#I was massively stressed out about all this for the last year or two because I thought that I was on the path to converting to Judaism

[dreamcubed]

you need to calm down | theodore nott x reader

song; you need to calm down [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; e2l, smut, angst word count; 5,9k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption, implied drug consumption, hook-up, drunk sex, piv, oral sex (male and female receiving), discrimination (muggle-borns), smoking, violence, blood, mentions of the war, arguments, yelling summary; after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

masterlist

"stressing and obsessing about somebody else is no fun."

MINORS DNI!!! 18+ content.

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In the time that the Second Wizarding War had been going on, you had been absent from Hogwarts, attending a muggle school under a fake name. Also in that time, you had changed significantly, partially to help your cover, but also because you had made muggle friends with similar styles and decided that you loved it. There were no uniforms at muggle college, so you were able to explore. These days you loved having black hair, having both your septum and nose pierced, and dressing almost entirely in black.

Your witch friends hadn't recognised you when you showed up at the Summer party you had received an invite to, after Voldemort was defeated and you were able to come out of hiding. The party you were attending was for seventh and eighth years— eighth year being introduced as a subsidiary for the education lost last year. Even most of those who had attended seventh year elected to return, as the final exams had never taken place, and what they had learned had been heavily rooted in the dark arts.

The party was booming, the walls of the massive house shaking with the sound of the music. You had consumed your fair share of alcohol, amongst other things, and had enjoyed catching up with everyone you had missed so dearly.

And that was when you saw him watching you.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin boy in your year, who was from a wealthy pure-blooded family. A cigarette hung from his lips, and the smoke billowing around him sent a shiver up your spine. He was a sexy man, personality aside, and intoxicated you conveniently forgot about his attitude towards muggle-borns. Fuck, maybe he had changed?

He started approaching you, eyes raking up and down your accentuated figure, and he lingered a while on your fishnets. When he was close enough to talk, he said a simple statement, "I've never seen you before."

Theodore Nott hadn't changed. Not one bit. While he had never wished death upon muggle-borns like Voldemort, he had despised them— viewed them as lesser than he. He had seen you, laughing with your friends and seductively moving your hips, and assumed you were from the year below. You knew in that moment that he didn't recognise muggle-born goody-two-shoes Y/N L/N.

But, you were too drunk to ignore the red flags.

"No?" you murmured, "What are your first thoughts?"

He smirked, "I think I'm in for a very interesting night."

You chuckled, "I'll say."

His hands found your hips, and he began swaying with you to the music, which made you move your body closer to his. Even in the warmth of the room, the heat of his body hit you like an electric spark, coursing through you— straight to your core.

He moved even closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as his hands moved round to your back. Then he lifted his head, his lips close to yours, and you let your eyes flutter shut as the kiss began. It was passionate: a hazy, powerful passion that had every hair on your body standing on end. His hands lowered to your ass, and squeezed, bringing a gasp from your lips, which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

All of a sudden, he pulled away, only to whisper in your ear, "Wanna find somewhere more private?"

"Lead the way," you said breathlessly, and he took your hand in his.

Neither of you knew whose bedroom you had ended up in, but it was empty and had a lock on the door, so it was ideal. Sure, a little unlocking charm could get someone in, but hopefully they would realise what was going on inside if the door was locked.

Theo wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours again, pushing you back until you fell on to the bed, pulling him with you. He moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking in a manner that would definitely leave hickeys, before he returned to your lips. You tugged at his shirt, and he let you pull it over his head, revealing a toned chest and arms that had you drooling.

He smirked at your loss of composure and beckoned towards your shirt, "Your turn, miss."

This time, you smirked, and held up your arms to allow him to remove your upper body clothing. First your tight black mesh top, and then your bra, freeing your boobs for him to gaze at. "Look who's drooling now."

Your statement made him snap out of his shock: clearly the sight of your nipple piercings had been a new experience for him. He attacked your lips with a new fervour, then moved down to suck on your nipple and its barbell. Gasps escaped you at the sensation, and you arched your back up instinctively.

"You're so sexy," he stopped for breath, complimenting you, "How have I never seen you before?"

Your breath hitched, and for a moment the reality of the situation came back to you. Just as quickly, though, it left again, as he began work on your other nipple. It was a wonderful feeling, but you needed more, so you pushed him over until you were on top and began unbuckling his trousers.

