#1:55pm

[lex-nulla]

just saw a girl rocking the shit out of some capri jeans should i just kill myself now orrrrr

[history-stan]

[faces-of-the-traveler]

amusement

thinking

[risaonda]

[beabdboo]

these days, the hyung line is messing up with my head omg

[saatorus]

— freak like me ୨ৎ

based off of this post

wc — 2.8k

warnings — oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, genuinely just 2.8k words of filth bc i need satoru :3

Sometimes, you truly want to grab your husband by the shoulders and genuinely ask him what the hell is wrong with him.

In a purely cute, loving, wifey way, of course.

You had been lounging at home, listless but not tired, charged up but not in a productive way. The kind of restless where you start wiping already-clean counters just to burn energy. Or reorganizing your skincare drawer for the fourth time that week.

Your body felt hot under the skin, like something in you was coiled up and ready to snap. There was only one explanation for this kind of jittery, razor-sharp awareness running under your skin like a live wire. So, like any other normal person, you opened your period tracking app.

Yup. Ovulating.

Fantastic. That explained the horniness bordering on religious fervor. Everything in your body was screaming breed like it was written in your DNA. So, just like any other wife with the patience of a saint and the self-control of a demigod, you texted your husband Satoru at work.

You 12:47PM

hey u

quick q

Husband (derogatory) 12:48PM

answer is yes unless it’s illegal

You 12:48PM

r u busy or r u like pretend busy like usual

Husband (derogatory) 12:48PM

ur sounding like ur abt to ask me to pick up toilet paper and i hate that tone

what’s up

You 12:49PM

im ovulating

Husband (derogatory) 12:49PM

oh👀

ok. and?

You 12:49PM

so when u get home

ur not gonna get to say hi

or breathe

or take off ur shoes

i’m going to destroy you

like i actually might kill you with my pussy

Husband (derogatory) 12:50PM

😳

bold of u to assume i’d try to survive

You 12:50PM

bold of u to send me nothing spicy of u but be mean to me when u know i’m genuinely suffering and shit like omg

Husband (derogatory) 12:51PM

what do u want me to do??? send u a live feed of my cock at work???

do u want me to be on a list???

You 12:51PM

no but like

a lil thirst trap wouldn’t kill u

show me smth for the spank bank

Husband (derogatory) 12:52PM

u want a pic of my abs rn??

i got time

lemme hit my office for a sec

You 12:52PM

if u send me a pic right now i swear i’ll spontaneously combust

Husband (derogatory) 12:55PM

[1 image attached]

🥰

tell me i’m pretty

You 12:55PM

i hope u know this photo just signed ur death warrant

ur gonna be BURIED in me. like to the point where ur dick is like never getting out of me 

Husband (derogatory) 12:56PM

ok but like

worth it??

do i look hot

scale of 1 to rawdog me in the kitchen while the rice is still cooking

You 12:56PM

absolutely rawdog in the kitchen with zero regard for the rice

ur not even making it to the bedroom. my clit hard at dis 

Husband (derogatory) 12:57PM

god

i’m bricked up in front of principal yaga rn

i hope ur happy

You 12:57PM

good

suffer

consider it foreplay

You stared at the photo again. The audacity of this man to stand there with perfect abs, just barely flexed, pants sitting sinfully low on his hips like he knew the way your brain would short-circuit. The lighting in his office was stupidly flattering—somehow made his skin look so nice and delectable. Not to mention the veins going down to his cock?

You chewed on your lip, pacing the living room like a predator. There was simply no way you were surviving the next few hours. You even considered sending him a photo back—bait for bait, a little tit-for-tat—but decided against it. Let him suffer.

Let the anticipation kill him softly.

When he gets home? You’re not talking. You’re not greeting. You’re not doing anything except dragging him inside and absolutely sucking the soul out of the man you had ended up marrying.

–

It was exactly 6:02PM when you heard the door unlock.

Two minutes late. Not that you were keeping track or anything… except you definitely were, curled up on the couch in a barely-there pair of shorts and one of his old shirts with no bra underneath. Strategic slutty domesticity. A war tactic.

You didn’t even look up right away. Let the tension simmer. Let him walk in and realize what he’s just stepped into.

The door creaked open, followed by the soft jingle of his keys and the unmistakable shuffle of his slides hitting the entryway.

Then:

“I’m home—”

You were already standing in front of him before he could finish the sentence.

The look on his face was criminally satisfied. Like he knew he was walking into the lion’s den and brought himself as the offering. His blindfold was pooled around his neck– it was a habit for him to take it off at home. His white hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had the audacity to be smiling.

“Hi, babe—”

You didn’t even let him finish his sentence. You fisted your hands in the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss so hot it made your knees buckle. He groaned into your mouth, hands flying to your hips out of instinct.

“Jesus—” he panted against your lips, breath already shaky. “You weren’t joking.”

“I told you I was gonna ruin you,” you muttered, kissing down his jaw, “You think I just say things for fun?”

His laugh was breathless, cocky, but already crumbling. “You do, though.”

You reached between your bodies and palmed him through his pants. “Not today.”

Satoru hissed, bracing one hand against the wall. “Okay, wow. Hi. Hello. I see the demons are home.”

“You started it,” you said sweetly, unzipping his pants like you were opening a present. “Sending me that photo like I’m not clinically insane for you.”

“I was tryna be nice— shit—”

His sentence broke off into a groan as you sank to your knees right there in the hallway. He wasn’t even fully undressed, shirt still on, pants down just enough for you to get what you wanted. And what you wanted?

To suck his soul out like a Capri Sun.

You eagerly took him in your mouth, lips wrapping around him– absolutely no time for teasing– taking him as far as you could the moment he slipped into your mouth. You moaned at the taste of him, at the feeling of his prominent veins on your tongue, and the way that he just sat so hot and heavy in your mouth.

“Baby,” he rasped, one hand threading through your hair, the other gripping the wall so hard you swore it cracked a little. “Not— not even the bedroom?”

You hummed around him in response.

“Fuck—okay, okay—take everything. Take the whole paycheck.”

You didn’t let up—not even when his knees buckled, not when your nose repeatedly kept hitting the smattering of white hair above his base, not when his pink, throbbing tip kept hitting the back of your throat so good that your pussy felt like it was a puddle at this point, not when he was gasping out half-finished apologies to whatever god he believed in, not when he muttered something about filing for short-term disability because of "whatever the fuck this is."

He came so hard you were genuinely concerned for a second that his soul had actually left his body. Filled your throat with him, even. Like a capri sun. Man folded like an origami crane. Sagged against the wall with his shirt all rumpled, hair sticking to his forehead, and the most dazed, fucked-out look you’d ever seen on his stupidly pretty face.

You licked your lips and stood up slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like a villain in a K-drama. 

Satoru looked up at you like you were the Messiah and the apocalypse all in one.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“You love it.”

“I do,” he breathed. “God, I really do. I’m in love with the devil.”

You cupped his cheeks and kissed him sweetly, gently, like you hadn’t just given him a religious experience with your mouth.

Then you whispered in his ear:

“Round two’s in the kitchen.”

He made a sound that was not human.

By the time he made it to the kitchen—pants back up but barely, shirt half-untucked like he just walked off a battlefield—he looked like he had one brain cell left, and it was begging for mercy.

You, however?

Unbothered. Glowing. A menace in tiny shorts and smug satisfaction.

You leaned against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, nursing a glass of water like you hadn’t just rearranged his internal organs. “I said round two in the kitchen,” you reminded him, sipping slowly. “You moving a little slow there, old man.”

He squinted at you, chest still rising and falling. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Technically, I warned you.”

“You warned me via text,” he muttered, walking over with the exaggerated drag of a man heading into war. “There’s a difference between texting me you’re gonna ruin me and actually attempting a physical exorcism on my soul through my dick.”

