#Get Lover Back and Love problem Solution

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. coming home from university has both stressed and tired you out — causing you to forget about satoru’s birthday. maybe your boyfriend could help you remember.

word count. 4.7k-ish

note. was supposed to come out on his (our) bday but writer’s block was ruthless :p hope you enjoy anyway x

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x sub!female reader. p.orn with plot. fluff to smut. age gap (reader 20 - early 20’s, satoru’s in his early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected, size difference, missionary, creampie, breast play, dirty talk, body worship, hickeys, praise, you f.uck in the kitchen, aftercare-ish, reader gets called ‘princess, sweetheart, baby, pretty.’ i present to you soft dom&older bf!gojo satoru. he’s absolutely smitten with you btw.

“lookin’ tired, sweetheart.” satoru comments with a subtle grin as he welcomes you home. home being his apartment that you had basically moved into. why? because it was close to the university you attend.

and maybe because your lover had coaxed you into it.

you sigh, eyes half closed and glazed over. the stress of exams, assignments and whatnot has been too much for your brain, “yeah, i’m sorry. i probably look like absolute shi—”

a pair of lips were quick to shut your negative remark up. satoru pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. his fluffy bangs brush over his closed eyes, the hairs lightly grazing your forehead as well. he smells and tastes sweet. like those strawberry flavoured candies he always carries with him in his pockets.

a faint string of saliva hanging between your two mouths was all that’s left after the intense kiss. it snaps, causing the small bit of liquid to cling onto your bottom lip.

“what’d i say about apologising when you did absolutely nothing wrong?” satoru asks in a gentle and hushed tone. his thumb presses down on your bottom lip to get rid of the transparent trail of saliva. his gaze is soft and loving — like it always is when he looks at you.

that man had once again rendered you speechless. it’s the small things that make you fall for him over and over, “that—uhm—i shouldn’t apologise for something i don’t have any control over.”

satoru’s dimples show as he looks down at you fondly. a large hand settles on the top of your head, messing up your hair whilst his lips lock yours in for another kiss.

“exactly,” your lover nods in approval before grabbing your bag and placing it aside. he also helps you take off your coat and even bends down to undo your shoes for you.

you wonder how you’ve even managed to land such a man.

satoru’s long fingers work quick to undo the laces on your shoes. your tired eyes can’t help but steal a glance at the veins that run down his slender hands — up his forearms and. . .

“somethin’ on your mind, princess?” his voice calls out as he massages your feet for a split second to ease the accumulated tension from all the walking. you simply shake your head ‘no’, though satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

with a light-hearted chuckle, he raises to his full length and leads you through the hallway. his footsteps were light whilst yours were the exact opposite: heavy and exhausted.

maybe a shower or bath would help you refresh and relax. thus, that’s exactly what the sorcerer recommends;

“why don’t you go take a nice shower whilst i prepare you a hot meal, hm?” satoru comments and stops in his tracks right before the door to the bathroom. his gaze lingers on your pretty face—his hands never leaving your skin.

the idea of taking a shower did seem like the ideal solution to your problems at the moment, “okay i will, but err. . .”

your voice trails off as you look up at satoru. his knuckles run over your cheeks lovingly and his warm gaze tells you that he’s smitten with you. totally. utterly. he makes you so nervous without even realising it in the slightest.

“you don’t have to cook me something. i know work has been hard on you too.” you finish your sentence with an apologetic little smile. one that makes satoru want to squeeze your cheeks together.

you had always been a bit selfless and it’s an admirable trait, but your boyfriend also has this gnawing urge to take care of you in any way he can. maybe it’s because he’s a few years older than you and knows from experience how tough things could get at your age.

satoru smirks and pokes your sides playfully, “don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. now let’s get you in that shower.”

a little yelp leaves your throat as you feel yourself get hoisted over his shoulder. the white-haired sorcerer opens the door with one hand, the other protectively placed on your waist to keep you from falling.

he settles you back on your feet in the middle of the room—eyes now filled with a playful glint. you could probably already guess the next words that leave his mouth.

“need help undressing? i’ll gladly do it for you,” satoru laughs. you roll your eyes and teasingly shove him towards the door. he puts his hands in the air to show his surrender, though doesn’t miss the opportunity to look you over one last time.

you’re like the embodiment of beauty even when your eyes have lost their usual spark. even if you barely have any energy left to do anything. he loves every side of you, no matter what.

resisting the urge to pull you into his arms for the nth time, your boyfriend eventually leaves you be and closes the door as he steps out. his mind, however, was still overly full with thoughts of you.

“ah, what a woman.” satoru mutters in pure amazement under his breath after departing from the bathroom. there’s a visible spring in his step as he walks to the kitchen—happy to take care of his girl.

. . .

you finish your much needed bath after about half an hour. you look in the bathroom mirror whilst wrapping a simple white towel around your torso. the bath sure did help to clear your mind, though there’s still one thing bothering you. something you’ve forgotten.

you can’t really put your finger on it, but it must have been something important. there’s an iffy feeling in your chest as you walk out of the bathroom — instantly heading towards the kitchen. surely, satoru could help you remember it.

“toru,” you call out before stepping into the kitchen. your lover is standing at the counter, his back towards you and his hands working fast to chop up some vegetables. the many pans and stoves scattered around the area only further prove his determination to prepare you a nice hot meal.

“yeah, princ— oh.” satoru eventually turns his head, looking over his shoulder to see you standing a few steps behind him. he couldn’t believe his luck; to have his gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend in his apartment was one thing—but having his girlfriend in front of him with only a towel on was another thing. the remaining waterdroplets running down your skin made you all the more attractive.

he grins as he puts the knife down and quickly dries his hands. he couldn’t wait to put his hands on your body, “c’mere, pretty.”

you grunt the moment satoru envelopes you into a tight hug with your face squished into his chest. he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head—over dramatically acting as if he hasn’t seen you for days.

his hands teasingly find their way under the material of the towel. the tips of his fingers are cold in comparison to your warm and damp skin. he drags the pad of his thumb up and down the curve of your ass; sighing in content as he feels the plush flesh.

“perv.” you mutter under your breath, though can’t deny that the light touch makes you putty in his hands. satoru responds with his usual ‘only when it comes to you’ comment before pulling away to take in your embarrassed expression. he lives for those physical reactions you have to his advances.

you slightly turn your head to the right, purposely avoiding his gaze. you face the door of the fridge that you stood in front of. your eyes fall onto the sticky notes. there’s one standing out from all the others.

you had placed it on there a few weeks ago so you wouldn’t accidentally forget that oh-so-important date.

turns out you did just that.

your face drops and you instantly go into panic mode. how could you fail to recall that today is satoru’s birthday? you don’t even know how to explain yourself. no amount of excuses would ever make this right. or so you thought.

satoru is an attentive lover; he is aware of almost everything that’s going on in your head. perhaps he is good at reading minds. or perhaps it’s just that your body language and facial expressions disclose everything he needs to know about your current mood.

“hey, i’m not upset.” satoru breathes out, eyes closed as he slides ticklish kisses down your neck. it is a sign of reassurance; he doesn’t want you to conclude that he’s angry with you for forgetting such a thing. besides, he understands that being an university student is a struggle by itself, “having you here with me at the end of the day ‘s all that matters to me, okay?”

you sigh, both in frustration and content. you’re frustrated with yourself for being too caught up with your studies, though you’re also appreciative for satoru’s empathy and lenience. he is so kind and mature; always optimistic about everything. your mindset is the opposite of his. your age gap sure did explain those cognitive differences.

despite satoru’s consolation, you still feel like you owe him something. you tilt your head back so you’re able to look him in the eyes. you give him the cutest pout ever and that man is—once again—feeling light-headed. satoru can’t decide whether to continue consoling you or to tease you about forgetting his birthday.

you are adorable when you sulk.

“i’m still.. well, sorry.” you sniffle, cuddling up to your lover to show your genuine remorse, “i know that you wouldn’t ever forget about my birthday - no matter how busy you might. . . .”

blahblahblah. you are babbling on and on about how inappropriate it is of you to forget his birthday, but satoru is hearing none of that.

his coherent thoughts shut down the moment he felt your tits press up against his chest. it is meant as an innocent hug on your part, however apparently couldn’t be interpreted as one.

your visible cleavage and the way the towel is doing a bad job at hiding the volume of your breasts increases the lewd thoughts gathering in his mind. there is no way that he can survive any more physical contact between you two without taking some action.

“..so, i was thinking that i could make it up to you somehow.” you conclude at one point in the conversation. satoru’s body subtly jolts as he snaps out of his dazed state.

he gives you a sheepish smile and tries to play it off by continuing the conversation, “make it up to me, huh?”

you nod in response and give him your best puppy eyes. your lover sighs in defeat; satoru couldn’t keep his emotions and carnal desires in check anymore. his hands are twitching, aching and longing to touch you all over.

the rational part of his mind told him to continue comforting you. to tell you that there was no need to compensate for failing to remember his birthday. the lust-driven part of him craves to take you up on the offer and give a different and more sexual twist to it.

satoru takes a deep breath and puts some distance between you two. not because he is annoyed or irritated by your behaviour, but because he might lose control of himself.

you can’t guess the intentions behind your lover’s actions, thus confusion follows; “satoru? you okay?”

maybe he actually is displeased by your lack of remembrance—deep, deep inside. you bite your lip anxiously, reaching your hand out to hold satoru’s in attempt to try and get him to look at you. his vision is obstructed by his own bangs, a dark shadow casted over his eyes, one that prevents you from gauging his mood.

you feel a light electric shock go through your body the instant your fingers curled around his hand. your boyfriend’s body stiffens and it’s like time stilled.

“fuck, i tried.” satoru mutters under his breath.

then, before you knew what was happening, you’re pinned to the door of the fridge. there are efforts made to articulate proper words, but the shock has overtaken all your senses. it isn’t like you could speak either—your lips are sealed shut by your lover’s.

his hands didn’t waste a single second now that they have free rein. they fondle you everywhere; from cupping your cheeks, to sliding down your neck and lower. his fingers rub up against the area where your nipples would be, sensually stroking them through the towel. his feverish kisses combined with his constant touches make you shiver in exhilaration.

you’re trying to keep up with his sudden burst of lust and that’s adorable to the white-haired sorcerer. he can feel you struggling to keep yourself balanced on your toes, your arms wrap tightly around his neck so you’d be inseparable. you feel him grin against your lips for a split second—the gesture alerting you of what might be coming.

“mmh,” satoru grunts once he frees your bare body from its confines. he finally breaks the kiss—the sole reason being to admire the sight of you.

it feels like he just unveiled a heavenly painting. his eyes don’t know what to focus on. if he is to properly and completely appreciate your nude body, it’d take him days or even weeks, “god, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be yours?”

your heart stutters in your chest as all attention is on you. the gentle yet hungry touch of your lover, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach and his half-lidded eyes that are focused on your most intimate parts—you don’t know how much more you can take.

satoru’s breathing becomes even heavier than it was moments ago. he leans his head down to your level, lips hovering above the space between your neck and shoulder. his mouth latches onto your skin after taking a moment to try and keep himself from rushing into things. but alas, he is a simple man.

his lips work precisely and diligently to leave hickeys on every inch. his teeth gently sink into your flesh here and there, his warm saliva coating the faint markings left. your body is his canvas for tonight and the many other nights that are yet to come — for as long as you give him permission to.

“ngh— t.. toru,” you stammer, almost squealing. the sloppy kisses left on your sensitive skin resulted in you whining for more. satoru feels a rush of satisfaction like no other; the frequency of his touches only increasing with each sound erupting from your throat. his tongue slides over your plump breasts, his fingers flicking the nipple he isn’t sucking on.

he eventually detaches from your tits, leaving them both covered in his saliva. he hums in delight at the erotic view and gives both your breasts a last kiss. satoru looks up into your eyes again—a sense of want in them, “you look like you have somethin’ to say, baby.”

you do, but, don’t know how to bring the message across. it is embarrassing to say all of your thoughts out loud; all that you actually want him to do that you. you know satoru would love it if you do, however you do not have the guts to.

your body does all the talking anyway. there is a pool of slick forming between your thighs, your bodily fluids showing just how aroused you are. you aren’t the only one in that state; satoru has had a raging hard-on the entire time.

“i want you,” there it goes.

you avert your eyes, though not for long. gentle fingers hold your chin up, forcing you to stare at your lover. his face is intensely close and your heart is in your throat. satoru grins at your shy behaviour, finding it all the more endearing.

“awh, my little princess wants me?” he pouts, almost mockingly if you didn’t know better. his gaze flickers downwards, “where d’ya want me? show me, baby.”

if you aren’t embarrassed already, you’d sure be now. satoru’s teasing words and the sultry tone of voice he uses eventually urges you to comply. your shaky fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand down towards your tingling cunt, “here.”

the older man hisses at the direct contact his hand makes with your pussy. it is so wet and ready — he wanted nothing more than to bury his fat cock between your folds and feel your sweet little cunt cling onto it.

he cups your cunt delicately, grazing his thumb against your clit. he traces faint circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to make you squirm and whimper in pleasure. his other fingers spread your folds apart so he can collect your wetness on them.

“how naughty,” satoru sighs. his index finger prods at your entrance, but your thighs clamp down around his hand before he’s able to push it in.

he snickers in amusement and retracts his hand. he licks your juices off of his long fingers in a painfully slow manner, “well.. who am i to deny you? what the princess says, goes.”

satoru lifts your body up in his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. he kisses you passionately again—his tongue swirling around yours. you exchange soft moans as your hands lift his shirt up and over his head.

you cut the kiss short to appreciate the sight of your lover’s well-built upper body. that drives him utterly insane. that look you give him.

satoru curses under his breath and pulls you down onto the carpet below. he carefully places you on your back and—once you are settled—instantly rushes to undo his grey sweatpants.

his eyes are darting from his clothes to your naked body under him. god, he wants to fuck you so bad. the view of you spread out and patiently waiting for him to take you had him weak in the knees. it’s a sinful scene, yet the pleading and almost innocent-like look in your eyes is a complete contrast.

“don’t worry, i’ll give it to you in a second, baby.” satoru grins once he pulls his boxers down to his knees—revealing his hardened cock. he strokes it slowly and the pre-cum drips down the shaft, his thumb smearing the droplets all over his pink tip.

after getting a couple strokes in, he grabs the base of his dick and guides it to your wet cunt. satoru rubs his tip up and down your slit. what he didn’t expect is for his cockhead to slide into you so easily. he didn’t even have to put in the slightest of effort.

your back arches due to the feeling and your nails dig into the carpet below you. the mixture of your slick and his pre-cum is all the lubricant you need.

“shit. seems like she doesn’t wanna let go any time soon.” satoru addresses your cunt with a groan whilst he slips his fat cock deeper into you. his eyes roll back as he feels the warmth of your pussy engulfing him, “. . .not like i was planning to leave her empty anyway.”

you moan and shiver at both satoru’s dirty words and his dick that’s currently stuffing your insides full. your mouth hangs open, your eyes remain shut and your brain takes in all the granted sensations. adjusting to his lengthy size takes you a few seconds and when you gave your boyfriend permission to continue— that’s exactly what he does.

his hips thrust in an almost hypnotising rhythm: back and forth, back and forth. every interval between the firm movements is the exact same. the thing that differs and makes the experience all the better, is the difference in strength behind each thrust.

one moment he’s carefully sliding in and out of your sopping cunt and in the next he’s forcefully slamming his cock all the way in and out. satoru stifles his moans by attaching his lips to yours—capturing them in a sloppy, rough kiss.

“satoru—satoru, ah, please.. right there,” you mewl into his mouth. his tongue finds yours and your salivas mix.

your lover answers your pleas by holding onto your hand, your fingers interlocking with his thumb soothingly rubbing your skin. satoru never fails to make you feel loved during intimate acts like these. no matter how filthy, nasty and rough he’s fucking you.

you arch your back and your chest presses against satoru’s, causing him to groan against your lips. a cocky grin appears on his face after he moves his head to the crook of your neck. he leaves a couple hickeys along the area of your throat—his hips not giving you a break. even as you continuously whimper and look like you’re about to lose your mind from pleasure.

that’s what satoru wants; to have you come undone beneath him. it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to him. others may call it perverted, but the older man always aims to make you reach as many orgasms as you can in one night. it fuels his carnal desires to see you convulse and shake after every intense climax.

his baby feeling good is all he wants to achieve.

“mhm, i know, princess. i know.” satoru breathes out and returns his lips to yours. he can’t go on long without tasting you. you’re like a drug he’s addicted to. every reaction—small or big—gets him going, “take it easy—fuck, you can do that f’me."

you reply with incoherent noises of agreement. there’s not a thought going on behind those watery eyes of yours. that much is obvious to your boyfriend.

your legs lock his cock inside of you by wrapping around his hips. your eyes are glazed over; a cockdrunk look. one that would make any man cum on spot.

“princess, wait,” satoru whines. he can’t stop himself, yet he’s telling you to wait. his body refuses to come to a halt as it strives towards a satisfying orgasm. he can feel it, his balls tightening and ready to spill everything they have, “if you continue looking at me like that, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

he isn’t lying. you’re nearly driving him over the edge with everything you do. your legs that tighten their grip around his hips in fear of him pulling out is his favorite thing to experience. it’s like you’re desperate to continue.

your hands play with his sweaty body, fingers caressing his hard chest to feel his heartbeat. you’re drooling. your head is spinning as you think of your lover claiming you. fucking his precious cum into you, “inside—want it inside. all of it.”

satoru chokes on his spit. you don’t know what you do to him. muttering such erotic words causes the older man to malfunction every time. without fail. his hips are painfully ramming against yours.

“you sure? ah, shit.” satoru curses. his brows are furrowed, his hands holding you by your jaw. the view of you with your head tilted back and your teary eyes looking straight into his is pure perfection, “can’t deny you when you look so hot begging me to cum inside your greedy little pussy.”

the room is spinning. your nails claw into satoru’s back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. you shudder the instant he slides out of you until all that’s left is his pink tip prodding at your entrance.

it’s like he gets off on it. to see you whimper, quiver and struggle to contain your pleas for permission to cum. your boyfriend drags his tip up and down your slit, tapping it against your clit repeatedly.

“cum f’me, baby.” satoru coos. he knows you’re right on the edge. before you can reply, he shoves his cock back inside your spasming cunt—ruthlessly pounding you until you scream his name.

your eyes roll back and all you can do is hold your breath the moment the intense orgasm washes over you. your hips buck, your legs tremble and your pussy gushes all over his cock.

spurts of clear liquid cover satoru’s thighs. you squirting isn’t something he had expected to see, but it is a pleasant surprise regardless. it all gets too much for your lover and it drives him to his own climax as well.

satoru hugs you tightly to him. your chests press together with one of his arms holding your upper body up—his nose buried into your hair. a muffled grunt escapes his mouth and that’s when you know that he's reaching his finish.

“please—take it, take it, take it,” satoru stutters and stammers. he can’t form any proper words the moment his cock twitches and releases a huge load of sperm into your womb. it’s an overwhelming amount; globs of transculent white liquid ooze out from between your folds.

his sticky cum slides down to your asshole and onto the carpet, staining it. satoru bites his bottom lip whilst his body is still recovering, cock going soft once he pulls it out. he doesn’t know what to do or where to look, yet somehow his gaze always darts back to your dripping cunt.

“fuck. . . that’s hot.” the older man takes in a deep breath. it’s too soon to get hard again, he figures. the way you’re still trembling and struggling to catch your breath tells him enough. you need a break. and a well-deserved one it is.

your weak taps against satoru’s shoulder snaps him out of his dazed state. he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes before helping you into a sitting position. his blue eyes flash with worry,

“hey, hey, baby—you okay?” satoru asks. his voice is raspy, though obviously filled with concern. he rubs your back and encourages you to take deep breaths. small kisses to your temples help calm you down too.

your breathing eventually returns to normal. you chuckle tiredly and lean your head against his shoulder. your attentive lover wipes the saliva from the corners of your lips and does the same with the tears around your eyes. you sniff, “y-yeah. just felt amazing, hehe.”

satoru sighs in relief. he was scared that he hurt you somehow. your confession makes him laugh and squeeze your body against his. he cups your face and kisses you twice out of pure adoration.

you’re always ten times more adorable to him after you’ve had sex.

“aw, glad it did.” satoru smiles, his dimples showing. your eyes glisten and you smile back out of reflex. you pucker your lips and your lover takes the hint. he presses his mouth against yours once more; this time playfully swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.

you pull back and teasingly swat his bicep. satoru tickles your side as a response. and that’s how you once again end on the floor, with a heavy weight pressing onto your front.

satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. you’re the best thing to have happened to him. you, the love of his life.

“the best present i could have ever gotten.” the white-haired sorcerer mumbles to no one in particular. though, you heard it. faintly.

you rub his back. you’re sure you made it up to him. he’s clinging onto you, nearly suffocating you by laying on top of your smaller body, but you don’t mind. you play with his hair and your fingernails graze against his undercut to which satoru reacts with a low purr.

you’re happy. he’s happy. that’s all that matters;

“happy birthday, my love.”

[mv1simp]

Masterlist 💖

Requests: Open!! 😼

started this for the lolz idk how max verstappen seduced me into writing fanfic again 10 years after my last piece (a one direction wattpad classic at age 12), with a full time job and living on the opposite side of the globe but here we go 🏎️🏎️ do NOT repost/translate my writing I only post on tumblr so lmk if u see anything sus 🤨

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♥️ You Get Me So High - smut, dark

the one where you're a strategist for McLaren, and have plotted up many a plan that lead to Redbull's downfall this year. Max Verstappen isn't fond of your schemes, so when you fall into his sinful world of pleasure and partying, he can't resist a chance to ruin you completely.

READ IT HERE (4.1k word count)

♥️ Sweet Like Candy - smut, dark

the one where Max’s interest is finally peaked after months of boredom - by a angelic looking camgirl with a mouth of sin. Just wait till he finds out that you were the ex teammate’s sister he’d always assumed to be shy and innocent.

READ IT HERE (3.8k word count)

♥️ Paradise - smut, dark

the one where after retiring from his successful racing career, Max Verstappen goes on to be team principal of his equally successful racing team. Too bad he just can't stop thinking about putting his star racer - you - out of commission permanently by getting you pregnant.

READ IT HERE (1.8k word count)

♥️ Devilish - smut, mafia! au

the one where you're the people's princess, as the daughter of the Mayor of Monaco. And you're determined to put your family's enemies behind bars - the infamous Verstappen mafia. But there's a fine line between love and war...and you learn this the hard way with Max Verstappen, the Dutch Leuuw.

READ IT HERE (9.5k word count)

♥️ Birthday Sex - smut

the one where you're Max's best friend and are determined to find him the perfect birthday present since he's spoilt you every year on yours. Just when you're ready to give up, inspiration strikes when you overhear him complaining about the one thing he wants in bed.

READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)

♥️ Unforgettable - smut, dark

the one where Max trains his innocent best friend to take him perfectly. Too bad you had no idea how far your beloved childhood friend had taken you training, given how you were usually peacefully asleep in his bed when he began.

READ IT HERE (4.2k word count)

♥️ Slow Down - smut, Twitter! AU

You and Max Verstappen have recently gone public with your relationship, a true enemies to lovers tale as Redbull’s golden boy and Ferrari’s princess. The public still think it’s all a PR scam…until your sex tape gets leaked. Your fans lose it!!

READ IT HERE

♥️ Vegas, Baby - smut

You and Max both take racing victories in Vegas 2024, you winning your first F2 race and Max of course taking his 4th WDC. What better way to congratulate your good friend and teammate than rewarding him with post race sex at the club after party?

READ IT HERE (5.3k word count)

♥️ That Boy is Mine - smut, dark

You're a successful and beautiful businesswoman in Monaco, and when your paths cross with Max, you know he's the perfect man for you and you're the perfect woman for him. Just a small problem of his goldigging girlfriend that's in your way...making you plot up a wicked scheme or two to have Max all to yourself!

READ IT HERE (4.7k word count)

♥️ Kiss It Better - smut, friends w benefits

You're extremely good at your job as a financial advisor at Redbull Inc - but lately, work's got you tense and wound up, ignoring your friends and not looking after yourself. Your friend Max notices - and offers a hand relieving all the tension. Turns out he's as good at it as winning F1 championships.

READ IT HERE (2.8k word count)

♥️ The Take - smut, dark

When your jerk boyfriend tells you to lose weight, you somehow end up with Max Verstappen as your personal trainer. The champion driver has some very hands on ways to help you keep fit and stay by his side instead of your boyfriend’s.

READ IT HERE (2.7k word count)

♥️ Often - smut, mafia! au

You’re a hard working medical student striving yo pay her debts, and one night you happen to catch the eye of Monaco’s richest man when working at his exclusive nightclub. You turn him down, wanting to be independent and not some trophy wife…but Max always gets what he wants.

READ IT HERE (5.6k word count)

♥️ Obsessed - smut, dark

Max can’t stop thinking about you, about your sweet face and kind voice, about your perfect body that he wants in his bed. The only problem is that you’re currently in a situationship with Lewis. Max decides to show you who you really deserve…even if that means keeping you locked inside his apartment for a while.

READ IT HERE ( k word count)

[pumpkinbxtch]

hi!!! I was wondering if you could do hcs for what arguing would be like with the HOO boys

Don't talk me like that! | headcanons

— arguing with the hoO boys

warnings: angst, language, boys being...boys

who's here: jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang ands percy jackson.

a/n: ohh ohh ohhh, yes. I can. I love drama.

— jason grace:

To get into a real fight with him, you must have come a long way because he's so peaceful and always tries to negotiate calmly, making sure both of you communicate effectively. But at the end of the day, you're like any other couple and sometimes end up having real fights.

The big issue is Jason's nature. He goes silent when he's really upset, his emotions hard to show.

When he’s that mad, you can see it on his face. It’s scary, let’s not lie.

When the ice breaks, he tries to take charge to explain what's wrong, which often makes things worse.

He keeps his distance when you argue, tense and rigid. He’s like a handsome, angry log.

Sometimes he says things reluctantly, like "don't act childish," which is so him.

Yes, he raises his voice and gets frustrated, "no, I said NO, THAT’S NOT HOW IT IS, gods…"

If you're wondering if his powers show, the answer is NEVER, or at least not against you. His mouth might taste like metal or his fingers might spark, but that's just him being really stressed.

His eyes get cloudy and grey.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples while muttering.

When things finally start to work out, he breathes better and starts talking more because he knows nothing will work if he doesn’t.

He’s practical, coming up with solutions to problems.

When the fight's over, he hugs you and kisses your forehead, relieved to be out of that situation.

Can he stay mad for days? Depends on the problem, but he’d prefer it doesn't last more than a day.

— leo valdez;

Leo and you usually argue over small things because you have that kind of relationship where you bicker and tease for fun, but when things get serious, the arguments can get heated (get it? heated? laugh, please).

That’s when things get tough. He may seem easy-going, but Leo has a strong temper and is very stubborn when he's mad. Whatever made you really fight doesn't matter because he’ll be stuck on his point.

"No, that's not how it happened." You could be contradicting each other all day until you both turn away and stop talking.

"Well, screw you!" you say, and he growls back, "Yeah, you too," swearing in Spanish. "vale ma-" "me lleva la ch-"

Yes, he switches languages mid-sentence.

"I already told you no! CUANTAS VECES TENGO QUE DECIRLO, carajo!-"

If you know Spanish, you can reply; if not...

"I don’t understand you, idiot. Say it in English or fuck yourself ." (just in case because you’re not sure what he said)

Swearing is common if he's really mad, but it's more his way of dealing with it than being mad at you.

That or sharp sarcasm.

Yes, he might cry if the argument is really bad.

His rigid feelings and insecurity can come up.

Leo is attached, so he’s constantly thinking of ways to fix it because he can’t stand being away from you for too long.

He keeps his distance, terrified of hurting you with his powers, which makes him nervous. "No, DON’T COME NEAR ME." It's for your safety, but it hurts him to see the look in your eyes when he says it.

Can he stay mad for days? Absolutely, but he misses you a lot, though his pride might keep him from showing it.

Don’t worry, he’ll eventually sit down to talk it out, and you’ll both calm down and fix things.

Then he'll give you a big hug and kiss your cheeks.

— frank zhang:

it’s hard to imagine: WHAT DID YOU DO TO FIGHT?

Yes, Frank is Mars’s son, but he’d never choose the battlefield for his lover. He’s very careful and always considerate, but yeah he can be severe when things get bad, and when isn't enough just have a serious talk.

You end up fighting in not-so-quiet whispers, with your faces and gestures being the most expressive.

"Of course not, I already told you, hey!" He raises his hands, and his body tenses up threateningly.

Frank tries to understand your point and make himself heard, always mindful of both your feelings. He knows how to set boundaries.

Sometimes, he just can’t take it anymore and signals a pause. "You know what? This is getting too much, and neither of us is in the best shape. Let’s talk tomorrow or later, please."

Does he raise his voice? Hardly, only when he really needs to make a point.

His eyes are bright, tinged with sadness and anger. The deadliest is his calm face or the way he slightly curls his lip, almost growling.

His eyebrows always seem to be touching, even if he doesn’t want them to.

He keeps a cool head to solve things.

Can he stay mad for days? Yes, while clearing his mind and thinking. He’ll come up to you, and you’ll talk it out, making things work in the end.

He’ll take your hand. You might feel guilty for pushing a guy like Frank to his limit, but he doesn’t mind having relationship problems with you:

"I hope we fight many more times, but about totally different things because it means we’ve really solved the previous issues."

— percy jackson:

wtf did you both do to get into a fight?

Percy won't waste a second, trying to resolve it immediately by asking and reflecting on his own actions. "What did I do wrong?" if it was his fault. "Can you listen to me for a second?" if it was you.

He hates being mad at you, just can’t stand it. But if the fight starts, he wants to start or finish it (or both).

Yes, he might cry.

Yes, he might raise his voice. "No, I didn't do anything. LISTEN TO ME."

Then he apologizes for it because he lost it.

He tries to hold your hands and says, "Babe, babe…"

He makes you both breathe and talk calmly.

He argues, of course, but differently. He’ll stop the conversation. "You know what? I'll think about it." He leaves or makes you leave.

Consequently, he might stay mad for days, or both of you might be mad at each other, but he’s thinking of what to say rather than just calming down. (Nothing wrong with that, everyone handles feelings differently and that's valid.)

Yes, he asks his mom.

Yes, he asks Paul.

You both end up fixing things, and he hugs you tight, giving you kisses all over your face while pouting.

"I missed you, babe."

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC WHY PEOPLE FALL FOR YOU

HEYY bestieee ✨ Let’s move on from that man who’s been making you cry and check out my MASTERLIST instead.Time to upgrade to someone who doesn’t make you question your life choices, okay? 😘

Pile One

You come into people’s lives like a quiet storm. You look so innocent, so pure—but you come with surprises. You will never be what is expected of you, and that’s what people love about you. They never know what they’re going to get; their preconceived ideas of you shatter the second you open your mouth.

You’re incredibly smart, clever with your words, and skilled at finding creative solutions to problems. Your good looks, ability to identify people’s strengths, and ease in forming connections (or conundrums) make you the perfect leader. People get close to admire your beauty, bask in your light, and quickly find themselves wrapped around your finger.

You make people surrender to you—they have no choice but to bow to your power. Some find this uncomfortable, but the ones who swim in the sauce? They demand more, getting lost trying to decipher you. You’re multidimensional, a force to be reckoned with, a beauty that commands worship, and a sharp mind. How could anyone not fall for you?