His dick was big and thick, and you could tell by the glint in his eyes as he looked down at you that he knew and was proud. You shook your head, bringing your lips to the tip and pressing a gentle kiss. Your teasing didn't last for long, however, as you soon gave into the urge to take it into your mouth. He groaned deliciously in response, and you took that as your cue to lick a strip up the side as you began fondling his balls.

"Just like that, baby," he moaned, making you realise he hadn't even asked for your name.

You took him in your mouth again, this time going as far down as your throat would allow, feeling the urge to gag building up in you. His louder groans made the effort worth it, though, as you deepthroated him. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him with doe eyes and said, "If I'm sucking your dick, you might as well eat me out." And with that, you pulled your tights and panties down, leaving only your skirt on, before sitting on his face assertively.

The action made him groan more, and you leaned down to continue work on his dick as you felt him find your clit almost immediately. His tongue ministrations had you moaning around his dick, making you begin grinding on his face out of reflex. If you weren't drunk, you wouldn't be nearly this shameless and forward.

To his credit, he ate you out like a man starved, and it wasn't long before the pleasure became so much you had to give up on his dick and give in to the sensation.

"Fuck, Theo, I'm gonna come," you moaned, and his movements only got quicker, until you felt your core tighten and then release. Your body convulsed as he rode you through the high.

Eventually, you got off his face.

"D'you have condoms?" you asked, knowing he hadn't yet finished and also that you weren't yet satisfied.

"Always." He reached for his trousers over the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet.

You took it from him, tearing the packet with your teeth whilst making eye contact, and carefully sheathing his dick. His breath hitched once you were done: the only warning you got before he got up and pushed you down on to all fours, lining himself up behind you. The push in wasn't difficult, since you were quite well prepared, but it was still sensationally tight for him.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, pushing in the last couple inches, "You feel so fuckin' good. So wet for me."

In reply, you moaned, and he took that as his cue to begin moving.

He pushed up your skirt to slap your ass, leaving a red imprint on your cheek, before gripping your hips and picking up the pace. You became a mess beneath him, even more so when one of his hands snuck around to begin rubbing circles on your clit. The bedsheets were crumpled in your hands with how tight you were gripping them, but Theo didn't stop.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-" he cut himself off with a grunt.

"Me too," you squeaked out.

"Come with me." The assertive way in which he said it had you falling apart yet again, and by the way his movements were becoming sloppy, you could guess that he was too. When he then collapsed next to you, you knew that your guess had been correct.

Turning to lay on your back, you let out a content sigh.

"You know my name," he said.

You chuckled breathlessly.

"Who are you?"

You shrugged, deciding that you had given yourself enough time to regain your composure and getting up off the bed to clothe yourself. "You'll see," you said as you pulled your final clothing item back on.

And, with that concluding comment, you left Theo speechless on a random bed of the host's house.

***

You told no one of that night, deciding that you didn't need to hear your friends say what a stupid idea it was for you as a muggle-born to fuck a pure-blood supremacist. You already knew that yourself, but that didn't stop you from dreaming about how his tongue felt against your pussy, or how his hands felt on your body. Merlin, it was the best sex that you had ever had, and it just had to be with someone who would never want you again after finding out the truth.

It was on the train to Hogwarts that you saw him next. Despite how excited you were to return to the castle after over a year, the anxiety of your next meeting with Theo had been consuming you. And, in a lit up train in your classic school uniform, you were a lot more recognisable than in the dark in your own clothes. Especially considering you were with your friend group.

You stared at him as he stood in the doorway of you and your friends' compartment, with Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire stood behind him. They were likely on the hunt for some younger years to belittle.

"Well, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has certainly changed a lot, hasn't she?" Riddle chuckled from behind Theo, who was simply staring at you with widened eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Theo? Mate? You alright?" Berkshire asked, snapping his friend out of his daze.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he said dismissively, "Let's go."

His friends appeared confused, but didn't question it.

Your friends, however, did.

"What the fuck was up with that?" your best friend, Elena, asked, "Is the man scared of a couple piercings or something?"

She didn't even know what she was saying when she said that, you thought to yourself, thinking back to his reaction to your nipple piercings. You simply shrugged at her, "He just hates to see a muggle-born succeed."

Everyone agreed with hums, and the conversation shifted to other subjects.

***

Theodore Nott had spent the last two weeks of Summer wondering what the fuck the mysterious girl he fucked at a party meant by, "You'll see," and then following that up with a wank using memories of you. But, in that moment, stood in front of you on the Hogwarts Express, where you were in better lighting and more recognisable attire, he felt the world crash down around him.