You grinned. “Still had enough energy to come find me, though.”

“That’s because my penis is a traitor and doesn’t believe in self-preservation.”

“Your penis is smart. Your penis is loyal. Your penis knows who feeds it.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You set the glass down with a click, reached for his collar, and pulled him in. “Bend me over the counter,” you whispered against his lips.

He choked.

Eyes wide. Pupils blown. Brain visibly buffering.

And then: obedience.

“I—yes. Okay. I mean—of course. Obviously.” He practically tossed your glass to the side and spun you around, hands already slipping under your shirt, finding your bare skin like he was made for it. His thumbs hooked underneath the waistband of your shorts, halting when he felt the smooth skin of your hip bones and not the waistband of your panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “No panties?”

“I was planning ahead,” you said, bending slightly and bracing your hands against the counter.

“God, I love you so much it actually hurts.” He kissed down the back of your neck, worshipful. “You’re unreal.” He slipped down your shorts, and then his already halfway down pants, aligning his tip with your soaking entrance.

Then he slid into you with a groan so filthy it echoed off the cabinets. You gasped, arching, clenching around him instinctively, and heard him let out a shaky laugh.

“This is a setup,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “I feel like you’re doing this to steal my powers. Like I’m not gonna be able to use infinity after this.”

You couldn’t even form a reply—your mouth was open, moaning, hands scrabbling for purchase. He wasn’t going slow. Not anymore. Whatever restraint he had left burned off the moment he was inside you. It was fast, deep, messy. The kind of fucking that blurred your vision and made your toes curl.

Satoru’s fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you, saying all kinds of nonsense against your skin:

“Been thinking about you all goddamn day—” “—knew I was in trouble when you said ovulating—” “—you were serious about the soul thing, huh? gonna baptize me in pussy—”

You half-laughed, half-cried out as he hit a spot that made your legs shake.

He reached around to rub tight, dirty circles on your clit, whispering, “C’mon, baby, let go for me, lemme feel it, wanna feel you lose your mind—fuck, please—”

And you did—with a broken moan and a full-body tremble that had your knees buckling, your body locking up so tight around him that he swore out loud, dropped his forehead to your shoulder, and followed you over the edge with a deep, shaky groan that sounded like it came from the depths.

The kitchen went quiet except for your breathing. The rice cooker beeped once, like it had seen things.

You both just stood there, still connected, sweaty, wrecked, in the soft afterglow of holy sin.

“…do we have any electrolytes?” he asked weakly.

You giggled. “Top shelf. Pedialyte in the purple bottle.”

“You’re a menace,” he said, pulling out slowly with a wince. “I’m not even mad. I’m just scared.”

You turned to face him, cupping his face and giving him the sweetest kiss imaginable. “You’ll live.”

He blinked. “Will I? Are you sure? Like… can I put you on my life insurance as both the cause and beneficiary of death?” Satoru was still recovering—barely holding himself up against the counter, forehead pressed to the cool surface, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon while holding his breath.

You, on the other hand, were just sitting on the counter next to him sipping water like a perfectly reasonable, not at all deranged wife. Ignore the fact that his cum was steadily drying on your thighs after dripping out once he pulled out.

“So,” you said casually, like you weren’t actively naked in your own kitchen. “You think the rice is done?”

“Baby,” he said, voice hoarse, muffled, like he didn’t trust himself to lift his head. “Please. I don’t even remember my own name.”

You leaned over and patted his ass. “That’s okay. You don’t need a name. You just need to sit up on that counter for me.”

He groaned. “I need food. I need air. I need—what did I even do to deserve this?”

“You sent me a thirst trap.”

“You literally asked me for it,” he whined, straightening up slowly, eyes glassy.

You pushed off the counter—with a slight wobble—and before he could get another sarcastic word out, you moved away from from the counter in the middle of the kitchen, boosting yourself up onto the counter right next to the stove, legs spread, voice sugar-sweet.

“C’mere.”

He blinked. “Oh my god. Are you gonna ride me next to the soy sauce?”

“Would you prefer the spice cabinet?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Spice cabinet.”

—

Somehow, somehow, you ended up on the higher shelf. Not the safe little cozy edge of the island—no. You were straddling him on the counter in the corner by the window, legs draped around his thighs, knee bumping the pepper grinder, and he looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown about how hot it was.

Satoru kissed you like a man possessed—hands on your thighs, holding you open for him, still too breathless from the last round to be cocky but desperate enough not to care.

“I don’t have anything left,” he whispered into your mouth. “You’ve drained me. I’m just a shell of a man now.”

“Then let me fill you back up,” you said, not even remotely sorry.

“Do you even hear yourself—holy shit—”

You’d sunk down onto him again, slow and deep, pulling a moan out of him so loud it had no business being that pretty. His head dropped to your shoulder as you started riding him, deliberately slow this time, grinding in small, agonizing circles.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he whispered. “You’re gonna have to call Shoko and be like, ‘Hi, I murdered my husband with pussy and now he’s trapped in the rice cooker, can you help me scrape him out?’”

You leaned in close, teeth grazing his ear.  “She’d say ‘finally.’”

His hands flew to your hips, grip bruising, and he started moving with you, fucking up into you like he’d found his second wind in the middle of his own funeral.

The countertop creaked under you. The spice jars rattled. A cinnamon container fell off the shelf at one point and he caught it one-handed without breaking rhythm, then threw it over his shoulder like an anime protagonist mid-battle.

“Why is this the best sex of my life—” he gasped, eyes wild.

“Because I’m ovulating and mad,” you panted, nails digging into his back. “Because you purposely sent me your cum-worthy abs.”

“So my ballsack is being drained because of some muscles on my abdomen?—”

“You don’t get it—”

And then you came together in the middle of the kitchen like two idiots in heat, clinging to each other, half-screaming into each other’s skin like the world was ending. Which, in a way, it was. Your knees were shaking. His hands wouldn’t stop twitching. 

The counter was definitely never going to recover.

And when it was over, when the both of you were breathless and sweaty and completely unhinged, he looked at you—kiss-bitten, flushed, utterly destroyed—and whispered:

“I don’t think I can eat rice ever again.”

being a virgin and ovulating is not for the weak 🙁🙁🙁

[dimlightprincess]

Sana hindi na kita mamiss

Para sana makamove-on na ako

Sana hindi na kita antayin

Para sana hindi na ako umasa pa

Sana hindi na kita hanap-hanapin

Para sana hindi na ako masaktan pa

Pero sana makagat mo ng matindi yung dila mo ngayon dahil iniisip nanaman kita.....

[shouyuus]

─── A R C A N E

v i o l e t

thighriding hcs - nsfw; fluff

touchy!vi hcs - slightly suggestive; fluff

modern underground fighter!vi - nsfw ; fluff

kissing her abs - slightly suggestive; fluff

vi x pillowprincess hcs - nsfw; fluff

bottom!vi getting strapped - nsfw

putting vi in handcuffs & eating her out - nsfw

lifting belt snaps w/ gym!vi - sfw

pitfighter!vi x sunshine!reader - nsfw

bday sex hcs - nsfw

eye contact w/ pitfighter!vi - nsfw; fluff

college waterpolo!vi - nsfw; fluff

broken rosary, cinnabar dreams - nsfw; tw: religious imagery

werewolf!vi x breeding kink - nsfw

jealous!vi hcs - sfw; fluff/angst

back tattoo hcs - sfw; fluff/angst

painting vi's nails - sfw; fluff

mutual cockblock w/ pitfighter!vi - nsfw

exhibitionist vi - sfw; slightly suggestive

even the rain - sfw; hurt/comfort

quicky w/ vi - nsfw

ride a cowgirl - sfw; slightly suggestive

overstim ur vi - nsfw; sub!vi

longdistance!vi hcs - nsfw; fluff

from "come over" to "come home" - sfw; fluff

slow dance - sfw; fluff; regency!au

like my whiskey neat - sfw; angst

grinding against vi in the club - suggestive; fluff

mirror!fucking in the club - nsfw; dom!vi

sweet, under water - sfw; fluff

sundress - sfw; suggestive

jealous you - sfw; very slightly suggestive

kissing vi - sfw; suggestive

1:30pm - nsfw; fluff

milkweed summer - nsfw; fluff

kissing lessons - nsfw; fluff

11:55pm - sfw; fluff

breathe - nsfw; fluff

bartender!vi hcs - sfw; fluff

surfer!vi - sfw; fluff

➜ C O N T

[bonniesbluee]

i ADOREEE ur writings very much, im looking forward for ur new work i.e. young dad!art nd young mom!reader 🤩🤩, keep going!!!!

a day with young dad!art and young mom!reader . . .

