touch her now, you're done for.

She hums around you, low, vibrating, because she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

Then she pulls back, spit-slick and glistening, pausing just long enough for you to feel the absence, to make you ache for it.

You think she’s about to go back in, your breath catches—but she lingers, gaze flicking up, owning the moment, letting the tension coil tighter. Then, slowly, she slaps your cock against her lips once more, her own breath shuddering like she’s just as caught up in this as you are. But this isn’t for you—it’s for her.

She dips lower, tongue dragging down your length, lips wrapping around one ball, sucking slow, wet, indulgent. She pauses for a second, breathing heavy, swallowing like she’s processing how good it tastes, how much she’s enjoying it.

Then she makes a sound—a frustrated groan, muffled, needy, like she’s annoyed by just how good you are in her mouth. Her hand never stops moving, stroking you in time with every pull of her mouth. Then the next, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin, a soft moan escaping her, sending a jolt straight through your core.

She licks a line back up your shaft, slow, messy, like she’s savoring the weight of you on her tongue.

Your hands twitch against the sheets, fists clenched tight, every muscle in your body strung too fucking tight, resisting the urge to grab her. She notices. She loves it.

She pulls off completely, spit pooling down her chin, tilts her head up at you, lips parted, swollen, smirking.

"Hold my hair up."

Your breath shakes as you comply, fingers threading into her red waves, feeling the silkiness as they slide between your knuckles. You gather them slowly, watching the way they shine under the dim light, then bunch them up tight, pulling them together like a ponytail, holding firm.

She exhales slow, eyes flickering shut for half a second like she’s steeling herself. Then, she looks up at you—hungry, determined.

"Good. Now don’t let go."

The moment you tighten your grip, she moans, low and wrecked, like it’s fueling her. Like she’s been waiting for this.

She takes you back in. 

In one go.

There’s no hesitation now. No more teasing. Just her fucking her mouth on you, using your cock like a toy for her own oral fixation.

She goes messy, abrupt, taking you deep with zero breaks, her hands working in sync—one stroking your shaft, the other massaging your balls, slick with spit, wet, filthy, relentless.

She gags. Chokes. Sputters saliva down her chin, but she doesn’t stop—she loves this.

Each time she sinks down, she stays longer, testing her limits, forcing herself deeper, moaning around you, the vibrations traveling straight through your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She pulls off with a wet, deep, gasp, sucking in air, but her hands never stop moving—stroking, twisting, milking you even as she gasps for breath.

“Shit,” she pants, her voice wrecked, her lips swollen, glistening with spit.

Her grip tightens, both hands now working together, slick and dripping, saliva coating every inch. She strokes faster, twisting her wrists, making a fucking mess of you, her mouth hovering just inches away, lips parted, panting.

Your whole body is tight, legs folding in slightly, toes curling, arms flexing involuntarily around the grip in her hair. The pleasure is too much, too fucking good, overwhelming, and if she wasn’t in complete control, you’d be thrusting up into her mouth, chasing the heat, the pressure. But she’s already forcing herself deep, hitting the back of her throat for you. No, for herself, taking what she wants.

Your grip on her hair loosens.

She notices.

She fucking notices.

Her lashes flutter up, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed—completely cock-drunk—and she lets out the softest, filthiest little whine, like she doesn’t want you to stop her. Like she needs this. More of this.

Your fingers clench, regaining control, and you hold her still.

Her moan shatters through you.

It’s wrecked, vibrating along your length as she hollows her cheeks again and sucks. Hard.

And then—she goes feral.

She spits again, a thick glob dripping onto the head, smearing it in with her tongue before slapping your cock against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Then she leans in, sucking and slurping her own saliva back up from your cock and groin, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate—only to sputter it back down again, wetter, filthier.

The slick warmth trickles lower, dripping under your balls, pooling there as her fingers smear it across your skin like she never wants to waste a single drop. She’s moaning the entire time, whimpering under her breath, her own body tensing, thighs pressing together, like she’s getting off on the sheer act of ruining herself.

Her tongue flicks out, lapping at the sensitive tip before flattening against it, rubbing it against her slick, spit-drenched muscle like she wants to taste every inch.

Her hand never stops moving—stroking, twisting, pumping, both hands working together now, slick and dripping, her fingers sliding with ease from how fucking wet everything is.

She’s not thinking anymore.

She’s just moving, sucking, licking, moaning, lost in it. She’s devouring you.

She sinks back down, deeper, until she’s gagging again, nose flush, throat spasming. She pulls off just to spit again, rubs her own mess into your shaft with both hands before swallowing you back down like she missed it.

She stays down longer each time.

Testing her limits. Pushing past them. Letting them break.

She pulls off with a wrecked gasp, drool dripping off her chin, her hands still stroking you frantically, like she can’t stop. Like she won’t stop.

“Fuck—” Her voice is raw, strained, needy. Her lips glisten, her cheeks are damp with spit, ruined.

Next, she slaps your cock against her tongue again, holding it there, eyes locked on yours, lips parted, panting.

Waiting.

Wanting.

She flicks her tongue once. Then again.

Your whole body tenses, a choked moan ripping out of your throat before you can swallow it down. She notices instantly, smirking, lips flushed and glistening.

"Gonna cum for me?" Her voice is low, wrecked, teasing. "Gonna fill up my mouth?"

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer. She’s back down, and you know it wont be long.

She sinks down, deeper than before—deeper than you thought she could go.

Her throat tightens, a hot, slick vice around you, lips stretched wide, nose flush against your skin. She stays there, like she’s proving something, forcing herself to take it all.

Your body shakes. A helpless, broken noise tears from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter in her hair. Your entire body is locked up, muscles taut, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but take what she’s giving you.

She swallows around you—tight, pulsing—milking you. The suction drives you insane, your mind foggy with nothing but her heat, her wetness, the way she’s owning you with her mouth. Your stomach clenches, your toes curl, thighs shaking. The heat in your gut is unbearable, climbing too fast, too much—

And then—she pulls off.

Not all the way. Just enough to drag her lips, tongue, teeth back up, slow, deliberate, before sinking back down just as deep.

She does it again.

Slow. Controlled. Absolutely ruining you.

Her hands are still working—one stroking your length, the other massaging your balls, her slick fingers pressing, squeezing, keeping you so fucking close but not letting you fall.

This time, she pulls off completely.

Your cock twitches in the open air, aching, drenched in her spit, glistening under the dim light. The sudden absence is unbearable, like she just took the world’s best heat away from you.

And then—she stops everything.

Her grip loosens. Her mouth lingers inches away.

Nothing.

You make a noise—desperate, strained. Your fingers clench, stomach tight, chest rising too fast.

She tilts her head, mocking, daring, teasing. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Say it."

Your breath stutters. She’s watching you unravel, watching you need.

You hesitate.

Her fingers go completely still.

The absence is unbearable. The loss of heat, friction, her—everything.

She waits. Just waits.

Eyes locked on you, lips parted, not moving until she hears what she wants.

“You wanna cum or not?”

Her voice is wrecked, low, filthy—and so fucking amused. Like she already knows.

Your jaw locks, but your body betrays you.

“Yuna, please—I'm so close” It rips out of you, barely a whisper, shaky, ruined.

Her eyes spark. She grins.

She giggles. It’s horny, evil, delighted.

And with that, she dives back in.

Messy. Unforgiving.

Her mouth works you over, fast, relentless, sucking hard like she’s dragging the orgasm out of you. Her cheeks hollow, tongue pressing firm, head bobbing fast, sloppy, wrecking you.

Her hands won’t stop moving—both of them now, stroking, twisting, pumping, slick and filthy, drenched in her spit.

She pulls off just to spit directly onto your tip, spreading it with her tongue, letting the mess drip down your shaft, pooling at your base.

She goes back down, faster, tongue swirling, throat flexing, each motion more desperate, more demanding. The sounds she’s making—filthy, obscene, completely unashamed.

You can’t stop it.

Your hips jerk, thighs flex, toes curl, fingers pull tight in her hair.

And then—your whole body locks up.

It hits like lightning, brutal, full-body, overwhelming.

You moan—loud, wrecked, shaking.

She pulls off at the last second, her tongue stretched out, eyes locked on you, stroking you fast as you cum hard all over her tongue and inside her mouth.

Spurts of thick white streak across her tongue, her lips, pooling where she wants it.

She stays there, mouth open, holding it, letting you see it.

Then—she closes her mouth and swallows.

A loud, filthy gulp.

Like she was made for this.

She stays between your legs a moment longer, tongue flicking slow, deliberate, dragging over every inch of sensitive skin as she cleans you up, savoring it. Her lips press one last time to the tip, a lazy, lingering kiss, before she finally—finally—pulls away, her breath still hot and damp against your stomach.

She doesn’t hurry.

She stretches, rolling her shoulders like she just wrapped up a workout, sighing like she’s completely satisfied, her fingers pressing briefly into your thighs as she pushes herself up. She moves like she owns the space, like she just conquered something.

Without another word, she crawls up towards you. One hand grabs your chin, tilting your face up, making sure you’re looking at her.

She’s still wrecked, ruined—her lips glossy, chin damp, pupils dark and dripping with smug satisfaction.

"You're never taking those glasses off again."

Her other hand moves, fingers slipping up to the bridge of your glasses, pushing them back into place with the laziest, most condescending adjustment.

Like she just did fucking community service.

You’re still panting, your limbs heavy, your chest still rising too fast. And yet—a realization grips you.

You just unleashed something.

Something feral. Something dangerous.

She grins, tilting her head like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

And then—she giggles.

That same horny, delighted, evil little giggle from before.

Like she’s already thinking about the next time she ruins you.

End.

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

AN: Finally got through this one and can check it off. I'm currently starting a new piece, one of my longer ones so it might be a while until its posted. Ill try my best to fill the next few days with more shorter moments like this one, but I really wanna focus on my longer fics with more depth. As always, room for part 2 with this.

[keferon]

I was thinking how the constructicons and prowl might have met and kinda came up with the idea that they were like fr construction workers until a quintesson attack happend nearby and prowl calculated the casualty rate to be too high so he send out some sort of evacuation warning to the civilians?? Maybe the constructicons did not manage to evacuate fast enough and prowl might have gotten them out which could be why they like him. During the attack the company the constructicons work for could be destroyed so they'd basically be jobless now and then prowl would just offer them to be mechanics or something like that in the mecha programm. 🙃

Ooooh you know what

What if the building is collapsing and all Constructicons manage to evacuate except for one? And Prowl is like. I can’t let you die in here but I also need you to keep your hands away from EVERYTHING you’ll see and then pulls him inside his mech?

And for some time this one Constructicon (which one? Idk haha) gets the opportunity to look at Prowl’s job from “Prowl’s perspective”. To look at all planning and brilliant calculating and trying to get everyone else to fucking listen and cooperate. And then seeing just how close the entire mission was to being a complete disaster.

All while other Constructicons are thinking they just lost one of them forever because there’s no way a human would survive this shit. That is until Prowl shows up and goes “Here. I got your friend back.” And all five of them have stars in their eyes because WOW that pilot just saved our family and the saved Constructicon has even bigger stars in his eyes because “GUYS you won’t believe how awesome this dude is Imma tell you EVERYTHING”

[subliminalghoest]

NSFW

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader (18+, smut)

So I keep seeing the idea of Simon using his balaclava to basically gag himself when he’s having fun alone time and thought it would be hilarious for reader to accidentally interrupt him.

~Enjoy.

You aren’t supposed to be walking down the corridor towards Simon’s room, but after nearly snapping at a rookie in the range, you figured it was either vent or commit murder. You opted for venting.

You knock once—sharp, impatient.

No answer.

You knock again, this time louder, “Riley, you alive in there?”

There’s a thud, a very faint shit, and a few shuffled footsteps before the door swings open. Simon appears in the doorway, breathless, eyes slightly wide. And — your brain stutters — his face is bare. No balaclava.

You blink. “Wow. A rare sighting of the man himself. Can I get my camera?”

He gives you a flat look, like he’s weighing up closing the door on you and pretending this never happened. “What do you want?”

“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic.” You shoulder past him and step into the room. “I needed to talk—well, vent.”

He closes the door with a sigh and mutters something about boundaries, but doesn’t stop you.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” you begin, pacing as you talk. “You know that new rookie? The one with the smug face and the haircut that screams ‘I’m an asshole’? He tried to explain recoil management to me. Me. As if I wasn’t there to teach him.”

Simon leans against the wall, arms crossed, breathing slowly evening out. He’s listening, but he also seems… distracted. And warm. His cheeks still hold a pink tinge that’s not from embarrassment. You glance at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You alright? You look… flushed.”

“Just warm in here,” he says quickly.

You look around the room. It’s not warm. It’s military-issue cold and sterile.

You plop down on his bed with a huff and grab the first thing your hand lands on, his balaclava. You start fiddling with it absentmindedly as you continue ranting. Running your fingers around its edges, smoothing out the ruffled fabric.

“So then he says, ‘You’re just overreacting because you’re a girl and I gave you a correction.’ And I swear to god, I nearly choked him with my shoelaces.”

Simon lets out a low sound, something like a half-snort, half-growl. “He still in one piece or do I need to head down there and stage a little accident?”

“I’ve got it covered. But thanks for the offer.”

As you speak, your fingers twist through the fabric. But something catches your attention. Your brow furrows. “Why’s this… damp?”

You lift the balaclava higher, peering at the wet patches. “Are these teeth marks?”

Simon stiffens.

You look at him. He looks at you.

His mouth opens. Closes.

And then—blush creeps up like a slow burn from his neck to his ears.

“Oh my god,” you say, blinking. “Simon.”

He clears his throat.

“It’s not—”He rubs a hand over his face, which only makes his ears redder. “It’s not what you think.”

You stare at the balaclava in your hands, then at him, then back again.

“Oh no. It’s exactly what I think,” you say, holding the evidence like it might start screaming confessions. “You used this to shut yourself up while you were—God, Simon!”

“I wasn’t expecting company!”

You both fall into stunned silence. You glance down again at the balaclava. Then back up at him. Your grin stretches slow and wicked.

"I'll leave," you stood slowly backing up to the door, voice all mock-sweet. “Let you... finish.”

You’re laughing as he snatches the balaclava out of your hand, his ears flaming.

As you got to the door, you paused. A thought strikes and before you linger on it too long—“Who were you thinking about?”

He goes very still.

Then you turn, voice teasing, eyes fixed on him. “Anybody special?”

His jaw ticks once. Then again. You swear you can see him calculating the odds—whether honesty is worth the gamble.

But you don’t give him the chance.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, a dramatic grin tugging at your lips. You step back into the room, arms folding. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

He says nothing, glare intensifying.

“Oh this is too good—which fantasy is your favourite?” You don’t wait for his response, “Is it me all sweaty and stinking from the gym?”

He steps closer to you. You step back.

“Or was it that time I came back from that recon op, covered head to toe in mud and God knows what else? Because that,” you gesture up and down your body, “was peak seduction, obviously.”

Simon exhales a short breath like he’s trying not to laugh—or trying to not strangle you. You don’t stop.

He steps forward again. You step back, softly hitting the door behind you.

“Or—wait—was it when I had the flu and couldn’t stop sneezing and had tissues stuffed up my nose? Yeah. Super sexy. Real fantasy material.”

You go to make another jab, but he finally speaks—and the calm, gravelly tone of it slams into you like a punch.

“Yeah,” Simon says. “So what if it was you?”

Your mouth opens—and then you freeze. That’s not the answer you were ready for.

“It’s always you,” he adds, stepping forward, hands bracing against the door on either side of your head, “Doesn’t matter if you’re sweaty, or dirty, or pissed off enough to break someone’s jaw.”

You blink, reboot your brain. You shove him lightly in the chest, half-laughing. “Shut up. I’m the funny one, remember?”

He doesn’t budge.

A smirk tugs at his lips—not cocky, not cruel. Confident.

“You gonna keep teasing me now?” he murmurs, voice like gravel and sin. Head tilting to the side, mockingly.

Your throat is dry. “I mean… probably not.”

His eyes flicker around your face, you can hear your heartbeat in your head.

You drag in a breath, “You want me?”

“That depends,” he says. “You gonna keep running that mouth, or you want me to put it to better use?”

That definitely short-circuits your brain.

“Jesus Christ.” you whisper, voice a little too breathless, a little too eager.

“Only name you’ll be praising tonight is mine, sweetheart.”

Later, when you’re stripped bare on his bed, legs trembling, his mouth on your pussy like he’s starving, you try to muffle the moans clawing their way out of your throat.

Simon lifts his head, lips glistening. “Mmm—what’s wrong? You struggling to keep quiet?”

You let out a broken noise—and he grabs the balaclava, the same one from earlier, and presses it into your hand.

You don’t hesitate.

You shove it between your teeth, biting down, back arching as he flattens his tongue and devours you.

“Much as I’d like to hear all those pretty little noises,”Simon smirks against you, clearly satisfied, and licks another stripe up your clit—slow, deliberate—before sucking it into his mouth. “I’m not willing to share. Especially not the sounds of me making you come.”

And the way you whimper around that fabric?