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two

“Did it hurt falling from heaven?” You little demon. Pile Two, you’re intoxicating—a sweet poison. (I’m hearing Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris playing in the background.) It’s hard to resist you; your sweet words turn people into believers of your gospel. They need to hear you, be near you, and earn your attention. It’s fun… until it gets clingy.

Pile Two, that push-and-pull power play you act so coy about? It’s dangerous. You’re the match to their gasoline. They’d been floating in still water, comfortable in their stillness—then you disrupted it all. You glide through life with ease and charm, and they find you refreshing. “It’s exactly what I needed,” they say. You’re a cold glass of water in the desert—needed, awaited.

You break a lot of hearts, some intentionally, others because people take care of that themselves. They get intrigued by you and talk themselves out of approaching you. But oh boy, no matter what, you linger, becoming a core memory, a core regret.

By the time they realize you’re what they needed, you’re already gone. It’s hard to hold onto you; you feel like a dream. They’ll swear they imagined you, like a mirage… until you reappear, reminding them how dull life felt without you.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three

It’s your world, and we’re just living in it. Yes, babe—we’re aware, and we’re into it. (I’m the voice of the people!) Pile Three, you’re impossible to miss. That Easy A line? “Google could find me if I was a crack in concrete.” You know, when she comes back to school after the rumor about her losing her "virginity" spreads. You could easily be sexualized by your peers. They fantasize about having you because you seem unreachable, like they’d need to be someone important just to stand next to you.

You’ve got the it factor, that star quality. You belong under a spotlight, and everyone sees it. Your style? The way you put outfits together? Chef’s kiss. People want to be your friend, your lover, part of your circle—but stay wary of energy vampires. They don’t know if they want to be you or be with you. A little bit of both, perhaps? Probably.

Copycats try to mimic you, but it’s never quite right. You’re authentic; they’re just desperate to be liked. Even if others can’t explain it, they feel the difference. You’re put on a pedestal—and honestly? That’s where you belong. 😘

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

[0luv9]

can't move on || mattheo riddle

Summary: He was done fucked, a weak man on his knees for her, mad for her, in love with her and funny enough she didn't know. Him sleeping around isn't helping him though.

Beware: angst, fluff (?), minimal plot, smoking, drugs, alcohol, she/her pronouns, second person used as well, miscommunication, misunderstandings, excessive use of swear words, both reader and Mattheo assume the worst, happy ending.

Words: 4.025k

Mattheo Riddle is in deep shit. His feelings have dug him a deep hole, a hole so deep that he could bury himself a hundred times over and still not be anywhere near the surface. He is so in love with you. And you being so fucking oblivious, mistake his advances for him being friendly. It's funny because when has he ever done something friendly? He's not even friendly to his friends, he insults them as a greeting for fucks sake. It's ridiculous how clueless you are, it was endearing at first but now it's just painful for him to watch you go on dates, that too every date with a different guy.

He thinks you've fucked them all, afterall it's him, Mattheo Riddle, he only thinks in extremes, if you've been on a date with some dude, you ofcourse had fucked him because who wouldn't do you. He resorted to the same ways, fucking his frustration out but instead of feeling satisfied, he would feel relieved for a moment and then his frustration would grow more and more, never coming close to being satisfied. He thought he could just fuck it all out, that he could just forget you, that he could just hate you. It became a routine for him, he got rougher and rougher with the girls he slept with, reaching his own high became harder and harder. It was all because of you, 'cause you couldn't see his love and make him a lover.

His reputation was worsening, his grades started slipping, he started ignoring you, becoming angry easily, snapping at anyone and everyone. Fucking girls left and right, every day was the same and he wondered why the hell he couldn't find a solution to all his problems. His smoking habits became worse, one cigarette turned into two, two turned three and now he was smoking one pack a day. His life was fucked, he could no longer think for himself, the thoughts of you with someone else corrupted his mind at all times. Everyone could see him ruining his life, he couldn't care less, he didn't give a shit about the names he was being called, most of them were true anyway.

…

Tonight was like every other Slytherin party night, except for the fact that he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, all he wanted was a drunk hookup but he had slept with most of the girls in the room and he couldn't bring himself to repeat them over. He sighed, walking off to a secluded balcony, pulling out a cigarette, it was boring, life had become boring.

"Mattheo," he nearly jerked his head in the direction of your voice, it's been so long since he's heard it. All of it coming back to him, all the feelings he was trying to get rid of came right back, knocking at his heart. He's looking for the sweet smile, the one you'd always give him when you'd talk to him but all you did was frown at him, looking at him like the onlookers who gossiped about him and it fucking hurt. "Yes darling," he greeted you like nothing was wrong, before you would've smiled at his cheesy nicknames but now you grimaced at his hoarse voice and stepped back, he quickly looked away, just like that he blew off his last chance, he couldn't face it, he couldn't see you walk away from him, he physically couldn't.

"Riddle-" "Don't, don't call me that," he whispered, it was pathetic, he knows it too but that doesn't stop him, he couldn't hear you call him that. "Mattheo, I am Mattheo," he breathed out like an affirmation to himself, as though reminding himself of the person he's losing, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his shoe. There it is, he's doing it again, acting how you'd want him to act, you disapproved of his smoking habits, you never told him to stop though, just so you know, he would stop if you only asked but you never did. You never asked anything of him, making the friendship feel one-sided, never wanting to bother him, you didn't do that with your other friends, you were openly asking them for favours albeit small, still favours, that's how friends are, looking out for eachother but no, you never expressed it, he just had to read into it. It made him feel as though he was your friend, just for the name sake, wow- he couldn't even be your friend.

He closed his eyes trying to contain himself, taking a hit from the burning cigarette, his hands were trembling, he was hurt, he could never be with you, you were making it clear. For the first time he got an actual sign of rejection and he just couldn't take it. "Riddle." It was still your voice, coming from his side, he slowly turned, there you were, standing next to him, looking at him with concern, giving him the slightest bit of hope, making his heart pound against his chest. He simply stared at you this time, unable to think of a response because you called him by his last name, you never did that. You didn't speak either, both staring at eachother, him with everything unsaid, sadness, anger, hope, longing, love, every fucking thing while you looked at him with worry painted all over your face. Mattheo hated to have people worry about him, noone was obligated to do so and he didn't want anyone to do it but right now, he didn't seem to mind, your attention was on him, worried about him. You finally looked away, placing your glass on the railing, alcohol with a lollipop in the glass, a typical you thing.

"alright, Mattheo," a small smile was tugging at your lips at his actions, "tell me, what's going on?" He didn't have anything to say, what would he say anyway? Upon not receiving an answer you sighed and continued, "Draco was telling me how different you've been-" he scoffed loudly interrupting you, ofcourse this is what it is, Malfoy sending you to talk to him, to scold him like everyone else, ofcourse you wouldn't come to him on your own, he was so fucking worthless in your eyes. “Don’t do that Mattheo-“ “Yeah? Why not? Coming here to scold me like everyone else, you know what, surprise surprise, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” He was angry, you come to talk to him after all these days and it was to tell him, that he’s bad, that he’s wrong, yes, he started it by ignoring you but you didn’t even make an effort to talk to your “friend” while he was away, it pained him to know that you didn’t even care to check up on him.

“No, I am worried Mattheo, this is not okay for you,” you moved closer, shaking your head trying to find the words, “I tried Mattheo, to catch you, to talk to you but you were always turning away, ignoring me, I couldn’t even get a proper look at you these weeks. Draco was joking about you smoking two a day, one for each girl you slept with, it was then but now, a whole pack a day? I tried to get to you, tried to see what’s been hurting you, but all I saw was your back towards me.” You paused, looking around clearly frustrated, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk about it, so I stopped trying but I am sorry, I can’t help myself, I care about you Mattheo and I hate to see you like this,” you looked up at him, hoping he’d understand but he only stared at you blankly, maybe you were wrong to care, he clearly didn’t want to be bothered, you sighed yet again, clearly there was no point, you could only wish for him to be better.

You mustered up all the courage you could, moving closer to the brunette who still hadn’t said a thing, “I am sorry for bothering you, I hope you win whatever battle it is that you are fighting, just know that I care and I can’t help but be worried when you are hurting, sorry if it is selfish that I want you to be better, I won’t disturb you anymore” you gave him a small smile, going up on your tiptoes planting a small kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment, holding his hand in both of your own giving it a hard squeeze before letting go. It pained you to see that he didn’t seem to care about his own life, making you feel useless for doing the same, he was dear to you, you didn’t want to let go of him but clearly he didn’t want the same, who were you to deny him of anything? So, you let go, taking the moment in before walking away, the tears were ready to fall, you weren’t going to let him see that, you didn’t want him to see how pent up you were over him when he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Mattheo could feel his chest burn, he could feel the sting in his heart at the sight of you walking away, his knees felt weak, you cared? You tried to reach out? Yes you did, of course you did, you weren’t the ugly person he tried to paint you as, he wanted to hate you so bad, he wanted you to be wrong, he wanted you to scold him, he wanted you to hate him just so he could move on but no, he could never move on from you, even if you spat his way he’d love you. ‘Sorry if it is selfish-’ he fucking wants you to be selfish, he wants you to be selfish about him. Only if he wasn’t busy imagining you with other guys, maybe he would’ve noticed that you smile a bit more around him, just maybe he’d see your eyes looking out for him. Maybe then he would’ve seen the look in your eyes, one similar to his, but he was a fool, he’d always be unworthy of your love, you wouldn’t love someone like him, he ruled that possibility out the very moment he fell in love with you, thereby in his mind even if you actually loved him, you didn’t because he couldn’t see it.

He called after you, he couldn’t see you walk away, not when he has so much to say. You turned around, he saw tears in your eyes, he felt like dying, it was him who made you cry, if he didn't hate himself before, he clearly did right then. With two wide strides he was infront of you, holding your face, wiping away your tears, "please don't walk away from me," he muttered, trying to get you to look up at him, you look up at him with stars in your eyes, taking his breath away, 'I want you so bad' he thinks to himself but it's false, no, he doesn't simply want you, he fucking needs you like the air you take away from him, when you look at him like that- hazy eyed, making him think that you love him but he knows you don't, he knows you don't love the guys you go on dates with, he knows you don't love the guys you sleep with, in his eyes you love to care but don't care to love, he'll be one of those guys, if it means you'll have him, even if it is for one night.

He was staring at you, looking for a sign, waiting for you to push him away but you just look at him with glossy eyes, making him weak, unable to contain himself he presses his lips against yours, you hiss pulling back, the bitter taste of smoke invading your senses, your reaction hurts him, he couldn't even be one of your guys, that's how worthless he is, his grip loosens, he tastes you on his lips, sweet cherry- the lollipop still sugary on your lips. Then you surprise him, fisting his collar, pulling him down, soft lips on his, like honey against his smoke. He loses it then and there, his hand comes up to hold your face, the other low on your back pulling you flush against him. It was heaven, eyes closed, moving in sync, savouring every second, he could feel his skin tingle, his body burn, it was pathetic how you could bring him to feel so much with the simplest of touches, and now you were kissing him, better than any dream or fantasy, it's real, he reminds himself, frowning as he concentrates trying to capture every single detail, of you against him.

Mattheo walks you back to the railings, not letting go of you even for a second. You pull away as the cold metal makes contact with your body, the sting seeping through the thin layer of your clothes. Still impossibly close practically breathing the same air, then the situation dawns upon you, you look up at Mattheo in horror. This is what has become of your love for him, he's using your attraction towards him to get you into bed, just like he did with other girls. There was no difference in their relationship with him and yours with him, evidently so. You loved kissing him but you hated the fact that it meant everything to you but all it was to him was a one night stand, your dignity would not allow it, even though you wanted him so badly. "I'm- I'm sorry but I can't," you quickly walk off, not looking back this was humiliation, you felt embarrassed.

One moment you were there kissing him and the next you were gone, he fucking hates this because he doesn't know what to do or what made you push him away. You gave him hope when you kissed him but shattered it when you walked away, you were confusing him. Why'd you kiss him like that if you wanted to let go? His hands reach out to pull at his hair, "Fuck" he grits out, it was frustrating not knowing what to do, knowing he has done something wrong. But for the most part, he doesn't know how you feel, you kissed him like you felt something but you walked away like it was nothing. He's over it.

…

He's absolutely not over it. He couldn't even stick to the plan for five seconds, images of you in his arms plagued his mind. He could only cherish that moment, he felt more alive in those few seconds than he ever did, his lips are still tingling, it's the next morning and his head is still in clouds. Mattheo for once, feels human- he feels like going to class again just so he could see you. The wound of your rejection was still fresh in his heart but so was the memory of your lips against his in his mind.

He could handle the professors' taunts, he infact muted them out and zeroed in on your face, you were avoiding him, he could see it, trying so hard just like he did the past few weeks. He saw himself in you for a moment but then you started talking to some Hufflepuff dude next to you, smiling at him so pretty, his blood started burning hot when he saw the guy touch you. You did nothing to push him away, pfft- ofcourse he wasn't Mattheo fucking Riddle that you'd push him away.

Mattheo was practically burning holes into you skull as he took a seat in the very back. Only if he wasn't so overtaken by jealousy he'd see that your smile didn't reach your eyes as you laughed at the Puff's joke, that your reactions were simply polite, a mere distraction from the pinching of your heart. You didn't want to be one of the girls he slept with, didn't want to be discarded after being used.

He couldn't even be one of your guys, he fucking wanted it to be him so bad just to have your for a night, just so you could see him in a different light, just so you'd know that he loved you. He'd gladly be discarded by you.

…

Mattheo has been searching for you, for about an hour now, you were minx- rushing out of the class before he could catch upto you. You were no where to be seen, he was actually getting worried. He was just about to enter the dungeons when he saw Pansy near the entrance. She'd know your whereabouts, she was a close friend of yours. She'd help him too, because she was his friend as well, right? Or had he destroyed every relationship he had the past few weeks. "Pans, a moment please" "oh hey Mattheo," she greeted him with a smile, that's a good sign, "umm- do you know where-" there he was, polite stuttering fucktard, "oh I know where she is," He didn't even tell her who he was looking for, confusion taking over his features, "I saw you looking at her in class, you like her don't you?" Was he that obvious? If so, why couldn't she see it? "Yeah," he finally admitted it to someone else, it was out there now, he felt some weight lift off of his shoulders, there was no denying to it, he loved her and he doesn't care if he gets laughed at for it but then his heart stops at her next words. "She's on a date with some Hufflepuff, in Hogsmeade," her voice was sympathetic, hurt was painted all over his face.

They were standing there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before she broke it, heading towards the entrance, "You know you should tell her," she gave him a small smile, she patted his back ready to slip into the entrance, he stopped her "Why? Did she say something about me?" His voice was full of hope, hoping that maybe she had confessed to her friend just like he did right then but to add onto his sorrow, Pansy shook her head, he let his head hang low, moving his hand over his face, scoffing bitterly at the situation he was in, "but you should still tell her, at least you'll be satisfied knowing that you did something about it than do nothing." She shrugged walking in, leaving him there to think about her words.

She is right. He has to know, to know how you feel, he has to talk to you, has to let you know how he feels because in his heart, there's hope that you may like him back because you kissed him like you did. Mattheo wants to confirm that it wasn't his delusions that rendered your lips to move against his in adoration, something more than just physical. He has to hold you again in his arms-

He didn't even have to walk far away to find you, walking alone in the empty corridor but you turn around as you see him. Mattheo won't let you do that this time, he's onto you within seconds grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. "What-" "Please don't ignore me-" "I am not!" You sound defensive, taking your hand back, folding them as you look at him as though he is some lowlife human, there's a similar hurt in your eyes, one he knows a bit too well. "Yes you are, please don't try to deny it," he says slowly and carefully, he doesn't want you to walk away, "what do you want Mattheo?" You are annoyed, you stretch out his name showing your impatience. He takes his sweet time though, taking your hands in his, they feel cold, snatching away the warmthness of the action, "Why did you walk away? Yesterday?" "Why? Is there some rule against it-""no no ofcourse not-" both of you interrupting each other, you were frustrated, what was he trying to do? Did his ego take such a huge hit that you didn't want to sleep with him, like those girls he used and discarded? "Tell me why is it that you care? It's not a huge deal to you, you can have anyone else to sleep with you, it shouldn't matter that one girl decided to walk away when you have tens and hundreds lining up-" "WHAT?" He was looking at as though you were saying something ridiculous, "I cared about our relationship enough not to ruin it but you had to be there, trying to use me like you use the other girls and then discard me-" "STOP!" He holds your face in his hands, intense gaze setting you ablaze, "I fucking care, don’t think otherwise, I care because it's you, you could never be them-"

"wow- am I so worthless and unattractive in your eyes that you don't even-" "Wait, it should be me saying all of this, about you and the guys you on dates with, the guys you take to bed-" "What guys-" you both were now screaming at eachother, it was overwhelming, having to be vulnerable and admit your feelings and not understand what the person in front of you is saying. "I have not once slept with the guys I went on dates with, I'm in love with you for fucks sake but I got tired of waiting for you to love me," What.

He fucked up.

"Fuck, fuck-" his knees hit the ground as he covers his face with his hands, he's ruined all his chances by being an assuming dickhead. Heavens goodness- "FUCK!" He groans into his palms, not being able to digest what you had just said, he feels ecstatic that you love him but he hates that he's ruined his chances with you, "Mattheo-" "Fuck, I am so sorry, I've been a fool, a fucking idiot-" he pulls you down, grabbing your hands, crying because he doesn't know any other way to express it. He has lost his chance all because he let jealousy get the best of him, took illogical steps to overcome it. "I love you, I fucking am in love with you," he grips your hands tight, shaking them as he speaks, unable to control his very physical reaction, "Mattheo what-" "I thought that I could fuck it all out, fuck all the feelings away but no you were always on my mind, not just you but you with someone else, happy. I thought maybe I could resort to your ways, thought maybe I could sleep around then I'd get rid of my feelings, afterall you seemed happy doing it but you never- FUCK! I am so fucking sorry, I love you-" you kiss him, he sure was an idiot to think that you could just flip a switch and "unlove" him, what kind of love would that be? You hated to admit it, you loved him even when he was sleeping with so many girls, you loved him before he did that, a few weeks were nothing to make you hate him.

It was brief kiss, enough to silence him, tears were still running down his face- he was a heartbroken man on his knees afterall- they were only a sign of his regret, then he was at it again, apologising, "stop Mattheo, you are foolish if you think that I'll love one moment and not love you the next-" "but you don't deserve it, not after what I did-" "let me decide that. Do you love me?" Your ask is serious, so he answers you with utmost sincerity, his words soft, full of truth "I love you, more than I think I can handle," he looks down, you don't let him as you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him close, "Learn to handle it then, I am not going anywhere." For the first time in his life, does Mattheo experience pure bliss, you are a sin against his lips, he pulls you closer like a prayer because if there's a god above, he'd pray for you to be his.

...

[narnian-neverlander]

One of the Fools [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: You don’t miss the way he slightly, unconsciously, taps his cane against his bad leg and your heart shatters. Running your thumb over the back of his hand, you swallow any remaining self pity and instead focus on trying to at least give him some comfort and stop him from spiraling any further. “That’s ridiculous. I love being with you; it doesn’t matter wether people are watching or not.” He scoffs. “Of course it matters. The way people perceive me will rub off on how they perceive you. I can keep a distance as your friend, but as your lover? Please. You shouldn’t have to put up with the ridicule that would come along with it.”

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut

Word Count: 11,2k (I don’t know how this happened, I’m so sorry)

Warnings: self loathing, internalized ableism, mentions of human trafficking, slight smut (not super descriptive, but not subtle either)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: I originally planned on a fade to black with the smut, but I’m feral for this man so have this instead. This is also the most christmas-y thing you’ll ever get from me, so merry early crisis I guess ✨

What are you so scared of?

It’s the same question you arrive at over and over again as you pace the length of your kitchen, teeth bruising your cuticles, mind racing.

What if you asked him out on a date? Told him you’re head over heels in love with him?

What’s the worst that could happen?

Rejection. Deep down you know that’s it. Of him not wanting the love you’re offering, not wanting you, all of you.

Would he though?

All evidence to the contrary, if you’re truly being honest with yourself. And if you dare believe Jayce.

You’ll never know unless you actually tell him.

Uncomfortable, but true. Not to mention you aren’t sure you can keep it a secret from him for much longer. That dance after the gala had been the closest you’d been to crossing the line. And while you’d decided against it on that particular evening, part of you regrets that. Part of you had wanted to finally confess. To finally know. The fear had won that night, but you’re oh so tired of being scared. Of pretending that what you two currently have is enough.

Groaning, you scrub your hands over your face in irritation, your pacing coming to a stop to stare at the solution to all your troubles: two small, rectangular pieces of cardboard on your kitchen table. You pick them up, the light in your apartment making the gold lettering shimmer. It reminds you of the way Viktor’s eyes light up anytime he talks about something he’s passionate about.

Fuck it. Now or never.

The next day at about noon, you enter academy grounds, your solution safely tucked into a pocket inside your heavy winter coat. Luckily enough, you arrive just in time to have a student holding the door open for you, your own hands full with bags of food, and you quickly thank her as you duck inside.

You’ll never know how these two managed without you; they might be certified geniuses, but they’re both absolutely piss poor at taking care of themselves. Like remembering to eat. So over time, a mutually beneficial, symbiotic relationship had developed: you keep them from accidentally starving themselves and they play guinea pigs for your new recipes in return. Not to mention gossip about the Hextech pioneers frequenting your restaurant hadn’t exactly hurt your business.

You encounter the same problem from earlier in the form of a different closed door when you reach the lab; a shortlived problem when said door opens so rapidly it almost smacks you in the face and what happens next is mostly a blur, but you’re fairly certain you just watched Jayce sprint past you with something in his arms that was definitely smoking. Maybe still burning, you can’t be sure. Peeking your head through the open archway, just to make sure you’re not about to walk into a fire hazard, you only find Viktor at the open windows, coughing terribly and trying to wave remnants of thick black smoke outside.

“You know this is exactly why I don’t let either one of you anywhere near my kitchen, right?” you state matter-of-factly as you place your bags on one of the desks, making your friend jump in alarm. Try as you might to suppress it, a highly amused snicker leaves your lips as you take in the state of him: face covered in soot, hair an absolute mess and parts of his clothes singed. Still giggling, you unwrap the dish towel from one of the containers you brought and hold it out to him. “A wise choice, evidently.” he groans, trying to clean himself up as much as the current circumstances would allow. It’s… a hopeless cause, really, and with a click of your tongue you snatch the towel back from him and before he can protest, grab his chin with your other hand. He stills immediately, blinking at you in surprise with big eyes that seem all the brighter than usual in direct comparison to his dirty face. Heat creeps up your cheeks under his intense gaze, but you try to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. “There, that’s as good as it’s gonna get. Probably. You should take a shower before going back out into public, though.”

“There’s plenty of public between here and my shower.” he remarks, which earns him a deadpan “So go home when it’s dark.” He tries to make a grab for you, smear some of the soot on your own face in retaliation, but you manage to avoid him and get out of his reach all together just in time. “Please, like you ever go home before that anyways. When did you last see actual sunlight?” You immediately know you won’t like what comes out of his mouth next, with the all-knowing smirk forming on his face. He throws a thumb over his shoulder at the open windows, rays of sunlight filtering into the room, breaking up the remaining bits of smoke. “Right now.”

Your mumbled ‘Oh for the love of—‘ is so quiet, you don’t expect him to hear it, but he does and the bastard actually has the audacity to laugh at you. And you can’t possibly stay mad at him while he’s laughing, not when it’s one of your favorite sounds in the whole world. So you just roll your eyes and busy yourself with unpacking the rest of the lunch you brought while he makes his way over to the blackboard and starts erasing and rewriting a huge chunk of calculations, presumably to avoid the same mistake happening again. Hopefully.

Finally shrugging out of your coat and placing it over a nearby chair, you catch a glimpse of gold letters on dark blue cardboard and immediately feel your palms get sweaty. Right. You came here for a reason. “Hey, Vik? You, uh… you got a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something.” A quick look over his shoulder at you, a small smile, a teasing glint in his eyes and “For you? Always.” is all it takes for your heart to pick up speed. For your nerves to be replaced by something soothing and warm. For you to know that you’re doing the right thing and you never should’ve doubted it. So you snatch the cards out of your pocket and close the distance between you quickly as you explain.

“Well, you know how in preparation for Progress Day in a few weeks, Piltover is hosting expositions from pioneers out of all kinds of fields?” He nods, so you place the two tickets in your hand on the desk between you and he picks up one of them, studying the fine, shimmering cursive and ornate details. The card alone already looks like it cost a fortune, so he can’t even imagine what event it would grant one access to. “One of them is a traveling market. It’s mostly about food, but there’s merchants and inventors from all over the world all very conveniently put into the same space. And… And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go there with me?” He’s quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet. And yet the way he’s still staring at the ticket in his hand with pinched brows tells you that the gears in his head are turning faster than you can keep up, so when he opens his mouth to respond, you beat him to it, anxiety back in full swing, forcing the words out of your mouth before you can think too much about any of this. “It’s… This is something I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. Worked my ass off for years to maybe get a chance to go there. It’s really important to me, so—“

“Then I definitely shouldn’t be the one to accompany you.”

The laugh you let out is soft, disbelieving. You must’ve heard him wrong, misunderstood him. “What?”

Denial.

“If it’s that important to you, you should take someone who’d be able to appreciate it the same way you can.”

There’s something hot and ugly that flares up in your chest. “Well, they’re my tickets and it’s my decision. And I’m asking you.”

Anger.

A sigh as he places the card down on the desk and turns back to the chalkboard. “And I appreciate that. But you said it yourself: Progress Day is coming up and we have plenty to do. And as you saw earlier it’s not going along quite as smoothly as we’d hoped.”

“The market isn’t just for a single day and the tickets are good for whenever. I’m sure you could take one day off…?”

Bargaining.

The way he says your name is gentle and hushed and you never thought it could pain you so much to hear him say it like that. “I’m grateful you thought of me, I truly am, but I’m just… now isn’t a good time for me to get distracted. Please just find someone else to take?” The look in his eyes is pleading, desperate almost. No, not desperate. Exasperated.

You’d told him that this was something incredibly precious to you and… and he simply doesn’t care. Or rather, he doesn’t care enough. About how much this means to you. About how much going with him would’ve meant to you. This wasn’t something akin to the violent, ridiculing rejection you’d envisioned this was… uninterested apathy, at best, bored annoyance at worst. And somehow that hurts on a different level entirely. A level you didn’t even know existed until now, as your heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

Depression.

He’s not even looking at you anymore, back turned to you and busy with scrawling numbers in white chalk on the board again. Limbs heavy and shaky, you take your self imposed solution to your problem back and cradle the cards close to your chest. It had been a solution; it had given you clarity on where exactly you stood with him and it wasn’t where you thought. Getting dressed, you shuffle over to the door and leave him with “I’m sorry I bothered you with this. Won’t happen again.”

Acceptance.

The thud of the door closing seems to echo through the quiet lab too loudly, golden eyes immediately darting to where you just left. And Viktor bangs his head against the blackboard in front of him a few times as he sucks in a sharp breath.

Why didn’t he just say yes? He’d wanted to more than anything else in the world. The vile, little voices in the back of his head are quick to answer: ‘Because they deserve better than you. You know that.’

He does know that. It’s why he turned you down in the first place. It doesn’t make the pain that had been so clearly written all over your face at his rejection any easier to bear. But he picked this particular form of torture himself and now he has to live with it. You both do.

Meanwhile, you at least manage to make it to one of the exits before the first tears start falling and you stop in your tracks to wipe a sleeve over your eyes. Big mistake, you should’ve just left. A call of your name from down the hall and your head whips up to find Jayce waving and jogging towards you.

Shit. Fuck. Please no, not right now.

Pulling your scarf up over your nose, you try to hide as much of your face as you can in the short amount of time it takes him to reach you. “Done with the daily food delivery?” he jokes and you simply nod. “You’re a lifesaver. With Progress Day coming up we’re even busier than usual, you know.” He barely catches you mumbling ‘So I’ve been told’ into your scarf and the smile on his face slowly disappears. Something’s off. He figures a change of topic might help and gestures at your hand. “What’s that?”

The text on the tickets blurs just like the rest of your vision; they feel as heavy as your heart, dragging you down and making it hard to breathe. Just looking at the things makes you nauseous now. Blinking back the tears, you hold them out to him. “They’re a gift. For you. It’s a market in town for the Progress Day celebrations and supposedly it’s good fortune to visit it with your lover. If you’re the superstitious sort, I suppose. I figured maybe you could take Mel.”

He takes the cards from you and you immediately shove your hands into your pockets so he won’t get any ideas about handing them back. “That’s… really sweet? But wouldn’t you rather ask Viktor?” There’s a teasing edge to his tone, one you know all too well and normally you’d respond in kind; it’s a practiced dance between you two at this point. It seems today, you’ve forgotten the steps. “I did. He wasn’t interested.”

The double take he does might’ve been amusing, even comical, under any other circumstances, but it just adds insult to injury for you right now. So you bid him goodbye and flee out the door before he can even think about questioning you. Never one to leave well enough alone, Jayce just does the next best thing instead: make a beeline for the lab and question Viktor.

He finds his partner hunched over his notebook on a desk, in an at least somewhat cleaner state than he left him in, and immediately grabs the backrest of his stool to swivel him around, sending the pen in his hand flying in shock. He waves two all too familiar pieces of dark blue cardboard in front of Viktor. “Explain this to me?”

Confusion on his face, then resigned indifference in his tone; a clear sign that he’s already very done with this conversation. “You too? I did not think that was your kind of venue.” Jayce rolls his eyes in return. “They’re not mine. Guess who just gave these to me in the hall.” That brings his attention back on track. “That… that makes no sense. They were just in here telling me how going there has been a lifelong dream; why would they just give their tickets to you?”

The brunette straightens up and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Why indeed. You tell me.” Viktor throws up his hands in bewilderment. “And how would I know? You talked to them last.” Jayce’s mouth is set in an irritated thin line as he shrugs. “And you were the one who talked to them last before they fled this building in tears.”

All the annoyance and grievance disappears at once, replaced by something much worse. Dread. Guilt. Downright horror.

You’d been crying?

“That’s not what I… I didn’t meant to—“

A heavy sigh from Jayce interrupts him. “I’m sure you didn’t. And I wasn’t here so I can’t know what happened. What I do know,” he starts and then hoists Viktor up from his seat, pressing his cane into his hand and tucking the tickets safely into his vest pocket. “Is that I’m not letting you back in the lab until you fix this.”

“What?! Jayce don’t be ridiculous.” he protests as his friend shoos him towards the exit. “Our presentation for Progress Day just blew up right in our faces; this is too much work for you alone, I need to—“ Another interruption, this time in the form of his own name and it makes him pause. The look on Jayce’s face is calm and determined and Viktor has learned by now that when he looks like that, he’s usually about to say something terribly important. Usually something terribly true as well, for better or for worse.

“You really hurt them this time, V. Unintentional, I know, but still.” Viktor flinches at that; not as unintentional as his partner might think. But he’d considered it a necessary evil for your own good. “You don’t do something… I don’t think they’re gonna come back. Is that what you want? A life without them in it?”

Viktor hates being right sometimes. Terribly important and terribly true. Exhaling sharply, he runs a hand through his hair and states “I… I’m not sure I can. Fix it, I mean.” He grabs his coat off the wall nonetheless. A slight upturn of the corner of Jayce’s mouth is the first sign of brevity since he’d entered the room. “You’re about to find out. But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”

Shrugging on his coat, he tries very hard to look annoyed at his friend’s uninvited interference, but he knows he can’t fool the man opposite of him. “There are times when I can’t stand you being right, you are aware, yes?” The slight quirk of Jayce’s lips turns into a full blown, gap-toothed grin. “Nah, you love me and all my infinite wisdom. Now get outta here before I carry you to their doorstep myself.”