(they have a little girl in this!!)

9:00AM: your head was comfortably resting against art's bicep, hand gently clutching at his as you both slept soundly. then tiny knocks interrupted his sleep, you continued sleeping like a log, as always. "mama?" the high pitched voice made art sigh, rubbing his eyes while sitting up. "what are you doing here so early sweetheart?" he cooed, gently kissing your cheek so you could wake up. and all you replied was with a "mm, let me sleep." that was muffled against his skin. he smiled before scooping the little girl up, placing her ontop of your chest. "she wants you this morning.

10:30AM: after waking up, brushing yours and your daughters teeth, you both walked to the kitchen. to be greeted with a shirtless art cooking breakfast. you set your daughter in the booster seat before going to art so you can get your mom hugs. "you want eggs or cereal?" he would ask while resting his cheek ontop of your head. "mm cereal. i think she wants eggs." you mumbled back, glancing at the little girl gazing at both of you with curiosity.

12:00PM: "what time do we need to be at your parents house?" art asks while letting his daughter tug at his curls. "like in an hour?" you hum, resting your head on art's lap, taking advantage of the position to tickle you daughter's tiny toes. "shouldnt we start getting ready?"

1:30PM: after an hour and a half of getting ready, both of you are finally in the car. your daughter sleeping in the booster seat in the backseat while art drives. "remember, big smile, okay? and if my dad says anything unpleasant to you just tell me and i'll-" "calm down, baby." he interrupts, his hand going to your thigh. "its okay. i know how to handle myself."

1:55PM: "c'mon sweetie," you purr while taking your daughter out of the seat. "lets go see grandma and grandpa!" the little girl squeals, hugging you tightly while you carry her to the house. art following shortly after getting the diaper bag and your purse, which you had forgotten at the car.

4:58PM: "well that went..." art sighed, helping you put the little girl back into the booster seat. "better than i imagined?" he laughs softly, kissing his daughter's forehead. "see?" your hand gently rubbed his arm. "i told you they would soften up to you," he leaned into you, burying his face into your neck with a soft nod. "if you're lucky you might even be my dad's favorite son in law." you teased, wrapping your arms around art's shoulders. "i need to put a ring in that finger if yours to earn that title." he hummed, kissing your neck softly, still clutching you tightly. "yeah?" both of you looked at eachother, almost as if reading eachothers minds. "not right tho." but of you said at the same time before bursting out laughing. "yeah, not right now. but you're getting a big chunky ring when the time comes."

8:00PM: "its bed time for you, young girl." you announced while picking up the whiny little girl. "but mamaaa-" was the only thing she said, mostly because that was all the words she really knew to say properly at the moment. "uh uh, no whining or we wont go to the movies tomorrow." that shuts her up real quick. you tuck the little girl in, smiling softly before kissing her forehead. "mommy and daddy love you, soooo much." you whispering, brushing hair out of her face. "okay! good night." you walked to the door, "dont let the bed bugs bite." which was accompanied by a high pitched giggle from your daughter.

8:12PM: "did you put her to sleep?" asks art, walking out of the bathroom, hair soaked, chest glistening with water and with a towel wrapped around her waist. you nodded, laying on your stomach while watching tv. "yuppp." he sat beside you, leaning down to kiss your jaw, which resulted in his hair getting you all wet. "oh my god go away!" you whined. "you're getting everything wet!" "and not you?" he teased, cupping your thighs to pull you to him. "cant a guy not want to get his girlfriend wet anymore?" he shook his head like a dog, causing water to sprinkle everywhere, including you. "art donaldson." you muttered, glaring at him. "go dry your hair or i swear you wont be getting any action toni-" "yes ma'am." he kissed your cheek before scurrying off to the restroom.

8:20PM: he walks out of the restroom, finding your almost sleeping form in the bed. he huffs, walking to you, crawling ontop of you. "sleeping already? you promised me some 'action', dont you remember?" he whined, finding the crook of your neck to nestle his face there. "please? just one round i swear." he's totally lying. with how much you turn him on with just the slightest look his way, he knows there'll be more than just one round.

9:30PM: "a-art stop!" you whined, head resting against his shoulder, nails leaving red claw marks on his back as he fucked you missionary. "shh. you're gonna wake our daughter up," he purred, covering your mouth with his mouth while picking up his face. "you blabbered against his palm, eyes rolling back while your back arched, "m'coming!" you cried against his palm.

10:30PM: "good girl, up and down." he whispered, hands cupping your hips to guide your movements, he leaned in, your boobs suffocating his face but he didnt care, he loved this position. "faster," he whimpered against your chest, his fingers leaving red fingerprints against your flesh.

11:26PM: you layed on his chest, completely spent. you fell asleep the moment your head touched his chest. he cradled you softly, hand rubbing your lower back while his fingers brushed sweaty pieces of hair off your forehead. "goodnight." he mumbled, closing his eyes while pulling the covers up to your shoulders.

[azialways]

pretty little psycho!

yandere!mc x canon!ronin

warnings: swearing, canon typical violence & gore, ronin being ronin, suggestive ish, dirty talk ish

thank you to the people of the roserot discord for the help, writers block is a bitch even if you’re hyperfixating 🙏🙏

1366 words :)

fuck Y/N was tired. tired of people getting in their way, tired of girls trying to take him from them. However, they didn’t mind the blood, after all, red was his color; and god did he wear it well. Every kill reminded Y/N of Ronin, his voice, his face, the way his tongue piercing would flick out when he licked his lips. Fuck, it was hot. He was hot. But what they didn’t like was when he’d talk about some other girl he’d see in his favorite coffee shop, or on the streets.

“He shouldn’t love other girls, he should love ME” Y/N would think. They were what some would call obsessed, others psychotic…and in a way, she was both. The word “Yandere” would come up, and it aligned with her.

“someone who displays an obsessive and possessive love for their love interest, sometimes resorting to violence or other extreme behaviors to maintain control or prevent them from being with anyone else”

sounds about right, doesn’t it?

Valentine’s day was coming up, meaning Y/N had to get Ronin a gift.

Ding!

1 notification from goreboy

goreboy 11:04PM

hey, Wyd darlin’

y/un 11:06PM

thinking about you?

goreboy 11:09PM

awe, Such a Flatterer, ain’t Ya?

well Don’t get too Caught up, princess. Ya might just Miss me Too much

————————————————————

They had an idea. One he should LOVE

What’s more romantic than carving into the heart of one of the girls he talked about, and then gifting it to him! They did save one for a special occasion after all. The heart of this bitch named Lauren, some girl at the coffee shop he frequented.

They took it from their freezer, they put it in a tupperware container, of course. Can’t have her meats getting mixed with the blood and yucky stuff. They then grabbed a small tool and etched “Y/N + R ❤️” into the right ventricle, then etched more tiny hearts around it. Cute, right?

They then spray painted a box they had in bright red, and drew a little note saying “To Ronin” in their neat handwriting. They put the freezer box in the box, obviously didn’t want him to smell the organ smell if it began to rot…they had respect.