It’s better than anything he’d imagined.

Your back arches. He groans softly at the way your hips buck, hands gripping your thighs tighter to pin you in place.

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips brushing your slick skin. “Just like that.”

Your hands fly to his hair—short and messy from your earlier interruption—but you don’t pull him away. You anchor yourself, like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You’ve no idea,” he murmurs, fingers sliding down to join his mouth, “how long I’ve wanted to do this. You, like this—open and so needy and all mine.”

A low, desperate sound catches in your throat, muffled by fabric.

His fingers slide inside you—two at once—and your eyes roll back. He curls them just right, searching for that spongy area to make you shake. His tongue keeps working in tandem, relentless and steady, mouth slick and warm.

You’re close. It’s spiraling fast, too fast.

Simon knows it, too.

“C’mon, love,” he mutters, the words pressing against your skin. “Be good for me. Come on my tongue.”

That’s all it takes. You break apart with a cry smothered by his balaclava, thighs clamping around his head, body shaking with release.

He doesn’t stop.

Keeps going through it, coaxing every last aftershock out of you, until you’re squirming, twitching—pushing at his shoulder with your feet.

Finally, finally, he pulls back—licks his lips slowly like he’s savouring every second of you on his tongue. He leans up over you, arms caging you in, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you pant, flushed and wrecked beneath him.

Your hand shakily lowers the balaclava from your mouth, and your voice comes out hoarse. “You’re a menace.”

He smirks, dragging the fabric from your hand and tossing it aside. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You scowl at him half-heartedly. “I didn’t.”

He leans down, nose brushing yours. “Good.”

Then he kisses you—deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue—and you moan, arms looping around his neck before you can think better of it.

When he finally pulls away, breathless, he smiles. A rare one. Soft, but no less intense.

“You’re not getting the last word tonight,” he says, voice thick with promise.

You lift your brows. “No?”

He shakes his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, your throat, the curve of your shoulder.

“I’m just getting started.”

Your breath hitches at the low, dangerous way he says it. I’m just getting started.

“Yeah?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “Planning to ruin me, Lieutenant?”

That smirk comes back—sharper now. Almost wicked.

“Oh, I’m not planning,” he murmurs, fingers trailing down your side, dragging goosebumps in their wake. “I’m going to.”

He slides lower, mouth returning to your skin—not frantic, not rushed, but with purpose. Reverent. His stubble grazes your sensitive flesh, and you flinch, still overstimulated and burning for more.

You can’t believe he’s going down again.

Your hands find his shoulders, nails pressing into muscle as he hooks your knees over his broad shoulders again, spreading you wide beneath him. You’re already slick, flushed, raw—too sensitive to take much more. You feel like the only thing that exists in the world when Simon Riley is between your legs.

“Need to get you prepped for me, doll. Gotta get this pretty little cunt,” he says softly, breath hot as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, “soaking wet for me.”

You moan, head tipping back against the pillows. You never thought his mouth would be this dirty—half expected the stoic, silent Lieutenant he is in public.

“And the way you fucking taste…” He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s the one falling apart.

You feel the press of his tongue again—slower this time, but no less consuming. He laps at you with long, deliberate strokes, occasionally dragging his teeth just barely where you’re most sensitive, making you gasp.

One of his hands slides up your belly, splaying against your chest. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you arch into him with a broken whimper.

“Sensitive,” he hums against your folds. “You gonna come again for me?”

You nod helplessly, words gone—wrecked by the overwhelming heat and sensation. He chuckles darkly and closes his mouth around your clit again, sucking gently.

You don’t stand a chance.

Your second orgasm crashes into you, your back bowing, thighs shaking around his head. It’s slower than the first, but deeper—like it’s being pulled from the base of your spine, curling through your entire body. You sob his name into your palm, clinging to his shoulders like you might fly apart without him.

And still, he doesn’t let up. He works you through it, tongue and fingers moving in tandem, until your legs twitch and you let out a half-laugh, half-whimper.

“Simon, fuck, I—please—”

You push his body away with your foot, he sits back on his knees, gliding his hand up and down your calf, lips slick with your release, eyes dark and feral as he takes you in. Perfectly dishevelled.

“Too much?” he teases, his voice rougher now, tinged with something almost smug. “Or just enough?”

You glare at him through your lashes. “I hate you.”

His grin widens as he pushes your leg out of the way and crawls back over you, nudges your jaw with his nose. “That’s not what your cunt says.”

He’s filthy. You groan, dragging him down by the back of his neck into a kiss—deep, messy, a little desperate.

“You gonna fuck me or just keep teasing me to death?” you breathe against his lips.

He laughs—low, throaty.

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you,” he promises. “Nice and slow.”

He reaches down between you, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, just enough to make your breath catch again.

“But not until you beg for it.”

Your body jerks at the glide of his cock against your aching core—warm, heavy, teasing. A fresh wave of heat pools low in your stomach, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, nails digging in with a whimper you barely catch behind clenched teeth.

“Beg?” you echo, breathless.

Simon hums, nose brushing your cheek, voice like gravel and smoke.

“You heard me.”

He presses the tip just barely into you—then he pulls back, slow and deliberate.

Your eyes flutter shut. He does it again.

“C’mon, love,” he says, mouth grazing your ear now. “You were so full of clever little comments before. Where’d all that mouth go?”

You glare up at him, flustered and trembling, every nerve ending alight. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins, unfazed. “And you’re soaked. Dripping, even.”

Another teasing thrust—shallow, maddening. Your body aches, clenches around nothing, desperate for friction, for fullness, for him.

You huff out a frustrated sound, forehead resting against his chest. “Simon—”

“Ah-ah.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “You want my cock, you ask for it.”

You decide to give in.

You lift your chin, lips brushing his as you whisper, “Please, Simon.”

He doesn’t move.

You swallow, cheeks burning. “Please fuck me. I need it.”

That dark heat in his eyes flares. “Say it again.”

You moan in frustration, squirming beneath him. “Simon, please. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me—now.”

That does it.

His control snaps like a wire under tension, and he surges forward, burying himself inside you in one long, delicious thrust. You cry out—the stretch making your back arch as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he grits through clenched teeth, head dropping to your shoulder. “Christ—you’re so tight. Fuck, I know I’m big, baby. You can take it. I know you can. Show me how good you can be f’me.”

Your hands claw at his back as he starts to move, slow at first, then harder, deeper. Each thrust steals breath from your lungs, pushes moans past your lips without thought.

He groans into your neck, biting down gently before pulling back to look at you—flushed, panting, completely undone.

“You like this?” he growls, fucking into you harder. “Me inside you, filling you up?”

You can’t speak. Can only nod, eyes rolling back as he angles his hips just right and hits that perfect spot inside you that makes your vision go white.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit. “One more,” he says roughly. “Give me one more. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

You’re close—so close—and his words tip you right over the edge.

You fall apart with a sob of his name, walls clenching around him as your climax hits like a tidal wave. He groans deep in his chest, slamming into you once, twice more before he spills inside you with a shuddering gasp.

The room goes quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing and his heartbeat pounding against your chest.

After a moment, he lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. His voice, when it comes, is quieter. Rough in a different way.

“You alright?”

You nod, a little dazed. “More than alright.”

He kisses you then—slow and soft, a stark contrast to everything that came before it.

You whisper into his lips, “Am I better than your imagination?”

[violetskylights0]

Can you please do selvika if her and the reader did nnn(no nut November) like you did with vi (To be honest she would probably be like no 😭) Its ok if you don't want to

I am a Vi girl to my very core but I must give the people what they want. I thought it would be cute and short...and now we have some of the nastiest shit I have ever written. I hope it's everything you wanted and more xoxo. @starisinlovewiththemoon

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

Games we like to play (18 +)

Prostitute!reader x Sevika

Warnings: Degradation/Smut/Pet names/Kind of cute?

No Nut November. Just saying it felt ridiculous. You’d heard about it before—whispers in the brothel about Piltover clients and their strange indulgences in self-denial. You’d always dismissed it as yet another quirk of the privileged: something to laugh at, not take seriously.

And it wasn’t like you had the luxury of turning down indulgence. Working at the brothel wasn’t about holding back; it was about giving people exactly what they wanted. Or needed. You didn’t care much either way—clients came and went, their faces blurring together after a while.

That is until Sevika walked in.

You’d known her by reputation, of course. Everyone in the Undercity did. She was Silco’s right hand, the enforcer with a mechanical arm and a short temper to match. People whispered about her in a way that made you assume she was ruthless, dangerous, someone you didn’t want to cross paths with unless you had to.

So, when she first stepped into your room, you froze. The light was dim, but there was no mistaking her broad shoulders, the scar cutting across her cheek, or the way her eyes flicked over the space with a calculated calm.

You expected her to bark orders, to demand something rough or impersonal. But instead, she went to your bar cart, poured herself a drink, and leaned casually against the wall. “Nice setup,” she’d said, her tone low and unhurried.

Her behavior threw you. You weren’t sure what to make of her—this woman who seemed both entirely in control and quietly restrained. You talked for a while, about nothing in particular, and the longer you listened, the more the fear melted into something else. Curiosity, maybe. Intrigue.

A drink or two in, though? That reserved demeanor? Gone. That night, she paid for three hours—and she’d used every minute.

Since then, she’d been your only client. It wasn’t just the money—though she made sure you didn’t need anyone else—but the connection. She was different. Reserved but attentive, with a way of making you feel like the only person in the room. You didn’t put labels on it—Sevika wasn’t the type for that—but it was something. Enough to make you bold.

Which is how this conversation started.

“I heard one of my coworkers talking about it with her Piltover client,” you said, voice light as you trailed your fingers along Sevika’s arm. The sheets rustled between your legs as she came up for air and propped herself up on one elbow, dark eyes narrowing at you in amusement.

“Go on,” she said, her voice low and rough, already laced with suspicion.

“It’s this thing they do. No Nut November.” You tried not to laugh at the words, but Sevika’s expression—a mix of disbelief and amusment—nearly broke your composure.

“No... what now?” she repeated, her lips twitching into a smirk.

You bit your lip, enjoying the rare moment of catching her off guard. “Basically, it’s a whole month where you’re not allowed to... you know.”

Sevika snorted, dropping her head and rolling on her side “You’re telling me people do this shit on purpose?”

“Apparently,” you said, biting back a grin. “Some kind of self-control thing.”

“Sounds like something those Piltover assholes came up with. Too much money, not enough brains.” Her voice was dry, but the faint chuckle undercut the sharpness.

“Probably,” you agreed, laughing softly. “But... it could be fun.”

Sevika stilled, her gaze snapping back to you. “What?”

“We could try it,” you said, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Just for the hell of it. What’s the harm?”

She sat up fully, pulling her tank top back on as she shook her head. “No offense, sweetheart, but isn’t the whole point of what we do to not hold back?” Her tone was blunt, but there was an edge of curiosity behind it like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

You frowned, the remainder of your undefined “arrangement” stinging a little. But you weren’t about to give up that easily.

“C’mon, Sev,” you murmured, letting the sheet slip off your body as you stood. Her gaze flicked downward for a moment before she caught herself, her jaw tightening.

“You barely have time to visit me these days,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I know things are... hard right now. Silco’s gone. You’re picking up all the pieces. I just thought maybe this could be something to take your mind off it all. Something just for us.”

You reached up, your fingers brushing against her cheek, tracing the rough edge of the scar there. Sevika exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly under your touch.

“And,” you added, your voice dropping as your hand moved to her arm, “think about how good it’ll feel at the end of the month. Me, all needy. And you…” Your fingers grazed the hard lines of her bicep, drawing her attention.

“Pent up?” she finished for you, a low chuckle rumbling in her chest.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, she reached for your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she murmured, her voice softening as her forehead rested against yours.

You smiled, standing on your toes to kiss her. Her lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the roughness of her calloused hand as it held you steady.

“Fine,” Sevika muttered against your lips, pulling you closer as she sealed the deal. “Two weeks. But don’t think for a second I’m making it easy for you.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you pulled back, excitement bubbling up like steam in a kettle about to burst. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest flush creeping up her neck, but she turned away too quickly for you to be sure.

“Two weeks,” she repeated, adjusting her cape as if to distract herself. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You smirked, leaning against the doorway to watch her go. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

This was going to be very, very interesting.

The first week wasn’t so bad. You stuck to your usual routine, and seeing Sevika three times that week made it unexpectedly fun.

Tuesday’s visit to her apartment was a perfect example. She’d summoned you with a cryptic, “Come by tonight,” and though her tone was casual, it always managed to spark a thrill deep in your chest.

Navigating the labyrinth of Zaun’s backstreets was second nature by now, though it still carried an edge of excitement. The quiet hum of the city and the faint buzz of neon lights guided you to her door, where you knocked three times—the code you’d both settled on.

The door opened with no preamble, and there stood Sevika, framed by the dim light spilling out from her apartment. The sight of her stopped you dead in your tracks.

Her cigarette hung loosely between her lips as she fiddled with her mechanical arm, muttering something under her breath. The dark brown tank top she wore stretched tight over her chest, highlighting the sculpted curve of her shoulders, while her black boxers sat dangerously low on her hips. The disheveled look was almost unfairly attractive, and it left you feeling momentarily speechless.

Her sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours, and a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna stand there all night or come in?”

You slipped inside quickly, your pulse already quickening. She moved to her couch and collapsed into it like she owned the world, legs spread wide, exuding an effortless dominance that made your skin tingle.

Without missing a beat, you crossed the room and climbed onto her lap, settling yourself like you’d been invited—even though you hadn’t been. You plucked the cigarette from her lips and took a long drag, locking eyes with her as you exhaled.

“You know,” she drawled, her tone low and teasing, “you could always ask before you take.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” you shot back, a playful grin spreading across your lips.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Keep pushing, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice a velvet threat.

Before you could quip back, she had you pinned to the couch, her large hand encircling your throat—not squeezing, just enough to make your breath hitch. Her lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep and consuming, like she was claiming you all over again.

Her knee pressed up between your thighs, and the pressure was just enough to pull a shameless moan from you. The sound made her grin, slow and wicked.

“Ready to give up this silly little game you insist on playing?” she asked, her voice husky as her lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

The reminder of your bet jolted you out of your haze, and you pushed against her shoulders, sitting up dramatically. “You’re already trying to sabotage me!” you accused, narrowing your eyes at her.

“And it almost worked,” she said, her grin unfazed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give it up. You know you can’t say no to me.”

You scoffed, your gaze darting to the table beside you where her screwdriver lay. With a smirk, you snatched it up and held it out to her. “Give me that.”

Her brow arched, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“Well,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “since you’re paying for my time, I might as well make myself useful. You looked frustrated when I showed up.”

Her confusion melted into reluctant amusement as she took the screwdriver. “You offering to fix my arm now?”

“Depends,” you said, gesturing for her to sit back down. “Which screw were you trying to tighten?”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down and explaining the issue. You listened intently, nodding along and offering the occasional suggestion, though you weren’t exactly an expert.

The rest of the evening was spent sifting through her pile of spare parts, sharing drinks, and laughing over failed attempts to jury-rig solutions. At one point, you glanced up from the mess to find her watching you—not with her usual smugness, but something softer, quieter. The look vanished as quickly as it came, leaving you questioning if you’d imagined it.

By week two, though, things got harder—literally and figuratively. Your body betrayed you at every turn, and the tension was maddening. It left you feeling like a pent-up teenager, desperate and all too aware of every brush of fabric, every suggestive glance. But if Sevika thought you’d break first, she had another thing coming.

Which brought you to Friday night at The Last Drop. Sevika’s routine was as predictable as clockwork—every Friday, she’d be at her usual table, gambling and sipping whiskey like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was the perfect opportunity to test her resolve.

You stood in front of the mirror, applying the last swipe of lip gloss and admiring your handiwork. The black leather skirt clung to your hips, catching the faint glow of the moonlight, and your low-cut top highlighted just enough cleavage to make Sevika’s attention inevitable. You smoothed your hair, gave yourself one last smirk, and headed out.

The bouncer at The Last Drop barely looked up before nodding in the direction of Sevika’s table. You spotted her immediately, lounging like a queen among her subjects. Her cigar glowed faintly in the low light, and the subtle curve of her smirk as she leaned back in her chair set your nerves buzzing.

You approached with deliberate confidence, the click of your heels drawing eyes as you stopped beside her. “Is that seat taken?” you asked, motioning to her lap.

The table fell silent, the men and women around Sevika staring openly, their gazes lingering far too long for your liking. Sevika, however, barely glanced at you before leaning back and spreading her legs slightly in invitation.

You lowered yourself onto her lap, adjusting your skirt just enough to let her feel the curve of your hips against her. Her hand settled on your thigh, a possessive touch that sent shivers through you.

She leaned in, her breath brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “It’s cute that you thought dressing like a slut would make me jealous. But here’s the thing—they all know you’re my slut. What’s there to be jealous about when they can only dream?”

Her low chuckle rumbled through you as she tossed some chips onto the table, her hand sliding higher on your thigh.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you weren’t backing down—not yet.

Game on.