Viktor had managed to talk him out of that one, but now, a shower and a few hours later, alone in his apartment, he considers taking Jayce up on his offer after all. He couldn’t find the courage to go see you and now he’s sitting on his worn, little couch, watching the light slowly dwindle and die outside his windows and it all feels oh so awfully fitting. His floor is littered with crumpled up sheets of paper; when he hadn’t been able to formulate even one clear sentence in his mind, he’d decided writing out what he wanted to say to you might help. Except… he’s not sure what that even is.

‘I’m sorry, I think myself so utterly undeserving of you, I broke your heart before you could give it to me, please forgive me?’

Yeah. That would go over well.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he reaches for the cup of coffee on his table, only for his hand to freeze halfway as he notices the corner of a book peeking out from under the mess of papers and he recognizes it as a tome you lent him for some light reading and ‘variety in his narrow minded palette’. Grabbing it instead, a dark blue cover with golden lettering stares back at him, the irony of the design not lost on him. It’s laughable, how the thing that’s gonna solve his dilemma looks almost exactly like the thing that started it. So he takes out a new sheet of paper, cracks open the book and gets to work. This would have to be perfect; if this would cost him another all nighter, so be it.

Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?

The memory almost knocks the wind out of him and the hand furiously scribbling notes stills. He has to make this right. He’d beg and grovel and get on his knees if he had to, not for your forgiveness, he really doesn’t deserve that anyways, but to make you understand that you were never the problem in the first place. That you had done nothing wrong. It’s the very least you deserve.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Maybe you should’ve thought that one through a bit more thoroughly. But even if you had, this wouldn’t have made your list, you think.

It’s been almost a full day now since you fled the scene of the worst heartbreak of your life. You’d let your friend and head of staff know that you weren’t gonna come in today and then had just collapsed onto your couch. Grief and shame are suffocating you, weighing you down like lead; the bright, warm sunlight shining through your windows a stark contrast to your dark mood.

‘You should’ve seen this coming…’ the nasty voices in the back of your head whisper and they’re right. He’s grown tired of your company and why wouldn’t he? You’re disgustingly ordinary, especially compared to him, you always had been, even all the way back when you were both children. While he was busy with his newest invention, you were busy getting punched in the face because you’d gotten in over your head again. And yet he was always there to patch you back up and lighten your mood. The little mechanical cat he’d once built you to cheer you up still sits on your shelf, watching over you with eyes as gold as his own, though it’s gaze feels cruel and mocking today.

He’s been your rock, your light, your everything whenever he managed to be in your life and what do you have to offer in return? Some half decent food and the occasional witty banter? It’s a miracle he didn’t leave you behind for better things a long time ago. He should’ve. You’ve done nothing but drag him down and pull him away from more important matters, this is for the best.

A knock on your door distracts you from your self loathing momentarily; a knock you decisively ignore. Whoever it is can come back when you’re not busy hating yourself and wallowing in self pity. The person outside your apartment apparently has other ideas and knocks again. And again. And again. Groaning you roll off the couch and shuffle towards the unwelcome noise.

Maybe it’s Jayce, with your tickets in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other, all dressed up and wanting to take you out just to lift your spirits, because you know you didn’t manage to hide your sorrows from him well enough. It’s something he’d do, bless his heart.

Opening your door, you find you’re half right: there’s flowers and your tickets and from what you can see peeking out from under his open winter coat, a nice vest with a fancy tie. But it’s not Jayce. And you have to blink dumbly several times to make sure you’re not seeing things. “What…” your voice is hoarse from disuse, so you clear your throat and straighten up a little in an all but useless attempt to seem a little more put together. “What are you doing here…?”

Oh. Oh he messed up this time.

Same clothes you left in yesterday, but rumpled and dishelved, hair a mess and dark circles under your puffy, red eyes. He’s never seen you so out of sorts and knowing it’s his fault almost makes his knees buckle under the weight of the guilt. His mouth is dry, but he forces the words out anyways. “I wanted to apologize.” Your answer is quicker than expected, concise but unsure. “For what?” He’d had it all prepared and planned out, but now that you’re here in front of him and he can see what his words did to you, his mind just goes blank. What if he says the wrong thing again? What if he makes things worse?

Watching him open and close his mouth in a desperate attempt to come up with something, you hold up your hand to stop him before he can utter a single word. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He actually startles at that, offense all over his features, because “I beg to differ.”

A heavy sigh as you lean against your doorframe and run a hand through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face before you cross your arms over your chest. Might as well get the whole truth out there, it can’t get much worse. Not to mention you don’t expect to be seeing him again after today. “Listen, Vik— Viktor.” A small part of him withers and dies at the correction from the nickname you’ve been using since childhood to his full name. “I… I was actually trying to ask you out on a date, okay? Suffice to say, you’re definitely not interested. And t-that’s okay, I can’t force someone to love me after all. But I… I still would’ve liked to go together as friends, because this is really important to me and so… so are you. I guess I just overestimated my value in your life.”

What?

The blood in his veins turns to ice. That’s what you think? That’s what his well intentioned rejection of your offer had resulted in?

“It’s not a big deal, I get it.” you continue, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I mean, I dunno why you stuck with me as long as you did. The free food shtick must get old pretty damn quick and I’ve really got nothing else going for me.” A laugh, bitter and self depreciating. “What would someone like you even want with someone as disgustingly ordinary as me.”

“Someone like me…?” he manages to breathe out, mind still reeling from even trying to comprehend what you’re implying. Disgustingly ordinary? Have you gone mad? Your scoff leaves him even more confused. “Someone brilliant. Handsome. Eloquent. Caring. Someone about to change the world. And I’m just… I’m just…”

Boring. Mundane. Inadequate. Worthless.

“Passionate. Witty. Kind. Wonderful. Absolutely perfect.”

You end up choking on your own spit, a noise akin to a dying engine forcing itself out of your throat; half whimper, half sob. What did he just say?

The bewilderment is completely gone from his face, replaced by a fierce determination, fire in in his eyes. “I think… I think there’s been enough talk for now. You should get dressed.” It’s your turn now to be utterly baffled. “Get dressed? Viktor, I’m not gonna—“

He says your name so softly, almost in reverence, you immediately clamp your mouth shut again. “I’m not going to let you miss something you’ve been dreaming about all your life on account of my mistake. You are under no obligation to grant me a chance to fix this, but I would still like to try. I will give you your tickets and leave, but please just promise me you’ll go?”

A cold breeze ruffles your hair, sounds of the nearby river and the bustle of people going about their lives lessening the quiet between you both as you stare at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. “Please?” he repeats, and something inside of you just breaks. No, it’s the opposite, you realize. Something is starting to put itself back together again.

You step aside and incline your head towards your apartment. “Well, get inside. I’m gonna need a minute and I’m not gonna leave you out here in the cold while you wait.” He shakes his head lightly, slowly backing away from your porch. “I shouldn’t. I don’t want to ruin—“ Catching his sleeve before he gets any further you drag him inside and close the door. “Having you around has never ruined anything for me, it only makes things better. Besides, you came all this way and these tickets were expensive.” It makes him feel even guiltier for a moment, but there’s the slightest teasing edge to your voice and the smallest of smiles on your lips, so he considers it worth it. “Alright. Take your time.”

Luckily, the venue for the market isn’t far from your home, because the silences between you two have never been awkward - until now. So you’re beyond relieved and elated when the entrance comes into view, giving you a distraction from the oppressing atmosphere. And you’re honestly a bit surprised at yourself; how quickly your mood lifts the moment you’re surrounded by your passion. Viktor’s watching you almost vibrate out of your skin in excitement as soon as you step through the archways leading into the square. It’s a miracle your head doesn’t snap off with how fast your gaze is turning in every direction, trying to take in everything at once. “Well? This is your playing ground. Lead the way.”

He spends the next hours watching you flit from vendor to vendor, stall to stall, person to person. He himself makes conversation with a few shop owners whose wares catch his attention just fine, but he’s much more interested in you. The way you light up at everything new presented to you. The way you’d actually looked offended and utterly flabbergasted when he’d asked why you weren’t buying anything, because ‘Vik, do you have any idea what it would cost to import these things on a regular basis?! I can’t incorporate that into my recipes, it would ruin me! Doesn’t mean I can’t try to replicate it though…’ And then you’d pulled a pen and a little, frayed notebook out of your pocket, mumbling to yourself as you continued to walk and scribble notes. You’re lost in your own little world and it’s absolutely charming and endearing.

The sun’s slowly starting to dip behind some of the tallest towers in the city, signaling the passage of time as you finish your talk with a man selling fruits from a tropical region. When you look around for your companion, you find him animatedly conversing with a vastaya two tables over and can’t help but grin. You knew he’d fit right in at this place; everyone here is as brilliant and passionate about their projects as he is, after all. When he catches you staring, he waves a little awkwardly, then bids goodbye to his conversation partner and starts to make his way over to you. And that’s when your smile falls, because you don’t miss the way he grimaces slightly. The way he leans on his cane a little heavier than usual. You’ve been up on your feet, walking around almost all day. In the freezing cold. You really are an imbecile.

The poor man actually startles when he reaches you and he doesn’t even get the chance to utter a single word, as he’s immediately hit with “I’m so sorry, Viktor! I know the cold’s awful for your leg, I know that, and yet I still insisted on dragging you along and I really didn’t think any of this through to the end.” You gesture at a nearby bench overlooking the river. “Please, go sit down and take a break, I’ll be right back!” And you’ve disappeared into the crowd before he can argue, so without much of a choice, he goes to sit over on the bench you indicated - he does, however, consider drowning himself in the river for a second. He settles for a hateful, disgusted glance at his aching leg instead.

You’d been so joyful and happy, no traces of the gloom and self loathing from earlier in the day left, and he’d reduced you to a frantic, worried mess. He knew he���d ruin this for you. He shouldn’t have come.

It takes you a good twenty minutes to find your way back to him, a cup of something steaming carefully balanced in your hands and a paper bag under your arm. Handing him the cup, you explain “I remembered seeing an apothecary here, but their stall was on the other end of the venue so it took me a minute. They said this blend’s good for chronic pain and should help quickly.” You don’t tell him about the bag of tea leaves of the exact same blend tucked into your inner coat pocket. Accepting the hot beverage with a small thanks, he takes a careful sip as you settle down next to him on the wooden bench. It’s the same horrendous, uncomfortable silence between you as earlier and you despise it. You’d felt as if you’d taken the first steps back towards normalcy in the last few hours and then you had to go and ruin it by not even being able to consider his wellbeing. You’re not able to do anything right, are you?

In dire need of a distraction from your own thoughts, you reach into the bag you brought for one of the treats you’d surprisingly found in the apothecary’s repertoire and as you spin the sweet chestnut between gloved fingers, the lights from the fair glinting off of it’s purple-ish blue shell, an idea strikes you like lightning. It’s not much, ridiculous and laughable even, but it’s worth a shot. Anything to make the air between you less suffocating.

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” When he nods, you strip off your gloves and peel off the thin shell, grinding it to dust as finely as you manage between your palms. Opening them a fraction, you blow into your hands and scatter the remainders into the evening sky; floating and glittery lights in purple and blue, like you’d just created a tiny galaxy between your hands.

“Astonishing…” he whispers, completely spellbound as the last of your self made stars is taken away by the breeze that blows past you.

Shrugging, you state “Its just a little parlor trick. It wouldn’t impress anyone at a fancy Piltover gala, I’m sure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a chemical reaction; the oils from your hands they—“

His laugh cuts you off, genuine and clear, as he shakes his head. “No, no, I meant I don’t understand why you always do this. You show me something incredible and then you… belittle it so terribly.” Your features scrunch up in disdain as you disagree. “I’m not belittling anything; this isn’t anything special, it’s—“

“Really?” he interrupts and puts a finger to his chin in mock thought. “I wouldn’t have known to do that. Neither would Jayce. Or anyone at one of those ‘fancy Piltover galas’, I assure you.” He sees you open your mouth and he knows you’d end up protesting yet again so he simply keeps talking. “I spent the last few hours watching you come up with recipes and herbal remedies on the spot, like it’s as natural and easy as breathing to you. You talked about ingredients and spices I can’t even pronounce, much less remember the uses of. You chatted up complete strangers like you’d known them for years and they immediately treated you like family in return. This is exactly why I wanted to come here, to quite literally put you into your area of expertise, before we continued our talk; you can not deny your own accomplishments when they’ve literally just happened. I wanted to prove to yourself that you are not… lesser than me. Lesser than anyone. That you are not… how did you put it? ‘Disgustingly ordinary’? You’re far from it. To me, if nothing else, even though I know it’s not much.” He reaches out with a careful, gloved hand to wipe away the tears you hadn’t even realized were there. “You’re passionate and resilient about everything you put your heart to, you’ve got a mind and tongue so sharp you give most people at the academy a run for their money, you remain kind and open hearted despite all the hardships you’ve had to endure - how could I not respect and rever that? How I could not love that? How could I not love you? All of you?”

A sob manages to wrench itself out of your throat and his heart breaks when the first word out of your mouth is a ‘but’.

“B-but I distract you, and I mess things up and I-I’m not always useful to you and—“

“That’s not what love is supposed to be.”

“It is in my experience...” you whisper and remove his hand from your cheek as you carefully mull over your next move. Wiping a sleeve over your eyes, you get up and offer him your hand. “Come on. I’m starting to freeze and honestly I’d rather not have a breakdown in the middle of a crowded square. Let’s walk and talk?”

A safe distance away from the people and the hustle and bustle, you still haven’t let go off the hand he’d given you. Not that he seems to mind. Good. The contact grounds you as you try to find the right words to continue this difficult conversation.

“My dad… he chose me. Saved me from a pretty bad time in my life. So I always tried to be useful; useful for him, for the restaurant. Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better. Cause maybe if I’d been more useful, my birth parents wouldn’t have sold me. The first people in my life who were supposed to love me unconditionally and they just… couldn’t. Wouldn’t. So I guess I just never saw how anyone else would be able to.”

A squeeze of your intertwined hands is all you need to find the courage to keep going.

“I know how to love others, I can do that. What I don’t know is how to let myself be loved in return? I always attach all these rules and requirements to it that are impossible to keep up with and I know I’m only sabotaging myself but—“ Another sob, and you just decide to stop talking and to take some deep, slow breaths instead so you won’t have a full meltdown in public, even if the street you’re currently on is fairly empty.

Viktor keeps the one hand you have a hold of right where it is, gently bringing you to a halt. “You deserve to be loved not because of your contributions, but for you, without any rules or requirements. You are worth more than what you can give to other people.” An inelegant snort leaves you as you give him a look that’s a tad more judgmental than strictly necessary. “Sweet, but a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” When he doesn’t answer you simply raise your brows and purse your lips, you know he understands what you’re talking about; while your situations are different, he’s as hopeless as you are in regards to the way he perceives himself. A sigh, his shoulders slump and his gaze wanders out across the river, the sun’s last rays reflecting off the water’s surface.

“I initially turned you down specifically because this is important to you. Because this is a place where you get to shine and be proud of yourself and I didn’t want to… taint that. It occurs to me I never actually apologized to you, because while my rejection might’ve been well-intentioned, I still hurt you and I am sorry for that. And while I want to say it came from a place of love and care for you that would only be a partial truth. The truth is that I simply don’t think I belong in the light that you bring with you anymore than I belong in the lights up on stage with Jayce. Where everything is bright and people will… see. See me, standing beside people who could, should, clearly do better for themselves.”

You don’t miss the way he slightly, unconsciously, taps his cane against his bad leg and your heart shatters. Running your thumb over the back of his hand, you swallow any remaining self pity and instead focus on trying to at least give him some comfort and stop him from spiraling any further. “That’s ridiculous. I love being with you; it doesn’t matter wether people are watching or not.” He scoffs. “Of course it matters. The way people perceive me will rub off on how they perceive you. I can keep a distance as your friend, but as your lover? Please. You shouldn’t have to put up with the ridicule that would come along with it.”

“I don’t care how other people see me. Or you. Or us. I care how you see yourself.” Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you coax him to look at you and the affection that’s clearly written all over your face threatens to force the tears burning behind his eyes to spill. “And Gods I wish you could see yourself the way I do. That you could see the man I love so much, cause I think you’d like him, actually. He always puts his heart and soul into everything he does. He’s constantly working to try and make the world a better place, even at the cost of his own health. I’m proud of him, but I wish he’d stop that, to be honest.” A weak chuckle from his side, accompanied by a few stray tears. “He’s the only person I’ve met who can keep up with me in a battle of wits, he’s even managed to leave me speechless several times, but don’t tell him that, it’ll only go to his head. He’s got a bit of an attitude, but fortunately for him, he’s eloquent enough to usually talk himself out of any trouble it gets him in. He’s got an absolutely brilliant mind, even though sometimes it would be better for him if he put it to rest more often instead of always overthinking everything. Now tell me, he doesn’t sound so bad, does he?” you finish while tucking some chestnut strands out of his face. A quiet laugh, his breath clouding in front of him as he leans into your touch. “No, he does not.” You nod in satisfaction. “I thought so. Now I just wish he— I just wish you would stop ignoring all of these qualities in favor of focusing on something as… as irrelevant as a bad leg. It’s a part of you just like everything else.”

“Regrettably so…” he mutters and drops his gaze. You’re not having any of that, so you curl your fingers under his chin and force his eyes back to you; golden pools still glassy, but not as dark as when you started this conversation. There’s a spark of something lighter, of hope, somewhere there and you’ll be damned if you let it go. “The only thing regrettable about it is that it causes you pain. That’s it. It doesn’t make you less of a person or a partner or a lover.” There’s another protest ready when he opens his mouth, you can feel it, so you talk over him. “How come you get to love all of me with all my flaws and imperfections and I’m not allowed the same with you, hm? That doesn’t seem very fair, you know.”

The smug smirk on your face grows despite your best efforts as you watch him stutter and fumble, trying to come up with a counter argument. He doesn’t find one. He exhales heavily and shakes his head, looking up at you through his lashes, the small grin on his face matching yours. “There are times when I can’t stand you being right, you are aware, yes?” You simply shrug happily in response. “Maybe we could… help each other? To try and learn to be loved without… requirements?” The grin on your face melts into something softer and more genuine at his suggestion and you nod. “There’s no one I’d rather try this with than you.” Pressing a kiss to each of the beauty marks on his face, a way of sealing your deal, he hums in gratitude. Reluctantly separating from him, you lace your fingers together and start guiding him down the sreet again. “Come on, we need to get home.” He cocks his brows at you in curiosity. “Why the sudden rush?” Wincing, you rub a hand over the back of your neck sheepishly. “Cause I just remembered that I forgot to put your flowers in water and I’d rather not start this relationship by immediately killing the first thing you gifted me.” His laughter echoes along with you, as you hurriedly drag him towards your home.

He settles on your couch with a cup of tea, your own on the table in front him waiting for you, as you rummage through your cupboards in search of a vase. The flowers get a new home quick enough and as you arrange them in the glass cylinder, you realize it’s the first proper look you’ve given them. In all honesty, you hadn’t been in any state to pay attention to them when he first showed up; you’d registered their existence, yes, but you’d just assumed a generic bouquet of roses, maybe even courtesy of Jayce. You should’ve known better. And the longer you study them the bigger your eyes grow; if you’d paid even the tiniest bit more attention to the flowers when he first presented them to you, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time and insecurity, because it’s all right here, clear as day.

Grabbing the vase in both hands, you all but dash over to your living room, almost tripping over your carpet in your hurry, to place them on the couch table in front of you both and then sit down next to him, staring at him expectantly. He glances at you out of his peripheral as he sips at his tea. “You look like you would like to ask me something.” It’s not really a question, more of a fact. “You read the book I lent you.” Snorting in amusement as he puts down his cup, he turns slightly to give you his full attention. “You’ve lent me a lot of books over the years, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” You gesture at the flowers animatedly. “The one on flower language.”

“Oh?” Thick brows raised in mock surprise, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pretty mouth. “So now you finally notice. And here I spent all night trying to come up with the perfect combination to give you.” Heat crawls up the back of your neck at that, both out of embarrassment and guilt as well as affection and happiness. Mumbling an apology, you point to the colorful petals yet again. “Tell me about them.” But he only settles back into your soft couch, crossing his long legs. “What possibly for? It’s your book, you should know, shouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve read it. And a lot of flowers can have multiple meanings. Besides…” you bring your legs up on the couch to carefully poke him in the ribs with your toes before scooting further down to get comfortable, settling your feet in his lap, which earns you an amused, slightly perplexed sideways glance. “I love your voice. I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at their lover. How in the world is he supposed to say no to you when you look at him like that? But you getting your way doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t have some fun with it.

So when he casually wraps slender fingers around one of your ankles you don’t think much of it and are utterly unprepared for what happens next; which involves you getting dragged further down the couch, eliciting a shocked squeak, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening your legs are on either side of his waist and he’s propped up above you with a hand next your head. “And where’s the fun in just reciting everything? How about we make it a game instead.” Two fingers under your chin guide your gaze back to the table and the bouquet, which leaves him with perfect access to run his nose along the slope of your neck. “And you expect me to focus like this?!” you hiss and you feel more than hear him chuckle. “Terribly sorry, am I distracting you in any way?”

Smug bastard. He wants a challenge? Fine. “Lavender. It represents devotion.” A kiss to your collarbone. “Good. What else?” There’s a small blue flower that you manage to recognize. “Iris. Uh… hope? Faith?” You’re already mostly guessing, that’s not good. “Yes, but it can also represent a deep bond of trust.” A kiss to your pulse point this time. A pretty purple one with a color gradient and spotted center catches your attention; you remember seeing it’s picture in your book, but the name had been too complicated to bother remembering it. “The purple one, that’s… friendship?” He hums in disappointed acknowledgement while he lifts his head to throw a quick glance at the flowers. “Alstroemeria. It can mean friendship, but it’s also used to express mutual support and fascination with the person you’re giving it to.” Honey eyes manage to catch your own and he actually clicks his tongue and tuts at you. “You’re slipping already. Do try a little harder, you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you, miláčku?”

No, no you wouldn’t. You never do, but right now the connotation feels real damn different and you don’t want to find out what’ll happen if you do end up losing this little game of his. ‘Yes you do’ some part of you argues back and you kindly tell it to go shut the fuck up. It’s hard enough to focus as is, with your heart going a mile a minute and his intense gaze focused solely on you. So you bring your attention back to the task at hand; there’s only two flowers left, you can do that. “White carnations…Love…” you whisper a bit hesitantly and it earns you a press of his lips against your temple. “Sincere love” he adds, “also new beginnings and respect.” There’s only one kind of flower left now, but as far as you can recall that one is considered a symbol of love as well. “Pink camellias. Don’t they also symbolize love?”

He pulls back to look at you again, gaze soft and warm. “Eh, they do. As well as standing for loyalty and admiration. But as opposed to the carnations they represent…” Some form of higher power has decided to grant you some mercy, as he actually pauses and seems to lose some of his confidence, now replaced by humility. “It’s eternal love.” Your heart stutters and your breath hitches as he brushes some hair away from your face with the back of his hand. “I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.”

Cursing quietly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to finally, finally kiss him, legs locking around his lanky waist to eliminate any remaining space between you; you don’t plan on letting go again anytime soon. The kiss is hot and heavy and the culmination of years of yearning and ‘what if’s’ and you’d love it to last forever, but you do regrettably have to part to breathe eventually. “So? You’re the one who wanted make this a game. Who won?” Warm breath fans across your face as he laughs softly. “Oh, I’d say we both won. Is that agreeable with you?” Grinning like a madman you nod and pull him in again to continue where you left off. The next time you manage to tear yourselves away, you nuzzle your nose against his and ask “Would you maybe want to stay the night?”

Echoing his words from earlier “If you’ll have me.” makes a bark of laughter escape you, because “You’re not gonna tell me you were planning on leaving like this,” you buck your hips into his, grinding against the obvious bulge in his pants, rewarding you with an incredibly satisfying moan from the back of his throat. “Were you?” His answer comes out breathless and strained. “Not unless you asked me to.”

“Please. There’s not a single universe where that happens. However, in this universe, I think we should be moving to the bedroom.” Out of all the things that could’ve happened next, you don’t expect him to actually pout. “What for? I think the couch is perfectly sufficient.” Utter disbelief, mixed with tendrils of heat crawling up from the pit of your stomach as you gawk at him. “My love, I applaud your enthusiasm, and while I absolutely would fuck you on my couch, I don’t plan on moving afterwards and I’m not about to sleep here when my much bigger, much more comfortable bed is right in the other room, so be so kind as to move.” The exact opposite happens as he plops himself down on top of you with all his weight; uselessly shoving at his shoulders gets you nowhere as he complains. “That would mean separating myself from you. I don’t like it.” Huffing in mild, fake annoyance, you barely hold back a laugh. “Oh for the love of— You’ll have to do that anyways if you plan on getting me out of my clothes, so would you just…?”

It takes some more bantering back and forth, but you do eventually manage to shoo him off of you. Not that it does you much good, cause as soon as you’re in an upright position on the couch again, he has your legs over his shoulders, practiced fingers on the button of your pants and he doesn’t let you up for air or from the couch until he’s brought you to ruin twice. Hunched over, hands buried in his hair, fresh air can’t seem to fill your lungs fast enough and when you have to watch him wipe the back of his hand over his mouth you actually feel like you might pass out. You try to gather every ounce of willpower and rational thought you can still muster, and fuck that’s not a lot at the moment, so you don’t tackle him to the floor right then and there. But you’d both definitely regret that one in the morning, so you haul him to his feet and finally drag him off to your bedroom.

Once he’s seated on the edge of your bed with you in his lap, the urgency that seemed to have been driving all your actions eventually ebbs away and vanishes entirely. The fear of this only being another dream, of the other person just vanishing into thin air is gone so you take your time; you have plenty, after all. Your kisses turn no less passionate, but slow and deliberate instead of frantic and bruising. Touches go from hectic and desperate to slow and sensual. Like how you spend a good portion of time, when you finally get him in the same state of undress as you, mapping out the moles and freckles across his body with your fingers, creating a star chart of your very own perfect little world. Or how he leaves marks from your things all the way up to your neck, taking mental notes on which spots make you squirm the most.

And you definitely weren’t lying earlier in the evening, when you told him you loved his voice, but the way he’s talking now? Gods have mercy on you, you’re never gonna recover. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to be obscenely filthy and terribly sweet all at once - leave it to him to prove you wrong when your bodies are eventually interwtined in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re doing so good, always so good for me.”

“Fuck, you should see yourself… Like a work of art…”

“Taking me so well, like you were made for me. Do you like the thought of that, hm, moje světlo? Of being made for me?”

Oh you damn well like it enough for it to send you over the edge yet again, a broken version of his name leaving your lips in a sob, like a violent prayer. He just holds you impossibly closer and gently hushes you.

“It’s alright, just breathe, I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you.”

And he keeps that promise, all through the night until exhaustion takes you both and lulls you into slumber.

All things considered, he fully expects to wake up next to you, so when his unconscious mind alerts him to your warmth missing, it irks him awake and sure enough, the bed is empty. There is however, the smell of something unfairly delicious and the sound of soft music coming from under the closed door, so you can’t be far. He manages to find his shirt and underwear in the mess of clothes on your floor and slips them on, leaving the buttons on his shirt untouched. He’d just mismatch them in his current drowsy state and you hate the cold, so your apartment is unsettlingly warm anyways. Plus, he doesn’t think you’ll mind too much, getting a view of all the marks you left, now in broad daylight.

Groggily traipsing out into the big, open space that makes up your living room and kitchen, he wonders if maybe he’s still asleep after all, because the couch table and the surrounding space is covered in book stacks that definitely weren’t there the night before. He calls out your name and your head pops up from somewhere between the piles. “Oh, hi, you’re up! Sorry, did I wake you?” He denies it, carefully making his way over to you, weaving through book towers, to sit down behind you on the couch, legs on either side of your form on the floor. He leans his cane against the cushions and wraps his arms around your shoulders in a loose hug, chin coming to rest on top of your head. There’s a mess of flowers, kitchen towels and books spread out in front of you. “What are you even doing this early in the morning?” he mumbles into your hair and you snort. “Early in the morning? Darling, it’s almost noon. I’ve already had Jayce at the door because you weren’t at the lab at ungodly hours of the morning.” You feel him shrug. “Eh, he’s the one who prohibited me from coming back to the lab before I fixed things with you. He’s only reaping what he sowed.” Snickering, you ask “He kicked you out of the lab? However did you survive?” He bumps his chin against your head in retaliation. “Stop deflecting and answer the question; what are you doing?”

“Pressing your flowers.” Short, simple, matter of fact. “Yes, I can see that.” A statement just as obvious. “So why did you ask in the first place?” He groans, burying his face in your hair. “Miláčku…” and you laugh; it’s not annoyance more… exasperated endearment.

“When I got up this morning and looked at them, I realized they were gonna wilt eventually and I didn’t like that thought, so here I am.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I can just get you new flowers, you know. I will.” Your heart swells and you lean back into him a little more, feeling him press a kiss to your head. “I know. But they won’t be these ones. These are special. If I can keep them around for a while, look at them daily, maybe they can serve as a reminder. To help with the whole ‘letting myself be loved unconditionally’ thing.”

Ah, so that’s it. It’s not about the actual act of receiving flowers as a gift, then. He contemplates your idea, watching you gently cradle a tiny lavender bud in your palms. “We’ve been working on something that could help with that, I think.” he starts. “It’s a kind of resin, won from a plant, liquid, but it dries solid and clear. It’s still in development, but you might be able to use it to preserve them further. Ms. Young is leading the project, I will ask her about it. You could probably pour it into a mold as well, turn the flowers into something else entirely. The face of a clock, maybe. Or a tray, for breakfast in bed.”

Stacking more books onto your latest set of petals, you send him a fake offended look over your shoulder. “One night and he already has such outrageous expectations? The audacity.” A quick kiss to the corner of your smiling mouth. “And why do you assume you’re not the one who gets to stay in bed?” The answer is quick and deadpan. “Because you’re still not allowed anywhere near my kitchen, Vik. Not without supervision and being searched for anything explosive beforehand.” Rising to your feet with a groan, you wince slightly at the soreness between you legs as you make your way to said kitchen to check on your breakfast. “A full body search, I’d hope.” he calls after you and you just barely resist the urge to chuck your oven mitts at him. “Behave. Or no sweetmilk for you.”

Accompanied by two mugs and a plate of fresh croissants, you return to him only a little while later and the self satisfied grin spreads across his face before he can stop it; so he really wasn’t imagining you limping a little. He opens his mouth against his better judgement and all common sense. “What’s this now? Don’t tell me you’re a little sore?”

Dear Gods, if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. Settling back on your spot on the floor, you very specifically put his cup just outside of his reach out of pure pettiness and spite. And maybe he’s actually trying to get himself killed, because “I could lend you my cane for the day, if you’d like?” You grab said cane from it’s position against the couch and blindly try to whack him with it. Chuckling, he manages to get it back before you take someone’s eye out, probably his, and mirroring your actions, puts it just out of your reach. “You’re a menace.” you complain, taking a bite of your warm, fluffy pastry. “Well, yes, but you knew that already and you decided to keep me around anyways. What does that say about you, I wonder?” You shuffle about, huffing and pouting, until you’ve managed to turn around and face him fully, intending to poke him in the ribs with an accusing finger.