Their next idea was to leave the box in his Purgatory, aka his favorite alley, and watch his reaction. If it was good, maybe they’d pop out and kiss him, or something.

Ding!

2 messages from goreboy

goreboy 11:49PM

well Well well, leaving Me without A response?

how Very unlike You…

y/un 11:52PM

im a busy person, ronin.

you seem desperate for my attention.

goreboy 11:55PM

heh, You’re cute.

bet You wish I was x

y/un 11:58PM

maybe I do.

btw, if you plan on staying up…i might be dropping a little gift off for you in purgatory

how about it? early vday present for my fav crowbar killing serial?

goreboy 00:02AM

as long As you Plan on getting Me something on the Actual day

but I’ll gladly Take a gift from you Anyday, sweetheart.

y/un 00:05AM

well, good news. I just dropped it. corner under the bench.

goreboy 00:08AM

and You don’t plan on Gracing me with your presence?

just when I thought id Get to see you

gotta Keep a man On his toes, i Get it

y/un 00:11AM

maybe i do, guess you’ll have to find out ;)

Y/N then put their phone away, sitting by the bushes, hiding away from him. She heard footsteps, and recognized the red hair instantly. He arrived quickly, showed he was somewhat eager, or curious. Y/N watched as he looked around; was it for them? or was it for any cops. Probably both. He grabbed the box, sitting down on the bench.

“To Ronin.” He read, his voice soft enough to hear from their distance, but not super loud.

He opened the box, seeing the box inside. He was confused for a moment, then he opened it and gasped slightly.

“Shiiiit. Fuck, Y/N you’re crazy.” He spoke softly, his thumb running over the carving of their initials.

“God. What a pretty little psycho that one is…”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He put it back in the box, sealing it away like the best gift he’s ever had.

“They did say they’d rip the aorta out.” He sighed.

“God they’re fucking crazy, but I love it.” He mumbled.

This was it, the moment to pop out.

“Yeah? You think so?”

Ronin jumped slightly, grabbing his crowbar, but then relaxed. “Jesus Christ, Y/N…you fucking scared me. Thought you were a cop or somethin’”

“Me? A cop? You wound me, baby.” They walked over to him, this lovesick look in their eyes.

“Well. Ya never know, do you?”

They just chuckled, walking close, their hand crawling up his chest. “Did ya like my gift? You wanted me to cut the aorta out…but I wanted to give you a heart for valentines…to represent me giving my heart to you…”

“Well well…guess someone’s got the hots for me after all…” He teased, his hands going up to their waist. “And let the devil strike me down if I said I didn’t love it…sweetheart.”

He then put his crowbar down with the box, pinning you against the wall of the alleyway. “It was hot, honestly. The thought of you…my little writer darling…carving someone up for me? Goddamn…the thoughts it puts in my head.” He groaned softly, then his hand went to the back of Y/N’s head, holding that hair.

“Have you done anything else for me…hm? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the fact that every girl or guy i’ve had hit on me has just…miraculously disappeared…did you? Cmon baby, it’s me. I’m smarter than that.” He chuckled, his finger tracing their jaw before forcing them to look at him.

“you killed them, didn’t you?”

Y/N just nodded, looking up to him with those eyes that just begged. They weren’t sure what you were begging for, but you were.

“say it for me baby. say “I killed them for you, Ronin.” Yeah?” He spoke sharply, almost ordering them to.

“I did it. I killed them. I cut em up…bashed their brains out…cut the guy’s dicks off…all for you!” They spoke, completely enamored, completely in their head.

“My oh my…what a vicious animal you are, darlin…what have I made you into…i’ve corrupted the pretty little writer into an obsessed monster.” He chuckled, his hand gripping their waist tight.

“But fuck me, it’s hot. The idea of me corrupting you…the devil turning the perfect angel into a fallen one like he once was…god Y/N it’s a beautiful thought.”

He spoke softly, his voice taking a lulling tone as he leaned in, whispering the words in their ear like the softest, yet sexiest melody.

“It’s poetic, no?” He then moved out, his gaze flicking to their lips. He leaned in, their lips grazing for a moment. Y/N yearned for it, they moved in, but when Ronin moved out, denying them that touch…it drove them even crazier.

“Ah ah, not yet darlin, not yet.” He spoke, bringing his finger to their lips, and then they placed a gentle kiss on his fingertip.

“Blood.” They commented.

“Correct. I had just done a killing when you texted. See how I’d just drop it all for you…?”

“Mmm.”

“C’mere darlin.” He mumbled against their lips, finally connecting them for a mere moment. “Dancin’ with the devil, look at you…” He chuckled, then going to kiss them for real. Their lips connected, a soft moan escaping Y/Ns lips at the initial contact. It only got more heated as the kiss lasted longer; Y/N pressed against the wall, his hands gripping their waist for dear life, the metal of his tongue piercing cooling their lips…the tangy, metallic taste of blood on his lips, it was all deranged, yet poetic.

The love they had was messed up on so many levels, but that’s how it was around these parts, when a crime writer meets a serial killer, falls in love, then becomes a killer? It’s like Harley Quinn and the Joker in their own twist…and Y/N would be the queen to his king any day.

[geminisee]

i’m sorry everyone, they got him

as of 1:55pm EST, Dec 9 2024

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

pairing: rockstar!Eddie x fem!reader

warnings: dom/sub undertones, breeding kink if you squint, please let me know if I missed anything

NYE 1993 - 11:55pm, Time’s Square, NYC, Eddie’s penthouse

Eddie is completely drunk on your pussy. Right now, that wicked tongue you love to hate, is currently lapping at the mess along your thighs, slurping at the slick. He hums contently as you twitch with aftershocks within his grasp. Lovingly, tenderly, he kisses your sweet clit, chuckling when you squirm. “Sensitive, sweetness?” Eddie asks, blinking up at you with faux-innocence. “‘M sorry.”

“N-no, you’re not.” You hiccup and he flicks his tongue again triggering a soft hiss from you.

“Am too.” Eddie makes his way up your body, caging you in, his hair forming a curtain around you, framing his face. He was smiling at you, a mix of mischief with a splash of warmth. “So this is how you wanted to spend New Year’s Eve, huh? Could’ve been at a lavish party,” Eddie reaches down between the two of you, guiding his pierced member into your heat, stretching you nice and slow. He groans and you whimper, “But you wanted to ring in 1994 on my cock, baby?”

“Uh huh.” Is all you can muster. Your back arches and he takes advantage of the close proximity to your tits. Eddie leans down, lips pulling at a nipple, nibbling gently, his tongue lathing over the pert bud, before sucking hard. He feels you tighten around his dick and he smirks, his hips finding a steady rhythm.

It isn’t long before he has you screaming, hitting that spot inside you that you can never reach. “Oh, fuck - fuck - fuck - Eddie - fuck!” You’re soaking the sheets beneath you, and if it weren’t for the thousands of people downstairs waiting for the ball to drop and your own howls you’re sure you’d be able to hear the lewd, wet, sloppy sounds from between your legs.

“Aw, look at you,” Eddie grunts slowing it down and making you mewl, “Pretty little thing when you’re all fucked-out.” He glances out the big bay windows, confetti floating by as the crowds excitement begins to swell.

11:59pm

He turns his attention back to you, wrapping a ringed hand around your throat, his thrusts becoming more desperate, the headboard smacking against the wall, leaving a dent without a care.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6 —

Eddie’s other hand grasps your wrists to keep you in line. All the bravado replaced with hunger now, a feral need to make you both cum. He ups the ante, angling his cock in a way that makes you see stars. Your eyes roll back, and your jaw goes slack, on the precipice of oblivion.