How had he fucked a mudblood? The one thing that was ingrained into his brain since childhood to never do? Ever? The worst part is, he hadn't just liked the sex, he had loved it. He had already had numerous wet dreams about your lips and your boobs and your ass. And now? Now he had to push all of that aside because he couldn't ever fuck you again.

He just couldn't.

"Theo- Earth to Theo," the voice of Lorenzo next to him brought him from his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped back.

"What's got you so worked up?"

Mattheo chuckled, "Can't you see him staring at mudblood L/N? I can't tell if you wanna kill her or fuck her."

That statement earned Mattheo a glare from Theo.

"Maybe both?" Lorenzo suggested, making them both laugh.

"Who was it again that you hooked up with at the party?" Mattheo asked before shovelling food into his mouth.

"He didn't say, remember? Said she never told him her name."

"It doesn't matter," Theo spat.

Lorenzo and Mattheo exchanged looks as realisation dawned on them, and they both slowly turned to Theo who was still glaring daggers in your direction.

"No, you didn't..." Mattheo said first.

Theo said nothing.

"You fucked a mudblood," Lorenzo stated, finishing Mattheo's thought.

"You didn't realise it was L/N," Mattheo continued.

"She'd changed a lot, okay?" Theo said angrily, "I thought she was from the year below or something."

His two friends began howling with laughter, meanwhile Theo sat brooding in silence at the Slytherin table.

***

Saturday rolled around, and you were relieved to be able to shed the school uniform and tug on your clothes that had become an important part of you. Thankfully, Hogwarts hadn't been too strict about your piercings, in fact you had even received compliments from some professors. But, honestly, the rules weren't all that strict since it was still a sensitive time with many grieving from the war.

The Summer weather was still lingering, and you basked in the sunlight as you walked down one of the open hallways, watching first years giggling amongst themselves as they played with their new magic skills. It brought a smile to your face, to see things returning to normal; you had missed Hogwarts dearly while you had been away, not knowing how long you would have to remain in hiding. You had even begun applications for muggle university— because, really, how could you have known whether it would be one year or ten before you could freely be a witch again?

You turned a corner, and in your drifted thoughts, didn't notice the person walking around the other way until it was too late and your shoulders had shoved against each other.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, realising all too late that it was Theo. He was glaring at you, just like he had at every meal and every class you shared all week.

"Watch where you're going, mudblood," he snapped.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled, "Wasn't a problem three weeks ago."

"Never speak of that," he said lowly, his voice threatening.

"Why? Annoyed sex with a mudblood was good?" you retorted, and then you found yourself pinned up against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, miss."

"Don't you mean 'baby'?" you smirked, relishing in the way his eyes darkened.

You almost missed the way his gaze flicked to your lips, but then he pulled away, refusing to look at you.

"Fuck you, L/N," he spat, storming off, and you watched in amusement with your back still against the wall.

***

Theodore Nott was livid. Absolutely livid. You wound him up in the worst way possible, only for him to try and scare you- fail- and then find himself wanting nothing more than to smash his lips on to yours. When you reminded him of the pet name he used while you were fucking, the blood in his body rushed straight to his dick: the feeling of his arms gripping yours and the close proximity had felt electric. Your very presence set him on fire in every single way possible.

He hated every second.

With previous hook-ups, he had hooked up a few more times with them until he had gotten bored and moved on to the next. Before he found out who you were, he had been planning on doing the same, and now the fact he couldn't was driving him crazy. He thought about you every minute of the day, every minute of the night, and- unfortunately- whenever his hand was wrapped around his dick. And, after his interaction with you in the hallway, he knew that he needed a good fuck from at least a half-blood, if not a pure-blood.

Yes, that was all it was, his body was desperate for sex and as you were the last person he fucked, his thoughts simply went to you first. That was all it was.

Definitely.

***

Potions lesson on Monday rolled around quicker than you would have liked, but it wasn't all bad, as Slughorn was a nice enough professor. You sequestered yourself next to your best friend, ready to begin the lesson. He had promised you all your first practical lesson today, and you were excited to use a cauldron again after so long.

The only real downside of the class was that Theo was in it, and he seemed even angrier (if that was possible) than he was last week. His eyes were pinned on to you like you had murdered his family. You shrugged it off, setting up the work station while Elena went to fetch the various ingredients that you required.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across the class from you, feeling incredibly frustrated. Saturday night, he had tried to fuck another girl, but he couldn't get himself hard until he imagined that she was you. And, even then, he couldn't finish. His imagination couldn't go as far as making her feel and act like you, after all. Now, all he knew, was that you were his enemy, and his remedy. And you had the audacity to act so calm and unbothered all the fucking time.