Your downfall comes when you make the mistake of actually looking at him: the cutest bed head you’ve ever seen, chestnut curls sticking up in odd places, very much like when he unconsciously twirls random strands around his long fingers when he’s lost in thought. Shirt falling open just enough to clearly make out the bruises and marks on his slim chest and stomach, a beautiful contrast against his pale skin. The sunlight filtering into your apartment through the windows seems to only exist to accentuate the sharp angles of his face and match his golden eyes, just as bright and warm. Not to mention it almost gives him a halo and all of a sudden you feel like on your knees in front of him is a rather fitting place.

It’s strange, really; he’d braced himself for the full brunt of your wrath, but as soon as you’ve turned around, your eyes go wide and all the fight seems to go out of you at once. And next thing he knows, you’ve got your head nuzzled against his thigh and are staring up at him with a unique mixture of annoyance and admiration. “Oh come on, how am I supposed to argue with you when you look like this? That’s hardly fair.” He breathes a quiet, disbelieving laugh as he tangles his hand in your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “And what, pray tell, do I look like?” A smile so sweet and genuine, his heart actually aches. “Breathtakingly beautiful.” It’s like you can actually see the gears in his head grind to a screeching halt and you’re immensely proud of yourself for catching him so off guard, he ends up speechless.

“I’ll consider the dumbstruck look on your face enough of a repentance for your antics. Now eat your breakfast; they’re best while they’re still warm.” Wrapping one of the croissants in a napkin, you hand it off to him before grabbing your own off the table and shifting lightly, back now pressed against his thigh and knees tucked up under your chin, continuing your breakfast with a content sigh.

Meanwhile he’s certain he still has the same dumbfounded look on his face you found so amusing. His eyes dart between the pastry in his hand and you, before they start to wander around the rest of your apartment. He’s been here plenty of times, he’s used to your shelves, cluttered with books and mementos, your messy floor getting abused as a closet, your spotless, perfectly organized kitchen. The old heater in the corner squeaking and hissing, fighting for his life because you always run it way too high in the winter. The handwritten notes and recipes scattered across your coffee table, currently buried under books and flowers. The little mechanical cat he built you when he was a kid that he still can’t quite believe you kept staring at him from across the room, golden eyes seeming to wink at him. The used phonograph in the corner that he fixed up for you, currently playing the same gentle, slow melody he remembers from the last time you danced together in the lab in the middle of the night. He’s familiar with all of it, and yet everything feels slightly different today.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a morning quite like this…” he mumbles, more so to himself than to you, but you catch it anyways. “How so…?” He doesn’t immediately answer and for a moment you think he might not have heard you. When he speaks again, it’s slow, contemplative. “With the smell of food coming from the other room. With soft music being the thing to wake me. With the lingering warmth of someone else still in the sheets. With someone waiting to greet me, someone happy to see me, first thing in the morning. It’s… nice. I think I could get used to it. I’d like to.” Mistaking your wide eyes and silence for judgement instead of the astonishment they actually represent, he quickly apologizes. “Ah, don’t mind me, I’m just rambling. Everything I just recounted is… normal for most people, I suppose. I’m sure I sound foolish; forget I said anything.”

There’s a pretty blush crawling up from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears and you’re somewhere between wanting to kiss him and wanting to slap some sense into him. The former impulse wins, lucky for him. Crawling into his lap, you press a kiss to his nose and giggle at the way his face scrunches up in surprise and confusion.

“Happiness is the folly of fools, pity poor me, one of those fools…” you recite in a sing-song voice and he cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “That’s pretty, what’s it from?” You play with a strand of his hair as you answer. “My dad always used to hum it when he was cooking. I, uh… I never got to meet the person he seemed to be singing it to, but he was always at ease when this melody was around. He always seemed happy to have been one of the fools.” It’s your turn to feel a little abashed and sheepish now. “Soooo… you know. Even if you sounded foolish, which you didn’t by the way, I don’t think it’s— You’re not— I mean, you’re my fool, so — Wait, no, that’s not it.” Good fuck, your brain really just stops functioning around this man, doesn’t it? Not that he seems to mind, as his laugh is honest and bright as he cups your cheek and leaves a sweet kiss on your temple.

“One of the fools it is then.”

[atlasthegreatest]

More Than Pretend / Daniela Avanzini x Gender Neutral! Reader

Daniela needs a last-minute Valentine’s date to prove to her nosy friends that she's totally over her ex. She ropes Y/n—her long-time friend, to pretend to be her date, expecting a night full of playful banter— until real sparks fly, leaving her wondering why she didn't see it sooner.

Word count: 1755

Warnings: Best friends to lovers. Fluff.

Daniela had exactly four hours to secure a Valentine’s date.

It wasn’t like she cared about Valentine’s Day. She didn’t. But after weeks of her friends poking and prodding about whether she was actually over her ex, she was done. She needed a solution—fast.

This is why she was now standing outside Y/n’s apartment, an expectant (and slightly desperate) look on her face.

“You want me to be your date?” The tall person asked, arms crossed as they leaned against their doorway.

“Yes. Obviously,” Daniela huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Look, I know it’s last minute, but it’s just for show. We’ll go to dinner, maybe hold hands, you tell everyone I’m thriving without my ex, and boom—problem solved.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “And what do I get out of this?”

Daniela blinked. “…The honor of being my incredibly attractive date?”

Y/n stared at her unamusingly.

The Latina sighed. “Fine. Dinner’s on me. And dessert.”

“Sold,” Y/n said, grabbing their coat.

————————

The restaurant was dimly lit, filled with couples who were either madly in love or pretending they weren’t on the verge of an argument. Daniela, dressed in a sleek red dress that should have been illegal, sat across from Y/n, sipping her wine as she surveyed the room.

“Okay, act natural,” she murmured.

“You do realize we’ve been friends for years, right?” Y/n teased. “I think I can handle pretending to like you.”

Daniela smirked. “You’d be surprised how many people fold under pressure.”

Y/n leaned in, resting their chin on their hand. “Oh? And what about you? Can you handle pretending to like me?”

For the first time, Daniela faltered. She opened her mouth—then closed it, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Y/n was. She had expected playful banter, light teasing, and a dramatic display of “look-how-over-my-ex-I-am” energy.

She hadn’t expected her heart to trip over itself when they looked at her like that.

The conversation flowed easily, just like it always had. But the way Daniela’s fingers brushed Y/n’s when they reached for their glass? The way she listened when they talked about their latest project? The way her laugh sounded softer, more real?

None of that felt fake.

—-———————

As they walked out of the restaurant, the night air crisp against their skin, Daniela let out a deep breath. “Well, that was painless.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said, shoving their hands into their pockets. “Almost… fun.”

Daniela scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But she was smiling.

Y/n turned to face her. “So? Did we convince them?”

Daniela hesitated. Her friends had bought the act completely. But that wasn’t what was on her mind anymore.

What was on her mind was the way she didn’t want to let go of Y/n’s hand. The way her stomach flipped every time they looked at her.

What was on her mind was them.

“I think we convinced me,” she muttered.

Y/n frowned. “What?”

Daniela groaned, rubbing her temple. “Ugh, nothing—just—shut up.” And before she could overthink it, she grabbed Y/n’s face and kissed them.

Y/n barely had time to react before she pulled back, cheeks flushed. “…Crap,” she whispered.

Daniela was in trouble.

Real, undeniable, heart-racing, stomach-flipping trouble.

Because when Y/n kissed her back—when they smiled against her lips like this had been inevitable—something inside her clicked. And there was no pretending anymore.

She pulled back, just enough to look at Y/n. Their grin was impossibly smug, but their eyes were warm. Playful. Knowing.

“So,” Y/n murmured, still close enough that she could feel the warmth of their breath, “does this mean I get a second date?”

Daniela scoffed, stepping back and crossing her arms like that kiss hadn’t just rewired her entire brain. “You act like you’re the one who did me a favor tonight.”

“Oh, I did,” Y/n teased. “I helped you get over your ex and I looked good while doing it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Shut up.”

Y/n laughed, tucking their hands into their pockets as they started walking. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Daniela hesitated for half a second before falling into step beside them. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement, but the air between them felt lighter now.

“So,” Y/n started, nudging her shoulder, “when did you figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“That you like me,” they said easily.

Daniela nearly tripped over the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”

Y/n gave her a knowing look. “I saw the way you looked at me at dinner, Dani. That wasn’t ‘fake date’ behavior. That was ‘I’m just now realizing I have feelings for my best friend’ behavior.”

Her face burned. “First of all, rude. Second of all—” She huffed, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. “…Maybe dinner next week isn’t the worst idea,”

Y/n smirked. “So you do like me.”

Daniela groaned. “I swear, if you say one more word—”

“Relax,” Y/n said, bumping her arm. “We’ve got plenty of time to talk about it over dinner. Real dinner. Not ‘fake date’ dinner.”

The Latina woman bit back a smile. “Fine. But if my friends start getting nosy again, I’m blaming you.”

“Gladly,” they said.

And as they walked side by side down the quiet street, Daniela realized something.

Maybe her friends’ teasing had led to something good after all.

——————-

Daniela had been on dates before. Real ones, fake ones, ones that blurred the line between the two. But nothing had ever made her this nervous.

It was ridiculous. Y/n was her best friend—her safe place. And yet, now that she knew the feelings were mutual, she couldn’t shake the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

This is why she was currently pacing her apartment, phone in hand, trying to psych herself up to text them.

“What time are we meeting tomorrow?”

She hovered over the send button for longer than she cared to admit before finally pressing it.

Seconds later, their response came in.

“You tell me. But fair warning—I’m showing up looking like the best date you’ve ever had.”

Daniela snorted, rolling her eyes. Typical.

“Oh, please. You couldn’t outshine me if you tried.”

“We’ll see about that. See you at 7?”

“7 it is. Don’t be late.”

As soon as she sent it, she flopped onto her couch, exhaling sharply. This was fine. Normal. She could do this.

——————-

The restaurant was a little different this time—less about proving a point, and more about just being there with Y/n. Daniela had been so caught up in appearances before that she hadn’t let herself feel anything. Now, she didn’t have that excuse.

And the way Y/n looked at her across the table? Like they’d been waiting for this longer than she had? Yeah. That was dangerous.

“So,” Y/n said, swirling their drink. “How does it feel? Going on a date with someone who likes you back?”

Daniela rolled her eyes. “I always go on dates with people who like me back.”

“Yeah, but you like me back this time,” they pointed out.

Daniela’s face warmed, but she refused to give Y/n the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Y/n grinned. “Too late.”

And just like that, all the nerves disappeared. Because this was them. The person who had always been by her side—who had seen her at her best and worst and still stuck around.

Maybe it had taken her too long to see it. But sitting here, watching them smirk at her like she was their favorite thing in the world, Daniela knew one thing for certain.

This?

This wasn’t pretend anymore.

Bonus Chapter:

The night wasn’t supposed to end like this.

After dinner, Daniela had planned to go home, overanalyze every second of the date with her girls, and probably scream into her pillow for a good five minutes. What she hadn’t planned for was ending up on Y/n’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, sharing a pint of ice cream at midnight.

“You know,” Y/n said, spoon in hand, “for someone who insisted this wasn’t a real date last week, you sure looked like you were having fun tonight.”

Daniela shot them a glare, though it held no real heat. “I was having fun. But that doesn’t mean I need to give you the satisfaction of admitting it.”

Y/n chuckled, shaking their head. “Classic Dani.”

The Latina woman rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, letting her head rest against Y/n’s shoulder. She told herself it was just because she was comfortable—not because she wanted to be close to them.

The silence stretched, warm and unhurried, until Y/n spoke again.

“Be honest. When did you realize you liked me?”

Daniela stiffened. “Who says I do?”

Y/n nudged her side. “Dani.”

Daniela sighed, twirling the spoon between her fingers. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it was when you showed up to dinner looking like that. Maybe it was when you wouldn’t stop teasing me, and instead of wanting to strangle you, I just—” She groaned. “I don’t know. I liked it.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment, and Daniela forced herself to keep talking. “Or maybe it was before that. Maybe it was every time you were there for me when I didn’t even have to ask. Maybe it was the way you always made me laugh, even when I was mad at you. Maybe it was when I realized I never actually wanted to go on a fake date with anyone else.”

Silence.

Then, softly—

“You should’ve said something sooner.”

Daniela swallowed hard. “Would it have changed anything?”

Y/n turned, gently tilting the girl's chin up so she had no choice but to meet their gaze.

“Yeah,” they murmured. “Because I would’ve kissed you a long time ago.”

Daniela’s breath caught as Y/n’s lips brushed against hers—soft, unhurried, and real. She melted into it, gripping Y/n’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

When Y/n finally pulled away, they grinned. “Took you long enough, Avanzini.”

Daniela groaned, burying her face in Y/n’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t answer. But the way her fingers curled around theirs, lacing them together?

That was the answer.

[hritika13-tamboli]

Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs List 5....

Series :

Baggage || dad!Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader | best friends to lovers | co-parenting | idiots in love | slow burn—really slow burn || @angellesword

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Love to hate || Playboy businessman!jungkook x businesswoman!reader | Enemies to Lovers | Fuck Buddies!AU || @kpopfanfictrash

Summary : Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Six stages of Break-Up || ceo!jungkook x reader | Established relationship ||

Summary: Even the strongest sailing ship doesn’t last long in the sea.

Between takes 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07 || porn star!jk x f fluffer!reader | pornstar au || @jeonstudios

Summary: a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard.

From home || richkid!jk x baker!reader | fakedating!au | strangers to lovers | Enemies to Lovers || @yuzukult

Summary: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? 

Sugar fairy A03 || bunny hybrid Jungkook x ruby leopard hybrid oc! | strangers to lovers au | unrequited love au || @foxymoxynoona

Summary: Bunny Hybrid Jungkook is at that age... he needs a mate, and it's making life miserable for everyone in the family. The obvious solution is to bring home a girl. The obvious problem is that while it's love at first site for Pippa when he walks into the adoption tent, Jungkook is far more into the sexy cat to her right. Will there ever be peace in the family again?

One-shot :

Mature || stupid!jungkook x reader | f2l || @jiminrings

Summary: the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.

alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

Careful what you wish for || idol!jungkook x reader | Established relationship || @kookiesbuckethat

Summary: After a tiring week of work, the last thing Jungkook wants to hear is you lecturing him about taking care of himself. But what if he could never hear your voice ever again?

Afterglow || boyfriend!jungkook x reader | Established relationship || @onlyswan

Summary: in which jungkook can’t sleep, and he can’t stop kissing you either.

Our not so secret Secret || Athlete!fuckboy!Jungkook x smart ass!female!Reader | College AU | E2L | Athlete AU || @thvhoe

Sumaary :When someone learns that Jungkook has been secretly keeping a puppy in his room despite not being allowed to, he turns to ask the only other person who knows about his secret for help. And suddenly you two—who had long been bitter enemies—get very close.

Year 22 || childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader || @rkived

Summary: ‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ 

T & S || Jungkook x reader | classmates!au | strangers to lovers || @jjkfire

Summary: Toddlers have always hated Jungkook and Jungkook have always hated toddlers  

+  “Jungkook… what the hell happened here? And why’s there spaghetti on the ceiling?”

Bunny adventures || hybrid!Jungkook x human!reader | hybrid!au || @kooktrash

Summary: | you had absolutely no intentions of ever owning a hybrid until jungkook came along. a mistreated, misunderstood rabbit hybrid who’d only ever wanted was to be treated like an equal.

Fighting hearts || boxer!jungkook x rich!reader | boxing!au | strangers to lovers || @kooktrash

Summary: never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more.

That night of graduation party || Jungkook x reader | strangers to lovers | right person wrong time?? | friends to lovers || @smartkookiee

Summary: After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of college graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

Jump then fall || Jungkook x reader |cruise AU | fake dating AU | best friends to lovers AU || (Three-shot) @writtenwhalien

Summary : bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

Explorer || alien!jungkook x reader | alien au || @1kook

Summary: Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

A touch of silk || pairing: werewolf!jungkook x f. human!reader | werewolf au || @war-of-hormoan

Summary: have been working with wolves long enough to recognize trouble the second it walks into the bar but there was something about Jungkook that made you forget everything Namjoon told you about the dangers of lone wolves.

Please don't eat me || werewolf!Jungkook x girlfriend!Reader | werewolf!au | college!au | established relationship!au || @spicybutterfly

Summary: What do you do when your longtime boyfriend turns into a werewolf right in front of you? Take off running of course!

Strictly platonic || bestfriend!jungkook x reader || friends to lovers | college au | fake dating au || @jeonqkooks

Summary: Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own.

True love || tattoo artist!jungkook x reader | f2l || @lovieku

Summary: when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

I Re Do || Ex husband Jungkook x ex-wife reader || @keen-li

synopsis: Young love is so sweet, but people never realize how foolish it can be (sometimes), especially for you and Jungkook. You and Jungkook were the typical high school sweethearts, and after school, you thought you were grown enough to get married. Your families disagreed, but you still went through with it. It was fine for the first year; you were still in the honeymoon phase. But soon, reality caught up, and you both had to go to university. You attended the same university, thinking it would make things easier. Many obstacles came your way, but you were still going strong, afraid of proving your family right. However, after two years of unhappiness, you both called it quits. Unfortunately, your relationship ended on a sour note, and the man you once loved turned into someone you never wanted to see again. So, what happens now, when you face him one more time after many years of being away from him.

[multixxfandom]

Dancing in the Shadows

pairing: josh washington x fem!reader (no use of y/n) warning: suggestive/explicit (MDNI) genre: enemies to lovers/rivals word count: 4,246 proofread: no :/ (needs it) requests: open a/n: this is a long one, buckle up. (I'm such a yapper)

You and Josh had been long-established rivals. No matter what it was, you always seemed to find yourselves neck-to-neck in competition. You had gone to the same school as him since middle, so escaping the boy seemed nearly impossible.

Academics, sports, socializing, even board games. The subject mattered not, but Josh always seemed to find ways to pry his fingers onto the idea of success and disturb your path. He even threatened to attend the same college and major the same as you. Joke or not, he knew how to get under your skin, and you despised him.

The worst part? You and Josh shared the exact same friend group. If escaping him ever looked feasible, it was absolutely crushed now.

"Seriously, you need to come with," Ashley continued to speak through your phone speaker. She was going on a ten-minute tangent to try her best to convince you to take part in the group's movie night at the Washington's mountain lodge.

Josh's lodge.

The eye-rolling couldn't be stopped.

"Look, I love you guys, but you know how I hate being around Josh for long-extended time, unnecessary at that. In a confined space would be the death of me, truth," you answer, phone on speaker as you paint polish on your nails. Baby pink.

"You've been to the lodge before. It's huge, no confinement there," Ash counters.

No matter what problem you presented, she always seemed to find a solution.

"Besides, it's not like it'll be just you and Josh. Everyone is coming," she adds, as if it's the cherry on top.

With a sigh of defeat and a reluctance, you give in. "Fine, but I swear if Josh does anything to-" "I know, I know. We hear it all the time after he beats you in everything," Ashley jokes, a smirk obvious.

"I can change my mind," you half-jokingly threat.

"Nope, too late. I'm hanging up. Pack, Chris and I are coming!" Ashley practically yells. With a click, the room falls silent, minus your heater and the sound of you blowing on your nails.

As you pack your weekend bag, thoughts begin to swirl your mind.

After all, it was only a movie night. Where's the competition in that? You couldn't think of anything less competitive than a night-in, watching movies and snacking with friends.

But deep down, you knew Josh, and you knew that it never mattered; he would find a way to one-up you.

　　. •　　　✧　　　*　✧　　　·　.　　·　.　·*　*　　·　　　°.　　

"I'm serious, he just likes messing with you, nothing else," Chris advices, driving you three to Josh's lodge.

You were discussing Josh's behavior towards you, the relentless pestering and the constant head-to-head moments. The list went on and on, and the nervous pit in your stomach grew the closer you got to the lodge. The closer you were to Josh. How would he be when you first arrive? What would he say? Do?

"Or, crazy theory here, maybe he likes, likes you," Ashley adds, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face from the passenger seat. Even from the back seat, you can see the teasing looks on their faces.

"So untrue," is all you can say. Disbelief has taken over you.

Josh, Josh Always-teasing-and-getting-under-your-skin Washington...liking you?

"We're basically enemies, always neck-to-neck," you argue back, rolling your eyes at the suggestion. Still, it catches your attention, the theory intriguing. Could he feel that way towards you?

"He probably likes the idea of neck-to-neck, if you get what I'm saying," Chris jokes, earning a fake-disgust look from Ashley and a gasp of insult from you.

"You guys couldn't be more wrong," you say as you lean your head back against the headrest.

In what feels like a matter of minutes, you three have parked the car and have started the mini hike to reach Josh's lodge. You couldn't tell if the prickling sensation of anxiety was out of excitement to see your friends or was dread to see what Josh had planned for you.

"Well, well, well. Took you guys long enough." Josh stands at the lodge's entrance, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

You make eye contact for a fleeting moment as you approach, and your heart seems to flutter. You break the contact quickly as you walk up the steps.

"Wow, you came out your cave just for me?" he jokes, fluttering his eye lashes in an obnoxious-sarcastic way.

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not the only one with friends," you fire back, Josh placing a hand on his heart and making a fake face of pain.

"Wasting no time for the animosity, I see. Guess you can beat me at something," Josh teases, tilting his head to the side.

"Can we just go in, already? It's freezing," Ashley intercepts. Her arms cling to her frame as she stares at you for an answer, leaving you speechless for a comeback towards Josh.

"Call it even?" Josh teases, stepping out of the way to the entrance. A smug look appears on his face as he turns to talk to Chris, leaving you and Ashley alone to find your rooms.

"Did you see the look on his face? He totally likes you," Ashley whispers, playfully poking you in the side as you two make your way down the twirling hallway, listening to Beth's orders of where each of your rooms were.

"You call that flirting, Ash?" you question, mostly in a rhetorical way.

If that's flirting, Josh definitely needs to practice, you think to yourself as you place your bag on the bed in the room you call dibs on, unaware of who's room was across the hall. Josh's room.

"I hope the storm isn't too bad tonight," Sam exclaims as she sprawls out onto your bed, lifting her head to stare at you and smile.

"Hey, Sam," you offer, leaning over your bag to gather your pjs. Even though it was freezing, and a winter storm was not far from making its appearance, the parka shielding you from the cold was not the most comfortable thing to watch movies in.

You head off to the bathroom, hearing Hannah's announcement, in the distance, of regrouping back in the living room in thirty minutes.

　. •　　　✧　　　*　✧　　　·　.　　·　.　·*　*　　·　　　°.　　

"What genre should we go with?"

The time was nearing 11:30 pm, and the conversation finally landed on movies.

So far, Josh hadn't been as bad as you expected. Sure, he constantly insisted on playing against you in the video games, cheated his way towards victory in board games against you, and even found ways to one-up you in academics, asking you about GPAs, grades, etcetera.

But he still couldn't make you budge. No matter how hard he integrated, how relentless he competed, he still couldn't get under your skin. With every snarky remark that left his lips, you countered with one right back. So far, the playing field was even, and going by the irritated look on Josh's face, it seemed you were in the lead.

"Romance," Jessica offers, earning grunts of disapproval from the guys.

"No girly flics, please, for the love of God," Mike complains, earning a slap on the chest from Jess.

"I think horror," Matt suggests.

"You just want to rile them up again, so you can watch them argue," Emily says, waving her finger between you and Josh, both horror-movie fanatics.

Matt just raises his hands in an innocent way and shrugs his shoulders.

"No argument here; it's obvious I have the better horror selection, right?" Josh asks, looking at you for approval, knowing he won't receive any.

"If there's anything I know more about than you, it's horror," you spit back, earning a deep chuckle from Josh.

"Just go fight about it in Josh's room until you guys decide on one, jeez," Chris says, leaning back against the couch with his hand behind his head. "My popcorn is getting cold, and watching you fight isn't that entertaining."

"Fine, we'll see," Josh says, standing up from his spot on the couch and staring down, hovering above you as he waits for you to follow, tilting his head towards the hallway to his room. "Follow, my fair madam." "You make me sick," you mumble under your breath, pushing your way in front of Josh to get to his room first.

"Never had someone this eager before to be in my room," Josh speaks from behind you, his tall and lean figure following as the group's voices fade into background noise, inaudible amongst your's and Josh's in-rhythm footsteps.

"Like you've brought any girls into your room, Joshy," you scuff, teasing him with a nickname the group uses.

Why did I just use it, though, You ask no one but yourself.

The moment you stepped foot into Josh's room, your eyes were drawn to the shelves filled with dvds. The Washington kids' father was a movie director, so it was fitting for this huge selection; Josh always seemed to be the most intrigued in that lifestyle.

"Speechless?" Josh teasingly asks, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you intensely, his stare almost burning a hole in the back of your head as your fingers trace across the cases' spines.

"Maybe a little jealous, can't lie," you say, a wave of sudden honesty washing over you. Your eyes are too locked on scanning every title in sight, you don't even notice Josh joining you, his presence appearing suddenly.

"You should be; just proves I definitely know about movies more than you," Josh says, his words coming out in almost a trailing hushed-tone, banter leaking from his words.

"Leave it to Josh to always see competition in everything" you say, stealing a quick glance from him before you pick up a dvd titled, "The Shining."

"Think this will freak Jess out," you ask, looking up at Josh as he stares down, almost in a new way, more intense.

"I was thinking maybe more of something like 'The Ring,'" Josh offers in return, reaching an arm around you to grab the dvd.

His arm slightly brushes against your shoulder, and now you're hyper-aware of the sudden lack of space between you and Josh, how close he was. You could smell the mixture of cologne and soap on his skin, having showered previously. His eyes scanned your face in a frantic way, going from your eyes to your lips to looking away.

You felt...flushed? Confused even, especially with the sudden burn in your core, something eager and desperate blossoming inside you, something you've never felt towards Josh.

Suddenly, a smirk grows visible on Josh's face, inches away from yours, and his eyes go to look at something behind you.

"Nah, more like 'The Texas Chain Saw Massacre." That'll totally freak Jess, you think?" Josh asks, reaching behind you to select the dvd. He was acting as if nothing just occurred, as if this was some way to get to you, get under your skin.

Without saying a single word, Josh walks out the bedroom, stopping right at the doorway to look back and say, "Are you coming, or are you too flushed?"

Oh, so this was the game he wanted to play? Fine.

　. •　　　✧　　　*　✧　　　·　.　　·　.　·*　*　　·　　　°.　　

"Ugh, can we please just turn this off already?" Jessica complains, hiding her eyes behind her hands, Chris and Mike shushing her as they continue to delve into their popcorn.

The living room's tv glow illuminates the space, cascading a soft blue across everyone's faces, excluding Hannah and Sam, who already resided to their beds to sleep.

Beside you, of all people, sat Josh, his arm resting on the back of the couch just behind your head. He was doing this on purpose. If he could't get under your skin, in your head, with his usual banter and competitiveness, he was the exact type to resort to flirting.

It was new, though, never-before explored territory. You guys had always been passive-aggressive and cutthroat with one another for as long as anyone could remember. This behavior had always seemed to be off-limits between you two, though.

But if Josh wanted to act this way, who were you to let him do it so easily?

You started small, doing almost unnoticeable actions.

Inching closer to him, acting "scared," leaning your head against his arm.

When you realized it wasn't having as much of an effect on him the same way he had on you, wasn't enough, your measures grew more extreme, more desperate now, than ever before, to get Josh Washington hot and flustered.

"Joshy," you whisper to him, sat on the couch, hidden behind most of the group. You look up at him through your eyelashes as his eyes flicker down to you, his face glowing.

"Mhm?" he hums, eyes now back on the screen.

"I'm getting cold, can we share your blanket?"

His eyes suddenly dart down at you, and for a split second, you almost think he's cracking and see an opportunity to squeeze your way in.

"Yeah, sure," he whispers, opening up the blanket for you to join in.

You shuffler closer to him, leaning your head on his chest as you do your best to snuggle up to him. You feel his breath hitch, and a smirk appears on your lips.

You wrap your arms around his waist, and ask "Is this okay?" You speak in a low, seductive tone. Josh's heartbeat was almost audible.

Josh stares down at you for a second before answering, drinking in the details of your face. You take notice of how his eyes seem to trace the lines of your lips.

"Yeah, I wanna do whatever makes you comfortable," he answers, winking before his attention goes right back to the movie.

Unbelievable, you think, your eyes doing the same.

As time trials on, it seems that you will never be able to crack Josh, anger of his victory bubbling inside you. You can just envision it now: that stupid smile on his face. He was sat as you laid your head on his lap. This new closeness earned the occasional glance from the rest of the group.

If you only knew, you thought.

A hand begins running itself through your hair, realization sinking in that the mysterious hand obviously belongs to Josh. The gentle, soft touch contrasts to Josh's constant banter and coldness; when his hand moves the hair out of your neck and travels lower down your back, a shiver is sent down your spine.

He's good, and he's winning.

Small circles are traced on your back, his hand blocked by the cloth of your shirt. God, why were you wishing you wore something thinner, almost craving the sensation of his fingertips as they lit fires on your skin?

You dry swallow and try your best to focus back on the movie, feeling Josh's eyes switch between the glowing screen and your face, waiting for a reaction.

An idea sparks inside your mind, and you begin to rub Josh's thigh, moving your hand up and down in a slow, sensual way; your eyes were locked on the screen, but you could see the puzzled look on Josh's face as he observed the motion of your hand.

A smirk grew as you could visibly see Josh getting nervous as your hand crept closer up each rub. This was finally your chance.

"Is this bothering you?" you ask flirtingly, looking up at Josh. His skin, even in the dim room, is a slight red.

"Not at all," he says, and you can't believe you're actually making him hot and bothered. He shifts as he readjusts himself.

Suddenly, Josh's hand detaches from your back and lands on your thigh, rubbing up and down as he stares back to watch the movie. His hand dips lower and a squeeze is felt on your ass.

You jolt, and a dark chuckle is heard from Josh. That burning, eager feeling in your core returns, and you become flushed again. Failure sinks back in as Josh takes the lead once more, but you're left with more than just the feeling of losing; the feeling of lust seems to be growing with every movement between you two.

It's all too much, the touching, the thoughts in your head, Josh's stare, his touch, his lips, his body, the flushed feeling. In a split second, you push Josh's hand off you, retreating your own, rip the blanket of your warm skin, grab your parka from a hook, and head for the back porch.

"Where are you going, it's the best part?" Chris calls to you, trying his best not to disturb the others, Ashley seeming to have drifted off to sleep against his shoulder.

"Just going out for a smoke- don't wait for me," you answer, grabbing your pack of cigs and a lighter from a near coffee table.

You slip on your boots, Chris mumbling a quiet "weirdo," and gently slide open the back door that opens way to the back porch, feeling Josh's stare burning in the back of your head.

The cold winter wind splashes a wave of coolness over your body, stinging as it fights the warmth off from within the walls. The porch is decorated with bits of outside seating, a long couch pushed against the porch's fence, on the right side of the door.

You reside there as you light a cigarette, its red-orangish glow lighting up your face in the midst of the mountain's darkness, the wind and snow roaring just beyond the lodge. You look out to your right, taking in the landscape as your mind vibrates with thoughts.

"This is insane," you say aloud, your words being whisked away in the cold cloud that leaves your lips.

Never before had much ever seemed to be off-limits when it came to one-upping one another. However, this was different; it was all so sudden, new: the touching, the flirting. It was starting to feel less like a competition to win and more like a competition to get into each other's pants. The idea of being enemies was starting to feel foreign; the line between play-pretend and reality was starting to be blurred into real, vulnerable, raw lust.