5, 4,—

The metal head claims your mouth, swallowing your wails, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

3, 2, 1 —

12:00am, January 1st, 1994

Fireworks explode both outside and deep within your core. You give a muffled cry and he gives a grizzled groan into each other’s mouths as you cum together. You nearly blackout with this orgasm’s intensity, trying to twist away as he continues to thrust through it, filling you up.

After a moment or two, Eddie releases your throat and wrists, opting to kiss your nose which he’s satisfied to see you scrunch. He chuckles softly, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours, deep brown eyes finding your own. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

“Happy New Year, Eddie.”

[writeonwhiskey]

summer in seoul: ch 7 (18+)

a/n: lets throw caution to the wind, yeah? word count: 6,465 [ fic master list ]

You tell yourself you’re not jaded in the slightest when you check your phone for the fifth time since waking up and still haven’t received a text from Chris. It’s a blatant lie. You keep yourself busy—laying out clothes for the author meeting this afternoon and straightening up the hotel room a bit.

Later, you meet with the author as scheduled. You share a meal and discuss contract terms. She’s adamant about not having her story altered, save for necessary line edits. She wants to ensure she has a say in the final book cover, etc., etc. Her demands aren’t outrageous by any means. You think you can get this sorted out for her.

It’s not until you’re lying in bed after having dinner at a nearby restaurant, reading over a potential manuscript that you realize you still haven’t heard from Chris at all today.

 You grab your phone and check his ‘last seen’ status on WhatsApp. He hasn’t even read the message you sent saying you made it back to your room and that was sent before he came up and fucked you. 

You’re tempted to send him a message first but talk yourself out of it. He’s either extremely busy or really has no interest in hearing from you again.

You pretend the latter doesn’t sting.

It winds up being another full day before you hear from him, just when you had started to accept that it was going to be a one-time thing.

You’re exhausted, even though most of the day has been spent sitting in front of your computer. Jet lag is still kicking your ass. And you can’t sleep yet as you have two virtual meetings to attend starting at 10:00am EST, which means it will be 9:00pm KST.

When your phone vibrates and you see Hwarang on the lock screen, your pulse quickens. 

Hwarang [6:30pm] Jack of all trades, master of none but often times better than master of one

The message instantly brings a smile to your face as he references your conversation from the other night. It’s one of those bare minimum things, but it makes you happy that he took the time to look up the quote.

You contemplate your reply. Should you ask about his lack of communication yesterday? In a serious situation the answer would be a definitive yes. But this isn’t serious. This is temporary.

You [6:33pm] Did a bit of reading, I see. 

Hwarang [6:37pm] I’m a top student at google university

You [6:39pm] Oh? What are some google recommended places to check out near where I’m staying, then? I’ve got a free day tomorrow.

You’ve already looked up a few things on google yourself. However, it’s always better to get recommendations from locals, in your experience. You also figure it couldn’t hurt to slip in your availability. 

Hwarang [6:45pm] Hmmm give me a minute Standby

You [6:46pm] Copy

You give him a minute, but eventually several pass without a response. Sometimes you’re too literal for your own good.

You order from a food delivery service and shower—still nothing. You eat and attend the Zoom meetings—nothing. It’s nearly 11:00pm by the time he texts again. And, oh, is it worth the wait.

Hwarang [10:48pm] Summer in Seoul—Itinerary Have an early breakfast in bed 10:00AM - Songwol-dong Fairytale Village  12:30PM - Gyeongbokgung Palace 1:00PM - Bukchon Hanok Village 1:30PM – Light lunch in the village 3:00PM - Myeongdong Shopping District 5:00PM - Jamwon Hangang Park  (have some snacks, no full meals!) 7:00PM - Board sunset Han River cruise 9:00PM - Return to dock, head back to hotel

You are quite literally flabbergasted at his message. Your mouth hangs open while reading it—a fully planned itinerary? You felt pretty confident that your sexual encounter had been enjoyable…but was it enough to warrant all of this? Also, a small (maybe not too small) part of you was hoping that he would just offer to come over.

You [10:53pm] Wow. Thank you for putting that together. I may have some trouble finding each place, but I’ll give it my best shot.

Hwarang [10:55pm] I am nothing, if not prepared A car will pick you up at 8:00 tomorrow morning 

If your mouth had been agape before, it is surely touching the floor now. You tilt your head to the side as you stare at the message. You’re excited at the idea of having a well-planned day exploring Seoul but also confused. It’s a deeply thoughtful and kind gesture but what reason does he have for doing it? You would have preferred to see him again.

You [10:14pm] I hope I didn’t come off as helpless. I’m sure I can find my way around, there’s no need for the car. The itinerary is enough, really. 

Hwarang [10:17pm] No worries Enjoy the day I hope you land that deal  you’re working on

You stare at your phone in unnecessary turmoil. You don’t know what to think of this entire situation. Is this how kind people are in South Korea? You wouldn’t know. Maybe it is customary to welcome strangers you’ve slept with and want them to have a good time in your country. But…no—this is above and beyond that, right?

Hwarang [10:23pm] Don’t overthink it Seriously, just enjoy yourself Get some rest and let me know how it goes

You [10:26pm] I’m a chronic over thinker. I’ll sleep on it. Thank you, Chris.  Goodnight.

You want nothing more than to fall asleep when your head hits the pillow, however for the second time this week, you can’t seem to get thoughts of this man out of your mind.

The following morning, you drag yourself out of bed when your alarm goes off. You order room service, eat breakfast in your pajamas as instructed and then get dressed for the day—a pair of comfortable leggings and a cropped, t-shirt with a hood. When you make it down to the front of the hotel at 8:00am on the dot, a black sedan is waiting there. The driver stands near the rear passenger door. 

“y/n?” he asks, to which you nod. 

He opens the door, and you climb inside, thanking him. There are some alarm bells going off…what if you are wrong about this Chris character? What if the driver is picking you up to take you to some abandoned warehouse to be tortured or murdered?

Perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen asleep to true crime documentaries. Just to be safe, though, as the driver is walking around the car, you quickly make sure you’re able to open the back door. 

“First stop—Songwol-dong Fairytale Village.” The driver says as he gets in the car and starts the engine. 

You nod, thankful that he speaks English well—a fact you can only assume Chris made sure was in place.

The ride there is quite long, about an hour and a half. You pass the time looking out the window or scrolling through your phone. The driver offers some insight on notable buildings you pass, providing a comfortable atmosphere in the car. When you finally arrive, he advises that he will meet you in this same spot at 11:30am.

“Drop a pin to make your way back,” he says as you exit the vehicle. 

“Good idea. Thank you.” You reply before shutting the door. 

The first thing you notice is the brightly colored buildings—a stark contrast to everything you have seen thus far. After stopping at the ticket booth to get a pass, you head inside. It feels like stepping into another world, walking along the teal-colored cobblestone. Each building is painted and depicts some version of a fairytale.

You encounter Snow White, Belle and the Beast, Pinocchio, and many other characters—some you know, and others you’re not too familiar with. You can only assume they are from Korean fairytales. You take a few photos and send them to your mom and Chris. 

You get caught up in the day but mostly stick to the schedule. The itinerary was built to go to the furthest stop first and every place after is back in the direction of the hotel. 

The driver is always right where he says he will be, and you get from one place to the next seamlessly. He even helps you practice some conversational Korean as he drives. By the time you leave the shopping district, and you’ve swiped your card more times than you can remember, you start to feel burnt out. You can’t believe everything you’ve seen and done in one day. But your aching feet are a constant reminder of just how active you have been. 

You must have dozed off at some point during the drive because you wake to the driver calling your name when you’ve arrived at Jamwon Park. 

“Sorry,” you mutter as you sit up and stretch. 

“I will pick you up at 9:00 at the dock to take you back, okay?”

“Ye. Should I take my bags?”

“Aniyo, just leave them,” he says. 