The game at the table picked up, the noise growing louder with every passing round. You barely paid attention, more focused on Sevika's drink getting dangerously low. Without waiting for her to ask, you hopped up to grab her another. Her hand delivered a quick, casual pat to your ass as you walked away, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that spread across your face.

At the bar, you scanned the crowd for a target. Spiked-hair guy slumped over near a puddle of vomit? Nope. A buzzcut woman giving you that look from the middle of the room? Way too easy. Then, your gaze landed on her: a loudmouth with an undercut and no clue about the pecking order here. Jackpot.

You sidled up to the bar, ignoring her completely at first. Tapping your empty glass, you got the bartender’s attention, who already knew what to pour: whiskey for Sevika. Only then did you glance her way.

“Looks like you’re having a hell of a time over here,” you said, flashing a playful smile.

She turned toward you, the conversation with her friend forgotten. Her eyes swept over you with a low whistle. “And I think I’m about to have an even better one,” she smirked.

Right where you wanted her. But she needed to work a little harder for it.

As she started asking about you, you casually mentioned the brothel. Her eyes lit up like it was her birthday.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head coyly, “I do give discounts to clients who know how to show me a good time.”

“Oh, yeah?” she grinned, leaning closer. “Convenient, since I’ve got some cash burning a hole in my pocket.” Her hand found the back of your thigh, pulling you in just enough to make the air between you crackle.

You felt Sevika’s gaze burning into your back from across the room, but you didn’t turn around. Instead, you leaned into the stranger’s touch, tapping the muscles of her arm teasingly.

“I think I’d like a preview of what the rest of my night could look like,” she said, her voice dropping as she tapped your chin up with her finger.

“Oh, yeah?” you whispered, your lips inches from hers. “Why don’t you show me what I’m working with?”

Just as she started to lean in, you barely had time to process the hand on your thigh disappearing. A blur of movement later, the stranger hit the floor, a guttural thud snapping the air between you.

Sevika stood over her, gripping the fabric of her shirt with one hand.

“I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of my bar,” Sevika growled, her voice low and razor-sharp. “Before I break every disgusting finger that touched my girl.”

Your eyes widened as the stranger stammered something snarky, but it didn’t matter. Sevika’s fist connected with her nose before she could finish. Blood sprayed, and the woman crumpled onto the ground.

Sevika turned to you, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing.

“Office. Now.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the back. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone with the familiar tension crackling between you like a storm about to break.

You leaned back against Silco’s old desk, arms crossed. “Well, someone’s jealous.”

Her glare could’ve melted steel. “Jealous?” she barked, stalking toward you. “It’s one thing to show up dressed like that, begging for attention. But you were practically dry-humping her in front of everyone.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Isn’t that my job? Making sure potential clients are… interested in what they see?”

Her growl reverberated through the room as she closed the distance between you. “Yeah, well, from now on, I’m your only client that matters.”

Your smirk widened. “Sevika, are you trying to make us exclusive?”

She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “This isn’t about some stupid game. You’ve been trying to drive me insane since day one, and guess what? You did it. Congratulations. Now I’m gonna make you regret it.”

“Funny,” you teased, hopping up onto the desk and letting your knees fall open just enough. “Seems like everything’s going exactly according to plan.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she just stared at you. Then, with an exasperated chuckle, she stepped between your legs, her hands landing on your hips.

“I knew you’d be the death of me,” she muttered, before grabbing your neck and crashing her lips into yours.

Every ounce of frustration and tension boiled over in that kiss, her grip firm and unrelenting as if to remind you exactly who was in charge now. And this time, you didn’t argue.

You had made out with Sevika plenty of times before. But as her tongue slid into your mouth this time, it was different. There was no pretense, no playful back-and-forth teasing. This wasn’t just a hookup, and you weren’t just some random conquest.

She wasn’t kissing a prostitute. She was staking a claim.

A moan escaped your lips as she pushed you back against the desk, the edge digging into your lower back as her frame towered over you. You gasped when she climbed on top of you, her weight a deliberate reminder of how much control she had.

Her lips trailed from your jaw to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks that you knew you’d see tomorrow. “I think I’ll start by ruining this little outfit,” she growled, her voice dark and rich. “Since you’re so set on showing the Undercity what’s mine, I’ll make it easier for you.”

Her metal hand traced up your waist, the cold edge of her finger sending shivers down your spine. You barely had time to process her next move before she dragged it sharply upward, slicing clean through your top like it was nothing.

You inhaled sharply as the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed. Sevika sat back for a moment, her eyes raking over you with a hunger that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Much better,” she muttered, her lips quirking into a wicked smirk as she leaned in, her nose brushing against yours. “But you’re not done paying for that little stunt at the bar, sweetheart.”

Her hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanna play games?” she teased, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Fine. I’ll play. But we both know how this ends.”

“Do we?” you shot back, your voice breathy but still defiant. “Seems to me like you’re the one losing your cool.”

That earned you a sharp laugh, her teeth flashing as her smirk widened. “Keep talking,” she said, her voice low. “Let’s see how long you last before you’re begging me to stop.”

You opened your mouth to make a smart ass comment  but it was already to late as she started pinching one of your nipples with her real hand. 

‘Look at these already stiff. You really are a fucking whore.” Sevika said aggresily spitting on your chest before leaning down and licking it to spead over your left nipple. 

You started moaning as she swirlled her tongue and lightly bit at your nipple as your hands shot to her hair. She made sure to leave a few hickeys before quickly tearing through your mini skirt as well quickly dropping to her knees and pulling you to the edge of the desk. 

You groaned, your head tipping back as Sevika pinned your thighs nearly flat against your shoulders. The contrast was maddening—her metal hand icy against your left thigh, the sharp edges biting just enough to tease, while the warmth of her calloused fingers on your right thigh sent sparks shooting through your body.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice low and taunting as her eyes roamed over you. "Can’t decide if you like it rough or soft, huh? Guess I’ll just give you both."

Her grip tightened, the cold metal sending a shiver up your spine as she leaned down, her breath ghosting over your neck. The deliberate pressure of her hands, one hard and unyielding, the other impossibly warm and strong, had you arching into her without thinking.

“Keep making noises like that, and I might just keep you pinned like this all night,” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the needy whimper threatening to spill out. But Sevika caught it, her smirk practically audible as she shifted her weight, her metal fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Thought so,” she growled, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat.

You loved when Sevika treated you like a ragdoll with no other purpose than to her pretty little fucktoy and cum. And you were already close to cumming thirty seconds after her tongue started dancing across your clit. The sound of Sevika slurping up all of your juices made you go wild. 

You felt her hand on your right thigh move to your entrance groaning at the feeling of her two fingers stretching you out. 

“Cant believe this pussy is so greedy sucking my fingers in. It’s almost like you get off of me degrading you huh” Sevika moaned continuing her assault on your clit with her tounge.

“Well I’ll make it worth your wild hm? Cum on my fucking fingers like the greedy slut you are.” Sevika engouraged instantly sending you over the edge as your legs began to shake as you called out Sevikas name. 

You barley had time to cathcn your breath before Sevika told you to stand up and turn around to brace yourself against the desk. 

You heard her undoing her pants and feeling something kind of warm and hard against your entrance.

“Thought I would wear this think out to see if it was comfortable enough to bring over to the brothel. Didnt know it would come in handy so soon.” She said pressing into you as the object slid inside of you wour jaw falling slack from the sensation. 

‘W-what is that- oh my god.” You said gripping the desk.

“Saw some women talking about this thing when I was up in Piltover running some collections. I think they called it a strap? Figures your sloppy pussy would take it in one go.” Sevika said starting to roll her hips so the strap started moving in and out of you. 

You had never felt something so good your eyes rolling back as she picked up the speed. 

She gripped your hair with one hand as she moved her knee between yours using her muscular thigh to push you bent leg up on the desk. Increasing her speed even more. 

It felt so fucking good you didnt even have control of what was flying out of your mouth just expletives and Sevikas name.

As the slapping sounds began to echo through the room you felt yourself getting close again As Sevikas grunts sounded like a melody against your ears. 

“ Go ahead screm it louder baby. Let everyone in the bar- no everyone in the lanes know who this pussy belongs to.” She grunted bringing her hand down on your ass with a hard slap as she continued ramming into you. 

“Fuck it’s all yours Sev! S-stresching me out so good.” You slurred feeling your orgasm washing over your. You thought she would slow her pace but as your orgasm began to calm Sevika kept punding into you.

You felt your eyes roll back getting light headed from the pressure. A new feeling building in your stomach. 

“I know you have more in you hm? Show daddy how well you can squirt all over my strap. She said smacking your ass again. 

You shrieked her name cursing her out as you felt a sudden rush followed by a feeling of wetness shooting all over your leg as Sevika groaned at how well you were taking it. 

Sevika finally slowed her pace, her movements deliberate and torturous as she eased out of you. The rush of sensation left you dizzy, your body slack, and your legs threatening to give out entirely. You stumbled forward, but Sevika was quick, catching you effortlessly.

She chuckled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through you as she scooped you up into her arms like you weighed nothing. Carrying you to the worn couch in the corner of the room, she settled down with you perched in her lap, your body still trembling in the aftershocks.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, your voice breathy and ragged. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but the accusation carried all the heat you could muster. “First, you tell the whole damn bar I’m your girl, then you ruin my favorite skirt, and then you fuck me like that?”

Sevika smirked, her hand idly tracing patterns along your thigh. “Mm, don’t forget—I also carried your pretty ass over here.”

“Not the point,” you shot back, though the warmth in her touch had your indignation quickly waning.

Her smirk deepened, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “I think you’re forgetting something,” she murmured, her voice thick with self-satisfaction.

You tilted your head, confused and still trying to regain full control of your brain. “What?”

Her grin was almost feral as she leaned in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I won your stupid game.”

The realization hit you like a slap. “Oh, hell no—”

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, cutting off your protests with a possessive kiss that left you breathless all over again. When she finally pulled back, her smug expression had you torn between wanting to strangle her and kiss her again.

“Face it,” Sevika said, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction as her hand trailed lazily up your spine. “You can’t resist me. You never could.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the smug arch of her brow and the way her fingers tightened just enough on your waist shut you up fast. Damn her for being right.

Sevika’s laugh rumbled through her chest as she leaned back, utterly victorious. “That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice teasing as she rested her head against the back of the couch. “Guess that makes me the reigning champion, huh?”

You huffed, your pride smarting, but the way her arms tightened around you, grounding and comforting, made it impossible to stay mad.

“Fine,” you grumbled, resting your head against her chest. “But next time, I’m taking home the crown.”

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” Sevika murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “We’ll see.”

[starxs-s]

NFI me and you

Michael Gavey x Felix's sister!reader ♡ chapter 1

warnings: semi-public sex, sloppy pussy eating (Michael don't know shit about how to do that, don't fight me on that), unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), virgin!Michael, hair pulling, almost getting caught (in the end), virginity loss, premature orgasm, small praise kink, Michael being a little shit.

word count: 5k

minors please don’t interact.

summary: At college Christmas party Michael goes to library just to find someone he least expect to see there. Basically two nerds getting at it.

from Author: This is my first long work in English so please be kind since it’s not my first language. Michael Gavey save me. Wrote it cuz I recently rewatched Saltburn with my mum and her reactions were absolutely hilarious. Also i don't know shit about math so if I'll make any mistake in that kind of stuff please just ignore.

divider credit: @uzmacchiato

It wasn't like Michael actually expected the invite to lay beautifully in his letterbox. He wasn't popular. He in fact was everything but that. With awkward personality, nerdy attitude and his well known dislike towards other students.

But he couldn't help to be petty about it. He was a student of Oxford after all. A good one if not the best. Michael liked to put himself on top, liked to look down at people. He felt like the worst and the best of all of them at the same time.

Oliver didn't seem to care about the invite, he just blankly looked around the library when Gavey told him neither of them received anything. But it was still Oliver who 'went' to the party. He was sitting there, locked in the spare room, alone with only pool table. He was desperately trying to make himself seen, popular and liked. Like a leach he wanted to have more than he was destined to have.

And if not for the lack of invite to the Christmas Party of his own college Michael would think he has everything he needs. A good marks, a 'friend' if he could even label Oliver like that, a peace and quiet. He was doing math at one of the oldest, best and most popular colleges in United Kingdoms.

The only thing that could piss him off was you. Felix Catton's younger sister. With the hair as fluffy and as dark as your brother's but eyes brighter than his. In your mother's or father's color, Michael was often thinking about them while sitting in the class.

Class he unfortunately had to share with you. What were you even doing there? In math class. In his class.

Course wasn't filled with many girls. Just you, one red head freak and a girl that Michael believed couldn't do times table, what was utterly pathetic for him.

And it wasn't like you needed a degree. You had the status, the prestige, ‘Catton’ that followed after your name and a fucking castle. The amount of money you had could keep you, your future children and many generations after them safe from even moving a finger.

You were always sitting in library with wired earphones in your ears, too far and music too quiet for Michael to hear what you were listening to. Always with your head down, gaze focused yet tired like doing all those math examples drained you from all your energy. And Michael couldn't stop watching you from behind his glasses. His pale blue eyes scanning over every mole on your cheeks and the way the dark circles made your eyes stand out even move. The loose strands that fell from your bun when you were leaning over your notebook before quiet tapping on the calculator could be heard if Gavey listened close enough.

You were so different from Felix and Farleigh. And if not the name or the fact that despise spending most of your days in library and classes everyone knew who you are, he would maybe consider you something more than a spoiled brat.

He didn't really liked your family. Rich, entitled pricks. Your brother? horrible. Farleigh? Even fucking worse.

Good that he didn't have to deal with them. It was just Oliver who had to go through your cousin's biting remarks and snarky comments. And Michael would be free from Catton family if not for you. The bane of his existence.

You.

Even now. Your were sitting on the other side of the table, with a lamp lighted up and casting a golden glow on your cheeks that were - as he observed - way paler than right after summer. That's natural after all. Yet he couldn't help but wonder how it would feel like to smooth over the skin of them with his knuckles... or see how they would look when your lips would be wrapped around him. With your eyes up on him, hands propped on his thighs and how hard he would grip your locks.

The shame ate him alive every time he caught himself thinking about you like that. Imagining you, in his dorm, in your dorm or even in a fucking library. Here. Now.

God he couldn't believe how pathetic he was.

He looked from his notebook to you. A soft glow cast on your face, the unchanging, focused gaze and this weird stillness as you sat on one of the chairs near him. What you were doing here? Your brother was enjoying the party, drinking, smoking, flirting. The music was probably blasting and there were bodies rubbing against each other. And you were... here. In the library. In a disgustingly quiet library with him, alone. And if not the earphones connected to your phone with the thin wire you could hear every sharp and uncomfortable inhale from Michael, when he tried to not make all the fantasies and images that made him turn in his bed at night, flow back into his mind.

Not when you were sitting right there instead of acting like he think every Catton did.

His grip of the pen tightened when your phone rung filling the silence in the library. His jaw clenched and gaze raised at you when hurriedly picked up.

“I’m in the library what do you want?” You asked quietly as if ashamed of ruining the quietness of the moment.

He didn’t mean to listen… but how could he not when you were sitting there alone and the only sounds were annoying grumbling of your brother through the phone.

“I’m not coming to the party I’m studying” you mumbled before rolling your eyes at the faint words of Felix.

“Don’t tell Farleigh or he’ll come here and force me to go and drink with him.” His irritation only spiked when you mentioned his cousin. “Felix, stop I’m not—“

“Could you not?” Michael’s words came out unexpectedly and even he wasn’t sure if they left his lips or if it was just his mind playing jokes at him.

Your mouth was agape as the gaze of your eyes raised to him. You looked as surprised as he was.

“I’ll see you.” You only said before hanging up and putting your phone down. “Sorry…”

His heart rate fastened and Michael wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t add some rude comment.

“I know you’re an entitled brat but rules apply even to you” he replied and his eyes narrowed l.

“I already said I’m sorry” you said feeling your irritation spiking. “If you can’t focus on math with sounds that quiet maybe you’re not as good as you think you are” you scoffed and cringed immediately at the words that sounded all too familiar to Farleigh.

"I'm a genius" he said and take a sharp inhale.

"Bet you are Gavey."

This surprised him. How did you knew his name? You were on the same course, yes. You spoke few times, yes. A short meaningless questions for a task results or to borrow a pen. He didn't think you would know his name. Something strange blossomed in his chest. A warm feeling mixed with unease. People never knew his name.

"Ask me a sum then"

"I'm not asking you a sum Gavey." you said and your hand moved to put the earphones back in your ears.

"You're scared I'm right?" he asked scoffing. He really was acting like a brat. Maybe that's why people didn't bother to remember his name. Maybe that's why you did.

"I'm not sc-"

"Then ask me a sum."

You two shared a glance. No, it was way too long for just a glance. You looked into his blue eyes hid behind those nerdy looking glasses. Jesus Christ. Why did he had to sit here, looking like that, bothering you to ask him a stupid sum. You should really ask Felix to start inviting him into those parties so you wouldn't have to sit here with him alone like that. A sharp inhale from you and not even a bother to pull out a calculator.