"What's up with you?" Josh's voice breaks the silence of the fierce wind and your internal conflict. Of course he would follow you.

Your head snaps to the left, and there Josh stands, his skin wrapped in his own winter coat. A blanket hangs in his hands. "Nothing's up," you offer, shrugging your shoulders as you look back out to the landscape.

"You only smoke when something's bothering you, idiot," he counters, taking a seat beside you. He droops a little, his long legs resting open as he props an arm behind you. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you as Josh wraps the blanket around you.

"Share?" he asks, and you pass the cigarette to him. Snow catches in each other's hair, lingering snowflakes residing in Josh's eyelashes.

"Came to rub in your victory, I'm guessing?" you ask, half-joking but also half-serious. What other reason would beckon Josh to join you? It's so in-character for him to follow you out in the freezing cold just to prance.

He takes a long drag before he answers. "What victory?" He tilts his head back, blowing smoke out into the abyss that is the starry night sky.

"You can stop playing stupid, Josh," you advise, watching him carefully.

"If anything, I'd think we were even at this point," he says, turning to stare at you as he lays his head against the couch's cushion. A glint lights up behind his eyes; you aren't sure what it's calling for, but it makes your core tingle with anticipation.

"What're you saying?" Your heartbeat races as you await an answer.

"Every good competition needs a tie-breaker," Josh says, his hand reaching underneath to feel your body, finding its place on your thigh.

"And how do you suggest we do that, Joshy?" you ask, your voice shaking with desire.

"I bet I can make you cum first."

Josh's bluntness catches you off-guard, you almost choke as you dry swallow. That familiar feeling of craving returns, deepening as blood rushes through your veins, excitement dancing on your skin as your core burns.

Without missing a bit, you rip the blanket off of you and climb onto Josh, his hands finding their place at your ass after he puts out the cigarette. Your lips connect in a hot, steamy second. It's not soft or gentle; it's rough, as if the anger between you two found its way to lust. 

Desire ignites between you two as Josh's tongue parts your lips. He squeezes at your ass as moans of approval escape the gates of your mouth.

You run your hand through Josh's hair and tug, deepening the kiss. His lips detach from yours, and you finally see the look in his eyes. They burn with an intense, unspoken hunger, shared between you.

"You taste so fucking good," Josh says in-between breathy exhales.

He brushes your hair aside, and focuses on your neck. He licks and sucks, biting when you whimper for more. It was all so hot, filling that yearn you felt for far too long.

"Get on your knees," Josh suddenly speaks, tugging at your parka, "and take this off. I wanna see you.” Josh’s words are hot and steamy, making your core pulsate with desperation to feel him.

You do as told and look up at Josh, the winter’s snowfall cascading just behind him as the light catches his face in just the right way, its glow delicately blue and buzzing. The wind stings as it hits your bare skin.

The sound of Josh's belt unbuckling makes your stomach flutter with excitment.

 He lifts up to pull down his clothing, and you gulp when his member practically pops out. You never doubted the size of Josh- what, with all his tense, built figure- but you definitely underestimated him. You blush. 

"Scared of a challenge?" Josh asks, taking his cock in his hand and stroking softly, almost teasing you as he remains eye contact. 

"I can take it." you say, glaring at him before you replace his hand with yours. 

"I want you to look at me while you try," Josh says, again, relentless with his remarks. That cocky smirk, one you've grown far too familiar with, appears on his face, and you just want to shut him up already. 

You start slow, teasingly swirling your tongue on his tip, watching him, Josh throws his head back as he hisses with pleasure. 

"Fuck, not wasting time," he manages to mumble in-between his deepening, jagged breaths. 

You take in the sight of him: needy, vulnerable, and aching with desire. It makes you want him even more. 

"Please take me whole already," Josh says, thrusting his hips closer, but you push them back down. 

"Thought you didn't wanna lose?" you jokingly ask, stroking him painfully slow. 

"I just want your mouth on my body right now." You open your mouth wide to be able to fit all of him, and you take him whole, stroking what you can't manage to fit in. 

Josh's hands clench your hair as he thrusts his hips up and down into your mouth, the sound of you gagging and his moans fading into the bitter atmosphere. 

You bob your head up and down, practically drooling over his member. You reach down into your own bottoms, having the urgency to release some of your own needs. However, Josh notices, and immediately, he pulls you off his member. 

"Sit on me," he says, pulling you up. 

Your stomach flip-flops with eagerness. Everything was all moving so fast, you would have never believed you'd be with Josh, sharing this kind of moment. 

He helps you pull down your bottoms, teasing you as he strips off your panties.

You align yourself over Josh's cock, Josh holding his member up to your opening as he slowly slides in, you sitting gently as you adjust to the size. 

"Shit, shit," you say, throwing your head back in burning pleasure. 

When he was finally in all the way, it felt like your entire body was on fire as Josh holds onto your ass, thrusting as you saddle his lap. Your bodies were moving in perfect unison. His eyes watch your every action, his hands squeezing and touching every inch of your body, igniting that fire. 

The sound of skin-on-skin fills your ears, along-side the sounds of moans and begging, as Josh's movements become more sloppy, rough, and intense. It was getting more messy and wet with each passing second. 

Josh's hard, throbbing cock pumps faster and faster, that feeling in your pit growing deeper and closer to the edge. You dig your nails into Josh's shoulders as his head burrows into your neck, biting and sucking as you bounce harder. Your core was burning with each thrust, and before you know it, you feel yourself ready to release that built-up pressure. 

"Josh," you whimper, throwing your head back as he supports you. 

"Do it," is all he says, and your body does it on command; you clench around him and all the tension oozes from your body. Josh lets out moans of pleasure, twitching inside you as he pulls you closer, if that was even possible. 

You practically fall into Josh's arms as you climb off him. You both begin to redress yourselves, and that's when you see that stupid look on Josh's face. 

"I win." 

a/n: midterms (rly, college in general) have been kicking my ass, so I apologize for not uploading in a while/frequently. forgive me <3

[melancholicstation]

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ALL THE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN IT —HUSBAND!JACK SCHLOSSBERG COMFORT HEADCANONS 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

jack schlossberg fan fiction is for the lovers

WIFE!READER returns and is the orion carloto archetype, who balances modelling and writing, and i imagine her making tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce on tiktok.

taglist: @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl

no matter the stressor husband!jack literally treats it as a top-priority emergency

immediately goes to start a bath for you in your gorgeous copper bathtub (cause of course you have a copper bathtub ... duh) with some suzzane kaufman bath salt's that he picked up down in greenwich after a meeting with vogue's magazine department.

husband!jack is a freak for baths and it's rubbed off on you ... seriously like that man takes baths multiple times a week, on top of daily showers

if he had to be out on a day you were particularly anxious for whatever reason he would come home with a laundry bag of new tasteful yet cute stuffed animals from loewe and never tell you the prices cause he knows you'd crash out

is great at being a body pillow and has no shame just laying in silence together for hours

would try to make you feel better by getting the overpriced (not in your opinion) criterion subscription just so you could watch vintage halloween movies without running a risk of getting hacked on some third-party sketchy website

would 100% let you live in his clothes while he was out of the house so you could feel comforted even if he wasn't physically near

would absolutely try to distract you with light comedy, despite his cockiness he is indeed a funny guy so it helps slightly

husband!jack would be such a proponent of a healthy mind is a healthy body so he'd make you go do jump rope with him (cause why does jump roping have to be so humiliating) or even worse takes you out to paddle board, like imagine your knee-deep in that melancholic state where you only read plath novels and listen to unreleased lana and your boyfriend drags you out to go paddle boarding???? like cmon now

you do feel better afterwards but you would never tell him that

if you guys owned any pets together he would without a doubt tell you he's going to be out for a couple of hours and come back with one of those portrait paintings of house-pets to cheer you up (editors note: vang olsen mimi does the most delightful pet paintings if your in greenwich!)

he would absolutely NOT be above trying to self-medicate your problems (within reason) by smoking w*ed with you or sharing a cigar being the chicest couple ever!

would 100% smother you in delightfully soft cashmere blankets in the pattern of gorgeous tapestries

would earnestly read poems (robert frost, emily dickinson, and shakespeare) to you to get you to sleep on the especially hard days

is a devout optimist and routinely talks you out of your doom scrolling

always holds space for whatever emotions you are feeling but always wants to provide solutions to your problems

and when he encounters a problem he can't so easily fix he invests time into getting your mind off it and plans steps you can take to lessen the hold whatever your stressing about has on you

writes mini impromptu love letters/pep talks on the empty spaces in your agenda notebook (wife!reader would totally own more than 1 of these louise carmen organisers in an apropos shade of autumn scarlet )

encourages you to do self-care rituals with your staple skincare products by letting you do the exact same steps on him

while husband!jack cooks for you both you read him your favourite chapters of "democracy" by joan didion in the kitchen every night and it remains a pillar in your routine despite the tumult

during your hard times jack is serving peak husbandry doing the washing, cooking and cleaning

when he's on his lunch break at the office you get text messages like this:

always makes sure that you take your medication (if you take any) at the exact times its supposed to be at and has little alarms on his phone

husband!jack would increase his acts of service to 1000% like that man would be taking your row boots into the cobbler for a new sole

would bring home flowers without a special occasion, just cause

would without a doubt bring out those STELLAR accents just to see you smile

disclaimer: this is all obviously fiction and i do not know this man nor how he calms anyone down, this is all for some fun distraction in these trying times.

to anyone struggling with the results and its ramifications (same here) i would really encourage you to read this beautiful (free) essay from alanabanaxox on patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/i-miss-dancing-115580140?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_fan&utm_content=web_share

[jungkoode]

FUCK ME UP | FRAGMENTS

˗ˏˋ that first night (her POV) ˎˊ˗

"There's a theory that says you meet everyone in your life twice—once as strangers, and once when it matters. That first night at 'Pulse', with vodka cranberry on your tongue and his eyes burning into yours, was supposed to be the stranger part. No one warns you that six months later, he'll be standing in your new apartment's doorway, looking at you like he's seen a ghost. But that’s a problem for Future you."

⋆｡°✩ story details ✩°｡⋆

collection: Before It All (FMU)

wordcount: 15k

pairing: fmu!jungkook x fmu!yn (cocky!jkxbratty!reader)

rating: explicit, 18+

playlist: spotify

content: new york city setting, university setting, strangers to roommates (eventually), nightclub setting, hookup, one night stand, drunk hookup (buzzed/tipsy but consensual), explicit sexual content, oral sex (cunnilingus), protected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, wall sex, rough sex, choking/breath play (light), hair pulling, marking/hickeys, size kink, manhandling, dirty talk, praise kink, bickering during sex, snarky banter, grinding, multiple positions, slight pain kink, slight degradation kink, praise kink if you squint, sexual tension, sexual chemistry, mild exhibitionism (making out in uber/club), slight voyeurism (being watched in club), mild dubious condom practices (that one scene), alcohol consumption, bite kink, aftercare (mild), spooning, scent kink, vanilla scented products, enemies to lovers (eventual), size difference (height), strength kink.

✧ author's note ✧

Hi my little demons! (｀∀´)Ψ Welcome to the prequel that started this absolute dumpster fire - AKA the night our emotionally constipated idiots first met.

Let's talk about how THIS happened, because honestly? I've rewritten this scene approximately 47 times (not exaggerating, my Google docs are a MESS). I initially wasn't even going to write it, but then my 3AM brain, fueled by what was probably my 8th espresso, decided we NEEDED to see these two disasters collide for the first time. And boy, did they collide. (￣ω￣;)

First things first: This is pure, unadulterated filth. I literally had to take several walks around my apartment complex while writing this because these two WOULD NOT BEHAVE. Like, I was trying to be somewhat respectable here, but they said "No♥️" and chose violence. So you know what? I just let them do their thing and documented it like the professional disaster that I am.

Now, let's talk about our girl for a second. Writing her at this specific point in her life was FASCINATING because you can really see all the pieces that made her who she is—the family pressure, the small-town suffocation, the desperate need for control while simultaneously wanting to lose it completely... She's such a beautifully complex mess and I love her for it. (Don't worry, she'll grow. Eventually. Maybe. We'll see.)

And Jungkook... Oh boy. There's SO MUCH about him that I've deliberately sprinkled throughout this chapter. Little details, subtle hints, tiny breadcrumbs that'll make sense later. I'm actually really proud of how many easter eggs I managed to hide in here - come back after future chapters and tell me if you caught them! (Though let's be real, you're probably not here for the literary analysis, you thirsty gremlins.)

The biggest challenge was honestly Emma. Like, how do you get the world's most protective best friend to leave her bestie alone in a club? I spent WEEKS trying to make this work in a way that felt authentic to her character. The sister crisis was my 3AM solution and I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out. Realistic character motivation is my kink, okay? (＾▽＾)

Speaking of realism—that's literally why this fic exists. I got so frustrated with how many unrealistic elements I kept seeing in stories that I went "Fine, I'll do it myself" and here we are, 35 pages of smut later???? Huh. You're welcome????

Side note: I have this whole thing narrated in audio (female voice only, because no male voice matches Jungkook’s, my beloved ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but Tumblr said "file too big bestie" so... might drop it on ko-fi if enough people are interested. Let me know in the comments! Speaking of comments—PLEASE tell me your theories about all the little hints I've dropped about Jungkook's past. I'm dying to see what you guys pick up on! (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ

Until next time, you disaster pandas! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Kiki. 🍓

P.S. Any typos are between you and god because I've stared at this document for so long the words have lost all meaning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

⋆｡°✩ read more ✩°｡⋆

main story: fuck me up

read on ao3

read on wattpad

So here's the thing about nightclubs: you either love them or you hate them.

You? You're more of a 'hate them' kinda girl. The sweat, the noise, the people... not your scene. Not usually, anyway.

But usual went out the window the second Emma suggested this little adventure. Sweet, reliable Emma who you lost touch with after high school but who immediately became your secret accomplice when you reached out about transferring to NYU. Who's been your underground informant for months now—sneaking you tips about the English department, virtually walking you through the campus layout via late-night FaceTime sessions, and helping you plot out the perfect transfer application your parents know nothing about.

Emma, who didn't even blink when you showed up at her door with a weekend bag and a story for your parents about "visiting your responsible friend in the city." (They bought it immediately because, well, it's Emma. Their golden standard of What A Good Influence Should Be.) You'd spent the whole day doing exactly what you came for—touring NYU's campus, sitting in on a couple of English classes Emma snuck you into, and gathering all the transfer information you could get your hands on.

"You can't just transfer here and not know what the nightlife is like," she'd insisted, already rummaging through her closet for something that wasn't your campus tour outfit. "That's like... buying a car without test driving it."

Which, okay, terrible analogy, but you get her point. You've spent months planning this transfer—going over NYU's transfer requirements, crafting the perfect escape from your suffocating small-town university, calculating exactly how to tell your parents once it's too late for them to stop you. The campus visit was supposed to be just that—visiting your responsible friend Emma for a weekend while secretly checking out NYU.

Emma, bless her overprotective heart, had taken one look at your face after that final tour—that specific blend of desperate hope and terrified excitement—and decided you needed to see the whole picture. "The real college experience," as she put it, already pulling out her phone to text her club promoter friend.

"Location sharing on?" she'd asked for the fifth time before you left her apartment, double-checking your phone settings like some kind of Gen-Z mother hen. As if you hadn’t spent the last three months planning this transfer with military-grade precision.

"Yes, mom," you'd rolled your eyes, but something warm had settled in your chest at her fussing. It's... nice, having someone in on the secret. Someone who gets it.

"Emergency contact updated to my number?"

"Check."

"Spare key to my apartment?"

"Emma, I swear to god—"

"Just checking!" She'd grinned, already knowing she was being ridiculous but doing it anyway. "One more thing..."

And that's how you ended up with a literal tracking app on your phone, an emergency SOS button setup, and Emma's solemn promise to "never leave your side, scout's honor." (She was never actually a scout, but whatever.)

Parents really think you're just visiting your studious, sensible friend Emma for a nice, quiet weekend in the city. Having some wholesome catching-up time. Maybe seeing some museums.

Ha. If only they knew you're actually scouting out your future escape route.

If only you knew.

Because let's be real, this isn't exactly in your wheelhouse. But Emma's right there, keeping her scout's honor promise, bouncing between the bar and dance floor like some kind of safety-conscious terror. And maybe it's the way she keeps checking in with subtle thumbs-up signals, or maybe it's just knowing someone's actually got your back in this whole secret college plan thing, but you're... kind of having fun?

Which is how you find yourself here, in this pulsing, thrumming mass of bodies and sound. 'Pulse', the club's called. Fitting, considering how you can feel the bass thumping in your veins, the strobe flashing like lightning in your skull. It's... a lot. But not in a bad way?

Yeah, definitely not bad, you decide as you scan the room. Leather booths, gleaming bar top, and a dance floor packed with the kind of gorgeous twenty-somethings that make you feel simultaneously inadequate and oddly triumphant. Like 'yeah, I might not be that, but at least I'm here.'

And honestly, it's pretty nice here. Clean, classy even. Good lighting over the bar, vigilant security, and Emma vouches for the place. She's your safety net tonight, because God knows you'd never try this solo. But Emma... Emma knows everyone. Gets you both in with a wink and a wave, like some kind of VIP.

The girl's got pull and she's not afraid to use it. You envy that a bit, that confidence. Wish you could borrow just a dash of it, to fortify your nerves as you perch on this barstool, spine too straight and fingers too tight around your glass. But it's fine, it's good, you're good. That’s what you tell yourself, anyways—even if it’s not entirely the truth.

It's just one night. One chance. One small rebellion before you go back home and drown yourself in expectations and demands. Hardly even counts as rebellion, really, in the grand scheme. Not like you're planning on getting blackout drunk and ending up in jail or anything. Just… dipping your toe. Sampling the other side. Just for a night.

What's the worst that could happen?

Famous last words. Or in this case, famous last thought, as you take a too-big sip of your drink and nearly choke on watery vodka cranberry. Good thing no one's paying attention.

Well, except for one guy, apparently. And he's...

Oh. Oh damn.

He's the kind of gorgeous that makes you almost forget how to swallow, even as you scoff internally. Guys who look like that? They're usually bad news. Cringe edgy boys. Like the ones you see on TikTok. The jaw, the eyes, the whole brooding bad-boy package. Not your type. Not even a little.

But he’s hot. Truth be told.

And he's watching you. Not in a creepy way, but… intense. Interested. And wow, okay, maybe there's something to be said for the whole 'still waters' vibe he's giving off, because that gaze is doing things to you. Things you're not entirely sure you're ready for.

But then again... isn't that the whole point? To try something new? To be someone new, just for a night? The girl who holds the stare of a beautiful stranger. The girl who lets the charge build, heart kicking up and skin tingling. The girl who—

"Shit, shit, shit." Emma's suddenly at your elbow, phone clutched to her chest, face twisted with genuine distress. "My sister just called. She's having some kind of breakdown about—god, I don't even know, her boyfriend? Something about him showing up at her dorm? She's hysterical, I can barely understand her—"

You watch Emma's face cycle through about twelve different emotions in three seconds. She keeps glancing between you and her phone, clearly torn. "I should go check on her. But I can't just leave you here alone. Fuck. Maybe we should both—"

"Em, I'm fine," you try to reassure her, even as your stomach sinks a little. Great. Just when things were getting interesting with dark eyes over there. "I can just get an Uber—"

"No, no, wait." Emma's scanning the club like she's looking for something specific. Her face lights up suddenly as she spots someone by the weights machine in the club's weird gym corner. Because apparently some clubs have those now. "Oh thank god—hey!!"

She waves frantically at some guy who's been doing bicep curls between taking selfies for his Instagram story. You vaguely recognize him from Emma's study group—one of those guys who probably knows the protein content of everything in his lunch and considers gym updates a legitimate form of social interaction.

"Perfect timing," Emma says as he approaches, already dabbing his face with a workout towel. She's rapid-fire texting, probably her sister. "You're still doing that safe walk program thing for the student union, right? The volunteer thing they made you do after that frat party incident?"

"Yeah bro, community service hours almost done," he confirms, then looks confused as Emma practically shoves her phone in his face, showing him what you assume is your location-sharing setup.

"Great. This is my best friend from high school. She's got location sharing on with me, SOS button setup, fully charged phone." Emma's talking so fast she's almost tripping over her words. "I have to go deal with my sister but I'll be back in an hour tops. Could you just... keep an eye out? Make sure no creeps bother her?"

Your face heats. "Emma, seriously—"

"I know, I know, you can handle yourself," Emma cuts you off, already shouldering her bag. "But humor me? He’s actually great at this. Always walks girls home after study group. Total golden retriever energy."

You catch the way her eyes flick meaningfully toward where dark eyes is still watching from across the room. Like she's trying to say 'here's your safe but slightly dim option if you want it, but...'

Your phone buzzes with an incoming wall of texts:

Emma: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!!! 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 Emma: 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚢𝚖 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜... 👀 Emma: (𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 & 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎!!!)

"Hey there. Emma had to run, but she didn't want to leave you alone. Asked me to keep you company. That okay?"

The voice cuts through your spiral, and you blink up at the interloper. Brent? Brad? Some monosyllabic gym bro who's friends with Emma and apparently your new babysitter.

Great.

You paste on a smile, even as your attention flickers back to him. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a mouth that could probably do very interesting things, you bet your money on it. But no. Don’t get distracted. Eyes on Brett. He's safe, he's known. Boring as a beige wall, but that's better. Smarter.

"Yeah, of course," you say brightly. Too brightly. Even you can hear the false note, and you cringe. "Thanks for keeping me company."

Because that's why you're here. For safety, for company, for sampling the world, but through a protective barrier. Not for tall, dark, and dangerously appealing over there. Definitely not for him.

Even if you kinda wish it was.

"You're pretty."

And like... okay? Thanks? But also, ugh. It's not that you're not flattered—you are, in that vaguely uncomfortable way that makes you want to simultaneously preen and roll your eyes into next week. Because yeah, duh, you know. You own mirrors. You're aware of your assets, thank you very much. But there's something so wonderfully, terribly basic about guys who lead with that.

Still. You give him another once-over, because fair's fair and also because like... why not? He's not bad. Actually pretty decent, if you're being honest (and you are, because what's the point of lying to yourself?). Broad shoulders, nice arms, that whole gym rat aesthetic that apparently some girls go crazy for.

Not that you're necessarily one of those girls. You've always preferred a more... balanced build. Something between "I can bench press you" and "I've never seen the inside of a gym." Like, yeah, muscles are nice and all, but you want to be able to actually cuddle without feeling like you're laying on a marble statue. Give you some softer edges any day. Something to sink into, you know?

But beggars can't be choosers and honestly? You're kind of tired of being a beggar. Or, well, not a beggar exactly, but definitely... selective. Too selective, maybe. Conservative. Careful. All those words that really mean "scared to actually live a little."

Not tonight though. Tonight you're in New York fucking City, three hundred miles from your parents' suffocating expectations and that small-town mindset that makes you want to scream into your pillow sometimes. Tonight you could be anyone.

So when you say, "Thank you, you're not bad yourself," it comes out smoother than expected. Almost flirty. And his laugh? Not terrible. Kind of nice actually, even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They're nice eyes too—warm brown, honest. Safe.

"Would you like to dance?"

The question hangs there, and you consider it. Really consider it. Because this—this whole thing—it's what you came for, isn't it? To try something new. To be someone new. Someone who says yes to dancing with attractive strangers in clubs that pulse with bass-heavy Usher remixes.

"You feeling confident?" you throw back, and okay, maybe that was a little sharp, a little too much of your usual self bleeding through. But he just smiles (no dimples, and why does that matter? Since when do you care about dimples?), and holds out his hand.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around yours. It's... not great. You've always hated cold hands, which is ironic considering yours are perpetually freezing. But you let him lead you onto the dance floor anyway, because what the hell. What the actual hell. You're here, you're young, you're... actually kind of buzzed now that you think about it. That vodka cran hitting different after all.

His hands hover at your hips, eyes asking permission, and you give him a look that you hope translates to "yes, but don't get crazy about it." Must work, because his palms settle, grip light but present. You rest your hands on his shoulders (nice shoulders, you'll give him that), and try to find the rhythm.

It's not terrible. Not amazing either, but definitely not terrible. He can move, keeps a decent beat, doesn't try to grind up on you like some horny teenager. His hands stay respectfully placed, thumbs making small circles that should probably feel more exciting than they do.

Everything about this should feel more exciting than it does.

Maybe you need another drink. Maybe you need to stop overthinking every little thing and just... be. Maybe...

Maybe that's when it happens. Your eyes drift up, over his shoulder, like they're being pulled by some invisible thread. Like something in you just knows where to look. And there he is.

Dark eyes locked on yours, expression unreadable in the strobing lights.

One second. Two. Three.

An eternity compressed into the space between heartbeats. Your skin prickles, heat crawling up your spine that has nothing to do with the crowded dance floor or the alcohol in your system. The weight of his stare is palpable, laden with something unnamed but acutely felt. Something that turns your mouth to the Sahara and your pulse into a kickdrum.

Usher croons about falling in love while Pitbull drops his signature "dale" in the background, and isn't that just fucking hilarious? Because this—this moment, this look, this stranger—this isn't about love. This is about want. Raw and simple and completely uncomplicated by things like names or histories or futures.

This is about the way his jaw clenches slightly as he watches you dance with someone else. About how his fingers drum against his glass in perfect time with the beat. About the little scar on his cheek that catches the light when he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.

Your dance partner's hands feel colder by the second.

It's not that his hands are bad, exactly. They're... nice hands. Big hands. The kind that wrap around your hips like they were made to be there, fingers long enough to span the distance between hipbone and hipbone. And yeah, okay, you have a thing for hands. Who doesn't? It's practically universal at this point—like liking bread or hating people who talk during movies. Just basic human nature.

But something's... off.

Your brain is doing that thing. That stupid, annoying, overthinking thing where it won't shut up long enough to let you enjoy anything. And god, you hate this. Hate how your mind rebels against perfectly good situations, like it's allergic to straightforward pleasure or something. Because objectively? This should be working. Hot guy, good music, decent amount of alcohol in your system. Your body's definitely on board—you can feel the low simmer of attraction, the way your skin warms under his touch. The basic chemistry is there.

But your mind? Your mind's like that one friend who shows up to parties just to list off everything that could possibly go wrong. His hands are cold. His laugh doesn't reach his eyes. No dimples. The way he said "pretty" like he was checking off a box on some "How to Pick Up Girls" checklist.

You sigh, already stepping back. Watch the confusion flicker across his face, quickly masked by what you're sure he thinks is an understanding smile.

"Everything alright?"

And like... no? Yes? Maybe? How do you even answer that when you're not sure what's wrong in the first place? When you're standing here on a dance floor that's vibrating with Usher's voice while your brain short-circuits over the temperature of some guy's hands?

"Yeah, I'm just..." You pause, teeth catching your bottom lip as you reconsider. Fuck it. Might as well go with the classics. "The vodka. Has me feeling buzzy, I think I'm not feeling too good."

It's a cop-out and you know it. But it's also an easy out, the kind that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings or make things weird. Because that's what you do, isn't it? Keep things smooth. Keep things nice. Even when you're lying through your teeth to some guy whose name you can't quite remember.

"Hey, that's okay." His smile stays steady, concerned even. "No hard feelings. You need a ride home?"

And that—that right there—that's actually kind of sweet. In another universe, maybe that offer would seal the deal. Nice guy, worried about your safety, probably has a stable job and calls his mother on Sundays. But in this universe? In this universe, your eyes are already drifting over his shoulder, drawn like a compass needle to true north.

You press your lips together, scanning the crowd like you're actually looking for someone. Like you haven’t known exactly where he is this whole time, haven’t felt his eyes raking you up and down non-stop.

"Actually I know someone just across the way, so honestly, zero worries."

The shock on his face would be comical if it weren’t so irksome. "You positive? Weren’t you visiting from out of town? Emma mentioned you were just in for the weekend."

And okay, what the actual fuck? Why does he need your whole life story? Yeah, sure, he's probably just being nice. Probably just wants to make sure you're not about to wander off and get murdered or something. But still. The irritation rises in your throat like bile, sharp and inexplicable.

"Doesn't mean I don't know anybody in New York," you say, and wow, okay, that came out with more edge than intended. Quick, fix it, smooth it over. You paste on a tight smile, the kind that probably looks more like a grimace but hey, at least you're trying. "See you around, Brent."

You're already moving as you say it, heels clicking against the floor with purpose. You think you hear him call after you—something about his name being Peter?—but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about cold hands and careful smiles and all the safe choices you should be making.

Because your feet know where they're going, even if your brain is screaming about bad decisions. Even if every rational part of you is throwing up warning signs and red flags. Even if—or maybe because—you can feel his eyes following your every move, heat spiraling up your spine with each step closer.

The bass drops, and your heart kicks up to match it.

Dale, indeed.

You don't need to look at him to know he's watching. You can tell. Can perceive it. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire. The kind of heat that makes you want to step closer even as your survival instincts scream danger, danger, danger.

And this? This is definitely dangerous.

You don't do this. Like, ever. There's a whole routine to these things, right? Guy sees girl, guy approaches girl, girl decides if she wants to deal with whatever fumbling attempt at flirtation follows. That's just... how it works. How it's always worked. Because guys? They're usually terrible at being approached. Their fragile little egos can't handle a girl making the first move. Plus, most of them aren't worth the effort anyway.

But.

But your feet are already moving. But your heart is already racing. But something about the way he's been watching you, like he could devour you whole and still be hungry—it makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you brave.

"Dance with me."

It comes out more command than question, your voice steadier than it has any right to be. He looks up at you from his seat, and fuck. Just... fuck. Because the way he tilts his head? The slow, deliberate motion of it? That should not be as hot as it is. That should be illegal in at least three states.

Then he smiles. Just one side of his mouth lifting, lazy and confident and—oh god. A dimple. One perfect little dimple that makes something in your chest squeeze tight.

"That's bold."

His voice is lower than you expected. Rougher. Like whiskey over gravel, and you want to drink it down until you're drunk on it. Want to find out what other sounds you can pull from that throat.

"You've been looking at me for 10 minutes." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, sharp and challenging. "You gonna come dance or not?"

He chuckles—actually chuckles, who even does that?—and holy shit, there's another one. Two dimples. Two perfect little dents in his cheeks that make heat pool low in your belly, thick and sweet like honey. Your fingers twitch, aching to touch them, to press thumbs to those tiny curves and feel him beam against your flesh.

When he stands, it's one fluid motion that makes it feel like someone replaced your esophagus with a cracked porcelain vase. Because he's tall. Not incredibly, super tall. But yes the kind of tall that means you'd have to stretch up on your toes to reach his mouth, that means his hands could probably span your whole waist, that means—

No. Nope. Not going there. Not yet anyway.

He follows you onto the dance floor, and you can feel the energy shift. Like the air itself is charging up, preparing itself for both of you. His friend—some guy with killer dance moves who's been holding down a corner of the floor all night—catches his eye and shoots him a look. Something passes between them, quick and meaningful, before Mystery Man's attention is back on you. All on you.

And yeah.

Yeah, this is happening.

This is definitely happening.

The bass pounds through your marrow as Usher's voice continues suffusing the air, talking about DJs and falling in love, and honestly. At this point you’re barely listening to the music itself, too focused on finding a more secluded spot.

Your pulse picks up speed. Can’t help it, really. Because this? This is definitely going to be worth breaking all your rules for.