You exit the car and look at the itinerary for exactly what you’re supposed to be doing here. No matter how tired you feel, you want to push through. Chris clearly went through so much to make this day happen, it’s the least you can do. You buy a water bottle and take a seat on the bench, content to just people watch for a while until the cruise departs. 

When you finally board the boat around 6:45pm, they advise you a ticket has already been paid for. You’re escorted inside and taken to your section. You go up to the third floor, walk through the interior of the boat, and stop at a glass door. The employee slides it open, bows slightly and gestures for you to go inside. 

It’s a private balcony. With a soft breeze and a table set for two. You stop in your tracks when you realize you’re not alone. One seat is already occupied by none other than Chris. 

The balcony room is closed off on both sides so the only thing you can see is the river. And each other. 

The employee takes their leave, and Chris removes his face mask, grinning at your surprised reaction. Those gorgeous dimples appear as the setting sun casts a warm glow on his face, and you resist the urge to melt. He gestures for you to take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, taking a seat, smiling—possibly red in the face as all the heat in your body seems to have rushed there.

Him being here caught you so off guard, but you can’t deny that you’re fucking ecstatic. The feeling of being tired has all but vanished from your body. 

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says. “How was everything?” 

“Honestly?” You finally look away from him and out towards the river. The sun glistens on the water in a way that makes it sparkle. “It was amazing. Thank you for planning it.”

“Good,” he replies. “You hungry?”

You let out a soft sigh. While you’re content to let this be whatever this is, you have a lot of questions. Even if you’re just hanging out and having fun, even if what he’s done is by some chance a common courtesy in South Korea…you just want to make sure you are both on the same page. 

“Is this normal?” you blurt out, ignoring his question as you turn back to face him. 

He places both elbows on the table and leans forward with his head on his hands. 

“A dinner cruise?” He arches an eyebrow, but a small smile rests on his lips. “Yeah, they’re pretty standard.”

“You know what I mean…planning out an itinerary for a random girl you hooked up with? Hiring a driver? Surprising them on a dinner cruise?” you clarify. “I’ll admit I was feeling embarrassed after not hearing from you and now all of this is just…a little much? I don’t know…”

He leans back in his seat, watching you for a moment.

“Maybe it’s not normal.” He removes his hat, revealing his dark, wavy curls. “I don’t really know either, to be honest. But I do know that I like being around you, y/n. It’s refreshing. Plus, I felt like shit for taking so long to get back to you. This was my way of making it up.”

You’re relieved that the feeling of comfort is mutual. Whatever time you share will be temporary and short lived…but it could still be fun. At the very least, you can enjoy being with him again tonight without second guessing everything.

“I like being around you too,” you admit. 

He smiles again and places a hand over his chest, “I’m known to have that effect on people.” 

You roll your eyes, and he laughs.

You take in the items on the table and spot bottles of soju in a bucket of ice. Chris stops you and grabs it himself.

He grabs two shot glasses, pours one and slides it to you, then pours another for himself. He stands, motioning toward the balcony rail and you follow. You cheers and drink.

Suddenly the boat jerks into motion and you stumble backwards. Chris grabs you by the waist, pulling you to him. You place a hand on his chest and look up. He’s smiling down at you, dimples on full display again.

“I’ve only had one shot, so I can’t blame the alcohol on this declaration. But I need you to know…you have really nice lips.”

“Oh?“ He playfully puckers them up and you swat at his arm, stepping away from him.

“Did you get my pictures?” you ask. 

“I did. They seemed to come just when I needed a break at work.”

 “Glad to hear it.” You smile. “Speaking of work…you gonna tell me what you do?”

He leans against the railing, eyebrow arched. 

“You gonna tell me what you do for work?”

“Touché,” you reply. “I’m a literary agent. I’m here to sign an author.”

“Really?” He asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “So, you must enjoy reading?”

“I love it.” 

“Do you write too?”

“Not as much as I used to…no time these days,” you shrug. 

“I understand that more than I would like to,” he replies softly.

“And you?”

“I work in music,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m a producer.”

You try to picture him in a music studio, and it actually isn’t all that hard to envision. You can imagine him in his dark clothing in front of a mixing board, navigating the controls with ease.

“And what does that consist of?”

“Writing lyrics, making beats, mixing, mastering…a little bit of everything really.”

“Jack of all trades,” you say, nodding. “Will you play me something of yours?”

“Maybe one day,” he smirks.

You don’t know if he’s playing coy, but you won’t pry.

You turn to the table to start pouring another shot, but he places his hand on top of yours.

“We’ve barely left the dock, y/n.” He offers a small laugh. “You trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me or something?”

“And what if I am?” you counter. 

His arm slowly moves from your hand, up your arm and to your neck. He cups it firmly and brings his face closer to yours. You half expect him to kiss you right then and there. Your heart starts to race, but you soon feel his breath near your ear instead. 

“I’d have to advise you against it,” he whispers. 

You move your hand up to grip his elbow, leaning into his touch. You should probably heed his warning, but you want to see how far you can take this. You place both hands on his chest and push him until his back is against the rail. You stand on your tiptoes, so your faces are close together. 

“And if I don’t take your advice?” You continue to challenge him, playfully. 

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. His hand drops from your neck to your waist. Faster than you can register he spins you both around and brings you in front of him. Your chest is now against the rail and you’re facing the river. He presses his hips into you while gripping your waist. 

“Don’t test me, y/n,” his voice is a soft and low warning. “Unless you’re okay with public indecency.”

Your eyes open wide. You want to indulge in the moment but being naked on the balcony of a cruise boat isn’t exactly what you had in mind. Perhaps you shouldn’t try to call his bluff.

You slowly nod in understanding, and he releases your waist. He steps back, and you turn around as he takes his seat at the table again. You frown, still wanting his hands on you.

In your line of work, patience is required. In your personal life, however, you have a hard time waiting for the things you want. And after the day he presented you with and his overall presence here, you really fucking want him. But you can wait…for a while. 

You sit back down.  

“Anyways…” You say casually. “What were we even talking about?”

He laughs heartily and you do too. 

There’s a knock at the door and Chris suddenly stiffens, grabbing his mask to put over his face. The door to your private slice of paradise opens and a waiter with a cart full of food enters. Their back is to you as Chris puts himself together.

You find his behavior peculiar, but you don’t say anything about it. You don’t know what to say about it, truthfully.

“Sillyehabnida,” the waiter says, leaving the cart near the door as they bring several dishes to the table one by one. There are different trays of meat, sides, soup, and dessert. 

When the waiter leaves, Chris removes his mask again. 

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh. 

The apology feels heavier than necessary, but you again choose not to acknowledge it. If he is a music producer, perhaps he doesn’t want any unnecessary attention. You turn your attention to the food in front of you instead. Since his instructions forbade you from having a big lunch, you’re beyond hungry. 

He grabs the plates and places one in front of you and another in front of himself, followed by the bowls. You take care of the cutlery—chopsticks and spoons for both of you.

You remain quiet as you eat, just taking in the view and enjoying the meal. The only sounds are those of you appreciating the delicious meal provided. You eventually talk about a few random topics—he apparently doesn’t watch much television and really does spend most of his time in a studio. You provide him an abridged version of what’s happening with the author you’re trying to sign, and he talks about some of the artists that have inspired him. 

At a certain point he asks about your family—you tell him you’re an only child and that it’s just you and your mother now. He’s interested in the fact that you’re from New York but don’t carry much of an accent. He has a younger sister and brother who live in Australia with his mom and dad that he talks about adoringly.

It must be hard to be separated from them. Perhaps he’s lonely here too and that’s why he took a liking to you.

When you’re done eating and have finished almost a bottle of soju, you feel satisfied—right on the brink of being stuffed. You pour another round of shots—you clink your glasses together and drink. He stands and motions for you to join him at the railing again.