"Nine times nine." you said seriously; it wasn't serious. Just to make him a bit more mad.

"Oh that's a child's play." he scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. Your face was serious, waiting for an answer. Damn you. "Eighty one" he rolled his eyes.

"Times eighty one?"

"Six thousand and five hundred sixty one."

"Times nine?"

"Fifty nine thousands and forty nine"

"Times six thousand and five hundred sixty one?"

"Three hundred eight seven milion, four thousands twenty and four hundred eighty nine"

Michael Gavey - you have to be studied.

You scoffed shaking your head slightly.

"Told you." he said calmly. Oh god what a wonderful feeling it was. His arrogance was spiking and you feed his ego like crazy.

"You could just make those numbers up." you said leaning back in your own seat.

"Why would I?"

"Because you're a liar."

"I'm a genius."

You gave him a look before stubbornly pulling out the calculator and then shortly after the fast taps on the buttons. Then a scoff. Michael smirked and his gaze from the papers in front of him to you. Your face was serious and irritated and you bit your inner cheek. Another habit of yours for him to learn about. Then another scoff from you.

"You have to get diagnosed by some fucking doctor, Gavey." you said and moved the calculator away.

"I don't know if being a genius is a sickness" he said and fixed his glasses.

"But you're not" you said irritated. You wanted to win this argument. That didn't worked. So you can at least make him mad.

"We just proved I am, didn't we darling?"

What just came over him? His mouth closed and he wasn't even sure his brain registered the words. And you stared. Not like others. Not like he was some creep or a loser. Your gaze was surprised - not shocked. - just surprised.

And Michael was just as surprised as you were apparently.

"A genius huh?" you said but he could clearly tell that your tone was different. He wasn't stupid after all. He heard the previous softness in it - the one he snapped at when you apologized to him. "help me with that then."

Oh. God.

No. Yes.

Oh.

God.

Micheal swallowed looking as you gather your things quickly to come and sit at the seat on his left. He was sitting by the top of the table. Like always. Not like it wasn't the main part of library. Rather a calm one - where people didn't come to. Or only to make out - what Micheal was unfortunate to see.

Oh. God.

"Y-yeah sure." he said and swallowed again. You raised an eyebrow at his slight stutter. Fuck. "Yeah sure." he collected himself stopping himself from undoing the top button of his shirt.

He suddenly became super aware that he looked like someone's grandpa. Shirt buttoned to the top, sweater on that and that stupid ass haircut he gave himself after he got irritated the brown strands of hair started getting under his glasses. And here were you - dressed into a sweater too, but in the cool way. How in the hell did you managed to look cool and nerdy at the same time? Felix looked only cool, Farleigh looked like some twink and here were you. Looking beautiful in random clothes you threw on to library and in this half up-half down hairstyle you did when hair started getting into your eyes. Because it wasn't like you could just cut it like he did.

"You get it?" you asked laying the pencil down on the wooden desk.

Oh fuck, you were telling him something. He glanced over the task. It couldn't be easier.

"Yes, I'll do it for you." he said mindlessly grabbing your pencil.

"No!... no, can you just explain it?" you asked and he frowned.

"I'm not some tutor." he muttered not sparring you a glance.

"I can pay you 50 pounds." you said like it was nothing, of course it was nothing for you. The Catton in your name could buy anything.

"I don't want your money."

"What is so hard in explain what you're doing?"

He could do it. It wouldn't be a problem for him. He explained things to people before; for example when his little cousins needed help with something.

"Fine" he said and sighed

Your chair moved and your arms pressed again as you leaned on your hand listening to what he will say and he could feel his cock throbbing slightly.

Woman in the name of all that's holy, what are you doing? Move the fuck away.

He inhaled. Get it together.

"It's very easy" he said and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before fixing his glasses.

Oh god someone save you.

How could he just sit here all sweet and nervous and cute? Looking like he is waiting for someone to just devour him.

And he smelled good too. Like a nerd to be honest. A bit like the library, but you could smell a bit of the after shave. Yeah it have to be that. Your gaze wandered from the paper to give him a side glance, His face looked smooth, he always looked clean, neat. With his hair cut in a silly way and nice looking clothes. If not the top button it would even look really good.

You crossed your legs nodding slightly to pretend you're listening. Jesus Christ his jaw. And his nose.

Jesus Christ his nose.

"Now. Understand?" he asked turning his head to you.

Shit now he'll know you're staring.

"Y-yeah." you nodded. "It's really easy." you added as it would convince both him and you.

You could feel his breath on your face from how close you were.

"Y-you... you want something in exchange for tutoring?" you asked swallowing. "I can get you into one of Felix's parties if you want."

"No." he said seriously and leaned back in his seat looking at the papers seriously. "I don't want to be anywhere close to your stupid brother and idiot cousin." he scoffed.

"Is there something I can do? I don't like to be anyone's debt."

God those big Babmi eyes of you. Michael swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

'Is there something I can do?'

YES. Go down on me or I'll die.

"No we're good... as long as you won't take calls in the library or at least next to me." he said and crossed his legs too hiding his hardening cock. Thank god the light was dim and table let him mask easily.

"I can do that."

God your obedience. How sweet you looked. Like some goddamn bunny or another stupid doe.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

God save you. What have Michael Gavey done to you? The smart Catton, with a brain turned into mush because of a dork, you're trying to get your guts rearranged by. And he probably didn't even know where clit is. Let's be fucking honest, Michael having sex it's not something this world has experienced.

"Can I still give you something?" you asked and your cheeks grew pink.

"If you must." he scoffed rolling his eyes.

Your lips pressed to his fast and hard. His eyes widened as he froze for a moment. His heart thumped as his brain was still proceeding what the fuck was happening. Do. Something. Dumbass.

His hand went up just to stop right above the skin of your cheek and his lips tried to move in sync with yours affecting in pretty sloppy and clumsy kiss. His first kiss.

Michael pulled away to inhale looking at you in shock, before quickly fixing his glasses.

Oh. Fuck.

You looked at him and inhaled too, your mouth slightly agape before his hand pulled you to crash his lips against yours, this time way more desperately.

A clumsy kiss with the nerd Michael Gavey turned into messy making out in the corner of library. Like all those people he despised for interfering with library's peace.

"You should really start being invited to those parties." you breathed pulling slightly away to look at those blue eyes.

"Fuck the parties." he shook his head frowning at you, before his nose bumped slightly into yours and his eyes went to your mouth.

Oh how desperate he looked. Like a needy brat finding the most tasty candy of his life. Michael Gavey the pathetic man you are.

"What do you want to do?" you swallowed feeling his breath on you cheek.

"We can go back..." to his dorm. "... to doing the task?"

You raised your eyebrow looking at him. What the fuck? Did the past seven minutes of making out and having his tongue in your mouth happened or not?

"Or... you can... kiss me some more?" he added, his gaze pleading. "...please?"

A man who yearns is the man that earns. Or... something like that.

"Sounds... like a good plan" you nodded smiling slightly.

His lips pressed against you again. And you were never more happy about skipping a party to go study at the library. His lips were soft and his cupid bow prominent, easily felt under your own mouth. The kiss was greedy, more wanting, more needing than those from before. Not quite desperate as you would think Michael could get but not lazy either.

You pulled away slightly to tilt your head down and rub your lips together inhaling before hesitating for a moment. Deep breaths of Michael reached your ears, the way his body trembled slightly and his glasses were a little bit crocked. He almost followed as you stopped the kiss, pleading for more.

When your lips reconnected a second later, you slipped onto his lap and got surprised by a shocked gasp. His eyes widened and hands squeezed on the armrests as if he were too scared to touch you.

And his hard length was pressed into your inner thigh.

Good Lord.

You tried not to move too much, not to cause him any discomfort or made an effort to somehow let him know you felt it. It was as if your senses decided to focus not on the bulge straining against his pants but his lips on yours.

But God. With every soft twitch your knickers were getting wetter and wetter by your arousal and the desperate need to move even so slightly, to release some tension and simply slide over his thigh was almost unbearable.

His nose bumped against yours and you pulled away again to rest your forehead on his and inhale trying to calm down and somehow downplay the coiling feeling in your stomach.

"You're-"

"I'm so sorry." he said gasping.

Sorry? Sorry for what? For making you want to be fucked on the library's table? Or to suck on what's hiding under those pants?

"Don't apologize dumbass." you frowned looking at his red yet slightly startled face. "Just let me-"

"No."

Your hand stopped midair to his zipper and your eyes went to his as you straightened on his lap.

"Let me... I want to..." he inhaled

Oh god he was adorable. His expression boyish and cheeks pink just like the tips of his ears and maybe another tip too.

Not as adorable when he pushed you up on the table earning a surprised gasp from those lips he was savouring seconds ago. Not as adorable when his; shy at first, hands went to the hem of your pants. To pull on the button, undo the zipper and finally tug onto jeans making them slide off to ankles leaving you sprawled on the table, shocked and wet.

"Pink?" he scoffed quietly, his attitude returning as he glanced at your panties; pink with small bow at the front and very noticeable darker spot where your legs met.

"Shut up." you said only letting your head rest on the table.

"Only if you let me make my mouth busy." how did Michael Gavey, the awkward nerd from Oxford know how talk like that.

Your breath hitched and his fingers worked pushing the soaked fabric to the side. Your cunt was glistening with arousal, lips pink and slightly swollen. He definitely wasn't adorable when he lowered himself between your legs, to lap at your sweet little cunt with uncertainness visible in his moves.

His tongue licked over your opening, inhaling surprised at the taste. It was like nothing he ever had in his life. Because he clearly never done that to a girl.

It could be felt with how unsure his tongue is, how careful, yet you didn't miss how his hands squeezed on your thighs, making them look small in his grip. As if he tried to suppress the need to lap like he was starving; maybe he was.

Your eyes closed at the oh how ironic so shy yet so dirty sensation, before you moved your hips slightly; just enough to guide him higher. A high pitched moan let him know he found what he needed. Your hand covered your mouth quickly as if to try and cover the sound you just let slip involuntarily and those you made when his lips sucked and tongue rolled over your clit. Your cheeks burned as he focused at the bud and his chin grazed over your slit making it glistening with your juices.

Gods how sweet you tasted. Michael could die and go to heaven at this moment. Your little moans, muffled so badly by your hand echoed between the bookshelves made his already hard cock leak some pre-cum on the fabric of his boxers. He was going crazy, imagining how angrily pink his tip must be, how he was twitching every time you rolled your hips over his mouth thinking he doesn't feel it. If he touched himself now he would probably; to his embarrassment, nut at the spot. He lapped on your cunt, his hands squeezed on your thighs, only leaving the flesh to fix his glasses.

Oh God he's gonna die.

He watched with big eyes as your thighs trembled slightly, chest rose rapidly and... oh lord, your hand quickly making it's way to his hair to gently tug and pull at the fair strands, directing him to closer to you as his tongue worked rapidly, still unsure of it's actions.

Now you were desperate and needy. He made you act like that.

His glasses fogged up from the heat between your bodies and his own deep, warm breath blew on your glistening cunt. His tongue was parting your folds from time to time and his mouth sucked at the swollen bud hungrily.

You pulled yourself up to look down on him. Your eyes fell upon his flushed cheeks, nose bumping against your flesh, his puppy eyes looking up at you desperately and hands holding onto your thighs as if his life depended on it. His nails dug into your flesh as you tugged harder at his hair when you felt the tension in your stomach ready to snap.

“Fuck—“ you mumbled squeezing your eyes shut. “Michael.”

His eyes widen as he looked up at you. At your blush, at your trembling thighs, at your hand squeezed on his hair. He felt your orgasm on his tongue, the sweet, sweet release. He made you cum. He. Michael Gavey ate out Felix’s younger sister.

He moved away as your grip relaxed, pulling himself up. His eyes wandered up at the blush on your cheeks, trembling of your thighs, rise of your chest. His gaze was hazed. Pleading. Mouth open, gasping for air and chin dripping with your release.

Oh god he looked so pretty.

When your hand fell from his head on his cheek he melted. His grip on your thigh let go leaving behind red marks that will sure turn into bruises tomorrow. His hands wandered to pull back your panties on before your hand stopped him and frown bloomed on your face. It’s not like you haven’t seen his dick straining against the fabric of his pants, it’s wasn’t hard to miss when you were standing between your parted legs.

“What are you doing?” Your tone almost accusatory made him pause with your panties half in way to cover you again.

“I’m—“

“I thought we’re having sex” you said when your thumb moved to wipe his off your release.

His lips parted slightly as he looked at you. Shocked and flushed embarrassed at the realization that dawned over him.

“I’m… not gonna last” he swallowed leaning closer making your noses almost bump together.

He was reluctant yet needy. So needy and desperate, to feel you around him, the warmth, the wetness he always imagined while jerking off in his dorm.

“It’s okay I already came.” his gaze snapped up to your eyes shocked at your words.

“Are you sure?”

A small nod that you gave him was all it took for him to start tugging at his belt quickly as his lips crashed against yours impatiently. A quiet whine fell right into his mouth as you tasted your own release on his tongue. It was weird this connection you shared, the quiet, desperate need to just continue kissing him as if his dick wasn't throbbing in his pants and your own pants weren't hanging from your ankles.

Michael was shy now as he moved away to reposition between your legs. Vulnerable at freshly given consent or more. Assurance. You with your sweet eyes made him safe and comfortable, despise the fact that he surely won't make you cum like that. Few pumps and he'll be done. Embarrassing really. But not now, not to him. Not when you let him so close to you already, only to agree to let him even closer.

The movements of his hands were careful; one squeezed on your waist carefully, the other pulled your panties to the side before getting his length out of his boxers.

He was long but not thick. With a vein running underside and this pretty cherry pink tip.

"Pink?" you asked innocently as to taunt him for his earlier teasing.

He inhaled shakily looking at you. "You fucking tease" he grumbled shaking his head.

"Just asking"

"Please, do shut up"

Your mouth opened yet again, but this time instead of words a surprised moan left them. As he pressed between your folds. Michael's eyes squeezed shut at the warmth and wetness caused by your previous orgasm. It was better than he imagined, soft and slightly tight from the muscles still being strained. It was way better than when he was fucking his hand. Better than anything he imagined. He watched as your hands fell from his face to grip at the edge of the table as he moved slowly trying to prolong the whole experience. Your whiny breaths echoed in his ears as he dropped his head on your shoulder, nose nudging the side of your neck.

You felt him moving within, the trembling inexperienced movements getting faster with each second bringing him to the edge and making you curl your toes as the sensitivity from earlier release haven't worn off yet. You pressed your cheek to his head as he once again squeezed the flesh on your hips probably adding bruises to those soon blooming on your thighs.

"Fuck-." he mumbled, his panting against your skin causing a shiver to run down your spine. "You feel so absolutely fucking amazing."

"Michael-." A quiet moan left your mouth when you felt him pressing against the spongy spot inside and your thighs squeezed on his hips. "Just-... fuck... right there."

"It's good?"

"It's amazing." you mumbled and your hand sneaked up into his hair again. "You're so good, so good for me."

A quiet praise, small and innocent, mumbled into his hair caused him to held onto you tightly as his cock twitched, releasing the warm robes of cum. He pulled out quickly cursing under his breath, his release coated your insides, then folds and clit with white spend. His fingers curled on your hip as he watched his softening cock resting between your thighs.

"I'm- so sorry." he mumbled straightening up slightly.

"It's fine." your assurance made his heart melt again as he stand there, feeling guilty and looking like the scolded puppy. "I'll buy a pill tomorrow morning."

You heard the sharp inhale and saw the guilty nod before he released your hips. Your own hand fell from his hair to pull him into kiss by the collar of his shirt. It was delicate, calming after all that just happened, comforting. You let him run his hand up and down your waist, bump his nose against your with each kiss.

You pulled your panties back from the side still following the rhythm of his mouth until quiet and a little wobbly steps interrupted the peaceful moment. Your eyes snapped open and you pulled away from the kiss listening as Michael readjusted his boxers quickly.

"Wrap it up, you fucking nerd." Farleigh's voice came from afar and your cursed under your breath. "Came to pick you up, we have to find Felix-."

Fucking Farleigh, fucking Felix.

Michael clenched his jaw, the quiet and comforting atmosphere was brutally ended by your cousin and he never, never wanted to strangle Start more than now. Even more when you moved quickly pulling on your pants. He stood there with lips parted as you just let his cum dry on you skin and inside.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry." you said looking at him with embarrassment and regret. "I didn't think he'll come here."

Michael nodded silently buttoning his pants again as if nothing has happened. "It's fine" he mumbled and your heart shattered, it wasn't fine. It was very much not fine.

"Just... find me on Facebook alright?" you said and you eyes went to cup his cheek before inhaling.

God how embarrassing it was.

"Y-yeah... I... I'll find you." he mumbled quietly fixing his glasses.

"I'm so sorry." You hands quickly gathered the things laying on the table, like you haven't been just fucked on it few minutes ago.

You'll fucking kill Farleigh.

"Promise you'll text me." you added before hurriedly pressing your lips to his.