"Your obsession isn't healthy," Mattheo spoke from next to him, dumping the potion ingredients on the table.

"It's not an obsession."

"What is it, then?" his friend scoffed, "Love?"

Theo furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Mattheo watched as Theo rose to his feet and began haphazardly chopping ingredients, the tiny knife taking the brunt of his anger.

"If it's affecting you so bad, just fuck her again."

"She's mudblood."

"It's not like you're impregnating her," Mattheo reasoned.

Theo sighed deeply, "It's not that simple. I've had it trained into me since birth that we don't associate with mudbloods."

"Well," Mattheo shifted on his feet, "Parents aren't always right."

"Since when did you sympathise with them?"

"I don't- I just," Mattheo muttered something inaudible to himself, and then said, "I don't want people to think I'm my father."

Theo said nothing.

"I'm just saying, mate, your mother's dead and your father's in prison for life— who gives a fuck what they think?"

"It's the principle."

"What even is the principle?"

"What would Draco think? Lorenzo? All of our friends?"

"Draco's not the man he was before the war," Mattheo said quietly. He knew better than anyone, being Draco's cousin, he had grown up with him due to his parents' absence. "I'm just saying. Maybe we should leave some beliefs in the past."

"You've gotten soft," Theo grumbled, "Just last week you were shitting on me for fucking her."

Mattheo shrugged, "Force of habit, I guess. I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"That's rare."

"Shut up."

***

Truth was, despite all of Theo's dick behaviour and discrimination of your kind, you still found yourself waking up in a sweat thinking about his hands roaming your body. That goddamned Slytherin was the bane of your existence and the reason for your catharsis. He had diseased you, plagued you. He was a parasite that you couldn't get rid of, that was eating away at your sanity. What happened to your self respect? To your pride? You got fucked into heaven, that's what. And now your sexual urges were spreading like fire all throughout your bloodstream.

Wanking didn't feel the same anymore— your fingers didn't hold the electricity and passion that Theo's did. You craved him like a drug: and that's exactly what he was. He was something you shouldn't do, something that was bad for your health, but something that could have you seeing stars. Why did he have to be a blood supremacist?

But would it feel this intense if he wasn't? Maybe you two being forbidden, being star-crossed, was the reason that it made you feel so alive. You loved the fact he stared at you, even if it was with fury so powerful it made his whole body shake. It made you feel as if you had gotten to him the way he had gotten to you.

Just one taste of heaven had left you wanting to experience it a thousand times over.

"Get your shit together, Y/N," you cursed to yourself, forcing yourself out of bed.

"What was that?" one of your dorm mates asked.

"Nothing," you replied, "Just going crazy."

"Aren't we all?" she agreed.

***

"Party in the Slytherin dungeons tonight," Pansy stated to you one hellish week later.

You blinked at her, "And I'm invited?"

The girl nodded, evidently feeling awkward, "A lot of us are trying to- uh- make amends with mud- muggle-borns."

You raised an eyebrow at her near slip-up.

"Look- I'm- I'm sorry for how I treated you in the past," she said, actually appearing genuine, "It wasn't right."

"Um, thank you," you replied hesitantly.

"I know I don't speak for all the Slytherins, but a lot of us have done some thinking over the Summer," she continued, "We've lived in an echo chamber for too long."

That you agreed with.

"And, honestly, I think you're really cool- and I hope we can be friends."

You were taken aback by her words, never imagining that a pure-blood like Pansy Parkinson would be saying such words to you. But, maybe, forgiving her wouldn't be such a bad thing. "I... forgive you, I think," you said slowly, "I hope we can be friends too."

She gave you a small but warm smile, "Thank you. Will I see you there?"

You nodded cautiously, "Yeah, I think so."

"Great, uh, come say hi when you get there."

And with that, she disappeared, leaving you in a state of shock and confusion.

***

"Why are there so many mudbloods here?" Lorenzo asked irritatedly, sitting down on the sofa next to his friend group.

"Be civil, Enzo," Pansy gently scolded, "They're witches and wizards just like us."

"But they're not, though. Right, Matt?"

Mattheo shrugged slightly, "I'm with Pansy on this one, I think."

"See, Enzo? Even the Dark Lord's son agrees with me."

Mattheo grimaced at being reminded of who his father was.

"What about you, Theo?" Lorenzo asked.