The sun has sunk completely below the horizon, and the stars are twinkling above you. The boat has already turned around and is headed back toward the dock. You know your time with him is coming to an end for the night and the thought makes you sad.

Will you see him again?

Your elbow rests on the rail, your head in your hand. You’re more captivated by him than the sights around you. It takes him a few seconds to realize you’re staring. 

“Are you real?” you ask.

He pokes at his chest before responding, “I think so.”

“Well then,” you begin, “I should let strangers break my phone in the airport more often.”

“There’s no guarantee they’d be even half as cool as me,” he says with a shrug. But he can’t keep a straight face for long and chuckles. 

You want to commit the way he looks right now to memory. His dark hair is disheveled from being under his hat and you still have the urge to run your hands through it. His russet brown eyes have a twinkle to them when he smiles—you want to make him smile more just so you can see them light up. Soju aside, you feel like…

“Hang on a second,” you say, reaching for your phone on the table. You type what you’re looking for into google, turn the volume down low and let the sound play in your ear. 

He looks utterly perplexed, and you can’t blame him. You listen to the recording a few times before building up the confidence to repeat it aloud. You’re aware you’re only here for a short amount of time, but with the help of your good friend soju, you feel encouraged to make the most of whatever time you have with him.

There’s no harm in being open and direct—so long as you keep yourself in check. 

“Joahaeyo,” you say, sheepishly. 

He laughs and places his hand over his face. It’s not a laugh that makes you feel self-conscious, though, so you don’t regret your words. 

“Jinjja?” He asks with a soft smile. You scramble to look up what he said but he uses his hand to stop you. “Really? Jinjja?”

You understand what he means then and think about answering him back. He already knows the answer. Before you can contemplate your actions any further, you step closer to him and put your hands around his neck. You only have two days left in Seoul and want to spend tonight beneath or on top of him. Either way is fine. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head, waiting for your lips to finally meet again. 

They never do.

Instead, you feel his lips press against your forehead. Your eyes snap back open and you feel several emotions at once with embarrassment and rejection at a tie for the top spot. You bite your lip and look away towards the river.

You’re completely out of your element here. You must have read every single signal wrong because what the fuck? 

He hooks a finger under your chin, turning your head back to him. 

“Joahaeyo,” he says reassuringly. His eyes bore deeply into yours and there’s not a single trace of insincerity which only further adds to your confusion. “I have to be careful with you.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but the sound of the boat horn lets you know you’ve reached the dock and provides a much-needed distraction. You take a small step back from him and he must sense your apprehension, judging by the look that overtakes his features. 

“Thanks again, Chris, for today—for tonight.” You speak up before he can say anything.

A part of you doesn’t want him to address what happened. Perhaps you should have been more patient. You feel like an idiot. Maybe it’s better to leave some things unsaid. Maybe it’s better to just accept and be thankful for what today was—an amazing experience exploring a beautiful country. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“It was my pleasure,” he replies after a moment.

There’s a hint of sadness in his tone.

An announcement plays overhead in Korean. You assume it’s advising passengers to disembark. You walk around the table and grab your bag, checking the surface to make sure you’re not leaving anything behind. In all honesty, you’re looking for any distraction to avoid meeting his gaze. You can feel him watching you. 

“The driver will meet you in the same spot,” he informs you. “I’ll see you later.”

You finally bring your eyes up to meet his and take one last, long look at him before simultaneously nodding and shrugging your shoulders.

He shot you down but still plans to see you again?

As you exit the balcony room, though, you doubt you’ll have the nerve to see him after this.

It’s loud on the inside of the boat, and you immediately miss the quiet of your secluded area. However, you’re able to let out a breath of relief as you walk towards the exit and put some distance between you. 

You pull out your phone as you walk back to meet the driver, taking it off ‘Do Not Disturb’. You see a missed text and call from the author you’ve been working with. You mentally kick yourself for missing her and play the voicemail as you reach the car. The driver opens the door, and you slide into the backseat.

“y/n—it’s Moira,” her familiar voice says on the playback. “I’ve been thinking about this whole process and, given your commitment to me and my book, I want you here in person when my lawyer comes out. Talk to Mr. Reeds, or I will, if necessary, but I won’t trust anyone else but you with this. Call me when you can, whatever time.”

You can’t help the smile that takes over your face—the level of trust she has put in you is not something you take lightly. You are a little concerned with what Mr. Reeds will say as this is not a common request, though.

But, given the millions the company stands to make from signing her, you think you can convince him. Plus, you’ll still be available to work on other tasks remotely. 

You check the time and realize it’s only 5:00 AM where he is, but you’re sure he’ll answer. He’s usually up around 4:00 AM. You give him a call and he picks up on the third ring.

“Mr. Reeds? Sorry to call so early,” you say.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“Yes, fine—great, actually. Moria has asked me to stay in Korea until her lawyer comes out in a few weeks. She’d like to continue ironing out the details to have the contract fully ready for review when he’s here.”

“Hmmm,” he’s silent for a moment, probably running numbers in his head or something. He has to consider the costs of flying you back home for a few weeks then sending you back here, then back home again. Versus just continuing to pay for your room throughout that time. “See if you can negotiate in the rights for any future movies or TV series that the book generates. There’s some leeway for creative control of the scripts for her but keep it tight, okay?”

You’re grinning from ear to ear again. 

“Yes, Mr. Reeds,” you reply. 

“How are the accommodations? Do you need something more comfortable for the extended stay?” he asks. 

“No, sir. The hotel is fine—” you pause and tense up as the car door opens. You then see Chris poke his head inside to check that you’re there before he gets in. A look of confusion remains plastered to your face. “—I’ll confirm dates with Moira and send you an email.”

“Sounds good. Take your time with this—we might just have the next J.K. Rowling on our hands if this is done right.”

 Chris nods to the driver and the car takes off. He once again removes his mask, rubbing behind his ears as they’re freed from the constraints. 

“I will, Mr. Reed. Thank you for trusting me with this—I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Talk soon.”

He ends the call, and you bring the phone down to your lap and just stare at it for a minute. You’re feeling a mix of emotions—excitement with a new challenge at work and confusion as to why Chris is now sitting next to you.

You hear a whirring sound and look up to see the partition slowly moving up. You didn’t even know that was an option the entire day. Not that you would have used it.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

You take a deep breath and nod, turning your head to look at him. The embarrassment of your prior conversation has momentarily taken a seat on the back burner. You need to unload the news to someone.

“More than okay,” you say before launching into an explanation of everything that just transpired. 

“That’s amazing, y/n—I’m happy for you,” he replies genuinely. 

“Thanks.” You lean back into the seat and close your eyes, still smiling. You’ve worked your ass off under your higher ups—this is your first solo endeavor and it’s going better than you could have imagined. You let out a small sigh and bring yourself back to the present—this car ride with the man you left on the boat after expecting him to kiss you. 

You open your eyes and turn to look at him.

“About earlier—”

“I want to—”

You both start speaking at the same time, then stop. 

“You go first,” you say, wanting to hear him out. 

He contemplates his words for a moment. Then speaks. 

“I’m usually a pretty reasonable and responsible person—in all aspects,” he begins, “but I kinda feel like throwing caution to the wind when I’m with you. It feels reckless…or maybe impulsive is a better word. I work crazy hours and travel often, so I’m not really built for anything more than a one-night stand.”

It’s dark in the back of the car, but each time you pass under a streetlight, his face is illuminated for a moment. He looks concerned, and you don’t know if that should comfort or worry you.

“When I want something, I give my undying attention and devotion to it,” he continues, “I’m passionate about it, protective over it…so I don’t let myself get to that point about anything that’s not work related, you know? But with you? Seeing you again today is already outside of the norm, and I pushed for this, I made it happen. I wanted to see you. I feel like I need to have you again and that scares the shit outta me.”

His words come out in a bit of a rush, but you can tell this is something he’s thought hard about. Still, you’re glad to hear some of your own thoughts reflected in his words. 