He moaned quietly into your lips, closing his eyes momentary. Your hand involuntarily went back to his cheek and you gasped as his hand desperately clenched on your sweater, tugging you slightly towards him, not wanting to let go, not yet. Just a bit longer, just to bask in the afterglow just a moment more.

"Promise." he nodded as your breath mixed together.

You nodded back smiling again. "Good." you inhaled before pecking his lips again and grabbing the rest of your stuff, as Farleigh's steps were getting closer and closer.

You shared the last glance before you disappeared behind the bookcases and then he could calmly exhale starting to slowly process what just happened. The messy kisses, the lingering taste of you still on his tongue and the best fucking feeling of your cunt being wrapped around his cock.

Michael he could die a happy man now.

Could. If he hadn't promised you something.

His trembling hands went to his phone and opened the app at the same moment scrolling through the Cattons.

Felix Catton. No.

Venetia Catton. No?

There you were.

Quickly he tapped add and with blush on his cheeks and ragged breath.

Just to see a notification from you mere seconds later.

He could die a happy man now.

autor note: this chapter is short and kind of shit (especially end, i got lazy). When i started writing this I didn't even think about turning it in the series and the idea popped in my head when i had like half of it written. So... next chapters will hopefully be longer and better lmaoo.

[kingchroma]

hellloooo can i request Lookism guys dealing with pregnant reader?🫶🫶🫶🥺 (before their kid was born in your lookism as girl dads hcs)

lookism boys with pregnant reader.

࿇ characters. gun/goo/jake/gitae

࿇ warnings. there’s not a lot of dialogue since i wanted to dive more into their thoughts regarding your pregnancy. basically shows their thoughts re: the news and how they act on it ࿇ author's note. this is set before they became girl dads! thank you for requesting and i apologize for taking so long, i’ve been a bit stuck with this.

part 1 found here.

GUN PARK

If anything, Gun had taken on the responsibility of a father easily compared to what you had initially thought.

Being in Gun Park’s life had meant that you were able to see the rawest, purest form of him—the one where you see the Gun Park who had easily cooked your favorite meal in the cutest way possible. The one where you see how gentle he can be whenever he tends to you despite his heavy hands that were used to beating up people. The one where you see how caring can he be to you and to your unborn daughter.

“Rest,” he says, not even bothering to look up at you as you watch him make another conconction—whatever you and the little one (as he likes to call her) craved for today. It was a little mix of everything, and while Gun had wanted to tell you that this is not healthy, he could not resist you and your cute little face.

So what if he had gone soft for you? You were the only one who could see that softness anyway, and it’s not like he had lost his edge. He still makes a living, completely barricading this part of life away from prying eyes and loud mouths—namely Goo and the rest of HNH—while ensuring that the Four Major Crews aren’t doing shit that could possibly tarnish whatever he had worked so hard for.

All that matters now is you and your daughter.

“But what if I don’t want to?” you argue lightly, though it sounded more of like a tease. Gun had a tendency to be overprotective, making sure that you’re comfortable. If you wanted a massage now, he would almost immediately drop the baking sheet to go and wash his hands before tending to you.

He was quite literally the textbook definition of a househusband.

“Aren’t you a little hardheaded this afternoon?” he asks, looking up to see you glowing. Gun thinks he might have a heart attack with how adorable you look in your maternity dress, how you have that cheeky expression in your face that he loves looking at.

And while he initially was fearful of the pregnancy, it looked good on you. Looked good to the point that he wanted another kid because you being so round with his daughter made his heart ache in the best way possible. “You should go and take a seat on the sofa. It’s like sitting on a cloud,” he says, knowing damn well that he had it imported from whatever country it came from only because he wanted you to be comfortable during this whole pregnancy.

“Yeah, but,” you start, sitting on the bar stool as you watched him pipe animated designs on several pieces of cookies. “It won’t be the same without you,” you say, happiness evident in your tone as you put a hand on your stomach. “And our princess wants to see her dad create a masterpiece on those cookies.”

That was enough to make Gun smile—a rare one to his colleagues, quite normal to you—and while he thought that was cheesy yet adorable, he has his own lines ready to quip.

“How funny,” he says as he finishes piping one of the cookies before handing it to you to taste. “Because our princess needs to know that she,” he points at your tummy. “Is mom and dad’s magnum opus.”

GOO KIM

Goo has done a lot of stupid things, and while they are stupid, they are well-calculated. He doesn’t make a move where he knows he’s on the losing end because Goo will always benefit in the end.

This, however, is not something that he had calculated. He was also unsure if he was going to benefit from this because he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe it was also the panic and anxiety talking because he’s not supposed to talk and think like this whenever you’re involved—making it sound like you’re just some random business deal that he needs to get over with when you’re not.

You’re worth more than whatever pile of money was waiting for him at the end of every goal he has.

Still, he can’t even deny it himself—the news had shaken him up. Though thanks to years of masking his feelings, he’s definitely a lot better at not showing whatever emotion that was about to consume him because you look so happy.

You look so happy at the fact that you’re giving him a child at this age. Goo wonders if you’re as crazy as he is because holy shit, the two of you were only, what? In your 20s?

You should be partying at the club and not getting knocked up by him because: a) he’s got a lot of shit to do in the underworld and he’s involved with incredibly dangerous people, b) he’s an idiot that wanted to go raw, and c) he’s unsure if he can be a great father to this kid.

Goo, at most, plans 5 steps ahead, but with you wanting to keep the baby, he must plan at least 10 steps ahead because God knows whatever life is going to throw at him next. He was still unsure about the pregnancy—the thought of being a father—but he sure as hell would give you everything to ensure that you only have a smooth and less-awful pregnancy.

So, months later, his protectiveness shows.

Really.

“Jungoo, I’m fine!” you argue with your boyfriend as he held your hand, the two of you descending down the stairs of your new home.

He was insane enough to get you a house—away from prying eyes so that you and your beloved baby girl will be safe, not worrying about anyone who could possibly attack the two most important people in his life. “I can go down the stairs just fine!” you exclaim.

And while you almost push him down the goddamn stairs, Goo keeps a tight grip on your hand, the other on the small of your back. “You don’t know that, cupcake,” he says gently, eyes flitting from your face to your pregnant tummy. He feels his heart swell a little because going through the ultrasounds, the parenting books, the look of the nursery—everything made him excited.

A far cry from his initial response to when he found out you were pregnant. “Let me do this for you, okay?” he says gently, trying not to trigger a possible mood swing from you. “Ugh, fine,” you retort, letting him dote over you. “Only because you look funny begging,” you say, in which you receive a face from him.

You think about how Goo had always been so mobile, always in one place and then another because he has business deals all over Seoul. But with you, he’s been so patient, the most he’s ever been considering he always liked to get things done in the quickest, Goo-est way possible.

“Thanks, Goo,” you murmur as he safely helps you down the stairs, your hand immediately resting on your stomach. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before placing his hand on top of yours. “And for our sweet little angel too.”

JAKE KIM

Jake hadn’t really thought about being a father at such a young age.

Considering his lifestyle and as the leader of Big Deal, Jake had wanted to make sure that before anything like a pregnancy happens, or at least progresses, he had removed himself from the gang life.

Sure, he treats Big Deal like family because that’s what they are to him, but at the end of the day, there’s always a sick reminder in his head to never ever forget that it was still a gang—and the two of you having an unplanned pregnancy while he’s still the leader of the said gang makes him want to spiral into the abyss.

But even if he was in a state of shock and in worry, he doesn’t show that to you—not when you looked so horrified right in front of him, hands trembling, your tears instantly filling your lash line as you broke the news to him. You confirmed that you were indeed carrying his kid after a trip to the clinic.

“Hey,” he says as he holds your hand in his, engulfing them. “We’ll be okay,” he assures you in a quiet whisper, hunched down a little as makes a promise.

That’s what he tells you—often does, anyway. Jake was the type of person to reassure everyone around him that things were going to be okay, even if he himself was unsure of what the future holds. But he knows he’ll do something about it, make a plan—he had always been the type to step up no matter what challenge was thrown towards him.

A few weeks in your pregnancy, you began experiencing its symptoms. Jake could hear you retching your guts out in the bathroom, his immediate instinct was to get out of bed and quickly follow to help you. The swinging of the door was heard as you were keeled over, feeling his large hands help you with your hair before letting the other rest on your back.

His expression softens as he rubs your back. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, and you only hum a response in return because you didn’t feel like talking—the weight and realization of becoming a mother slowly sinking in with the symptoms.

Shit, he feels bad. Jake knows you well enough to know that you’re in deep thought, and he thinks that you wouldn’t have to carry majority of the burden if the two of you had been careful enough. But you wanted to keep the baby, and it’s your body therefore it’s also your choice. In the end, all Jake can do was be there for you and be the best support system for you.

“I’m here.”

GITAE KIM

Fatherhood is a foreign concept to Gitae.

If anything, he thinks—knows, that he’s not meant to be a father. He doesn’t have the gentleness and patience of a parent. Sure, maybe he can be stern, but never in his life did he think that he would be a father. Can you blame him if he didn’t know how to be one, given how he was born out of wedlock? How his own father barely acknowledged him, his first born, and so he turned into whatever this is.

All Gitae knows is that he was a man made to remove people—a man who resented his own parents; resenting them for giving him life when he didn’t ask for it.

He knows that being a parent isn’t for him. So when you told him you were pregnant, a multitude of thoughts had come to his head.

It was as clear as day whenever Gitae recalls the moment you broke the news to him.

How your voice trembled when you spoke to him, pupils looking like they were about to spill salty tears. How you were visibly shaken, making yourself look smaller in his presence, utterly distraught at the fact that you were pregnant when the two of you have been so careful. How you had endless apologies slipping from your lips, not bothering to look at him out of fear that he might get rid of you and your unborn child.

Gitae doesn’t know if the odd pain in his chest was normal whenever he remembers that devastated version of you that day. Even if the two of you had such an unconventional start in your relationship, at the end of the day, he still chose to risk it all with you despite not knowing the first steps in loving someone—in caring for someone other than himself.

At the end of the day, he still wants you in his life no matter how dangerous it was—because he had a silent promise not just to you, but to himself.

That he will protect you because he wants you standing by his side.

“You’re pregnant,” is what Gitae says as he looks down on you, the sentence he utters sounds more like a statement than a question. It was as if he doesn’t completely register the revelation you just told him—the look in his eyes could be described as two things: distant and hollow.

But this is you, not some random woman—not a concubine. So he tries to take it easy on you.

“Do you want to keep it?” Is the first thing he asks, and when you take a while to respond, he leans forward to hug you—a moment of reassurance and affection, quite rare. An unspoken I’ll be here for you. And once you said yes, Gitae steels himself for nine long months of pregnancy—and a lifetime of fatherhood.

Though, he thinks he’s faring better than expected.

Months later, he finds himself massaging your feet as you tell him about how your daughter was giving you a hard time today, constantly kicking, making you want to lay down constantly. And apart from that, pregnancy in itself made it quite heavy for you on your day-to-day, so you asked Gitae to give you a foot massage.

To which he surprisingly obliged.

He only hums as he listens to you, a grunt and even a small chuckle escaping from time to time. “Mi flor,” he speaks, looking at your stomach. “Don’t give your mama such a hard time. She’s already dealing with papa as it is,” he jokes lightly, but he doesn’t notice the slight look of concern that you give him.

He makes it sound so horrible dealing with him. Maybe to his enemies, yes, but Gitae had been nothing but different with you in the best way possible. “I’m sure our little flower just misses you,” you assure him lightly. “After all, papa had been gone majority of the day. She hasn’t heard your voice as much,” you tell him, and he glances at you with a softened expression.

“Is that so, mi flor?” he says, halting in his movements of tending to your feet as he sits next to you. “Well, papa’s here now,” he murmurs, rubbing your stomach gently, feeling his daughter kick, and that instantly brings a small smile on his lips.

“Should I tell you what mama and I plan on giving you when you’re born?” he asks his daughter.

“Would the world be enough, mi flor?”

[ourseasone]

CHAPTER 002 ✱ YOU’RE INTO GUYS?

previous masterlist next

The midday bell rings across the campus of Byuksan High School, and in an instant, the energy in the building shifts. Classrooms empty as students spill into the corridors, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of teenage chatter, laughter, and the rhythmic thud of sneakers on tile floors. Sunlight streams in through the tall windows, casting long, golden beams across the bustling hallways. It’s lunchtime — a sacred, much-needed break in an otherwise dragging school day. Among the sea of students are you and Suho, navigating the crowd with the ease of two boys who have spent years weaving through these same hallways.

You have one arm slung lazily over Suho’s shoulders, a familiar gesture that makes you look like an inseparable duo out of a comic strip. The morning classes crawled by at a painfully slow pace, especially for you, having endured most of them alone while Suho snoozed with his head buried in the crook of his arm. Now free from the monotony of lectures and chalkboard scribbles, your only mission is to make it to the cafeteria in one piece and grab something edible before the good stuff disappears. You amble along, chatting about nothing in particular — class gossip, the cafeteria’s suspicious mystery meat, whether Mr. Han’s toupee is a government experiment — the usual.

“Hey… if I ate a whole candle,” Suho says, his tone eerily sincere. “Do you think I’d glow?”

You yawn, barely registering the absurdity of the question at first. But when you turn to look at Suho, you find your best friend staring at you with an expression of such intense curiosity, it’s impossible to ignore. You blink slowly, pretending to give it some thought — the kind of exaggerated, mock-scientific thinking one reserves for the dumbest of hypotheticals.

“Only if you scream while chewing,” you reply with a perfectly straight face. “That activates the wax enzymes.”

Suho’s eyes widen in awe, like you’ve just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“So, wait… if I eat a candle and scream loud enough, I become a light source?”

“Temporarily,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “You basically turn into a human flashlight. But it only works if you’re experiencing emotional distress.”

“Wow, that’s kinda efficient,” Suho says, nodding like he’s already calculating the savings. “Think about how much money I could save on electricity bills.”

You laugh, pulling Suho in a little tighter as you walk, amused by how genuinely he seems to be considering it.

“Sure,” you say. “Right up until your stomach melts and you start farting fire.”

Suho doesn’t even flinch. He looks you dead in the eye, voice dropping to a deadly serious tone.

“Dude. That’s not a problem — that’s literally evolution.”

You nearly trip over your own feet laughing. “No, that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Possibly arson.”

Suho grins wickedly. “Okay, but what if I eat two candles?”

Now thoroughly entertained by the absurdity of the conversation, you turn your head to give Suho a questioning look. Your eyebrow quirks in amusement as you mirror his grin. You’re just about to fire back with something equally ridiculous — maybe something like 'Then you qualify as a lamp and need a license' — but before you can get the words out, fate intervenes. As you’re focused on Suho, your eyes fixed on his face, you fail to notice the person directly in front of you. In the chaos of the crowded hallway, it’s all too easy to get distracted, and sure enough, you accidentally slam into someone with a sharp thud.

You jerk back in alarm, your heart racing as you whip around to see what’s happened. Your stomach drops when you see the unfortunate person sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh shit—” you mutter, stumbling back a step as the shock of the moment hits you. You instinctively grab onto Suho’s arm, using your friend to steady yourself. Your heart races, and you can’t shake the feeling that everything has just gone horribly wrong.

The guy you bumped into is sprawled awkwardly on the floor, looking a little dazed. It’s not clear if he’s sitting up or if he’s fallen completely, but he’s not moving much, save for the slight bob of his head as he tries to shake off the disorientation. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his face. Meanwhile, his AirPods are scattered around him, and his backpack has landed in a strange twist, one strap hanging limp on the floor like a forgotten appendage. Your eyes widen in surprise as the sight registers.

Guilt immediately bubbles up in your chest, and you pull away from Suho without thinking, rushing over to the boy’s side. Your feet move faster than your brain can process, already crouching in front of him before you even fully realize what you’re doing.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask quickly, your voice more frantic than you intend, laced with genuine concern. “Damn, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention at all.”

Your hands move without thinking, adjusting the boy’s twisted backpack, straightening it with a soft sigh. Your eyes dart to the scattered AirPods, immediately scanning the floor for the tiny pieces. The sight of them makes you feel like you’ve just caused a disaster. A small, apologetic smile tugs at your lips as your fingers gently brush across the cold floor, and a small sigh of relief escapes you when you finally find all the pieces. You pick them up one by one, treating them as if they were fragile treasures.

Just as you’re about to hand them back, you look up, only to find the boy staring at you. And not just a glance — he’s locked in a silent, intense gaze, his dark eyes fixed on your face with an unblinking focus that feels almost like being caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

And that’s when you fully register who he is. Yeon Sieun — that’s his name, the one on the tag stitched neatly into his uniform. You’ve seen him around before, sure, but never up close like this. Sieun’s dark brown hair is soft and slightly tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that’s almost endearing. The bangs just barely brush his forehead. But what really strikes you are his eyes — dark, deep, and so expressive. There’s something mesmerizing and… honestly, really breathtaking about them, something that pulls you in without warning. You can’t help but think, Wow, those are some eyes. You couldn’t tear your gaze away even if you tried.