You lead him to some darker corner of the club—might be by a column, might be an alcove, who fucking knows because your brain's too busy short-circuiting to care about architectural details right now. All you know is it's slightly away from the main crush of bodies, slightly more private, slightly more...

Oh.

His hands find your hips the second you turn to face him. No hesitation. No silent question. No careful hovering or polite uncertainty like what's-his-name earlier. Just warm, sure palms sliding over the curve of your hips like they belong there, like he's claiming territory, and—

And you should be annoyed. You should be fucking livid. Because excuse you? The audacity of this man to just assume he can touch you without so much as a "may I?" Some feminist you are, getting weak in the knees over this caveman behavior while poor Brett (Blake? Whatever) at least had the decency to ask permission with those puppy dog eyes of his.

But your brain? Your traitorous, horny, absolutely useless brain? It's sending signals straight between your legs because apparently that's what does it for you now. The confidence. The heat of his hands—and god, they're so warm, burning through the thin fabric of your dress like brands. They're not as broad as the other guy's, but his fingers are longer, elegant almost. Artist's hands, scattered with tiny tattoos that disappear under his sleeve, and that silver ring on his middle finger catching the light as his grip tightens just slightly...

(Middle finger. Not left-hand fourth. So not married then. Good. Last thing you need tonight is adding "homewrecker" to your expanding list of dubious habits.)

Your arms loop around his neck almost on autopilot, and then you're moving. With him. Against him. The bass is a living thing between you, and he matches your rhythm instantly, like your bodies already know the steps to this dance. Like you've done this a hundred times before, in a hundred different lives.

His eyes lock onto yours, heavy-lidded and dark as sin, and every hair on your neck stands at attention. Electricity crackles down your spine, sharp and sweet, as his thumbs press into your hipbones. Just enough pressure to guide you closer, until there's barely room for breath between you.

"Didn't catch your name earlier," he says, voice pitched low enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the music. His breath fans hot against your ear, and you suppress a shiver.

"Didn't throw it," you shoot back, because apparently your mouth is running on autopilot now too. Great. Just great.

But he laughs—a quick, rough sound that you feel more than hear—and his hands flex against your hips. "Feisty. I like that."

"Bet you say that to all the girls who proposition you at clubs."

"Nah." His head dips closer, nose brushing your temple. "Just the ones who stare at me for ten minutes first."

"Excuse you, you were staring at me."

"Maybe we were staring at each other."

And okay, that's... fair actually. But you're not about to admit it. Instead, you roll your eyes, even as your fingers find the soft hair at his nape. "Does this usually work for you? This whole... whatever this is?"

"You tell me." His smile is audible in his voice, and you just know those dimples are making an appearance again. "You're the one who told me to dance."

"Maybe I just felt sorry for you, sitting there all alone."

"Wasn't alone. Had my friend."

"The dancer? Please, he was too busy killing it on the floor to keep you company."

His laugh vibrates through his chest into yours, and when did you get this close? When did your bodies start pressing together with every sway of the music? When did his thigh slip between yours, creating a friction that makes your breath catch?

"You been watching my friend too? Should I be jealous?"

The word sends an unexpected thrill through you, even though his tone is clearly teasing. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah," he says, and suddenly his voice isn't teasing at all. His grip tightens fractionally, pulling your hips more firmly against his. "Yeah, I would."

Goosebumps ripple across your arms, slow and inevitable, like lava carving its path through stone. His eyes burn into yours again, scorching hot, wild, and consuming—a downpour drowning a raging fire, leaving nothing but aftermath. What’s left in their wake is the kind of black that clings. Opaque. Dense. Like ash, settling over a forest stripped to its bare bones.

The sensible part of your brain—the part that usually keeps you from doing stupid, reckless things with beautiful strangers—is suspiciously quiet. Probably because all your blood is currently occupied elsewhere, namely with the way his hands are starting to trace slow patterns on your hips, the way his breath keeps ghosting over your neck, the way his body moves against yours like he's writing sin in cursive.

And maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's how he's gazing at you like you're tranquility amidst his chaos, but you hear yourself say, "Buy me a drink first."

His smile is slow, dangerous. "That an order too?"

"Consider it a... suggestion."

"Mm." One hand slides to your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer for just a moment. "I'm starting to like your suggestions."

Your skin feels too tight, too hot, too everything. "Starting to?"

"Give me time." His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and this time you can't suppress the shiver. "Night's still young."

He actually does buy you that drink, which is... something. You're not sure what exactly, but definitely something. The way he guides you to the bar with his hand still on your lower back, fingers splayed wide enough to make you notice the imprint of his warmth? Also something.

"Another vodka cran," you tell the bartender, because hey, if it ain't broke. Then you catch his raised eyebrow and can't help adding, "What? Were you expecting something more sophisticated?"

"Nah." That damn dimple makes another appearance. "Just trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that."

When he pulls out his wallet to pay, you catch a glimpse of multiple cards fanned out in the leather fold. Credit cards, maybe? Must have money then—or at least good credit. Not that it matters, because this is a one-time thing. A never-gonna-see-you-again thing. A what-happens-in-New-York stays-in-New-York thing.

Your fingers find the cocktail napkin beneath your glass, absently creating sharp creases with your thumbnail. It's one of those fancy ones with the bar's logo embossed in gold—pretentious, like everything else about this place.

Still. You notice how he pauses, studying one card for a beat too long before selecting it. Like he's making sure of something. Weird, but whatever.

The napkin disappears into your clutch without conscious thought. A habit you'll question later but can't explain now. You're too buzzed to care about his personal finances or your own questionable souvenir-keeping tendencies.

"Whiskey neat," he orders, and you barely contain your snort. Of fucking course he drinks whiskey. Probably thinks he's Don Draper or something.

"Pretentious much?"

"Says the girl drinking what's basically juice with a splash of alcohol."

"At least I'm not trying to prove anything."

His laugh is rough, genuine. "Who says I'm trying to prove anything?"

"Please. Whiskey at a club? That's like wearing a suit to McDonald's."

"Maybe I just like whiskey." He takes a deliberate sip, throat working in a way that absolutely doesn't make your mouth water. "Maybe I like the burn."

There's something in his voice when he says that, something that feeds the banked flame in your belly. His eyes are on you again, alternating between your eyes and your mouth like he can't quite decide where to focus.

"That line score you points often?" you manage to ask, even as your voice betrays you, emerging breathier than intended.

"I wouldn't know." He's definitely closer now. When did that happen? Did he move, or did you? "Is it scoring points now?"

And god help you, but it is. It really fucking is. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your system properly, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, but you find yourself swaying toward him. Drawn in like a moth to flame, even though you know you're probably going to get burned.

"You're kind of an asshole," you inform him, even as your free hand finds its way to his chest. His very firm chest, holy shit.

"Yeah?" His fingers trace up your spine, feather-light but deliberate. "Seem to like it though."

"Cocky too."

"Haven't heard any complaints."

He's so near now you can smell him—something clean and vicious, like a tempest raging on the coast. His breath fans across your lips, whiskey-warm and promising. One of his hands cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in a way that makes your skin buzz.

"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?" you murmur, and that's it—that's all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours like a wave breaking against rocks, hot and insistent and absolutely fucking flawless. His lips are softer than you expected but he kisses hard, like he's trying to devour you whole. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have. The hand on your neck tightens, tilting your head to deepen the angle, and holy fuck.

You've been kissed before. You've been kissed a lot, actually. But this? This is something else entirely. This is lightning in a bottle, this is matches in gasoline, this is every hackneyed poetry metaphor about fire and flame and immolation except it actually makes sense now because your entire body is electric with it.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open for him without hesitation, vodka cranberry forgotten in your hand. He tastes like alcohol and dewdrops and something else you can't name but instantly crave more of. The noise he makes when you tug his hair—low and ravenous and almost startled—shoots straight between your legs.

Someone whistles nearby—probably his dancer friend—but you couldn't care less. Not when his other hand is sliding down to your hip, pulling you closer. Not when he's kissing you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth with his tongue. Not when everything in you is screaming more, closer, now.

You're definitely going to hell for this. But with the way he's kissing you?

Might be worth it.

His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing like you've run a marathon. Which is... embarrassing, actually. When was the last time a kiss left you this affected? What are you, some freshman at their first house party? Because this is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape, and your lips are tingling, and—

And fuck it. Fuck everything. You want more.

"Let's take this outside," you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds considering your internal chaos. Because yes. Outside. Away from the crowd and the music and all these people who aren't him.

"Your house?" The words are barely out of his mouth before you can finish your suggestion, and okay, that's kind of hot. The eagerness. The way his fingers flex against your hip like he's already imagining it.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. At least you're not alone in this desperate teenage hormone bullshit. At least he's just as affected as you are.

But then reality crashes in like a bucket of ice water. Your house? What house? You're crashing at Emma's place and—oh god, Emma would actually murder you. Like, literal homicide. She's already doing you a solid by covering for you with your parents, and bringing back some random (incredibly hot) guy from a club? Yeah, that would definitely void the best-friend contract.

"Yours?" you counter, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He makes this sound—half hiss, half groan—that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. "Can't."

"What, mommy and daddy don't let you?" The snark is automatic, defense mechanism kicking in to mask your disappointment.

"Nah, but my friend might not like it."

"Mine either."

You stare at each other for a moment, eyes darting back and forth like you're both trying to solve the same puzzle. The absurdity of the situation hits you at the same time—two grown adults, hot and bothered in a club, cockblocked by their respective roommate situations—and suddenly you're both laughing.

His chuckle is deep, rumbling through his chest where you're still pressed against him, and it's... nice. Really nice. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his dimples flash (and seriously, those things should come with a warning label), the way his thumb absently strokes your hip like he's forgotten he's doing it.

"Well, this is..."

"Stupid?" you offer.

"I was gonna say unfortunate, but yeah. Stupid works too."

You're still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, still wound tight with want, still buzzing from that kiss. And now you're both laughing about it, which should probably kill the mood but somehow doesn't. Somehow makes it better, actually. More real. Less like some fantasy hookup and more like...

Nope. Not going there. This is still just a one-night thing. A one-night thing that's currently being cockblocked by your respective living situations, but still. Just one night.

"So what now?" he asks, and his voice has dropped back into that lower register that you really want to hate. "Because I really want to kiss you again."

"Just kiss?" The words slip out before you can stop them, teasing and suggestive and probably way too candid.

His grip tightens, just marginally. Just enough to make your breath catch. "Definitely not just kiss."

"Fuck," you breathe, because eloquence has left the building. Possibly the state.

"That's the idea, yeah." And how he says it—all gruff edges and sinful vow—makes embers spark low in your abdomen. "Just need to sort out the logistics."

Which brings you right back to your current predicament. No Emma's place, no his place, and you're pretty sure having sex in the club bathroom is both tacky and probably illegal. But the way he's looking at you, like he really, really wants to wreck you…

"We could..." you start, then pause. Because what? What brilliant solution are you about to offer here? Your practical brain is absolutely useless right now, short-circuited by the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue and the steady pressure of his hands on your body.

"Could what?" His thumb traces your bottom lip, and your train of thought derails completely.

"I have no idea," you admit, and his laugh is somehow both frustrated and fond.

"This is definitely stupid," he says, but he's still holding you close, still looking at your mouth like he's considering kissing you again anyway, roommate situations be damned.

"So stupid," you agree, already tilting your face up to meet him halfway.

You lick your lips, tasting geosmin and want and really awful decision-making skills.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Emma can kill you tomorrow.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist—god, his hands are so warm—and you're already moving, already pulling up the Uber app with your free hand. Thank fuck for muscle memory because your brain is absolutely useless right now, too busy cataloging the way his pulse jumps under your fingers, the way he follows without hesitation.

"Where we goin'?" His voice is low and hoarse as he trails behind you, wrist a hostage to your grip.

"To my friend's place," you mutter, trying to type Emma's address without typos.

You: 𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

You don’t mention you’re not heading home alone. She’ll find out herself.

The dude, for his part, just hums in response, like he's fine with whatever as long as it means getting somewhere private. Which, fair. You're kind of operating on the same wavelength here.

You make it to the coat check line first, because priorities. You’re not leaving your jacket behind. And it is moving at a glacial pace, because of course it is. The universe clearly wants to test your self-control by forcing you to stand here, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

The way his fingers keep "accidentally" brushing your thigh has you seriously considering saying fuck it and just leaving your jacket behind.

"Could just come back for it tomorrow," he murmurs, like he's reading your mind. His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and you barely sigh in response. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"It's January in New York. I'm not getting hypothermia just because you can't keep it in your pants for five minutes."

"Could keep you warm."

And okay, that line should be cringeworthy. That's the kind of shit that would usually make you roll your eyes so hard they'd get stuck. But he has a way with words—or maybe it’s just his fucking voice—and somehow you like it.

"Next," the coat check girl calls, mercifully saving you from having to respond. You practically lunge forward, fumbling with your ticket. Better than letting him feel how that stupid line affected you.

He reaches past you to hand over his own ticket, arm bracketing you against the counter. And really? Really? This is some romance novel bullshit right here. Who does he think he is, Christian Grey? You should be annoyed. You should definitely not be noticing how good he smells, or how the position highlights just how much bigger he is than you, or—

"Here you go!" The coat check girl's voice is way too cheerful for—you check your phone—3:46 AM. She hands over your coats with a knowing smile that makes your face heat. Great. Just great. Even the coat check girl can tell you're about to make terrible life choices.

He helps you into your jacket because apparently he's decided to be a gentleman now, after spending the last hour making you question your life choices with his mouth. His hands linger on your shoulders just a fraction too long, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

"Ready?" he asks, voice still pitched low enough to make your skin tingle. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and let him guide you toward the exit with his hand on your lower back.

The coat check girl calls out "Have fun!" as you leave, and you seriously consider moving to a different city. Maybe a different country. Somewhere people don't immediately clock your questionable decision-making skills.

The Uber arrives embarrassingly fast—some higher power must be looking out for horny idiots tonight—and you both slide into the backseat. You start on opposite sides because you're trying to be decent human beings, trying to remember that your poor driver doesn't deserve a free show.

But then he's moving closer.

And closer.

And suddenly his mouth is on yours again, hot and demanding, and okay, yeah, sorry Mr. Uber driver but this is happening. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head just so, and you're definitely making some kind of noise in the back of your throat but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about anything except the way his tongue slides against yours, the way his other hand grips your thigh.

Fifteen minutes. That's all it is from the club to Emma's place. Fifteen minutes that somehow feel like both seconds and eternity, lost in a haze of wandering hands and stolen kisses and trying (failing) to keep things PG-13. You're vaguely aware of streets passing, of turns and stops, of the driver pointedly turning up the radio.

And then your attention shifts. His teeth graze your bottom lip, fingers slowly sliding on your inner thigh. Hisses when your nails find his scalp. Heat. Want. Need. Building higher with each passing minute until you're practically vibrating out of your skin.

By some miracle (or possibly divine intervention), you make it to Emma’s building. You stumble out of the Uber, giving the driver your most apologetic smile-grimace combo. He just shakes his head, probably adding you to his mental list of "drunk hookups I never want to see again."

But then he's pressing you against the building's front door, mouth hot on your neck, and you really can't bring yourself to care about your Uber rating right now. Not when his hands are everywhere, not when he's making these little sounds against your skin that go straight between your legs.

It takes three tries to get the key in the lock—partly because it's 4 AM and you're tipsy, mostly because he won't stop kissing you long enough to focus. When you finally get the door open, you nearly fall through it, saved only by his arm around your waist.

"Smooth," he murmurs against your lips, laughing softly.

"Shut up," you breathe back, already pulling him in for another kiss. His back hits the closing door with a thud that's definitely too loud for 4 AM, but you're past caring. Past thinking about anything except the way his hands feel sliding up your sides, the way he tastes, the way he's eating you up with his eyes.

Emma's definitely going to murder you tomorrow. But with the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way he's kissing you like he's trying to crawl inside your skin?

What-fucking-ever.

He pushes off the door like a man on a mission, and suddenly you're airborne—your legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. And okay, that's hot. The way he lifts you like you weigh nothing, the solid press of his body against yours, the little growl he makes when your hips roll against his.

"Room?" His voice is wrecked already, breath hot against your mouth between kisses that make your head spin.

You gesture vaguely toward Emma's guest room, too busy mapping the muscles of his shoulders to form actual words. He exhales sharply against your lips, already moving. Your jackets become casualties somewhere in the hallway, dropped with fumbling hands and zero grace because yeah, the vodka's definitely hitting now. Everything's warm and hazy and electric, your skin buzzing everywhere he touches.

Then you're falling backward onto the bed, and holy fuck. The way he's looking down at you—like he's been lost in the desert and you're a fucking oasis—it makes your breath catch in your throat. Makes heat pool low in your belly, makes your thighs press together in anticipation.

His shirt comes off in one fluid motion and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

You've seen attractive guys before. You've seen gym bros and athletes and the whole spectrum of male bodies. But this? This is like someone took Michelangelo's David and decided to make him real but better. He's all lean muscle and smooth skin, but with just enough softness to make him touchable. Human. Perfect.

And his chest—god, his chest. It's not the rock-hard wall of muscle you'd expect from someone who looks like that. Instead, there's this ideal balance of firm and soft, creating the most magnificent set of man tiddies you've ever laid eyes on. The kind you could actually cuddle up to without feeling like you're resting on concrete. The kind that would make a flawless pillow after—

Your lusty brain stops working as he leans down, pressing his hips deliberately against yours as his mouth finds your neck. His tongue traces patterns on your skin that make you arch up against him, desperate for more contact.

"Fuck," he breathes against your throat, nosing along your pulse point. "You smell so good. Like vanilla and..." He inhales deeply, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. "Like something sweet I wanna taste."

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the play of muscles under warm skin. He's perfectly balanced above you, using just enough of his weight to make you feel deliciously pinned without crushing you. You fucking love it. Don’t know why, don’t know how. Maybe it's just how attractive he is, or the heat of his mouth on your neck, or the press of his body against yours or the way he keeps making these little sounds like he can't help himself.

He's kissing you again before your vodka-soaked brain can process anything beyond rudimentary want, primal need. It's all heat and tongue and teeth, messy and perfect in the way only drunken hookups can be. One of his hands slides up your neck, fingers spreading across your throat. Not squeezing, just...resting.

It's fucking electric.

Your hands map the expanse of his back, nails dragging lightly in a way that makes him groan into your mouth. He's all smooth skin and sinewy muscle, hot to the touch and absolutely unfair. No one should be allowed to feel this good. To make you feel this good, just by existing.

He drags his mouth down your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him hiss. Which is hot. Way too hot, because that noise? It immediately spirals straight between your thighs.

And fuck, how he grinds down against you in response. It's obscenely filthy, the perfect pressure in just the right spot to make you want to moan aloud. To be shameless.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, and you feel it more than hear it. Feel the heat of his breath, the barely restrained want in the way he's touching you. "You feel so fucking good."

Your hips roll up to meet his in a way that's purely instinctual. Because yeah, he feels good too. Better than good. You feel the maddening length of him grinding against you through his jeans; his hand around your neck and—god, you want to claw his back, to wrap your legs around his waist and just take.

The hand on your neck flexes just slightly, thumb brushing your jawline and you think you die just a little because hello? You like that. You really, really fucking like that. New kink unlocked, it seems.

"Want you," he murmurs, voice low and rough with arousal. "Want you so fucking bad, you have no idea."

And oh, you do. You really, really do. Because wanting him is all you can think about right now. All you can focus on beyond the thrumming of your heart, the aching throb between your thighs. You want his hands, his mouth, his—

"Off," you manage, tugging at his jeans with clumsy fingers. "These need to come off like, yesterday."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest into yours. "So fucking bossy."

But he's already leaning back, already working on his fly as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch. And Jesus Christ, the way he looks right now—shirtless and disheveled, dark hair falling into darker eyes, lips red from your kisses—it's unfair. Unreal.

So fucking hot you think you might actually die if he doesn't touch you again in the next ten seconds.

His jeans hit the floor with a soft thud and holy fuck—the sight of him in just black boxer briefs should be illegal in at least forty-eight states. Like, someone call the police because this? This is absolutely criminal. The way the fabric clings to his thighs, the obvious bulge that makes your mouth water—

But then he's on you again, and thinking becomes a foreign concept.

His hands find the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up with an urgency that makes heat pool between your legs. You arch up to help him, already anticipating the slide of fabric over skin, but—

Oh.

The second the dress clears your elbows, he presses down. Uses the fabric to pin your arms above your head, effectively trapping you against the mattress. And that's... that's...

Fuck.

His mouth is suddenly on your breast, hot and wet and absolutely perfect. No hesitation, no teasing—just the wet slide of his tongue over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, and holy shit.

Thank god you wore this dress. Thank every fucking deity that you chose the tight red one that doesn’t need a bra, because the feeling of his mouth directly on your skin is absolutely devastating.

A moan tears from your throat—embarrassingly loud in the quiet room—as his teeth graze sensitive flesh. His responding groan vibrates through your chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your back arches instinctively, pressing more firmly into his mouth as his tongue swirls around your peaked nipple.

His free hand finds your throat again, and—

Oh god.

His fingers spread wide, applying the slightest pressure. Testing. Exploring. Like he's curious about your reaction, about the way he feels your heartbeat flutter faster in response.

You can't help the soft sound that escapes you—somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His grip tightens fractionally in response, and your cunt clenches around nothing. Because fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. The way he's controlling your breath, the way he's holding you down, the way his mouth is absolutely ruining you one suck at a time...

"Sensitive," he murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Bastard. His thumb strokes along your jugular, feeling the way your breath hitches. "Wonder what other sounds I can get that pretty throat to make."

You'd have a snappy comeback for that. You know you would. But then he's switching to your other breast, teeth scraping just right, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. All you can focus on is the wet heat of his mouth, the steady pressure of his hand on your throat, the way he's using his other hand to keep you pinned against the bed.

And maybe it's the situation, or maybe it's just him, but you've never been this turned on in your life. Never been this wet, this desperate, this needy. It should be embarrassing really—the way you're practically writhing beneath him, the way every little touch sends electricity sparking through your veins.

But with the way he's groaning against your skin, the way his hips keep grinding against yours like he needs it? Maybe you're not the only one that’s losing sanity here.

His teeth catch your nipple just as his fingers flex against your throat, and the combination pulls a sound from you that you didn’t even know you could make. High and breathy and absolutely wrecked.

"Fuck," he breathes, hot against your wet skin. "The sounds you make..."

His thumb brushes over your throat again, slower this time, before gliding up. Along the underside of your jaw. Pausing at your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, watching as your mouth falls open on instinct. You're not sure whether you breathe or whimper, but it makes his gaze go impossibly darker, makes his hips roll against yours in response.

And then his thumb is there, pressing against your tongue, and—goddamn him—you're sucking without a second thought. The groan he lets out is a shattered thing, low and guttural, as though he's just as wrecked as you.

For three glorious seconds, he just... freezes. Like his brain's temporarily offline, like you've actually managed to short-circuit whatever smooth operator routine he had going.

And okay, maybe that gives you enough time to yank the dress out the rest of the way, tossing it off your bent elbows in a way that you hope was sexier than it felt. He doesn’t seem to notice—too busy looking at you like he's forgotten how he got here. Or how to breathe.

Either way, it's a little distracting.

But then he's moving, yanking his hand back like you've scorched him. And before you can even process the loss, he's sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses that make your skin come alive.

Your tipsy brain tries to catch up with what's unfolding—manages to register the flex of his shoulders, the heat of his mouth marking a path down your stomach, the way his hands are suddenly gripping your thighs and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed like you weigh nothing, kneeling between your spread legs like he belongs there. And how he looks up at you through his lashes, mouth hovering just inches from where you're absolutely drenched through your panties...

You prop yourself up on your elbows because fuck if you're missing this show. The movement makes your head spin slightly—reminder that you are definitely not sober—but the sight of him between your thighs is worth any potential vertigo.

His breath fans hot against your core, and your hips twitch involuntarily. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, but before you can call him out on it, he's leaning in. Pressing his open mouth against you through the thin fabric of your underwear, and—

"Fuck."

The word tears from your throat unbidden because holy shit, this shouldn't feel this good already. It's barely anything—just the heat of his mouth, the slight pressure of his tongue through fabric—but your body's lighting up like a fucking supernova. Like every nerve ending is suddenly dialed to a hundred.

Your fingers find his hair without conscious thought, tangling in the dark strands as he works you through your panties. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightens in response, and fuck—that's definitely going to leave marks.

And okay, yeah. Maybe you're embarrassingly wet. Maybe you can feel it soaking through the fabric, making everything slick and messy. Maybe you should care about that, about being this affected this quickly.

But you don’t. Not really, with the way he's groaning against you like he's dying for it. Like he can't get enough. Yeah, dignity can take a backseat.

Besides, all thoughts of pride or shame fly right out the window when he finally, finally hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Your hips lift automatically, helping him slide them down your legs. They catch on your heels because of course you're still wearing your fuck-me pumps, but he doesn't seem to mind. Just lets the fabric dangle from one ankle as he dives back in, and—

"Holy shit."

His tongue drags up your slit in one long, deliberate stroke, and your brain temporarily stops working. Like, full system shutdown. Windows XP error sound and everything. Because fuck—that shouldn't feel as mindbogglingly good as it does.

Then he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you make this absolutely mortifying noise—some choked little "guh" that would humiliate you if you were sober enough to care. His lip ring adds this extra edge of sensation that makes your thighs quake, cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He makes this sound against you—something between a hum and a growl (and okay, yeah, maybe 'growl' isn't the right word because what are you, fucking animals? But you're drunk and getting your pussy eaten properly for the first time in forever, so vocabulary can fuck right off). Whatever it is, it vibrates through you in a way that has your hips jerking up, seeking more.

Then he's doing these small, slow circles around your clit. So. Fucking. Slow. Like he wants to drive you crazy, wants you to fucking writhe against him. You try not to just grind up against his face. Because that would be desperate, right? That would be—

Damn.

The circles suddenly get faster, tighter, more intense. His tongue flicking over your clit with the kind of speed and precision that would put Fast & Furious to shame. And the sounds coming out of your mouth? Yeah, those aren't even words anymore. Just a stream of "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

If Emma’s home—because it’s probably been an hour already—she’s probably getting one hell of a show through these paper-thin walls. But you know what? She fucking owes you. All those times you covered for her sneaking out to Bobby Martinez's house in high school? Yeah, consider this payback with interest.

He drags his tongue back down, gathering your wetness (and okay, yeah, you're basically flooding at this point but whatever), then slides back up. Adding texture to his movements like some kind of oral sex virtuoso. Because apparently this stranger knows exactly what he's doing with that mouth, and honestly? Good for you. You deserve this. You deserve to have your pussy eaten by someone who treats it like a goddamn art form.

So you lean back, let yourself enjoy it. Let him explore and taste and fuck—the way he's absolutely feasting on you like you're his last meal. His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he sucks it into his mouth, and the sound that rips from your throat probably violates noise ordinances in several states.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you are absolutely obscene. Like, pornographic-level obscene. All sucking and slurping and Jesus fucking Christ, you should not find that as hot as you do. But with your stiletto digging into his back (when did that happen?) and his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints...

Yeah. Yeah, definitely hot.

Then his tongue drags down, down, down—and fuck, you can feel every ridge, every texture against your sensitive flesh. He reaches your entrance and just... circles it. Like he's mapping you out. Like he’s thinking about his next move.

Five blessed seconds where you can actually catch your breath. Where your brain starts to come back online and—

Fuck.

His tongue plunges into you without warning and your hand definitely just yanks out some of his hair but who fucking cares because his nose is nudging your clit while he tongue-fucks you and—and—

And your brain's offline again. Good talk.

He adjusts his arms, somehow pulling you even closer to his face. As if you weren't already basically smothering him. As if he literally wants to drown in your cunt. And that thought shouldn't be as scorching hot as it is but holy shit.

A moan tears from your throat—loud enough that Emma's probably googling noise complaint laws right now. But you can feel it building, that telltale tightening, that electric tension spreading through your core. Your clit's throbbing in time with your racing pulse and—

And he doesn't change a thing.

Because this guy? This absolute genius between your legs? He knows better than to pull that amateur hour bullshit where they speed up right when you're close. No, he maintains the exact same rhythm, the exact same pressure that got you here. Like he's done this before. Like he actually pays attention to what works.

(And okay, maybe you shouldn't be thinking about his past experience right now but your brain's kind of shorting out so whatever.)

Your stiletto digs deeper into his shoulder—might actually be drawing blood at this point but he doesn't seem to care one iota. If anything, he groans against you like he's getting off on it. Like pain turns him on. And that's...that's definitely something to stash away for later.

Or never. Because this is a one-time thing. Right. Focus.

Except focusing is basically impossible when he's eating you out like it's his actual job. When the pressure's building and building and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your back arches off the bed like you're auditioning for America's Next Top Model: After Dark Edition. The orgasm hits you like a riptide, waves of pleasure so intense your vision actually whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, heel probably leaving permanent marks on his back, and you're definitely making sounds that would make a porn star blush but—

But holy shit.

His tongue flicks over your oversensitive clit one last time—the absolute bastard—and your whole body jerks as you whimper. Which, okay, definitely earned that one. Because holy fuck.

You slump back against the bed, bones liquified, as he prowls up your body. His hands plant on either side of your face and—wow, okay, up close he's even more unfairly beautiful. All sharp jawline and scorching eyes and lips that are literally glistening with...yeah.

"You taste exactly like you smell," he murmurs, and what kind of weird-ass compliment is that? Like, thanks? Good to know your pussy matches your perfume brand?

Except...it kind of works? Something tingles in your face and no. Absolutely not. You are not getting all swoony just because Hot Stranger is saying vaguely poetic shit during sex. This is just your horny lizard brain going 'hot man say words, neurons go brr.' That's all.

Then his mouth is on your neck and—yeah, okay, thinking is canceled anyway. His hands trace maddening patterns down your stomach, feather-light touches that make your muscles jump. And when he tugs his briefs down, his cock springs free and—

Oh.

Well then.

Your body apparently didn’t get the memo about the standard refractory period because hello, Round Two suddenly seems very appealing. It hasn’t even been five minutes since you came but here you are, already clenching around nothing like some kind of sex-starved teenager.

He leans back slightly, reaching for something and—ah. His jeans. More specifically, his wallet. From which he produces not one but multiple condoms, and honestly? We love a prepared king. Nothing hotter than a guy who practices safe sex without having to be asked.

(And yes, you're literally evaluating his sexual responsibility while naked and still tingling from one of the best orgasms of your life. Sue you.)

He grabs one condom and tosses the others somewhere on the bed. Then—because apparently he's auditioning for some porno-meets-action-movie hybrid—he puts the wrapper between his teeth. Locks eyes with you. Rips it open.

And okay, PSA time: Kids (not that any kids should be reading this, what the fuck brain?)—this is not how you open condoms. Use your fingers like a normal person, not your teeth like some kind of sexual menace. That's literally Condom Safety 101.

But then again, when a guy this stupid hot does literally anything, your brain just kind of... accepts it. Like yeah, sure, demolish that condom wrapper with your teeth while maintaining smoldering eye contact. That's normal. That's fine. You're fine.

He gives the condom a cursory check (okay, at least he's being thorough), pinches the tip between his fingers and you just... watch. Wait.

"You gonna fuck me tomorrow or...?" The words slip out before your self-censor can nab them, biting and teasing.

Bad choice.

His hand—his stupidly large, stupidly warm hand—wraps around your thigh and yanks you down the bed in one fluid motion. And why the fuck is that so hot? Why are you noticing how his fingers practically span your whole thigh? Why is the heat of his palm against your skin making your breath catch?