“I mean this as no shade or disregard to you or your feelings, but I can’t let anything or anyone, jeopardize the work I’m doing.” His tone is low and firm. 

A silence falls over you for a moment as you process everything he said. You feel butterflies in your stomach about some of it, but your brain quickly pulls you back to reality.

He’s clearly saying he has some kind of feelings for you. But, the more important thing is that he doesn’t want whatever these feelings are to get in the way of his goals. 

“I completely understand,” you finally say. “I’ve thought about you more than I care to admit these past couple days, but I’m here for work—it’s my top priority too.”

“What do we do about it?” He asks. 

The silence engulfs you once more as you weigh out the options.

“I’m here for another couple of weeks…we can enjoy time with each other and still be aware and responsible enough to not let our feelings get in the way of our respective careers. If either of us start to feel anything too deeply, we can stop?” You say, though it comes out more like a question because you’re unsure if it’s a terrible idea or not. “I’m a big girl, Chris. I can resist falling for your charms.”

You add the last bit for good measure, but it could be a lie.

Your last relationship had ended so terribly that you hadn’t considered taking anyone seriously in years. The thought had never crossed your mind with Tinder matches nor with Chris.

You can’t imagine being in a long-term committed relationship and really putting yourself out there again. Anytime a guy even mentioned becoming official you’d freak out and get the fuck out of dodge.

That being said, you feel confident you will be able to keep yourself in check with Chris, as you always have in the past. 

“I’m not worried about that,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Responsible fun with no strings attached?” you say, extending your hand. 

He laughs even louder this time, and it makes you smile. 

“Respectful and responsible fun,” he repeats, shaking your hand.

You expect him to pull away after a moment, but he doesn’t. He pulls you closer, and his lips are on yours before you even realize what’s happening. You feel the adrenaline course through you at the sudden, intimate contact. 

Your body doesn’t tense up—it has the opposite reaction. You soften against him and embrace the feel of his lips against yours again, finally.

Caution be gone. 

If you’re doing this, you are going to do it to the fullest. You are going to indulge. 

You break the kiss, unbuckle your seat belt and swing your leg over his so that you’re straddling him. His hands immediately go to your waist and squeeze. You grind slowly against him with a teasing glance before flicking your hand up and knocking his hat off his head. 

He tilts his head back in laughter and you take the opportunity to put your mouth on his exposed neck, licking and kissing it. You slide your hands into his hair and curl your fingers into fists, giving the strands a tug to keep his head tilted back. You move your mouth to his, exhilarated by his soft moan that escapes into your mouth. 

He grips your waist tighter, and you respond by rolling your hips into his. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and when his lips part, you slide your tongue inside. Your tongues clash together as he moves his hands up your side and to your breasts. He pushes up the cropped shirt you’re wearing, his hands cool against your warm skin.

He yanks down the cup of your bra, and you lean back, using your hands in his hair to guide his mouth to your breast. As you did with his lips, he lightly bites your nipple, eliciting a moan from you. You tilt your head back as he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and biting intermittently. 

You grab his other hand and guide it to the waistband of your leggings. For a moment you regret the tight bottoms as they’ll only make this more challenging. You pull at the waistband, stretching it out so there’s room for his hand to enter. He directs his attention to the other breast as he slides his hand down until his fingers are touching your pussy. 

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling how wet he has made you. “You’re so fucking wet, y/n.”

His fingers slide back and forth against your clit and your hips are now moving of their own accord in response to him. He slouches down in the seat to allow his hand better access and slips his fingers inside you. You moan at the feeling and place your hands on his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours. 

Your lips are reunited only for a second when something switches in his head and he stops the kiss. He takes his hand from inside your pants and runs his fingers, wet with your own slick, across your lips before kissing you again, lightly sucking the juices off. 

You nearly lose it. 

He turns you around and you realize what he wants. You lean back against him and pull your bottoms down below your knees as he unbuttons his own and slides them down. He positions you above him and pauses for a moment. You look back, exasperated and slightly annoyed at the delay. 

He reaches over to the door and presses a button several times that makes the volume of the music higher. When his hand is back on you, he squeezes your hips and slams you down on to him. You let out a gasp, feeling his cock inside you again. 

You move your hands to the tinted partition window and use it to help bounce yourself back against him. His hands let go of your waist as you take on more of the work. They slide up and down your back, caressing you as you fuck him.

The car slows to a stop, but it isn’t until the light above you flickers on and off three times that you both freeze. Your eyes widen, and you turn around to look at him—his expression mirrors yours. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

“I thought we were,” you respond coyly.

He gives you a lazy smile, pulls you down on him slowly one last time before lifting you up and off him. You regretfully pull your underwear and leggings back up and sit on the seat as you adjust your bra. He fixes his pants and has to readjust himself, so his stiff cock is not noticeable. 

It feels as if the driver knows what’s happening because he’s taking his sweet time opening the door and you’re so thankful for it. You grab your bag, and Chris puts his mask and hat back on. When the door opens the cool night air enters the back of the car and you lock eyes with the driver before immediately averting your gaze. He knows. He has to know.

As you step out of the car, you see a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He’s holding your shopping bags from earlier in his hand and you reach for them but, once again, Chris stops you and grabs them himself. 

“I gotta make sure your merchandise makes it inside safely. Can’t be too careful out here.”

You squint at him, knowing he’s got a wide grin beneath his mask from the way his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He says something to the driver in Korean and the driver closes the door. He bows towards both of you before getting back in the car. 

“Plus,” Chris says as you walk towards the hotel entrance. “I never leave anything unfinished.”

a/n: i really think chan would be that thoughtful and provide a full itinerary 😂 and love the theory that there's a code between drivers and passengers with the music and lights haha because this has gotta happen IRL, right??? Oh and the kids are gonna have their real introduction soon! [ read chapter eight here ] (coming 6/7)

[mynicknameisgasoline]

Incorrect Quotes 1/4

okay so maybe i write a little bit

1.

y/n: So are we flirting right now? Five: I AM LITERALLY STABBING YOU y/n: That doesn’t answer my question

2.

y/n: Sorry it took me so long to bail you out of jail Klaus: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have used my one phone call to prank call the police

3.

y/n: I CAN'T DO IT! Klaus, laughing: I CAN'T EITHER! Diego: WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, YOU CAN EITHER GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. BECAUSE WE CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND WE KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT US. y/n: BUT LOOK WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH- Viktor: y/n- y/n: YOU GOTTA DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE! Lila: y/n we gotta- y/n: YOU GOTTA LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF AND SAY 'What am I willing to put up with today?' y/n, motioning to season 3 allison: NOT FUCKING THIS

4.

y/n: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it Klaus: Just rip the bandage off. y/n: It’s sparrow ben Klaus: Put the bandage back on.

5.

Luther: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon? Five: I'm a knife. y/n, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

6.

Klaus: What if I press the brake and gas at the same time? y/n: The car takes a screenshot. Five: For the last time, get the fuck out.

7.

y/n: Ben, I'm sad. Ben: *Holds out arms for a hug* It’s going to be okay. Klaus: Ben, I'm sad. Ben, nodding: mood.

8.

'Can I copy the homework?' Five: No. y/n: Yeah, sure. Klaus: Bold of you to assume I did the homework. Diego: lol nope. Lila: Wait, we had homework?!?!?! Vanya: *Read 5:55pm*

9.

Allison: y/n... How do I begin to explain y/n? Klaus: y/n is flawless. Lila: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000. Luther: I hear they do car commercials... in Japan. Five, muttering: One time they punched me in the face... it was awesome.

10.

y.n: Rules are made to be broken. Five: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Klaus: Uh, piñatas. Diego: Glow sticks. Lila: Karate boards. Vanya: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. y/n: Rules. Five: ...