“…My AirPods,” Sieun mutters, his voice soft but clear, snapping you out of your trance.

You blink, realizing just how long you’ve been staring. You look down at the earbuds in your hand, then back at Sieun, mentally scrambling to catch up with the situation.

“Oh! Right, your AirPods,” you say quickly, the words spilling out faster than you intend. You instantly feel like a complete idiot, realizing how ridiculous you must seem. “Sorry about that. Here.”

Sieun’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the AirPods, and you can’t help but notice the stark contrast in your hands. His are smaller, more delicate, while yours feel large and clumsy in comparison. The moment lingers for a second too long, and you find yourself standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. You shift your weight, feeling a sudden rush of heat in your cheeks as you reach down to offer a hand to help Sieun up.

Sieun, however, just stares at your outstretched hand. His gaze flicks between your face and the hand offered to him for what feels like an eternity. Long, awkward seconds stretch by before he finally hesitates and, with a small sigh, places his hand in yours, letting you pull him up to his feet. The height difference becomes more apparent now, with Sieun having to tilt his head up slightly to meet your eyes. It’s… cute. Really cute. You can’t help but think it’s endearing, but you quickly push that thought aside, focusing instead on the odd tension in the air.

Just then, a pointed cough pierces the silence, and you snap your head around to see Suho standing a few steps away, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, right. You’re still in the middle of a school hallway, and this moment of awkwardness isn’t going to last forever.

You quickly turn back to Sieun.

“Are you okay?” you ask again, your voice softer this time, a genuine concern lingering in your words. You never really got an answer the first time, and you need to make sure the boy is all right.

Sieun blinks, taking a moment to process before muttering under his breath, “Hm. You walk like a drunk giraffe.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a light chuckle escaping you despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you reply, the awkward tension of the situation easing just a bit.

Just to be sure, you quickly scan Sieun for any visible injuries. When you don’t see any bruises or scrapes, a small sigh of relief escapes you, and a genuine smile returns to your face. Then, without thinking too much about it — more out of habit than anything else — you reach up and brush a stray lock of hair away from Sieun’s forehead, a gesture you often make with Suho when you’re joking around.

“I’m really sorry again,” you say, your voice warmer now. “See you in class, Sieun.”

You give a quick wave and turn to rejoin Suho, who’s already giving you a teasing look. As you begin walking away, Suho gives you a playful slap on the back, causing you to stumble a little.

And Sieun stays there for a moment, watching you walk off with a look of complete disbelief in his eyes.

If the hallways had been loud, then the cafeteria was on a whole different level — it was complete and utter chaos. Voices bounced off the high ceilings, chairs scraped across the floor, trays clattered, and someone in the back was already yelling over a spilled drink. It was the usual lunchtime madness at Byuksan High School.

You and Suho had managed to snag one of the last empty tables, sitting across from each other with trays of lukewarm cafeteria food between you. Suho, as expected, had not stopped talking since you sat down — and worse, he hadn’t stopped teasing you either. For ten excruciating minutes, he’d been reenacting the hallway incident with far too much enthusiasm; flailing arms, dramatic sound effects, and talking with his mouth so full of rice that you had to look away to keep your appetite.

“Yah,” Suho said again, barely containing another round of laughter. He pointed his chopsticks across the table like they were weapons. “You demolished that poor guy. Like — full body slam. Out of nowhere. Just bam!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as you chewed on a mouthful of rice. You didn’t dignify the reenactment with a response — instead, you casually tapped Suho’s chopsticks aside with your own and shot him a look.

“Yah,” you mimicked dryly. “Eat your damn food before I glue your mouth shut.”

But Suho wasn’t fazed. In fact, he doubled over laughing, almost choking on a piece of kimchi in the process. Several nearby students glanced over, clearly wondering what was so funny. You, though thoroughly annoyed, couldn’t help the faint grin tugging at the corner of your lips. No matter how dumb Suho was being, his energy was infectious. You shook your head and exhaled, somewhere between amused and exasperated. This was just Suho — loud, ridiculous, and completely incapable of letting a moment pass without turning it into a joke. But still, you wouldn’t change a thing. As chaotic as he was, Suho had a way of making everything around him feel a little lighter.

Still, even as Suho went on ranting about how you might be charged with ‘attempted murder by shoulder-check’, your mind drifted. Back to the hallway. Back to him. Back to Sieun. The image returned in full detail; tousled hair, serious eyes, that slightly blank but piercing look — like he could see right through you without saying a single word. It had lasted seconds, maybe less, but it had stuck to you like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Inescapable.

“Yeon Sieun,” you murmured, almost to yourself, letting the name roll off your tongue like you were tasting it. “He was kinda cute.”

The words hung in the air for a second.

Suho froze. Literally froze — like someone had hit pause on him. His cheeks were still puffed out, his mouth full, eyes wide open. For a second, he just sat there, unmoving, staring at you with a look that hovered somewhere between shock and betrayal. If you had thrown a pencil at his head right then, he probably wouldn’t have even blinked. He looked like a hamster who had just witnessed a crime.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Suho demanded, leaning forward now, chopsticks clutched in one hand like he was ready to cross-examine you.

“That he was cute?” you repeated, nonchalant as ever.

“Yeah, that!” Suho jabbed his chopsticks through the air like he was pointing out a crime scene. “That.”

You just stared, visibly unfazed.

“What?” you asked again, head tilting slightly, your tone genuinely confused — as if Suho were the one acting weird, not you.

There was a beat of silence as the two of you just… stared. Suho was squinting now, chewing much more slowly, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read hidden subtext in your face. Meanwhile, you looked like a golden retriever trying to understand quantum physics — head cocked, eyebrows lifted slightly, lips pressed into a casual line. Then came the question, dropped in a flat tone, like it was both an accusation and a revelation.

“Wait… you’re into guys?”

“Yep,” you said without missing a beat, lifting a spoonful of rice to your mouth as if you were talking about the weather.

The sound that followed was a metallic clink — Suho had dropped his chopsticks straight onto his tray. He was now leaning over the table, mouth slightly open, eyes comically wide. He looked like someone had just revealed a long-lost twin or told him the cafeteria food was actually edible.

“Wait— seriously?!”

You looked up mid-chew and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I told you. Like… two years ago? Three?”

Suho’s eyes went wide. “No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. You were half-asleep, and I said, ‘By the way, I think I like guys.’ You grunted and then asked me if I wanted your extra pudding cup.”

Suho squinted, trying to rewind the memory. Slowly, realization dawned.

“Wait. That… actually sounds like something that happened.” He looked betrayed by his own brain. “I thought you were joking!”

You chuckled, setting your spoon down. “Yeah, I figured you did. But I wasn’t. You just never brought it up again, so I assumed you got the memo.”

Suho leaned back, eyes still wide, but the shock was quickly melting into amusement. “Damn. And here I thought you were just a sad little loser who couldn’t get a girlfriend—”

Before Suho could launch into another overly dramatic reaction, you reached across the table and shoved a big bite of rice into his mouth using your chopsticks. Suho sputtered mid-protest, nearly choking on the unexpected ambush.

“Mmph— what the— mmphf!” he mumbled through a mouthful of rice.

“Chew,” you said, grinning as Suho glared at you with puffed cheeks like an angry squirrel.

You both burst out laughing after that — loud and unfiltered, the kind of laughter that made other students glance over, but neither of you cared. The conversation drifted into nonsense again : dumb jokes, petty arguments about food, and exaggerated gossip about your classmates. Nothing heavy. Nothing different. And yet, even as you polished off the last bites of your food and wiped your mouth with a crumpled napkin, your thoughts kept circling back to one place.

Or rather, to one person; Yeon Sieun.

No matter how loud Suho got or how silly your banter turned, you couldn’t shake the memory of those eyes — quiet, unreadable, and somehow still echoing inside your chest.

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[neiptune]

i don't want you like a best friend

cw: 4.2k wc, female reader, soulmate au, friends to lovers, tendo may be the only person in the world without a mark and it's quite hard to convince him that, most times, the universe doesn't know shit

“Holy shit, this is the best thing I ever tasted”.

“Don’t lie”.

“I’m not!”.

Tendo narrows his eyes, unimpressed.

“You said that about the last five bonbons”.

“Listen, the one with port and cinnamon was great n’all but this is a cookie dough brown butter bonbon. I’m blown away. I want to sleep with this one. I want to buy it dinner and then take it to bed”.

That’s when Satori laughs, loud and boisterous as he still allows himself to be around you. It makes you smile, seeing him happy.

“Tell me the secret to crafting these”.

“Again?”, he snorts, “I already explained the process a million times”.

“Wanna hear it again. I like how you talk about it”.

“Okay, weirdo”, there’s fondness and a silent invitation in the way he pushes the little box of his latest experiments towards you.

It’s soothing, comforting, listening to instructions you’re already familiar with. Tendo goes over how important it is to choose flavors that are fun and still be attentive enough to make sure the chocolate stands on its own: flavoring components should never completely ride over it. He skillfully exercises subtlety when coming up with new combinations, always keeps the interior so creamy and smooth the treat ends up melting in a delicious puddle on one’s tongue. The outer layer should never be too thick, chalky or cakey: that’s why he prefers to form most of the chocolates with his hands instead of using a mold.

There’s creativity involved in what he does but there’s also science. It requires a lot of patience, most of his work is made of tedious steps repeated over and over again within specific time limits and a perfectly calculated temperature. It fits him, you believe: Tendo’s always been diligent and persevering, no matter what the world threw at him.

He puts a lot of work in his boxes too, especially the ones he has to ship. They’re all triple-insulated, double-stuffed and always perfectly packed. A cute, colorful thank you card always goes hand in hand with each purchase, if he receives orders for a birthday or a special gift he’d even write a personal note as an addition. As a foreigner, it hasn't been easy to establish himself as a reliable chocolatier in a city like Paris, but he now has a pretty loyal clientele and the shop is basically never empty.

“That one’s my favorite”, Satori’s eyes zero on the bite-sized bonbon you’ve picked from the box.

You hum, appreciating the way the chocolate melts in your mouth. It’s not as good as the previous one but you recognize the artistry with which the flavors fuse with each other, chocolate ganache with clementine and hazelnuts, just a hint of lemon zest.

“They’re all incredible, ‘Tori. You’re very talented”. Tendo smiles.

“Thank you”, he mutters, grateful, “now, can we talk about it?”.

“There’s nothing to talk about”, you dangle your legs from the counter of the little production kitchen in the back of his boutique shop, closed for the day. It’s incredibly tidy, smells of soap and citrus.

“You impulsively booked a flight across the world because of a guy”.

Ouch.

“I flew across the world to visit my best friend”, you scowl, “thought he’d be happy to see me”.

“I’m fucking ecstatic, ma chérie”, it’s probably the happiest he’s been in years, “but we need to talk about it. Tell me what’s on your mind?”.

He can see the bags under your eyes, the usual brightness missing from your smile, playful vibration to your jokes absent. He knows you’re hurting and while he’d be thrilled to keep you in Paris for as long as you wish, Tendo has to know what’s broken before he even attempts to mend it. His gaze falls on a specific portion of skin of your wrist and a sigh slips past his lips.

“He broke up with me”, you articulate slowly, “said we weren’t compatible. Said it’s safer to abandon the delusional ideas that drew us close to each other and do things how they’re supposed to be done. According to the plan”, there’s a grimace on your face that pairs well with how you spit out the last words.

“Did you show him?”.

“No, you know I don’t do that anymore. He didn’t see mine and I never wanted to see his. He agreed to that”.

“Right”.

“And then, I don’t know, he did what everyone always does. Changed his mind”.

Satori sighs. Truthfully, he’s always been a little sad about your mark being permanently covered with thick foundation, concealer or whatever else. It’s been years. He misses seeing the little crooked triangle on your wrist.

“Well, maybe…”, he starts but is soon interrupted by a loud scoff.

“Don’t”.

“But they’re not wrong. The universe has it all layed out for you, maybe it’s time you stop being so stubborn”.

“I don’t care about the universe, Satori. The universe is not going to take away that choice from me, it should belong to me. I don’t want to be destined to someone, I want to be chosen by them”.

He deflates in the plastic chair he’s sitting on. Can’t really argue with that logic.

Ever since middle school, when your mark first appeared, you never wanted to succumb to the whole the cosmos has already decided who the perfect person for me is bullshit. You simply can’t accept giving up the freedom of falling in love with whoever you wish to pursue, regardless of the universe agreeing or not. That’s why you never really cared about matching marks and all that jazz, always dated those who seemed not to care either. But after a number of failed relationships, it became painfully obvious that deep down, everyone always believes marks are the real deal. It’s why you decided you never wanted to see the mark of the next guys you’d date, and certainly didn’t want to show yours anymore. Sometimes it’s even hard to remember it’s still there, underneath stubborn layers of concealer. You hated it your whole life.

“You’re right. It’s your life, you should live it however you see fit”, they’re idiots for giving up on someone like you in the name of a dumb sign or whatever anyway.

“I thought you’d understand this more than anyone, you’ve always hidden your mark too. I don’t even know what it looks like and it’s okay! It’s yours! Shouldn’t belong to anyone else’s prying eyes”, you pick another chocolate truffle from the special box he’s sorted for you. It’s red velvet flavored.

Tendo insisted on calling his shop like that, rouge velours, deaf to the literal translation not being entirely correct. The french need to associate the word gâteau to it, it has to be a red velvet cake. But he didn’t care, adamant in going with just red velvet.

It was a joke you had blurted out at the end of high school, sitting on the curb outside your favorite konbini on the way home, another summer evening made of snacks shared underneath the street lamps. Satori said he wanted to move to France and learn how to make handmade chocolates, open a shop and everything. You suggested it should’ve been called red velvet, would’ve paired well with his hair. It never crossed your mind that he would take your suggestion seriously.

Frankly, Tendo’s not changed much since high school. He’s a little taller, broader in the shoulders, prefers a buzz cut. He’s still cheerful, less loud if you’re not around, enjoys singing made up tunes to himself while he works, occasionally takes part in volleyball games when neighbors or friends from the gym invite him. More than anything, he’s still the kindest, most generous friend one could have.

You used to be a little jealous of Ushijima, never one to accept easily to be downgraded in the best friends ranking system. As a teenager, it was hard to acknowledge that Satori’s heart is simply big enough to fit everyone he cares about in there. Not many people realized how much of an honor that was anyway, so there was plenty of space.

He still calls Ushijima to check up on him and the fact that they declared to be best friends during a television show didn’t leave a sour taste in your mouth as it would’ve back then. Wakatoshi is a nice guy, it definitely grew on you and it now gives you comfort knowing that Satori gets to throw the blanket of his affection over more than one person’s shoulders.

Not a day goes by without missing him, different time zones making it even more complicated to keep up with each other. Yet, he’s always the one willing to stay up late to talk to you, insists that while you work in the morning, he enjoys crafting chocolates in the middle of the night. That hardly matters, since you know he has to wake up early to open the shop.

“Hard to hide something you don’t have”, he grins from where he’s sitting, in front of you. Your dangling legs come to a halt.

“What?”.

“I don’t have a mark”, Satori shrugs, “not a big deal”.

“That’s impossible”.

“You’ve seen me naked”.

“Because you didn’t lock the damn bathroom door!”, your face heats up at the memory belonging to so many years ago. He snickers.

“Well, if I had a mark you’d know!”.

You pause, incredulous.

“Did you check your nails? Maybe it was in your hair and you shaved it off. Everyone has a mark!”.

“I don’t have it”, he knows, he’s checked every inch of his body for too long before giving up, “don’t act so shocked, it makes perfect sense”.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”.

Satori shrugs, a timid smile on his lips.

“I’m damaged goods. I wouldn’t expect to be the right fit for anyone, the universe decided to spare me and a potential unfortunate match the embarrassment”.

To him, it’s perfectly normal that there’s no one right for him out there. Or rather, that he’s not the right person for anyone. Who would want that, anyway? The guy who’s always been too weird to be looked at normally. The guy who always stands out the wrong way. If the universe has decided to be merciful enough to spare him the disappointment flashing over someone’s face upon discovering that he’s their soulmate, the only thing Tendo should feel is gratitude. 

“Don’t say shit like that ever again, Satori. Damaged goods? What the hell? You’re the best person I know!”, you almost throw the chocolate box at his head, “anyone would be lucky to have you as their soulmate. Anyone. I’m certain you’re the perfect match for a lot of people but I find it very hard to believe they’d deserve you anyway”.

You’re his best friend, you’re supposed to say all that. Yet, kept silent by that fiery glare of yours, Tendo can’t help but feel his chest warm up.

He didn’t necessarily have a crush on you in high school, that’s what he told himself anyway. When you started going out with Eita, part of him was relieved you went for someone normal. His teammate fell into the right category: Semi was attractive, had good grades, knew his way around girls. It was a good reminder of what Tendo wanted for you, of what you deserved. He cared deeply about your happiness and would’ve went to impossible lengths to shield you from all the bad there was in the world. That still hasn’t changed. Your best friend was what he was always destined to be and it was more than what he could’ve asked for, anyway.