Your eyes flicker back to his cock and—oh. When did he even get the condom on? You must have missed that while you were having your crisis about his hands. But he's ready now, thick and hard and—

Fuck.

He pushes in with one swift motion and your body just... takes him. Like you're literally eager for it, still slick and open from his mouth. He makes this soft gasping sound like he's actually dying, like your cunt is some kind of religious experience.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, hips flush against yours. "So fucking slippery and warm, feels like silk—"

"That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly," you manage, even as your walls flutter around him. Because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit, even with a dick inside you.

His laugh is rough, breathless.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

And fuck—the way he says it, like a promise, like a threat. Your cunt clenches at the thought and he actually growls.

He pushes your thighs down against the mattress and—ow. Okay, that's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Future You is probably already plotting Present You's murder, adding your name to some karmic hit list right next to Emma’s (who, let’s be real, is definitely contemplating homicide through these paper-thin walls right now).

But then he starts moving and—oh.

Oh fuck.

Every coherent thought evaporates because he's burying himself so deep you swear he's trying to carve out a permanent place inside you. Like he wants your body to remember exactly how he feels, wants to leave an impression that'll last long after tonight.

You didn’t even get a proper look at his size earlier (too busy fizzing over his hands, his mouth, literally everything else), but holy shit. What you do know is he's thick—like, properly thick. Every inch of him pressed against your walls like he's trying to eliminate any space between you, like he's mapping out your insides for future reference.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, and you actually feel him twitch inside you. "So fucking—"

"Less talking," you manage to gasp out, "more moving."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "As you wish."

He snaps his hips once—testing, exploring—and your breath hitches in your throat. Then again. And again. Quick thrust in, torturously slow pull out, and every single time has you gasping like some Victorian maiden with a too-tight corset.

"Like that?" He sounds way too smug for someone balls-deep in a stranger. "The way you squeeze me every time I—"

"You always this chatty during sex?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. "Or am I just special?"

Another snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. "Maybe I just like the sounds you make when I'm inside you."

And fuck—why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You're still so wet from earlier that you can hear it, can feel how smoothly he glides in and out, nice and easy.

"You're certainly—ah—confident," you manage between thrusts, because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit. "Compensating for something?"

His grip on your thighs tightens. "Want me to stop and let you check?"

"Don’t you fucking dare."

His pace quickens and—oh hello, is that a smirk he's biting back? It is. It absolutely fucking is. And your brain, your stupid, traitorous brain, finds that scorching. Because of course it does. You squint your eyes shut because you can’t deal with how cocky he looks right now, can’t process how that cockiness is actually doing it for you.

Congratulations, you've officially lost it. This is your villain origin story. Death by dick-induced insanity. They'll write case studies about you in Psychology Today: "Local Woman's Brain Melts Because Hot Stranger Has Good Dick Game." Your mother would be so proud.

But also? Also shut the fuck up, brain, because you're literally getting the best dick of your life right now so maybe save the self-reproach for later? Like, there's a time and place for your characteristic overthinking and this ain’t it.

He leans forward then, changing the angle as he chases your mouth, and holy fuck. Each thrust goes deeper, harder, faster—like he's trying to reach parts of you no one else has touched. His kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and desperation, and you're actually whimpering into his mouth like some kind of—

Wait.

Hold the fucking phone.

Since when do you whimper? What is this, some kind of Harlequin romance novel? Are you secretly the protagonist of a Fabio-covered paperback? Because you don’t whimper. You don’t make these soft, needy little sounds into strange men’s mouths. That’s not your brand. That’s not—

But then he rolls his hips in this way that makes you see actual fucking stars, and okay, you know what? Fuck your brand. Fuck everything. Because the way he's moving? The way he's filling you up like you're some kind of horny piñata? Yeah, that takes precedence over your identity crisis.

And speaking of crises—why does this feel so fucking good? Like, mathematically speaking, dick is dick. It's basic anatomy. Tab A into Slot B. So why does every thrust feel like he's rewriting the laws of physics? Why does your body respond to him like he's got some kind of sexual Midas touch?

The worst part? The absolute worst part? You can feel another orgasm building already. Which is ridiculous. Impossible. You literally came like ten minutes ago. This man hasn’t even finished once and here you are, ready to go again like some kind of horny Energizer bunny.

You need to have a serious conversation with your pussy about standards and expectations. Like, what happened to the refractory period? What happened to playing hard to get? Because this? This instant response to everything he does? This eager little flutter every time he hits that spot just right?

This is just embarrassing.

But also really, really fucking good.

"You take my cock so fuckin' well," he groans against your neck, voice rough and slurred. "Like y'were made for it, so perfect—"

And okay, what kind of porn dialogue bullshit is that? Who actually says things like that during sex? More importantly, why is it working? Why does every filthy word from his mouth send electricity shooting straight to your cunt?

"Hnnngh—"

That's it. That's all you can manage because your brain-to-mouth filter is totally fried. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he hits that spot just right, and you're pretty sure you're leaving marks but whatever. Future Him problems.

"F-fuck, how you clench around me when I say shit like that," his words come out breathless, hitching. "Like hearing how good you feel? How tight and wet and fucking flawless—"

"Shut up." But it comes out more like a whine than a command, completely undermining any attempt at snark. Your walls flutter around him traitorously, and his responding groan vibrates through your whole body.

"Make me," he challenges, punctuating it with a particularly vicious thrust that has your eyes rolling back. "Or maybe you don't want me to? Maybe you secretly get off on—fuck—on hearing how amazing you are, how nobody's ever swallowed me this deep before—"

"Nghh—" Your brain's offline. Completely fucking offline. No thoughts, head empty, just the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside you, the heat of his breath against your neck, the absolute filth falling from his lips.

"S'true though," he pants, pace growing erratic. "Never felt anything like this, like your—oh fuck—"

A moan tears from your throat—loud and wanton and utterly mortifying. But you can't help it, not when he's fucking you like he's trying to ruin you for anyone else, not when he keeps saying these things that make your insides turn to molten lava.

"That's it, lemme hear you," he encourages, and you want to punch him for how smug he sounds but you also want him to never stop. "Love the sounds you make when I'm deep in this pussy, when I—shit—"

His voice catches as you deliberately tighten around him, a small victory that makes you smirk despite how your body's on fire.

"Fuck, you're evil."

"You talk too much," you manage to get out between gasps, even as your hips chase his rhythm desperately. You're close—so fucking close—but not quite there.

He laughs against your neck, the sound dark and promising.

“Touch yourself for me."

When you don't immediately comply—because for some reason you still want to challenge him—he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Rub that pretty clit, show me how you like it."

The command in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Make me," you challenge, because apparently your mouth has a death wish.

"Oh?"

His rhythm slows to something torturous, each thrust deep and deliberate. "Do I need to show you where it is? Guide those lovely fingers myself?"

You're about to snark back when his hand slides between your bodies, and—oh. Oh.

"Found it," he says with infuriating smugness, circling your clit with practiced ease. Your whole body jerks at the contact, oversensitive and desperate. "Seems like I know exactly where it is. Don't I?"

"Fuck—" Your voice breaks as he applies just the right amount of pressure, the bastard. "You're so—nghh—"

"I'm so what?" He's grinning now, you can hear it in his voice even as you squeeze your eyes shut. "C'mon, tell me. Use your words."

"Insufferable," you grit out, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. "Arrogant—ah—asshole—"

"Maybe." His fingers speed up, matching the pace of his thrusts, and holy shit you're going to die. "But I'm an arrogant asshole who's about to make you cum again, aren't I?"

He's right and you hate it. Hate how well he reads your body, hate how he found your clit without hesitation like he's got some kind of carnal GPS, hate how fucking good he is at this.

"That's it," he encourages as your breathing hitches, as your nails dig into his shoulders. "Let me feel you fall apart. Wanna feel this cunt clamp down on my cock when you—"

His hips stutter and you can feel him pulsing inside you, even through the condom. The way his whole body tenses, the broken sound he makes against your throat—it pushes you right over the edge. Yeah. Your second orgasm says hi; has you curling your toes against his back, tensing your thighs around him as if he would ever dream of leaving right now.

"Fuck fuck fuck—" You're not even sure which one of you is saying it anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you're having an out-of-body experience because Jesus Christ.

For a moment, there's just silence. Just breathing. Just the sound of your heart trying to recall its normal cadence. Then he chuckles against your cheek—a low, sated sound that you'll deny remembering tomorrow—and follows it with a quick nip that makes you jolt.

"Fuck, that was good," he breathes, still catching his breath.

"S'alright," you manage, even though your legs are literally jelly and your brain's still rebooting.

He pulls back just enough to quirk an eyebrow at you, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Just alright?"

"Fishing for compliments?" You raise your own eyebrow, trying to ignore how his hand is still absently stroking your hip. "That's kind of desperate."

"Says the girl who came twice."

And—okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.

He shifts then, carefully pulling out (and at least he's considerate about it, making sure not to hurt you), and starts dealing with the condom. But then he just... stands there. Looking lost. Condom in hand and this adorably bemused expression that makes something in your chest do a weird little flip.

No. Not adorable. Nothing about this guy is adorable. Hot? Yes. Skilled with his tongue? Abso-fucking-lutely. But not adorable. You refuse to find anything about him cute, especially not the way he's glancing around the room like a lost puppy trying to figure out where to—

You can't stifle the snort that escapes you. "Trash can's over there, genius." You gesture with your head toward the small bin by the dresser. "Try not to get lost on the way."

He rolls his eyes but moves across the room, and you definitely don't watch the play of muscles in his back as he walks. Or the way his ass looks in the dim light. Or how his hand rakes through his tousled hair as he leans down to dispose of the condom and—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Because here's the thing: you've had one-night stands before. You know how this goes. Quick fuck, awkward goodbye, never see each other again. That's the routine. That's the protocol. That's what smart, sensible people do.

But.

But you're already thinking about how his mouth felt between your legs. About how he filled you up just right. About how he seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, his hips, his—

And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck being sensible and sane. Fuck playing it cool. You've got a hot guy with stellar dick game right here, right now. Might as well take advantage while you can.

Before your brain can talk you out of it, you're launching yourself off the bed. Your legs are still a bit wobbly (thanks, Mr. Two Orgasms), but you manage to catch him just as he turns around. Your mouth crashes into his, messy and demanding, as you push him against the wall.

His surprised grunt turns into a pleased hum against your lips, and his hands immediately find your hips like they belong there. Like this is exactly what he was hoping would happen.

Cocky bastard.

He spins you around so fast your head spins—or maybe that's just the lingering vodka. Either way, suddenly your back's hitting the wall and—oh. Okay. This is happening. Again. Because apparently your body doesn't give two shits about being thoroughly fucked already.

His mouth crashes back into yours, hungry and insistent, and it should be gross really—you can taste yourself on his tongue, everything's messy and uncoordinated and frantic. But instead it's just...hot. So fucking hot you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Then his hands slide down to your thighs and he's lifting you like you weigh zilch (and seriously, what is it with this guy and manhandling? More importantly, why do you like it?). Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, and how his cock twitches against your stomach—already getting hard again—should not make you feel this smug.

"Eager?" you manage to gasp between kisses, because apparently your mouth doesn't know when to quit.

He bites your bottom lip in response, just hard enough to make you whimper (and fuck, there's that sound again, what is wrong with you tonight?). "I’m sorry? Weren’t you the one jumping me?”

"Just felt sorry for you." The words come out breathier than intended as his mouth finds that spot behind your ear. "Standing there looking all lost with your used condom—"

His growl cuts you off, vibrating through his chest into yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat, and—fuck. The way he attacks your neck like he's trying to mark you up, like he wants everyone to know exactly what you've been doing...

Then his mouth finds yours again, swallowing whatever protest you might have made. And it's different this time—sloppier, needier. All clashing teeth and warring tongues and his hands everywhere at once. You're pressed so tightly between him and the wall you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every stuttered breath.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingertips trailing fire in their wake, and you're already embarrassingly slick again. Already aching for him like you didn't just have him inside you minutes ago. Your hips roll against him craving friction, and the sound he makes—half groan, half snarl—shoots straight between your legs.

"Condom," you gasp against his mouth. "Need a—"

"Yeah," he breathes, but he doesn't move away. Just keeps kissing you like he's suffocating and you're oxygen, like he can't bear to stop even for a heartbeat. "Yeah, just—fuck, you feel so good—"

Your brain's rapidly disintegrating, especially with the way he keeps grinding against you, the way his mouth keeps doing that to your neck. But you manage to remember: "Bed. Other condoms. On the bed."

He makes this sound of acknowledgment but still doesn't budge, just shifts his hips in a way that has his cock sliding against your clit and—jesus fuck.

"If you don't get a condom right now," you warn, voice embarrassingly unsteady, "I'm going to kill you."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "Such violence."

He practically teleports to the bed—like, Olympic-level sprinting for that condom. It'd be comical, the way he fumbles with the wrapper (apparently Mr. Smooth isn't so smooth when he's desperate), except you're too busy being embarrassingly turned on by his urgency.

You're about to suggest moving to the bed—because your legs are already shaking and wall sex seems ambitious after two orgasms—but—

Holy fuck.

He's got you up against the wall again in one fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up and—oh god. The sound that rips from your throat as he fills you in one swift thrust is utterly shameful. But the broken "fuck" that falls from his lips? How his whole body shudders as he bottoms out?

Yeah, okay. Maybe worth the mortification.

"Jesus fuck," he breathes against your neck, voice wrecked. "You feel—shit, how do you feel even better than before?"

"Hush it," you gasp, even as your walls flutter around him. "And move."

He laughs, breathless and gritty. "Demanding little thing." But he's already moving, setting a pace that has your head lolling back. "God, you’re even wetter than before, taking me so well—”

"That your professional opinion?" Your attempt at snark falls flat when it comes out as more of a moan. "Done extensive research, have you?"

His hips snap up particularly hard at that. "Never—fuck—never felt anything like this."

And that should be a line. That should be the kind of bullshit guys say during hookups to stroke their own egos. Except the way he says it—all breathless wonder and raw honesty—makes something hot unfurl in your chest.

"Yeah?" It comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. Can’t really care when every thrust is melting honey down your spine. "Prove it."

He makes this sound—half growl, half moan—like he fucking loves your audacity. "Already made you come twice."

"Maybe I was faking."

"Sweetheart, nobody's that good an actress."

And honestly? Fair. But you're not about to admit that, not when he's already so smug about how well he plays your body. Instead, you drag him down for a kiss that's more teeth than finesse, swallowing his groans as his pace gets more erratic.

"F-fuck," he pants against your mouth. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna feel you—"

"Big talk for someone who—ah—hasn't delivered yet."

His responding thrust makes your back arch off the wall. "Jus’ wait."

His hips snap up harder at your challenge, making your head thump back against the wall. And fuck—the way he's moving now, all rough desperation and graceless rhythm. Everything's wet and messy and absolutely filthy, the sounds of skin on skin blending with your breathless moans.

"Still—ah—ah—waiting for that delivery," you manage, even as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Fuckin’—" His breathless laugh is menacing. "Always—fuck—gotta have the last word, don’tcha?”

You'd have a comeback for that, you really would, except he chooses that moment to shift his angle and—holy shit. Because now? Now his pubic bone grinds against your clit every time he moves, every time he thrusts deep inside you. And honestly? Fucking unfair that even his bones know where your clit is.

You can feel him twitching inside you, can tell he's close by the way his breath comes in harsh pants against your neck. And you're almost there too, just need a little more—

But then he's groaning, hips stuttering as he cums. His whole body tenses, pressing you flatter against the wall as he empties into the condom.

And okay, great for him, congratulations, but you were so fucking close.

You tap his back urgently. "Keep goin’."

"What?" He's still catching his breath, forehead pressed against your shoulder. "Gimme a second, ah—I just—"

"I was—right there," you whine (and yes, you're actually whining now, this is what you've been reduced to). "Don't you dare stop."

He lifts his head, looking at you incredulously. "I literally just filled the condom—"

"I don't give a fuck, just move."

And okay, yeah, PSA time number two: This is definitely not safe sex practice. The second a condom's full, it needs to be changed. That's like, Sex Ed 101. But also? Also your clit is throbbing and you were this close to coming and your horny lizard brain has completely taken over.

"Jesus," he breathes, but he's already starting to move again, shallow little thrusts that make your eyes roll back. "You're fucking insatiable."

"Like earlier," you gasp, grinding down against him. "With the… with your hipbone."

He laughs against your neck—a rough, breathless sound that shouldn't be as arousing as it is. "Gotcha."

And he does. Repositions himself, makes sure he’s got exactly the same position he had earlier. His hipbone comes in contact with your clit as he begins thrusting faster again, and fucking yeah, that’s what you needed.

"Fuck, the way you feel," he groans. "So slick and snug and—shit—"

"Shut up shut up shut up—"

Because you can't handle his voice right now, can't deal with how his words make the drowning sensation grow more and more intense by the second. You're so close you can taste it, right on the precipice, just need a little more—

Then he nips at your neck, his tongue flattening against your pulse point. And that's it. You're a goner. Again. For the third time tonight.

Your entire body locks up as bliss courses through, lapping at your core like waves at a shore. Your eyes instinctively close as you relish it in all its intensity, and you're pretty sure you make some kind of mortifying noise but whatever. Three orgasms in, dignity is a distant memory.

He slows his movements gradually, letting you ride it out, and you can feel him softening inside you. Your head drops to his shoulder because keeping it upright seems like way too much effort right now. The residual booze is hitting different after getting thoroughly wrecked—everything soft and fuzzy around the edges.

You vaguely register him checking the condom with his free hand—the other one still supporting your ass because apparently you're not ready to unwrap your legs from his waist yet. Your brain's moving in slow motion, heavy with alcohol and mist and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes from really good sex.

"Hey." He taps your back lightly. "You falling asleep on me? Dick game that good?"

"Die," you mumble into his shoulder, not even bothering to lift your head. "Just... shut up and die."

You hear him chuckle, vaguely. It should be irritating. It isn't. You're too drained to care. Everything's warm and hazy and your limbs feel like they're crafted from lead.

You're only half-aware of him moving you to the bed, of sheets being pulled up, of a warm body pressing against your back. Your consciousness is already drifting, floating in that space between awake and asleep where nothing quite computes.

The last thing you register, right before slumber claims you completely, is his nose pressed against your neck and his drowsy murmur:

“Smell like vanilla now too."

⋆｡°✩ TAGLIST ✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[sugoi-writes]

Can I get some fluff of Alastor finding reader listening to old jazz songs from when he was alive and he makes us dance with him? :)

It's Been a While... (Alastor x GN! Reader)

Ahaha, I need more work on fluff, I hope you like it! There is SOME mentions of risque activites, but it's super brief, and nothing insanely explicit! Promise! I was honestly just writing to write, and figured this little blurb that fell out of me would be fitting enough. UNO REVERSE... We get ALASTOR to dance! Fuck yes!!!

Songs mentioned: In The Mood - Glenn Miller / Sing, Sing, Sing - Benny Goodman (both are bops I used to play when I was in jazz band houhosjknskhdj-- SURPRISE, you also get Danny Lore as a treato!)

Alastor's tense, heavy sigh sounds in the air, prompting you to crane your head up. You took in his disheveled state and instantly knew: he was exhausted. You stood from your plush armchair, abandoning it to walk toward his desk. 

"Alastor?" was all that was needed for his flattened ears to perk up. Your sweet voice was a much needed comfort during a particularly grueling evening. 

"Yes, dearest?" he replied, his smile hardly an upturned slit. You come up behind him slowly, waiting for his permission to touch. Alastor looks back to your hovering hands, and nods gingerly. He returns to facing his desk, allowing his eyes to lose focus as he zones out. When your arms wrap around his neck, his shoulders slump heavily, a pleased hum vibrating his chest. You smiled sweetly at the sound, a welcome pleasantry as you kissed his cheek. 

"You're getting frustrated again, my love..." you pipe up, continuing to pepper his cheek with chaste, innocent kisses. Your lover laughs bitterly, but leans into your musings all the same. 

"Well, I suppose you're right... leave it to my sweet, observant partner to know what's wrong... and when," he adds, a tired hand reaching up to rub slow circles into one of your arms. You grin against his cheek, your kisses slowing," I may also have a solution to your problem, if you'll hear me out~" 

Alastor hums in approval, grasping both of your hands when you continue to pamper him with sweet, physical adoration. 

"Dear, you are nothing if not full of brilliant ideas... I would love to hear them out," he muses, turning his head to plant a singular, sincere kiss to your lips. You were giddy at the affection, but capped your glee.  You tugged on his hands, eager to make your little plan work.

"Come on, come on... you'll have to get up for this one," you quip, forcing a dramatic sigh from your partner. Alastor throws his head back, laying it on your shoulder like an ill peasant woman. He would fan his face weakly, had your hands not been so warm.  

"My love, I have been stricken, and cannot get up~ Won't you let an old man rest?" he fired back. But truly, had you asked: he would happily jump into acid rain with nothing more than his dignity.

You roll your eyes at his theatrics, smirking," You? Old? I wouldn't figure... No, you old geezer, I need you to stand so we can use your legs. They're very important for what I want to do." Alastor blinked, gears turning in his mind. Only with you would his mind wander to dirtier, carnal ideas. 

"Dear, if I had wanted to do that tonight, I'm afraid your back would've already been bent out of shape--" 

"Oh for Fucks Sake, Alastor--" you cackled, tugging on him with more insistence. 

" Come oooonnnnn, please~? It's one of your favorites, I promise! Nothing dirty, no tricks!" Alastor's interest is instantly piqued, resulting in an immediate hop up. Even with his motion, his hands were still in yours. You huff, exacerbated but grateful you didn’t have to lift him yourself. 

"Ahh, if you would have led with that, I may've been more urgent to attend to you, dear," Alastor chuckles, not missing the flush that flashed across your cheeks. You pull away from Alastor long enough to turn on the radio, flicking through several frequencies and stations to find just the right channel. Alastor watches you in amusement, arms crossing in front of his chest. He was more than content to watch you struggle, shifting his weight onto one foot.

"Well, I have to keep some of the suspense, don't I?" you replied, grinning at him in a way that made Alastor's black heart beat wildly. He did quite enjoy your mischievous nature... But your attempts to work his radio almost had him pitying you... Almost. 

He scooted in behind you, resting his crossed arms over the top of your head," You could request a song, you know... I don't mind putting on something you enjoy--" 

"I'd rather it be something we’d both enjoy," you interject, huffing as you became an armrest for your demonic partner. Once you found the right channel, you swiveled under Alastor's arms to face him. Then, you reach up to hold his elbows, shaking them around playfully. 

"Alright, sir... It's been a long, long time since we've done this... I want to do this properly." 

Alastor relents, allowing you to push his arms off of your head. He tilts his own toward you, expressing confusion. In that moment, he finally hones in on the song itself. In The Mood, popularized and recorded by Glenn Miller. It was one of the few songs that came to mind when you thought of "Alastor's Time" in the 30s. Said demon blinks in surprise, grinning. He had listened to this recording a bit after coming to hell, and was particularly fond of it. Ahh, you had picked the perfect station! 

"Glenn Miller? Oh, you spoil me, love," Alastor coos, caressing your face as he kisses your forehead," Whatever did I do to deserve this?" 

You sway your hips, bouncing in place to the tempo with the old tune," I know the recording's after your time... but-- He's just-- GOOD, y'know?" You bite your lip as you pull Alastor's hands off of your face," Now come on, Al... let's dance!" What a perfect distraction to break his tension and troubled mind! Alastor just knew he would enjoy your little idea... 

His hands settle on you, both lightly caging your hips as yours held onto his wide shoulders. As the main motif began, the both of you started bopping along to the music. You watched Alastor's face morph fully into a relaxed state; smile still present, but much softer than his manic glee. You had to use every fiber in your being not to kiss him in that instant, instead squeezing his shoulders. Alastor's ears twitch as you draw soothing circles into his tense muscles, a shudder being torn from his entire frame. 

"Relax, Alastor... I want you to forget about everything, except for this...," you coo, making him sigh with acceptance. He came close to you, flushing your bodies together in a tight, intimate sway. You could only sigh as he settled his chin onto the top of your head. 

"Oh darling, if I relaxed anymore, I would be putty in your hands...," Alastor chimes, the tail end of his sentence wandering off as you press harder. Alastor huffs pleasantly, his hands holding your hips more firmly," Sweetheart, you really will be my undoing..." 

You chuckle as you settle your hands, allowing Alastor a moment of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders, one hand seeking to grasp your opposite hand. Once he drew your arm out with his, his other hand shifted to the small of your back. You saw him grinning, playful and energetic," If it's a dance you want, then it had better be a good one, hmm? So let's jive~" 

You squealed as Alastor practically whisked you off of your feet, spinning the both of you elegantly around his bedroom. The sounds of cicadas and frogs croaking in the distant, swampy marsh of his extended bedroom accompanied the sweet jazz that filled the air. Truly, it was tying everything together seamlessly. You had it all: a nice scene, nice music, and a relaxed, precious beau to spend all night with. You would have patted yourself on the back, were it not for Alastor's telltale sign of a 'big dip' move. You looped both arms around his neck, hanging on as Alastor swung you down, his monocle threatening to slip off his face. You laughed as you casually adjusted it. You stared, enthralled as you lay your hand over his racing pulse. However, the moment didn’t last long before you were brought back to your feet. But you thought now would be the best time to be a bit closer…

Getting bolder now, you pulled Alastor in for a kiss via his bowtie, eager to finish the dance off strong. Alastor, of course, had no protests, as he looped his arms around your waist. The two of you embraced like this for what felt like an hour, unable to pull apart your mingling, eager lips. But, with the song ended, leaving you both in silence, you managed to pull away. You looked up to Alastor with knowing eyes, your smile reflected in his deep, red irises.

"I loved that, Alastor, thank you... And I hope you don't mind me whisking you away from work..." 

The Radio Demon rolled his eyes, an imitation of your look from earlier. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, his lips still puffy from your kiss," My love, you must whisk me away more often... In fact, I think I'd like another dance, if you'll join me?" Of course, you agreed silently, stepping on to the very tips of your toes to seal it with a kiss. 

"I'd love nothing more." 

Alastor grins with a deep chuckle, the radio pumping out a new song. Sing, Sing, Sing, popularized by Benny Goodman. You blink in surprise as this number moves... MUCH faster. And, from the sound of it, it will get you to sweat. You laughed nervously as Alastor brought you in again, his hand directing your hips to sway with his. You couldn’t help but become a little flustered as he closed the gap between your bodies, a playful, coy smile sent your way. 

"Hold on tight, love. Some recordings of this song could last up to ten minutes~" 

"WHAT--" 

Alastor practically cackled as you trapped yourself within a saucy dance, one of many that would fill your evening with sweat, laughter, and best of all: an Alastor whose smile finally reached his eyes. 

[joostsblog]

Hii!! Can you write a Joost x Reader where reader goes with him on tour, but they made a mistake with the hotel rooms and reader has to share a room / bed with Joost? 👀

here you goooooooo

to be desired ~ joost klein friends to lovers one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: A hotel room mix-up not only forces you to share a bed with your friend Joost but also some feelings you had tried to hide away for too long.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I hope you like it, if you do pls show your support by reblogging ❣️❣️ send in requests i'm having fun with this! 💌

Warnings: not proofread

"Alright, I'm gonna head out early tonight," you let Adam know. You were backstage at one of Joost's shows, only the last few songs were yet to be performed.

"Already?" Adam asked as he looked up from whatever he was working on.

"Yeah, can you let Joost know later?" you asked although you had already told your friend earlier tonight that you probably wouldn't last long tonight.

"Will do. Keycard's on the desk," he informed you, pointing to the desk by the door where you were standing. Adam was Joost's tour manager and one of his duties taking care of everyone's accommodation which usually included him checking in for everyone and distributing the hotel key cards backstage. You snatched the keycard and waved goodbye to Adam as you headed out.

During the short walk to the hotel you looked around the streets of this city you had never been in before. You were so grateful that Joost had suggested you join him for tour three months ago. The offer came about after you had spent an evening smoking on Joost's balcony, venting to him about feeling uninspired, directionless and stuck in your routine and environment.

"Like, I just wanna be everywhere all the time and instead I'm just in my flat all day every day," you complained to him and he nodded.

"Why don't you come with me on tour?" he had just asked bluntly and your first instinct was to decline. But then you wondered, why not? What's stopping you? You could do your work remotely from anywhere anyway and you loved to travel. Getting out of your usual environment and routine was exactly what you needed and Joost offered you the solution on a silver platter.

"Alright, why not?" you shrugged. Joost got up from his seat to hug you in excitement.

"My best friend is coming on tour with me," he said and you laughed as you hugged him back. What he didn't know is that you longed to be so much more than his best friend, but you declared that a problem for another day.  

"Oh nice," you said to yourself as you opened the door to your hotel room and noticed it was much nicer than usual. It was definitely more spacious and the bed was a queen-sized one instead of a single. You took the opportunity of the early night to take a long shower in peace and do an extensive skincare routine before you plopped down on the bed in your pyjamas. You got comfortable under the covers and pulled up your phone to watch some TikToks before you slowly dozed off.

You were awoken when you heard a beep coming from the door as it was being unlocked. Your eyes shot wide open as you realise that someone was getting into your hotel room as you saw the door slowly open.

"What the fuck! Get out!" you yelled towards the door and you quickly turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

"I'm so sorry," you heard the person at the door say apologetically as they quickly closed the door again. Before the door fell into the lock the person stopped in their tracks. "(Y/N)?" a familiar voice uncertainly asked.

"Joost?" you asked in confusion. The door slowly opened again to reveal Joost standing in the door frame looking just as dumbfounded as you. "Wha-?" you furrowed your brows.

"You're in my room," Joost laughed.

"No, I think you're in my room," you insisted.

"I don't think so," Joost said and held up his keycard as if it would explain anything.

"Yeah, how do you think I got inside?" you asked.

"Adam messed up," Joost stated and you nodded as you laughed nervously. "I'm gonna call him," Joost said as he pulled out his phone. You looked down at your phone to see that the time was almost 2 am. You were not so sure that Joost would be able to reach Adam at this time and your suspicion was confirmed when Joost turned back to you. "He's not answering," he said and scratched his head. "The reception desk is also closed already."

You rubbed your eyes sleepily as you watched Joost cluelessly stand by the door, his bags in hand. "I'm sorry I woke you up," he said after a pause. "I'll check if I can crash in Stuntje's bed or something."

"Isn't he gonna be asleep already as well?" you asked.

"Probably," Joost shrugged.

"And his room only has a single bed," you stated.

"Probably," Joost confirmed.

"Honestly, if you don't mind, I don't mind," you said gesturing to the empty side of the bed. "It's a big bed."

"If you don't mind snoring," Joost laughed.

"I'll manage," you assured him.

"Alright," Joost said and put down his bags. "I'll be quick," he said as he gestured to the bathroom.

"Take your time," you smiled.

It was only a few minutes before you could feel the mattress dip on the other side of the bed and Joost slipped in beneath the covers.

"I missed you at the end of the show tonight," Joost said. You turned to face him.

"I know, I'm sorry, I was just very tired," you said. There was about a metre between your faces as you lay there comfortably.

"When I invited you to tour I was under the impression that my advantage would be that I would get more of you," Joost joked.

"Haven't you had enough of me?" you asked.

Joost shook his head. "Never."

"Well, tonight you're getting a whole lot of me," you said and immediately blushed when you realised how Joost could take your words in the wrong way. "I mean-" you started but Joost just laughed. "Nevermind," you said trying to play it cool.