And so it wouldn’t have been right to fantasize, to admit to himself that for the first time ever since he was a kid, Tendo wished to be the opposite of what he was. He dreamed of a different childhood, school days filled with friends, practice bursting with laughter instead of whispers, not a reason in the world to direct him curious or grossed out stares. He wished he was handsome, charismatic, funny in a way that made girls laugh in sincere amusement instead of discomfort. He wanted so badly to be everything he was not, for you.

When he admitted to himself that he loved you, deeply, ferociously, in a way that would’ve scared off any other human being, high school was over and so was his volleyball dream. Another fantasy coming to an end. Satori announced he wanted to move to Paris, expecting life, distance, a different time zone, your boyfriends, to make the friendship too heavy of a task to keep up with.

And yet, you stayed by his side. Most importantly, you wanted him to stay by yours. Tendo has never been much used to the feeling of being wanted, his presence wasn’t exactly desired by other people throughout his life. But you and Paris both taught him that maybe he does have something to give, something people can be willing to accept. So what if that something isn’t romantic love? He’s already luckier than he ever imagined he would get. He’s going to be okay, as long as you’re his friend. He’ll manage.

“Satori”, you snap him back to reality, “I mean it. Fuck the universe”.

Honestly, the only thing he’s mad at the universe for is making you so deeply unhappy. Tendo’s not sure he can forgive the cosmos for failing you so many times.

“Yeah”, he agrees lightly, “fuck the universe”.

Maybe Tendo had a point when he referred to your little vacation as ‘impulsive’, given that you never really travelled outside of Japan before. Yet, what initially was an easy escape from your disappointing reality and a wonderful excuse to finally visit your best friend, soon turned into a delightful adventure.

You reciprocated Satori’s hospitality by being as useful as possible: you’d keep his place tidy and clean, get groceries, cook dinner. He’d insist on ordering out, would try to snatch the vacuum cleaner from your hand, sometimes Tendo would come home later than usual with his hands filled with groceries just so that you didn’t feel like you needed to refill the fridge. But you liked being there and you loved taking care of him, especially since he vehemently refused to go back to sleeping in his bed and offering you the couch instead.

On his rare free days, Satori gladly gives you a tour of the city and his favorite places. When he’s working, you’d explore Paris on your own, the little map he drew by hand safely nestled in your pocket. Yes, you obviously have a phone, but the map makes each stroll all the more special.

Being with him and feeling genuinely appreciated, in a city so wonderful and far away from home, made you realize that perhaps the universe got it all wrong. Maybe there’s no one out there with a mark similar to yours. Maybe you’re not a match for romantic love in the first place. You’re already lucky enough as it is, with a friend so wonderful you can share lovely dinners with over episodes of silly tv shows, in a tiny apartment filled with affection and laughter. It’s the best you’ve felt in years and the idea of leaving has never felt as dreadful.

But everyone has to get back to their life eventually: there’s your job, bills, rent, you haven’t visited your parents in a while. All these things you’re having a real hard time caring about as Tendo offers another glass of wine, the bottle you’re sharing practically empty resting by his feet.

It’s your last night in Paris and he insisted on cooking for once, a full course dinner paired with an expensive Clos de la Roche. Notes of woods and cherries dance on your tongue when you take another sip and you shut your eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. How did you end up on his bedroom’s floor anyway? Was it him who suggested sitting on the carpet with your backs pressed against his bed? No, you’re almost certain it was you. Satori tries to be less weird as a grown up, by his own admission: he leaves odd suggestions and ideas to other people, too busy trying to fit in now.

You find yourself observing his profile as he torpidly blinks, his own gaze focused on the hands holding his glass. The line of his jaw, the perfect curve of his nose. You think he’s pretty, spiky hair no longer there to tear away one’s attention from his features.

“Did you date a lot, here?”, you ask, genuinely curious. He turns to look at you, amused.

“A lot? When did I ever date a lot?”, Tendo chuckles to himself but you recognize the hurt simmering underneath the humor. It hurts you, too.

“Well, did you date?”, your impatience feels surprising but there’s no time to dwell upon unfamiliar feelings, not as Satori hums with a lethargic nod.

“Yeah, a few times”.

“They didn’t ask about your mark?”.

Tendo’s lips twitch as he remembers how ecstatic the women he went out with were upon finding out that not only his mark didn’t match theirs, he didn’t even have one to begin with. He was the safest option they could ever date, no risk of forever.

“It’s easier to date someone you know you’re not gonna end up with”, he shrugs, “they felt more comfortable, it was fun and momentary, thus risk-free”.

You click your tongue in disapproval and Tendo cocks his head, confused by your scowl.

“They, they, they. I always hated this about you, you’re always focusing on what other people think. I want to know, how did you feel?”.

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that you’re about to become a fugitive presence in his life once more, but for once Satori feels like huffing out his frustration.

“Like shit”, he admits with a sly smile, “I could fall for just about anyone and I’ll always know they’re not my person. I won’t ever have a person and it makes me feel like shit”.

You’re not sure why tears are suddenly pricking the corners of your eyes. Maybe it’s because it’s really hard to remember the last time Satori allowed himself to be vulnerable around you. It always felt like he talked more to Wakatoshi, man to man or whatever. You never felt like you could be fully there for him and now it’s almost too late again, only a few hours before you fly off to the other side of the world.

“I hate them”, you murmur, “it’s just cruel. You’re not supposed to be anyone’s temporary fixing”.

“I’m not ever going to be anything but that”.

“No, Satori-”, in the process of positioning yourself better in order to face him, you kick the not entirely empty glass previously resting by your leg. It’s gonna leave a stain but you’ll find a way to take care of it before you leave, this is more urgent. This requires you taking your friend’s face into your hands, to bring it closer to your determined gaze. “That’s not true. The universe doesn’t know shit, okay? I know you. You don’t need a fucking mark. In fact, you know what? I’m happy you don’t have one. Thank god. I-”, he gently puts his hands over yours and leans over to tenderly kiss your forehead. Your train of thought derails as he fixes you with an amused, fond stare.

“It’s okay. Really”, Tendo lowers your hands and then leaves them cold, head falling to the side, cheek pressed to the orange duvet cover of his bed. You’re pouting, looking more beautiful than ever underneath the dim lights of his room, and so he can’t hold his tongue.

“You know, I find it incredible that you haven’t been able to find your person yet, universe or not. How’s it possible that someone as wonderful as you is being dumped by complete idiots just because they believe in some stupid pre-decided romantic assignation?”.

You mirror his position and rest your head on the softness of his bed. Despite being still on the floor, it almost feels as if you’re lying next to each other.

“They don’t believe I’m wonderful. I guess I’m just momentary, too”.

He scoffs. Deep down, Tendo also believes everyone should be granted the freedom to pursue their desired relationship, especially you. Don’t they know how lucky they are? You ignore destiny to give those dumbasses a chance and they leave before they even get to realize what they’re missing out upon.

“I think marks are bullshit”, Satori gently takes your hand and traces your fingers with his own slowly, eyes still boring into yours, “in a world with no marks, they’d be on their knees thanking their lucky star you showed interest in them at all”.

You hum, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Before Tendo interrupted your little motivational speech, you were about to tell him why it makes you happy that he doesn’t have a mark after all. Looking at him now, it’s all the more clear. It’s horrible and selfish and childish but, this way, you will never have to go through it: you’ll never have to find out that the one person who’s always been by your side, the one person who knows you better than you know yourself and still manages to love you, also isn’t the one.

Tendo is the greatest person you know, the only one you’d trust with your life. His heart is your favorite part of him: always stayed big enough to fit in all those who asked for access, kindness embedded so deep within him he never let the world’s cruelty affect it. Satori never stored an ounce of that nastiness people loved oh so much throwing at him, it let it become an armor instead. Steel made of insults, cruel jokes, mockery. It breaks your heart that he still wears it. It would break your heart to discover that someone like him isn’t destined to be yours after all, that the universe wouldn’t be benevolent enough to assign the best friend you ever had as your soulmate.

“You don’t mean that”.

You blink, slowly, actually fighting to keep your eyes open.

“What?”.

“What you just said. You’re drunk”, he chuckles quietly and, horrifyingly, you realize your mouth decided to voice those thoughts out loud.

The shock lasts a few seconds. Tendo is no longer fiddling with your fingers but your hand is still in his and the more you look into those crimson irises, the less uncomfortable you feel about what you just said. Is it the wine or is it just right?

“You think I wouldn’t be happy if the universe assigned you as my soulmate?”.

“I think you wouldn’t hate it”, Tendo softly ponders, “but that’d be far from ideal”.

“Hey, you don’t get to decide that. Me and the universe would be agreeing for once”.

Satori swears his heart skips a bit. All those years, all that badly harbored hope, the entirety of his restraint crumbling pathetically after a few drops of expensive wine. You don’t mean that, you can’t mean that.

“You could look at me like that?”, the question is supposed to underline how ridiculous the idea is, but he realizes he just sounds wishful.

“I know you think it’d be hard but it really isn’t”, you laugh softly. You’re looking at him like that right now. As you abstendmindedly play with his fingers, thumb gently rubbing circles on the skin of his wrist, you appreciate the pink dusting his cheeks, the slightly furrowed brows, the sweetness of his questioning gaze.

Tendo exhales slowly. Neither of you is resting their head on his bed anymore, too captivated by each other. “I’m not sure I’d survive the discovery of you of all people, not being the one I’d be destined to stand with for the rest of my life. Because what a waste would be, for that person to be someone else”, it’s nothing but a whisper, raw honesty doing something funny to his stomach as it slips past his lips for the first time. There’s no one but you, honestly. He knows there’ll never be anyone else. The universe has planned love for those around him and an eternal curse for his heart.

“A terrible waste”, you agree and the hand not busy interlacing your fingers with his, suddenly closes around the soft fabric of his hoodie to bring him closer. Satori doesn’t dare move, let alone breathe, effectively paralyzed by the idea of indulging something you’ll regret the second it happens.

Except you don’t. When you kiss him, tentative at first, all the pieces fall right into place. Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile as the world slows down. Then finally, finally, he kisses you back. It’s deeper, a hand pressing to your cheek, it’s corrodingly tender and you feel yourself melting into his touch, into the genuine reverence he holds for you.

Tendo feels something unravel from within, the tangles and knots of hurt, uncertainty, combust and disappear into thin ashes. He’s too lost in the moment, too drunk on how close you’re holding him as your tongue brushes against his own, to pay any attention to the itchy feeling over the skin of his wrist. Right where your thumb is pressing, a crooked triangle appears at last.

[evansbby]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Pete Brenner x reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, SH in the workplace, heavy drug mention, sleazy Pete, heavy misogyny, I can't believe I wrote this, a lot of sex, yeah idek, 18+ minors dni. 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Pete Brenner hires a new assistant. 𝐀/𝐍: I cannot believe I wrote this. For him. Ew. Brb gonna go take a shower. This is pretty bad as well, like the pacing is wack and the reader's personality changes halfway through the fic?? Idek, I did this thing where I changed the scene every time I felt bored. Enjoy, I guess???

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only hiring you because you’re hot.”

He bends down over his desk, sniffing harshly. You stand there nervously watching him as he straightens up, his nose twitching. You catch a glimpse of white beneath he clears his throat and wipes it off. His eyes – a pretty blue – have an almost wild, excited look about them. But the rest of his face is a contradiction… he looks both calculated and amused as he licks his lips and makes his way over to you.

“That means I want to see you in short skirts, dress, that kind of shit, okay? And some pretty makeup.” His eyes dance over your body, taking in your curves. You’d worn a knee-length pencil skirt and white blouse for the interview with him – nothing too scandalous but it did hug your body nicely. Pete seemed to think so, at least, as his gaze remained glued on your cleavage, “Basically, I want you all dolled up because I sure as fuck know there’s no brain up there in your head. I have a real assistant, but you’ll be my other assistant.”

Other assistant. You knew what that meant.

You also know to remain quiet as he leers at you, coming closer till you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His jaw twitches, and his eyes are still glued to your chest. He reaches out, casually unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse with just his one hand. The view down your top makes him smirk.

“Tomorrow’s your first day, make sure to wear something sluttier than this. Even the office’s eye candy’s gotta put a little work in, huh, sweetheart?” He gives you a wink as he pats your cheek condescendingly.

You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. You needed this job. You needed the money…

“Yes, Mr. Brenner.”

“Good girl,” he maintains eye contact with you, and it’s hard to look away when his pupils are so blown out. And despite his leery demeanour, he’s got a handsome face, you had to admit. Pretty eyes framed with long lashes, a nice bone structure and strong jawline. His jet-black hair was styled messily – either on purpose or because he kept running his hands through it. He was also tall, his tailored jacket tight around his biceps.

He gives your ass a slap as you leave the room, and you yelp in surprise but continue walking steadily lest you fall over in your high heels.

“See you bright and early tomorrow, sweetheart! I know we’re gonna love working together.”

***

“Ah, fuck yeah, keep going. Mm, just like that. God fucking dammit, you’re such a good little cocksucker, huh?”

Pete’s got one hand firmly carded through your hair, gripping it tightly as he bobs your head up and down on his cock. It’s uncomfortable under his desk, especially with your bare knees rubbing against the hard ground.

You’d showed up to your first day of work today bright and early, in an inappropriately short dress as per your new boss’s request. And Pete had licked his lips hungrily when he’d seen you, dragging you into his office and giving you your first task of the day. Sucking his dick while he sat behind his desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, you little slut, take it. Take my fat daddy dick down your little throat. Fuck yeah,” Pete murmurs. You’d quickly come to realise that Pete was every bit as filthy as you’d assumed he was going to be, spewing out a string of curses every time his mouth opened. He was also rougher than you’d expected, fucking your face relentlessly in a way that had you breathless, your hair a complete mess and your face glistening with sweat.

“Mm, tell me you’re a little cockslut,” He peers down at you with a wolfish grin, taking his dick out of your mouth and tapping your cheek with it not-so-gently.

“ ‘m a cockslut,” you pant, and he slaps you with his cock once more before shoving himself back in your mouth.

“That’s right, just look at those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I can’t believe–” his voice trails off, and you glance up to see his eyes narrow as he looks out the window of his office and into the hallway. “Ah, shit. My wife’s here. Keep sucking, baby, but be quiet about it.”

He had a wife? You don’t even have time to feel shocked and disgusted with yourself, all you can do is keep bobbing your head up and down as he keeps a firm hold on you.

“PETEY!” A chirpy voice sounds, and you cringe as you hear the door close. She was in this office, while you were giving her husband a blowjob.

“Hey, babe, how’s it hanging?” Pete says casually, his hand leaving your hair as he cracks his knuckles and leans back on his chair. You pray to God his wife doesn’t come any closer, lest you be found out.

She giggles, “Well, come on, silly. You made us lunch reservations at the Rustica Bistro, remember? I got my nails done and everything!”

You hear Pete grimace from above you, either from what his wife has just said or the fact that you’re still blowing him like your life depends on it.

“Ahh, babe, I gotta take a raincheck. You know how it is…” He gestures vaguely at his computer in front of him, “I’ve got a shit ton of work to do, fuck…” He swears under his breath, thrusting his hips upwardly subtly to stuff more of his cock in your mouth.

“Aww, but Pete–”

“No buts, sweetheart. You know I gotta provide for you and the baby, and that means making a few sacrifices here and there,” Pete runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the sweat forming on his brow as you continue to suck him off, trying not to gasp out loud at the fact that he just said he had a baby. “But don’t let those reservations go to waste, sweetie. Why not take what’s-her-name? That broad from accounting?”

“Sally?”

“Yeah, take Sally. Go on, sweetheart, daddy’s busy. I’ll see you at home.”

You’re in awe at how he dismisses his wife, but you inwardly sigh in relief when you hear the clickity clack of her heels followed by the door opening and closing. Pete barks out a laugh, pulling you off his dick as he begins to pump it around his fist.

“That was a close one, huh?”

“Y-You never mentioned that you had a wife! And a child!”

He snorts, cupping your face and angling it so that he’s jacking off over it, a nonchalant look on his face.

“And you accepted a job as the office slut, so I guess we’re both lacking in the morals department, huh, sweetheart?”

***

Being Pete Brenner’s other assistant did have a few perks. Like free reign with his credit card (a separate one that his wife didn’t know about) as well as some nice gifts here and there. Diamond earrings when he was feeling nice; a designer dress when he wanted to be giving. A pearl-encrusted collar when he was on a particularly high power trip.

But the perks came with a lot of degradation. But it’s not like he hadn’t made that clear when he’d offered you the job.

“Now, sweetheart, all you gotta do is refill everyone’s water while us men talk business, alright?”

You nod, straightening out your tight, navy dress while Pete barks out more instructions as he paces around his office. Today was an important meeting about something or the other. You didn’t really understand what it was that Pete did, but you knew it was something to do with pharmaceuticals. You weren’t sure that all their business was legal, but you thought it was best to turn your head the other way when it came to all that.

You stand in the corner of the conference room during the meeting, watching as Pete sits at the head of the table and talks business with a bunch of colleagues. He looks at you and nods slightly, and that’s your cue to walk around and refill everyone’s water with the glass jug in your hand. It’s an easy enough task, but you’re still nervous in your sky-high heels and too-short dress, acutely aware of the way all these middle-aged men leer at you like you’re a piece of candy or an office decoration.

You set the jug down on the table after you’ve finished topping up Pete’s glass, but before you can quietly scurry back to your corner of the room, his large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You almost yelp in surprise, but catch your tongue just in time. You go with the flow, not wanting to cause a scene as Pete casually settles you down on his knee.

You really feel like a decoration now.

“That’s a fine-looking piece of ass you’ve got workin’ for ya, Brenner.” A seedy looking man at the other end of the table grins.

Pete smirks, his hand firmly resting on your bare thigh as you quiver in his lap at the multiple pairs of eyes now staring straight at you. His other hand twirls a bit of your hair round his finger, as if you’re his little doll that he’s finding amusement in showing off and toying with. “She’s a looker, alright. That’s why I hired her, isn’t that right, baby?”

You have no choice but to nod, heat spreading across your cheeks as the whole room erupts in laughter. Pete holds you firmly in his lap throughout the meeting. You try to zone out, since their business and pharmaceutical jargon makes no sense to you, but you keep getting jolted back to reality as Pete continues to fondle you brazenly in front of everyone.

“Don’t think I’d get any work done if I had a broad like her walking around in my office.” A greasy looking man sitting adjacent from you and Pete pipes up.

Pete grins wolfishly, his hand creeping up the hem of your dress while the other one strokes your arm sensually. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he glances at you and winks, “with her around, I get to relieve all my pent-up tension, which makes work a lot easier.”

“Say, Brenner, you look like you gotta relieve some tension right now!” Another guy quips.

Pete smirks, standing up and yanking you up with him, “You’re right, Davidson. I think I do. You gentlemen mind if we take a recess on this meeting?”

His request is met with a chorus of cheerful affirmations, and he drags you off to a small door to the side of the room. The bathroom.

“Th-They’ll all be able to hear us!” You protest as he bends you over the sink, lifting your dress up and giving your bare ass a hard slap.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s hotter with an audience.” He shoves his hand between your legs, pushing your panties aside and slipping two fingers inside you, smirking when he pulls them out to see them glistening, “clearly you find it hot too.”

Pete fucks you in the bathroom while the men cheer him on from the next room. And you scrunch your eyes shut and focus on trying not to moan (because he fucked you so good after all). His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts into you over again, alongside a string of curses (he was always very vocal during sex, no matter where you were).

He’s got a smug look on his face when he’s done. The smugness of a man who made a whole roomful of men hear your screams of pleasure. (You’d had to be vocal in the end, you couldn’t help it. Not when he was rubbing your clit and whispering dirty words in your ear, making your cunt squeeze around him as you came all over his cock).

He takes you straight back into the conference room, setting you down on his lap and continuing the meeting as if nothing even happened.

***

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, only for him to cup your cheeks and blow smoke right into your face. You sputter, trying to turn away but Pete’s got other plans. He presses his lips against yours, giving you the headiest kiss you’ve ever experienced, making you feel light-headed.

He laughs, “You fall for it every time.”

You scowl at him, “One day I’m gonna quit working for you.”

He snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Oh yeah, sweetheart? And then what’re you gonna do?”

“Make a name for myself.”

He seems to find that hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing as if you’ve just cracked the funniest joke in the world. You huff, shrugging away from him and going to stand on the other end of the balcony. It was attached to his office and Pete liked to hang out there sometimes, claimed he appreciated the fresh air. As if he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth 24/7.

You look out into the city, admiring the bright lights that made the streets come to life at night. The sound of traffic and the mindless buzz of nightlife that had a knack of making people wonder what they were doing with their life. That’s when you feel something hard pressing against your lower back.

“You know, I always wanted to fuck a girl out here.” Pete pushes your hair to one side, kissing the exposed nape of your neck.

“I’d bet a thousand dollars you’d already have done that.”

He chuckles, his hands slipping up and down your body, feeling you up and fondling you in his specifically sleazy way except it turns you on anyways. “After tonight I will have.”

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife? Or at least your baby?”

He pushes your dress up till he’s got it bunched around your waist, before hooking his fingers on the elastic of your panties and snapping it against your skin. “What, you think you’re gonna peptalk me into having some kind of moral breakthrough or something?” He tugs your panties down your legs and gives your ass a squeeze, “Sweetheart, you know the kind of man I am. And I know exactly the kind of girl you are.”

The kind that lets her boss fuck her outside on his balcony overlooking the city.

“Fuck yeah, shake that fucking ass on my daddy dick. Make daddy cum, fuck!” Pete grips your hair and yanks your head back, biting and sucking at your neck as he fucks you. You grip the iron railing hard, your mind wiped of everything except the pleasure he was administering to you right now.

“Mm, fuck, daddy! Harder, please!” You moan, grinding back against his dick, feeling the pure, delicious agony of him breaking you in two from the inside out.

He releases inside you with a guttural roar in your ear, and you sigh, following suit as you milk him through his orgasm. Your cunt pulsates with your pleasure, and he holds you tight before bringing his cigarette up to your mouth so you can take a drag. You do, before craning your neck and grabbing his face, blowing the smoke straight past his lips as you kiss him.

***

“The fuck do you mean you’re knocked up? Were you not on the motherfucking pill?”

You sigh. You’d been fucking Pete for half a year now, and in that time you’d had the pleasure of getting to know him on a very personal level. His likes, dislikes, his temperament. You knew him well enough to know that he got extremely melodramatic when he was high. Which is why it maybe wasn’t the best decision on your part to break the news to him when he was coked out, but you’d had no choice… Pete’s sober moments were very few and far between these days.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Pete. I’m pregnant. I took three tests.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” He slams his fist down on his desk repeatedly, before the pain proves too much and that’s when he straightens up, running a hand through his already messy black hair. “I already got my hands full with one brat.”

He loved his son, really. You’d seen him enough times with the kid to know that Pete did indeed have a heart when it came to a child of his own flesh and blood.

“Well, congratulations, daddy. In about nine months, you’ll have another one.”

He narrows his eyes, stumbling over to you and grabbing you by the neck. He pushes back, high off his mind yet still much stronger than you. His lips curled and brows furrowed almost accusatorily, he backs you up against the wall, his face inches from yours.

“You,” he sneers, “When did you get so cynical, huh? Where’s the bright-eyed, naïve girl I hired six months ago?”

You roll your eyes, “I don’t know, Pete, maybe your sleaziness and depravity killed her off.”

He glares at you, and you glare back. It’s an intense stare-down that lasts a handful of seconds before you’re on top of each other. Kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off, not caring that the glass windows of his office aren’t covered with the blinds. The receptionist would get a show, but it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. Pete had no shame, and now, neither did you.

“I find pregnant broads sexy as hell,” he tells you, carrying you over to his desk. He sits down on his chair with you on top of him, “so that’s one thing to look forward to.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So the fuck are you.”

He shoves his dick into you from below, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly you know he’ll leave bruises. He bounces you up and down on his dick like it’s your job – which, well, it is.

“Your tits will get even bigger, that’s another thing to look forward to,” he whispers in your ear, ripping the top of your dress in half and pushing the cups of your bra down. Your breasts spill out and he goes to town on them, burying his face between them, licking, nipping, biting like you’re his drug of choice for the evening.

You’re confused, scared, even. But that won’t stop you from answering back to him, and so, despite the pleasure he’s making you feel, you shoot him a look of disdain.

“Who says I’m gonna stick around long enough for you to see me like that?”

He yanks you forward by your hair, giving you a rough and almost possessive kiss.

“Sweetheart, don’t kid yourself. I intend on keeping your fine ass around, and besides, it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

***

“I do.”

Pete’s wife had left him. Something about running away with a hot Australian lifeguard who happened to also have a hefty trust fund. The divorce was settled quickly (Pete had more money than his now ex-wife was even aware of, so she happily took what she thought was an equal half). Pete had one condition, though. His son had to stay with him.

And then six months later, you found yourself walking down the aisle in a dress of ivory lace, saying “I do” to the man who only a year ago had just been your boss. Now you were the new Mrs. Brenner, a mother to be and a stepmother to a two-year-old to boot.

It was a good thing you liked kids.

“You’re lucky, you know that? Fucked your way to the very top.” Pete says, his hand stroking your very pregnant belly.

You giggle, spreading out on the satin sheets below you. They’re soft and white and expensive, covered in rose petals. Pete had gone all out and booked the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons, which was the least he could do to make you comfortable after you’d gone through that whole wedding ceremony and reception, all pregnant and uncomfortable and all.

“Not the very top,” you muse, “I could leave you just like your first wife did. Leave you for a richer man.”

Pete scoffs, shrugging his jacket off before rejoining you on the bed, “Honey, if you knew how much money I had in my bank account right now, you’d be licking the bottom of my shoe for the foreseeable future.”

You don’t say anything, instead turning your attention to your ring. You hold up your hand so it catches the light, the hefty diamond sparkling expensively. Just a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom having fifty dollars to your name… And now?

You grow distracted by his hand as it sneaks between your legs. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan when his fingers find your clit. All he has to do is circle your bundle of nerves with his pointer finger and you cum, grabbing his bicep and squealing his name, humping your cunt up against his palm like a wanton whore. All while he grins wolfishly at how easily he can make you come undone.

“It’s just ‘cause I’m pregnant,” you say once you’ve caught your breath, causing his expression to sour.

“Please, Mrs. Brenner. You’ve never had anyone as good as your husband. And you never will, ‘cause it’s all me from now on, you got that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

***

“Oh my gosh, you really shouldn’t have!” You squeal, running over to your new candy pink convertible. Pete stands by the hood, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Only the best for my wife. Now you can do the day-care runs in style.”

You jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing a million kisses on his face. “Thank you, daddy! I love it so much.”

He grins, spinning you around a few times before putting you down, “Happy birthday, babe.”

Your four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter come toddling down the front steps of your mansion, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing at your new pink car. Pete looks positively beside himself with glee, scooping both his kids up in his arms so they can get a better look at it.

It only took a few months into being married to you for Pete to realise that he liked the family man lifestyle. And you could tell he liked being a provider, liked showering his family with gifts and spending money on you and the babies more than blowing it all on drugs and strip clubs. It was a shame that it took him two marriages and two different baby mamas to realise that, but at least his ex was living it up in Australia, so there was no love lost there.

“We need to come up with a story when people ask us how we met,” you say one evening as the two of you get ready for bed. You’re sitting in front of your vanity, applying cold cream to your face and neck while Pete does God knows what in the background.

“Easy. My gold-digger assistant got herself knocked up and trapped my ass, and now here we are.” Pete smirks, coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shut up, you jerk. More like, I took advantage of and sexually harassed my poor, innocent assistant, and the least I could do was marry her after I got her pregnant.” You smile, letting him grab your hand and drag you to the bed.

“Okay, poor, innocent assistant. Why don’t you let daddy put another baby inside you tonight?” He asks, pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you, his voice thick with lust as he runs a hand through his messy, black hair.

“So you can accuse me of getting knocked up again?”

“Yeah,” He rips your nightie in half, making you squeal, “That’ll ensure I’m trapped with you for another two years at least.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve got the dirtiest mouth, Mrs. Brenner. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with you.”

SFJHKASGD THE END!

If you made it till here... thank you! I think I got possessed last night and today so I wrote this. Sorry besties, but please do let me know what you think! Feedback means everything to me!! I love you guys and now back to our regularly scheduled programming of ARI and STEVE!

[mabaki]

The Rooftop Date

The first time Mabaki reacted on instinct, not realizing that he may be developing feelings for Caira (lmao) (Full text of Caira's bubbles below)

Caira belongs to @floral-necromaniac

The text: "Did you know that stars are used to navigate over the ocean? Look there! Do you see this group of stars? This constellation in particular is connected to one of the navigational stars. The most well known of all them. The Polaris." "I found a book about celestial navigation in the archives of the Priory and it describes how you can use it to determine where you are on all of Tyria. Yes, I said it was over the sea but you can use this method literally anywhere. And not just with stars, but any celestial body you see. For example, the sun and also the moon." "The book describes several specific stars you can se as a tool to determine your current position. First you look at the horizon and then it’s a matter of simple mathematics to calculate the zenith of the celestial body. Of course there’s tools for all that, but just think about it. Isn't it amazing? Wherever you are... You just need to look up and-" Of course, Mabaki had been observant this entire time, taking in the moment to just sit still and listen to her ramble. And as her petals started to change color from excitement, he feels an urge inside him to lean in and kiss her. And he asks her to "Keep talking." And Caira looks away bashfully, "W-well, uh... I- ...." Mabaki never teases her about it and just pulls her into a side-hug.

~~~

Something that happened very early on in their timeline, as Caira here is depicted with her old hair.

Mabaki doesn't really like the talkative/rambling type, and Caira is exactly that, hah. He used to get annoyed with her when she kept rambling on and on when they first met. Well, at this point he's starting to get used to it and is actually enjoying listening to her and finds her... even cuter... So on instinct he just does this...

And no, their relationship isn't clearly defined at all in this stage, and it doesn't really happen for a while....

Oh Mbk... how much of a wife-guy you'll turn out to be.... LMAO

~~~

There's a few things I only started catching on in hindsight while making this piece. I did a basic plan for it, yes, but as I started to clean it, I added and changed some things as it went. Unfortunately, I ended up drawing the same face angle for Caira 5 times and it only really clicked with me once I started adding flats (talk about taking long to realize)

Next time I try something like this, I want to try and do different angles to make it more interesting... bah, unfortunate, but for next time!

And if only Mbk wasn't fighting me on that 1 face panel yeah man i redrew that shit 8 times i think he is so alkjsdfkljjskdjfslLKJSDF I HATE HIM i love him fuck you Mabaki LMAO

Also I'm hella shy about posting this but- but I still wanted to share. Surely in a few years time I'll look back and want to redo this... LOL

[brucewaynehater101]

Well i think that way too skinny tim is part of the problems with the babyfication/infantilization of tim.

Tim is very efficient and would take care of himself almost strictly. It all started with taking the role of one of bruce's caretakers. He couldnt let himself have a sick day when Bruce could be having yet another breakdown. Also realistically with his duty as vigilante he wouldn't let himself go thin.

But in the tall tim drake au. While still going through the growth spurts he would totally go even leaner. As he is not used to eat as much as food, i think in those months Tim would do the cryptid thing just to scare the bats. After he finally stops growing he would bulk up. (Def nothing like Bruce or Jason) more like Dick's type of physique. (Smth like jacob elordi / jack champion irl).

His team would help him with the amount of food he should get. And Tim would grt tired of being treated like a little child who cant go to play if he doesnt finnish his meal.

Anyways how do you think his family would react at Tim going tall as a tower? Especially Jason & Bruce reactions.

Og post here

Hi again!!! I think Tim being way too skinny and not taking care of himself can play into the infantalization. However, I also hc Tim to be the type of person that really struggles to put on weight or muscle mass. I've had some friends/loved ones who ate a fuck ton and still remained bean poles. That's kind of where I'm basing it at.

Tim struggling to put on muscle mass could also play into him not being a natural at Robin's physical skills/needs. Basically, him working really fucking hard to meet the same physical goals as Jason and/or Dick.

For the tall Tim Drake AU, I imagine he wouldn't bulk up quite as much as Dick. At the very least, he'd struggle to obtain as much muscle mass as Dick and maintain it. Jacob Elordi does seem like a good fit for Tim, though. A more lean muscular type but still muscles (Dick's got some huge fucking shoulders. Ripped as hell back).

I'm also down for his muscle mass needing to catch up with his growth spurt. Maybe it takes up to a year for his physique to fully settle after he stops growing taller?

He would be hungry *constantly* though. Poor Tim :'( He'd probably come up with some nutrition plan based on his blood sugar and shit to adequately fulfill his needs. He'll be hella annoyed, though, at all the changes and increased need for nutrients. YJ would definitely be roped into it too.

As far as the Bats...

Alfred: *drops his tray*

Damian: *shocked pikaku face*

Bruce: *mental calculations lady*

Jason: *"nopes" out of there*

Babs: *knew all along*

Dick: *sobbing on the floor*

Steph: *instinctively throws something at Tim*

Cass: *sprints towards Tim to tackle hug him*

EDIT: I did not clarify enough on when specifically Tim's struggles with eating may transfer into infantalization territory.

One, nothing wrong with needing support and help with maintaining adequate self-care. I personally struggle with eating and greatly benefit from someone helping me with this.

Two, I bet all of the Bats, at some point, have needed extra support in self-care matters. Particularly, Dick, Bruce, Babs, and Jason, but I imagine the others have had their times as well.

The issues stem from either a narrative of Tim being "incapable" of caring for himself or a restriction in his autonomy. While Tim may benefit from someone reminding him to eat, preparing meals, leaving him snacks, etc., this doesn't mean his own desires should be ignored. If he doesn't want someone butting into his life to help him with that, then so be it. He's capable of making decisions for himself even if others would disagree with his decisions "for his own good."

Hopefully, that's clearer ^^