"This is fun," Joost said. "It's like a sleepover."

"Oh, I've got some bad memories from a sleepover," you said and Joost furrowed his brows.

"How come?" he asked concerned.

"Well," you let out a breath. "For the longest time, I was never invited to them. And then in 7th grade, I was finally invited to one and when we played spin the bottle the bottle landed on me and my crush at the time which meant that we had to kiss - which would've been my first kiss by the way - but he refused to kiss me," you shrugged trying to play it cool. "Everyone else did and he pretended as if kissing me would be the worst thing in the world," you could feel your throat getting tighter as you recalled the memory and what it made you feel. Joost grabbed your hand in yours to comfort you.

"What an asshole," he said. "Who wouldn't want to kiss you?"

"Well," you shrugged. "I don't know anybody," you joked. "I think that moment fucked me up, like still to today."

"How come?" Joost inquired as he used his thumb to softly stroke the back of your hand.

"I talked about this in therapy but I think that this experience and a few others led me to believe that nobody could ever be seriously interested in me, that there was never anybody that desired me," you explained looking around the room to avoid Joost's gaze who was looking at you as he listened intently. "Like I don't think I've ever had anyone try to pick me up or like flirt with me or something."

"That's not true," Joost said with a frown on his face which you discovered as you looked at him for the first time again. "People have definitely flirted with you."

"Sorry, but how would you know?" you laughed.

"Because I flirted with you when we first met," Joost said and your heart skipped a beat.

"No, you didn't," you said.

"Yes, I did," Joost insisted. "I made Appie introduce me to you because I thought you were cute." Your heart started beating faster at the revelation.

"What? I swear I was oblivious," you said.

"Well, I just assumed you weren't interested in me in that way," Joost shrugged and you kicked your past self for missing such an opportunity.

"So, you're telling me I fumbled the bag with you?" you asked, your heart beating almost out of your chest. Joost nodded grinning. "This-" you gestured between the two of you, "could've been something entirely different?"

"Yes," Joost said and paused. "Still can be," he added timidly. You held onto Joost's hand like a lifeline, squeezing his hand tightly. "I think you need to breathe," Joost reminded you as he noticed you holding your breath. "Are you alright?" he finally asked after your silence persisted.

"I want you to kiss me," you finally dared to say.

Joost softly grabbed your face and moved closer to you. Your hands found the back of Joost's head and his lips crashed into yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Joost was leaning over you, his hand sneaking down to your waist where a sliver of your skin was exposed by your pyjama set. Your lips moved in sync against each other, tasting every bit of the other. Joost softly put your hair behind your ear after you broke the kiss and watched your face fondly.

"Next time you can tell me sooner because I would've done anything you would've told me to," he said and planted a quick peck on your nose.

"Well, I want you to cuddle me," you smiled.

"That can be arranged," Joost said as he spooned you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Maybe we should thank Adam for the mix-up."

[sugurusfavemonkey]

HIGH ACHIEVER - ONE: HOW TO BE A TEAM PLAYER

summary: You've always prided yourself on your grades but when Suguru enters the scene, competing for the top spot in your major becomes more than just a matter of honor. What happens when you're forced to work together on a long project (and so what if he happens to be just your type)? pairing: Geto Suguru x reader word count: 2k content: college AU; academic rivals to lovers; short series; mutual hatred attraction; afab!reader; angst/comfort; reader is described as being shorter than Suguru (but then again, the man is about 6'3' so who isn't?); smut (in future chapters - MDNI) ♪playlist♪ +more Jujutsu Tech College AU

Suguru Geto was the very apex of campus. 

Not only was he a big name in the basketball courts, but Geto was also the most skillful martial artist and exceeded in every single class he took, being among the top students in the academy. He was cocky but never unkind. In fact, Geto's amiability was a matter of admiration throughout the grounds. As if that hadn't been enough, he was beautiful. With his tall frame, broad shoulders, silky black hair, perfect complexion, kind caramel eyes, nihilistic smile… He was also the utter and absolute bane of your existence. 

It seemed to give him the utmost joy to counter every single point you brought up in the classes you shared or to find and point out inconsistencies in your arguments. In other words: he lived to antagonize you.

You didn't even care about being valedictorian; it was nothing but a title - who were you kidding? Gojo would be getting that anyway, the boy simply didn't know how to lose. Not even Geto could surpass his GPA and ranking position combined - but you did pride yourself on your grades and learning. It's why you even attended college to begin with: it's the goal, isn't it?

The problem began when Suguru decided to make it his business always to show you up. If you were happy about your 98% on a test, he just had to point out his 99. If you accurately responded to a question made by the professor, he felt obligated to mention details you had "seemingly forgotten".

It was frankly maddening.

"Sometimes the best solutions come from intuition and an understanding of the specific circumstances of the case - it requires flexibility." you spoke when asked about evidence-based practices in class. Mr. Yaga nodded complacently and took a breath as if preparing to launch into another rhetoric when there was a loud sneer.

You knew that sound well enough it immediately caused your spine to stiffen. You didn't even have to turn on your seat to find its source.

"Anything you'd like to share, Mr. Geto?" the professor promptly asked, arms crossing in front of his chest as one of his dark eyebrows shot up above the black sunglasses that were usually covering his stern eyes.

Of course he had. Geto always had. You rolled your eyes, already anticipating his antithesis. Countering your arguments were his favorite pastime after all.

"Yes, actually," you felt his eyes burning on the back of your head, but you refused to turn and give him the satisfaction. "Relying on gut feeling when people’s lives and well-being are at stake is… precarious. Evidence-based practice relies on proven methods, which is exactly what we need: tested and effective approaches." You could almost hear the arrogant smugness in the tone of his voice and your anger bubbled over to the point of spilling.

"So you'd prefer to overlook important nuances? People are individuals, not statistics. Using averages when each case is different is inadequate at best." You retorted as you twisted in your seat, your indignant eyes meeting his cool ones.

"Mrs-" The professor tried to stop the argument before it picked up, but it was already too late the moment you decided to counter Geto. He knew exactly what the result usually was. Every member of the docent body was aware of the rivalry between you.

"All that sounds lovely, very idyllic. But we should remain grounded in measurable outcomes, not guesswork, sweetheart." Geto spoke in his usual smooth cadency, but the disdainful undertone was not lost on you. He had this complacent closed-lip smile that grated your nerves on.

You scoffed at the belittling term of endearment he used, "A more creative, personalized approach builds trust and leads to success."

"And how do you plan to measure this success?"

"Success cannot be measured by research."

"And you suggest not relying on research? That is irresponsible."

"That is not what I-"

"Enough!" Mr. Yaga bellowed, clearly having had enough of the back and forth between the two of you. You clamped your mouth shut, embarrassment making your skin warm. "As much as all of your points are valid and very pertinent to our subject matter, you're letting your nerves get the best of you. I wish to continue my lecture now though." He paused gaze moving from you to Geto, "unless that would inconvenience either of you, of course."

You let your body slide down on your chair so as to avoid the attention still feeling Geto's gaze lingering on you. You hated that you let yourself be moved by his obvious bait, that you coulddn't help but rise to the occasion whenever he so much as breathed in your general vicinity. You wished you could say you had better self-control but you simply did not. It's a pain and a chore really.

The lecture picked back up after your humiliating schtick without further incidents… mostly because you decided not to chime in anymore. And, of course, without you to counterattack, Geto felt it would be pointless to partake in the discussion. Asshole.

You sighed in relief when the professor dismissed the class, quickly throwing your laptop and water bottle inside your bag and making a beeline to the door when he called your name followed by Geto's.

"I'd like to speak to both of you for a moment."

"I have to get to my next class-" you started to protest, hands tightening on the strap of your bag when he interrupted you:

"It'll only take a minute, Mrs."

You sighed and timidly moved closer to his desk, fingers still fidgeting. You could feel Geto's presence right beside you, but refused to even glance his way.

"This feuding between you is getting out of hand. I'd like to ask you to take it easy on the altercations from now on. You both make valid points most of the time, you should learn to compromise every now and then. Being this intransigent will get you nowhere in life." Mr. Yaga glare had you cowering slightly, shoulders hunching in. "You two are my best students in this subject so I decided to pair you up for a special semester-long project. That should teach you a little bit about accommodating the other's needs."

"What?!" you nearly choked on your spit.

"I want you to write a paper evaluating the impact of local outreach programs. It'll be worth 25% of your final grades. I'll email you the details. You're dismissed."

"Profes-" once more you tried to object but Yaga gave you no chance to even finish your thought:

"I said you're dismissed." He stood his ground, not bothering to even look at you as he started stacking the papers on his desk.

You huffed in annoyance and marched out of the auditorium. You heard Geto's steps and tried to walk ahead of him, avoiding the consequential conversation after receiving such horrid news but he easily caught up to you with his stupid long legs.

"Give me your phone." his velvety voice demanded. You stopped in the middle of the corridor and he did the same, turning his body to you, proudly crowding in on you and towering over your form, mindless of the other people walking past form both directions.

"What? No," you scoffed indignantly. Geto sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly regretting this exchange as much as you.

"I'm just gonna add my number to your contacts. As much as I'm dreading this, it is not the kind of project we can just work on separately and then put it all together. It should be seamless."

That made you pause. You really couldn't argue with that sentiment. Still, you were so used to it that you couldn't help but affronting Geto: "Huh. I didn't think you had it in you to be reasonable."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." He deadpanned. You did hand over your phone after unlocking it and opening the contact info page after a second of hesitation when you found no hidden agenda behind his demeanor.

"Just type in your number so we can get this over with. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible. My daily quota of you is already blown over." You said as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

Your words had the opposite of the expected reaction though as you saw the moment his smile turned predatory. You steeled yourself for his upcoming retort but none came.

Your eyes instantaneously flitted to the strand of hair that fell off his half-up hairdo and covered his left eye as he lowered his head to type on your phone. You hated that if anyone ever critiqued a man bun that's because they had never seen Suguru Geto's. That man sure knew how to pull off one of the most controversial hairstyles to ever exist. You couldn't imagine there was something he wouldn't be able to pull off, to be honest… what a shame he had to be an insufferable asshole.

"That implies you need at least a small amount of me in your day." you were so enraptured in your analysis of his hair that you almost missed his jab.

"No, I-" you scowled in disgust, nearly ripping the unoffending device from his offering hand once he turned it back your way. "In your dreams, Geto."

He only hummed in response, that stupid smirk on his face. Again.

"Fuck you, Geto," you threw over your shoulder as you turned on your heel, not wasting any more time before heading for your next class.

"I'll text you, sweetheart!" He called after you, the sound of his laughter following.

You ground your teeth together in anger, your face feeling uncharacteristically warm. You only let yourself check your phone after you turned a corner so you were absolutely certain you were no longer in his field of vision. You stared in perplexity at the name he saved his number under.

"I can't believe this pretentious douchebag had the audacity… most brilliant colleague my ass!"

You were switching up his name in your contacts to 'arrogant prick n2' instead when you heard your friend's voice calling you over.

"Where were you? The class starts in less than a minute and you know how Gakuganji gets with laggers," her short dyed blonde hair swayed as she glanced from your approaching form to the open double doors to the lecture hall by her right.

You rushed towards Akari with a quick apology and a "what are you doing out here then?"

"It's not as if his lectures are ever full." She shrugged easily flitting her arm to yours so you could enter together.

"Noted."

The two of you easily found and occupied a couple of seats by the back right before Gakuganji launched into a dull monologue on the psychological effects of music on the brain, which could have been an interesting subject if it wasn't taught by someone closer to a mummy than a human with the most boring cadency to his voice.

"Did Yaga hold over the class?" Akari mumbled the question as she set up her laptop.

"Held me over, you mean," you murmured back. You felt her questioning gaze settle on you, so you decided to further explain, "he wants me to work on some big project about local outreach programs."

"That sounds like a lot of work, why only you?"

"Not only me. Something about learning to concede or some shit like that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, apparently I have been too intransigent with Geto and now we gotta learn to work together."

She let out a loud sound, a mix between laughter and a snort which immediately had Gakuganji dark eyes turning your way.

"Sorry!" Akari winced, "I, uhn, chocked.

The professor huffed and you waited for some sort of reprimand, but he only got right back into his spiel.

"You're joking? You mean to say you have to work with Suguru Geto?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well, say goodbye to Jujutsu Tech, because the two of you are about to wreck this whole school."

She wasn't wrong.

next >>

Jujutsu Tech College AU taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28

©sugurusfavemonkey 2025┃all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate or otherwise modify this work

[thegnomelord]

Demon simon who gets so damn angry when he finds out hunter had lover/crush

Why he so damn mad??? He can't stand him! And it bothers him so much

Then you have hunter who connect dots later and is howling from how funny situation is his *husband* is lil jelouse from his ex / celebrity crush that he kept clinging into him in almost painful grip for weeks

Oooh I love this idea! Lol jealous Simon is such a fun concept but I changed it a bit lol

CW NSFW: jealous demon ghost, groping at the end.

Imagine you, good hunter, in the search of a solution for your. . . problem. . . end up having to meet your Ex. Darek isn't a bad man, he's merely a merchant for all things dark and demented, or so he likes to say whenever the inquisitors come knocking on his door for devil worship. And Darek isn't a bad looking man either, he's got pretty light brown eyes and blonde hair down to his shoulders. He's a charmer who's fooled many a fey into giving their hearts with just his looks and honeyed words.

How you got together is a story echoed by many hunters; He needed some monster parts. You needed some weapons. The sex was just a nice way to soothe over any hiccups in your business relationship and give you both a way to release stress. There was never any feelings, no strings tying you together, just mindless bliss and mind-blowing sex.

Ghost hates him.

If you didn't need Darek, Ghost would already be using his skull as a cup. It wouldn't even take much to take him to the depths bellow, the man reeks of so much sin that the only question on the event of his death would be: which circle would want him the least?

Even when he's invisible, you can still feel Ghost glare at you with the intensity of the nine hells from the moment Darek leans in to brush his lips against yours. It doesn't lessen even a degree when you push Darek away, your mind too wrapped up with thoughts and the possibility of being killed like a common cultist to even think about dealing with Darek's fuck boy behavior.

"Since when did you become such a bore like the other hunters?" Darek huffs, but he's not too hung up about your rejection. The man has a revolving door of lovers, most of them definitely prettier and softer than you.

"Got a slight problem." You say as you take off your glove. An inch of space around your ring finger is burned, the flesh scarred over and blackened so it looks like a wedding ring.

You have to admit, as far as devil worshippers go, Ghost's particular cult was dumb as shit. Why they thought that burning a ring on your finger would somehow make this 'marriage' more satanic is beyond you.

Darek takes your hand, thumb brushing against the scarred flesh. Ghost has never wanted to murder some human more. "Ah, the joys of matrimony." Darek grins, "Don't tell me you already want to leave the poor bride?"

"Groom." You say quickly, tone flat, and you're unsure why you feel the need to correct him when you're talking about a demon. "And yes. I need a way to dissolve this union before some other hunter takes my head."

"Tisk tish, and here I thought you would be more considerate for others." Darek chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and nibbling on your knuckle, a lustful look in his eyes. He does that on purpose, both of you are able to smell the sharp scent of brimstone as Ghost looms behind you, invisible but not unnoticed.

Darek lets go of your hand, starting to go over some old books that he has. They're little help in the grand scheme of things, but you're not in a position to be a chooser, so you agree to buy them.

"Now then, how will you pay?" Darek asks, resting his head in his hand. "You know, it's been so long since we both saw each other. I would be willing to give you a discount if you gave me an hour of your time." He purrs.

You consider it for a moment. It would be nice to let off some steam, especially as you haven't exactly had time to relieve yourself with Ghost always by your side.

And all Ghost can think is: the fucking audacity. He doesn't care if you and Darek have history you are his human, his 'bride', his to touch.

You feel Ghost growl. The 'ring' on your finger vibrates, heat flaring up your entire arm and it feels like a lightning jin is stuck inside your chest. It feels nice- no, it must just be the binding making you think that you're wanted just because a demon is throwing a hissy fit.

"Maybe next time." You still say despite yourself, paying in cash and leaving with Darek telling you to call him if you get bored of the married life.

No sooner are you on the street does an unseen force pull you into a dark alley. Claws, good for rending flesh from bone and not much else, gently scrape down your front before they curl around your belt and pull you close against a body bigger and hotter than yours. Ghost's tail curls around your thigh and on instinct you clench your thighs to trap it, but the crushing force behind it is lessened by the damned curse around your finger (The fact you don't try to punch him is one you will worry about later).

You look up, expecting to snarl at the same skull faced demon you've unfortunately been married to. Only for your mouth to fall to the floor when you look at. . . a man. A handsome man, in the rugged way other hunters are handsome; Blond cropped hair, short like a soldier's and your fingers twitch to scratch his scalp. Firm and strong muscles, hard won just like yours. Five o'clock shadow that many hunters sport when you forget to shave. Dark brown eyes that look very nice when mixed with Darek's hardened feature — wait a moment. . .

He looks like Darek! More precisely a hunter version of him, the version you aways thought about whenever you two would fuck. The only way you can tell it's Ghost is by the Hell reflected in the blacks of his eyes.

"Ghost what the fuck?" Is the only thing you can come up with, your eyes the size of dinner plates.

Ghost just grunts, pushing his weight until you're stuck against the wall. "What do you see in it?" He demands.

"What?" You ask, pressing your hands to his chest and trying to push him away, but your strength evaporates and all your wayward hands do is slide along his muscular abdomen.

His tail moves despite the tensing of your thighs, pressing against your groin. Mild panic builds in your brain as the spines along his tail are sharp enough to tear flesh, but all that violent potential is dampened by the marriage. Instead of tearing your balls off, those spines flatten down, creating a strange sensation against your groin that, unfortunately, has your cock chubbing up.

"What. Do. You. See. In. It?" Ghost repeats himself, each word hissed through semi-human teeth, fangs bared at you.

"Fuck Ghost!" You growl, and the best you can do is grope him in retaliation. Some part of you wants to blame the binding for your passiveness, another knows that the binding would not stop you if you didn't want this.

"Why debase yourself with that mortal?" He asks, his tone changing. He may be a demon of wrath, but he's no stranger to lust. His clawed fingers slide down, not even needing the binding to curb his strength as he cups your groin gently but firmly. "What do you get from it that you can't get from m- from someone else?"

Neither of you mention his slip up, you especially as the firm sensation against your clothed cock has you panting like a dog.

"Wh- what? Je-jealous ar-hm! you?" You manage to say, biting your lip to keep yourself from making a sound a hunter should Not make. (A hunter also shouldn't be groped by a demon but here you are.)

Ghost laughs, sharp and dark. "Absolutely not." His tail curls more around your leg, the size of it making you unconsciously spread them so you're not crushing it. "I am Not jealous of a meager mortal." He growls, his hand continuing to gently grope you, the other hand fiddling with your belt. . .

[sirfluffletin]

MUZZLE- DESTROY BOYS

SUMMARY

Sixer has a biting problem, and you believe you have a solution. You should have addressed this issue before it got out of hand, but you didn’t—were you just a pushover? Well, yes, but that’s not the point.

You’ve had enough of Sixer’s biting. Your skin struggles to heal from the hickeys and bruises they leave behind. Despite your requests for a break, they continue to mark you roughly, sporting a wicked smirk. You loved it in the beginning—heck, you still do. You still want them to stake their claim on you, but you need a breather.

You considered using gags, but you enjoy listening to Sixer’s vulgarities and their howls of pleasure, despite the complaints from neighbors. So that idea was quickly discarded.

However, you found something that just might work.

It had been a week since you ordered your package, and it finally arrived.

“Six!?” you called out as you stepped halfway through the front door. You could see Sixer’s horned head pop out from around the archway, their ears perked up at the sound of your voice. You giggled, realizing they were probably stalking you beforehand and had planned to confront you about the medium-sized box you were holding in your hands.

“What's that...” You met them at the entrance of the archway connecting the foyer to the living room, throwing their arms around you in a tight embrace like a snare once you stepped in close enough. You patted their fuzzy back and they pulled back to lay a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on your lips. You sputtered, pulling back, and it only encouraged them to push further, flushing you against their large body and continuing to devour your face in their sloppiest attempt at a kiss. It was all teeth and the feeling of a forked tongue forcing its way into your agape mouth.

You were barely able to turn your head away from the assault, and even then, that mouth full of fangs instead shifted attention to devouring your neck with a similar severity. You would have let it happen, completely forgetting the package as it dropped from your grasp, your hands instead preoccupied with both clutching your lover for dear life and pushing them when the smothering became too much. You only stopped the affair when you felt the all too familiar feeling of canines grazing your thoroughly marked flesh upon the junction of your neck. You froze when those teeth began to bluntly chew on the flesh, not piercing or trying to cause damage, but more teasing.

"Off, six." You said flatly. You were completely disregarded and in fact you were defied, huge arms caged you in a show of recalcitrance, keeping you from being able to put up much of a fight.

“SIX I'M BEING SERIOUS GET OFF!” You yelled right into their ear, causing them to flatten towards their head and a scowl to flash across their features.

Six rolled their eyes at the command, but with a huff, they relented, placing a parting kiss to your skin before releasing your vessel from their dominion.

They took two steps back, resigning to just watching you for now. You bristled with a huff as you smoothed down your frazzled clothes.

"You're a brute."

"You like it."

You huffed in annoyance, bending down to retrieve the forsaken package. Sixer once again advanced on you in the little time you were vulnerable. They roughly shoved you against the wall, rattling the walls of your home from the force. They kissed you with more fervor than before, grinding down their hips against yours. You groaned against their lips, wrapping your arms around their neck and their's around your waist. Their tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you were allowed to allow them access this time, your moans eaten up.

You were the one to break the kiss, and Sixer once again ducked straight for the flesh of your neck that wasn’t already marked. You felt their hot breath hit your flushed sensitive skin, and you were immediately reminded of the plan at stake here.

“Hey! No,” You interrupted just in time before Six finally sank their fangs into your delicate skin, and you could see the pout they had. “I have something planned for you, for us. Sit.” Their intrigue won over their impulse, and they begrudgingly listened to your demands.

Although, they certainly weren't quite in their obedience. That much was apparent when they let out the loudest god-awful groan they could muster

You rolled your eyes and guided them to sit on the couch, they resigned to your will, stretching out along the backrest of the couch like an overgrown cat before situating into a wide manspread and a taut smile that never left their face. You glanced around the living area to ensure all the curtains in the room had been drawn. You smoothed your fingers over the clear tape on the box, fingernails catching over the seam absentmindedly, before you spoke out what you were to ask of them next.

“Take off your clothes,” You instructed. Guest 666 made a small constant sound like the engine of a car softly purring in delight at your words, shrugging off their sweater and pants quickly. You could see the eagerness from their hardened cock through their underwear, springing out once they slid down the waistband finally released into the cool air of your shared home.

You walked over to the side of them, keeping the barrier of the couch between the two of you.

“Get over here...” You hushed them as you pierced the tape from the surface of the cardboard box.

“...and you never answered my question, what is that?”

“Didn't know I owed you an answer,” You smiled a fake saccharine simper down at their pouting scowl. “Now, hold out your hands.” Sixer followed through with every order you gave them, listening obediently despite their usual bouts of impatience and impulsive behaviors. They allowed you to finish unveiling your little gift.

Sixer grew more bewildered with each piece of steel you revealed. Their eyes searched yours, their excited expression dropping with their eyebrows and their signature manic smile dissipating into a tight frown.

You sat the cold steel of the muzzle in their presented claws and climbed over their lap and settled down beside their rock-hard cock.

You gently caressed their cheek, leaning in to kiss them again. They were still- confusion still written plainly on their face, you snaked a hand down behind you taking the steel from their still hands and quickly held the metal-barred muzzle in place over Guest 666's mouth.

Sixer broke from their stupor, whipping their head away from you, but it had already been clasped in its place behind their head. They tried to get a look at the thing that guarded their mouth, offended by the contraption. Their eyes whipped from the muzzle to you, and Sixers furrowed their eyebrows.

“Take it off.” They demanded lowly.

“Hmm,” You pretended to think about their request, sitting on the back of your heels. Your hot sex rubbed against Sixer’s erection, emitting a hiss from your lover. “I don’t think so.”

Their eyes were not only filled with lust once more, but also anger at your refusal.

“If only you listened to me when I told you to play nice and not bite. Now look what you made me do,” You cooed, gliding a finger along the rim of the muzzle. Six snapped at the appendage, baring their teeth and glaring up at you. Luckily for you, the muzzle provided a barrier from their onslaught.

“See what I mean, this is why you're in this situation now-” You lessened the friction on Six’s dripping cock, eliciting a groan from them at the loss.

They glowered up at you as your hands began roaming over their warm chest. You could see Six strain through their urges, bawling their hands at their sides. You both knew they could stop this whole affair easily, but it was your tell that they wanted to play this taxing game of self restraint with you.

“Stop being a tease,” Six snarled through the muzzle, the edges of their mouth curling upwards as they panted. "Or what?" You provoked the beast scratching down their chest, and they arched further towards your touch bucking their hips up against you.

“You've gotten your way for far too long. I’ll be doing things my way this time,” You kept the front of being in control and placed your hole over the large bulbous head of Six's cock, you rolled your hips smoothly in tight circled letting them messily coat your opening and drip down your inner thighs.

Guest 666's eyes followed the downwards stream as it traveled from your thighs onto the material of the couch with a desperate whine as they tried to buck and thrust their hips into you, but your weight held them down. Your hands wound up to their soft, inky black locks, tugging on the back of their head in warning.

“Behave.” You warned, and Six snarled but obeyed once more. They settled into directing pleading whines that came high from the back of their throat, despite the quite pitiful picture they make, with their furrowed brows and wide puppy-esq eyes you continued your teasing. You slowly planted yourself down along their shaft, keeping your own cries contained as you took them inch by agonizing inch. All the while, Six panted and moaned around your warmth, their length surrounded by your tight walls. Drool went passed the muzzle, cascading down their chin.

Even if you did use a ball gag, Six would still find a way to make a fucking mess.

Once you finally took Sixer to the hilt, you sat in place, basking in their writhing. They were the antithesis of small, you were so full of them, you could feel them snug against that tight bundle of nerves that made a shiver run down your spine and your thighs clench tighter around them, you could feel their cock twitching right against it, deep inside of you.

You kept your expression calm, in control, but your thighs were trembling, clenching and releasing just like your hands tangled in their hair for purchase. Everything burned, the stretch, your skins, their skin meeting yours made it worse and you had half the mind to writhe away from them, however futile that may be as you know they'll just manhandle you back onto their weapon they call a dick.

“Fuckkk,” Six panted but stayed still, waiting for your consent to proceed, once they didn't receive one just your teasing attempt at cockwarming they resorted to bargaining. “Look m'sorry for not listening... About the biting thing, p-please just let me make you feel good, fill your cunt full of my cock and cum, please...”

Your composure couldn’t uphold itself from all of their cries and petty apologies, and your needs outweighed your want to punish them. They looked to have learned their lesson if their shaking beneath you in anticipation told you anything.

“I’ll let you go o-only if you continue to behave. Understood?” They sat up, their giant palms pressing you towards their chest cradling you in their arms otherwise you would have fell back by the abruptness of the motion, They purred into your ear to signify their acknowledgement.

You couldn't even get a straight answer from them, Sixer ripped through their confinements flipping the both of you so that your sweaty bare back and ass were pressed flush against the plush material, that was now being stained as Six's spend leaked around the tight ring of your opening out of you and onto the fabrics below, towering over you as they pushed you down onto the mattress roughly. Large, scarred claws groped at your chest and gripped your thighs leaving pencil thin scrapes all which they roamed. Their hands kept jumping across your body, ravishing everywhere like they didn’t know where to lay their hands.

You groaned as you felt Six pull out of your sex, only to thrust back into your warmth with a punishing force. You mewled into the pillow you were now clutching like a vice as Sixer continued to piston their dripping cock into you over and over again, snatching a harrowed cry from you each drag against you fluttering walls.

You felt like you were seeing stars, finally able to let go and receive your own pleasure.

“I knew you couldn’t wait for me to fill you up, you just wanted to be a fucking tease. Wanted me to pound into your tight hole, huh? Want me to fuck you nice and hard into the bed?” Sixer brought the muzzle close to the shell of your ear, feeling the cold metal against your burning skin. You nodded, not trusting your voice give out at any utterance as they rammed into you.

You heard them snarl beside you, the sound of their hips snapping against yours throwing you closer to the edge. Sixer ducked their head into the crook of your neck extremely careful with the positioning of their horns, only to be blocked by the muzzle and starved of much skin to skin contact.

“Stupid fucking piece of shit,” they cursed towards the bars, “You think that’s gonna stop me from showing everyone who you belong to?” Sixer's hand gripped the front of your neck, and you yelped as they roughly grabbed at you.

You were so close, so close.

“I’ll give you a pretty necklace to match,” They panted, tightening their grip on your neck. “Better yet, I'll p-paint this pretty face.” You felt their rhythm stutter. They were close too, you could see it in the way their tail snaked around your ankle winding clenching and unclenching with each drag in and out of you, in the way they needed to be so impossibly close too you that you both were practically welded together as they rested their heavy caged head on your shoulder chest to chest and their claws ensuring you stay speared on their cock as they rammed up into you.

You cried out their name, feeling the heat in your abdomen build up, tension close to its breaking point. Your walls tightened around the swell of their length and you saw a flash of white across your vision accompanied by a full body shudder.

Tension snapped, and you finally met sweet release. You came around Six's cock, crying as they continued to devastate your abused hole. Six grew more and more animalistic as they encroached their own release, their chin no longer rested on your shoulder but instead nudged the muzzle close to veins in your neck in attempt to bite. With one last growl of frustration, Six pulled out of your dripping spent hole and came all over your front. Cum sprawled across your chest and covered the your sex.

The two of you panted heavily, bodies exerted all remaining energy and you fell from their lap in turn to sprawl yourself onto cool fabric of the couch to escape the burning heat that your lover just seemed to radiate constantly. Sixer the annoying vex they were lowered themself from above you with a huff as the made contact with the hot skin of your body , laying their head down upon your chest. The two of you laid there in sweaty hot silence, catching your breath in the dark room. You threaded your fingers through their sweaty locks, not to fix their hair or pet then but to push them away as you slowly gained your bearings.

“Can you take this off now?” Sixer looked up you with flat tired eyes and sighed reaching around their head to unclasp the muzzle.

They shook their head like a dog would, wild tousled hair flying from side to side as they shook wildly happy to have full reign of their mouth again.

Sixer lowered themself once more down the plane of you body their clawed hands following their movements down the flanks of your side as they began to lick up the mess they made over you, their slimey forked tongue tickling you as it laved over your stomach before dipping towards your lower thighs. One of their hands parted from their resting spot in the juncture of your hips to lift your thigh for the rest of your tongue bath. You shuddered at their actions but let Six finish cleaning you up. Once they were done, Sixer pulled themself up and kissed you once more. You moaned into their mouth as you tasted them on their tongue.

You could feel Six getting hard against your thigh as the softly rutted into it's softness dragging his length up and down on the dewy soft skin, It was apparent your time of relief was running out and that Sixers insane stamina wouldn't allow you to have any moment of reprieve. Before you could change positions for the both of you, Sixer ducked and licked a strip along your neck and all the alarm bells in your mind didn't sound maybe they were still stalled from the first round of sex or perhaps it was the soft gentle look in Sixers eyes before they finally sunk their teeth into your skin that gave you hope that they wouldn't go against your orders. You hissed at the familiar pain, but there was nothing you could do but glare up at Sixer's triumphant grin.

Well, you tried.