But Theo wasn't listening, too busy glaring at you with his jaw clenched as you entered the common room, dressed up in an annoyingly similar way that you were back at the Summer party. Lorenzo followed his gaze, but he already knew where it would be leading to.

"Theo is not the person to ask," Blaise chuckled, appearing out of nowhere and sitting next to Theo, "I reckon he's about two interactions with L/N away from saying 'fuck it' and accepting his fate."

"What fate?" Theo snapped.

"The fate of falling in love with a muggle-born," Pansy said with a giggle.

"I'm not falling for her."

"Yeah, you just think and talk about her all the time," Draco, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke.

"Do you not have a problem with it?" Lorenzo asked Draco.

The blond boy shrugged, "I have a lot of regrets regarding muggle-borns. I don't want anymore."

Lorenzo groaned.

"Times are changing, Enzo," Pansy said gently, "I think you should change with them."

The man scowled and stormed off.

Meanwhile, you had finally spotted Pansy across the room, surrounded by the Slytherin boys— including Theo. You took a deep breath, deciding for the sake of a potential friendship you would have to bear it and fulfil her request of saying hi. You arrived at their group moments after you had seen Berkshire leave angrily.

"Uh, hi," you said to Pansy.

"Hi," her face lit up, "Have you got a drink? I'll get you one."

"Oh, thank you."

"It's no worries— make yourself comfortable," she then turned to the boys, "Play nice."

Mattheo raised his hands in mock surrender, but all Theo did was keep his eyes glued on to you.

Zabini shifted along the sofa, gesturing for you to sit in between him and Theo, which you cautiously accepted. The second you felt the warmth of Theo's thigh brush against yours, sparks jolted through your body, and you nearly jumped. You could have sworn you heard his breath hitch, too. This was the first time in two weeks that he wasn't looking at you, instead his eyes were trained ahead like he was retaining every ounce of self control within him.

"The sexual tension is suffocating," Mattheo remarked, standing up to go after Pansy.

His statement seemed to fuel the flame that you had desperately been trying to keep dim inside of you, and suddenly staying sat next to Theo seemed like an entirely impossible task. You were not nearly drunk enough for this. Thankfully, Pansy returned quickly with Mattheo lingering behind her, and she handed you a glass.

"Firewhiskey and coke," she said simply.

"Thanks," you accepted the glass, and downed the entire thing, "I'll get another one."

You left them all, hearing Pansy scold Theo for scaring you off, but you could still feel his eyes burning holes into your back. Just a couple more drinks and then you would join the dance floor, you decided.

And there you soon were, grinding up against a Hufflepuff boy with liquid courage flooding through your veins. You had just about managed to push Theodore Nott to the back of your mind, but you knew that it was only a temporary fix. This Hufflepuff boy was attractive, but he didn't set you alight.

"Someone's jealous," Blaise chuckled, watching as Theo glared daggers at the boy you were dancing with. Ever since you had joined the dance floor, he had been necking back drinks like his soul depended on it, and it just might. With every gulp, he was feeling more reckless and dangerous. "Accept it, mate, you're in deep."

Theo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"The only thing stopping you is yourself."

And as Blaise's words sank in, and the Hufflepuff boy appeared to be going in to kiss you, something snapped within Theo. In a flash, he was on his feet and taking large purposeful strides in your direction. Then, the Hufflepuff boy was torn from your side and being punched directly on the nose with such a force he toppled over. He didn't even get a chance to fight back as Theo continued to hit him, merciless in his moves.

You stood in shock watching the scene unfold before you. After what felt like forever, Mattheo and Lorenzo showed up, pulling Theo off the poor boy who had done nothing wrong.

"What the fuck was that for?" the boy yelled, blood pouring down his face.

Theo said nothing, glaring at him as he finally stopped fighting his friends' grip.

"You need to calm down, mate," Mattheo said sternly, digging his fingers into his friend's bicep.

"Theo." You said, unaware what your intentions were when the name slipped out of your mouth. Regardless, his eyes snapped to yours, appearing to soften slightly as he observed your fearful stance.

What was stopping him, really? Did the purity of his bloodline really matter to him that much?

"I think you two need to talk," Mattheo said firmly, "And I think one of you in particular- not naming any names- needs to get over his own bullshit excuses and give into what he wants."

Theo's bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. You didn't fight him, strangely feeling your fear slip away despite what you had just witnessed Theo be capable of. When you were stood in his empty dormitory, face to face, you knew that you would have to be the first to say something.

"You were jealous," you said it as delicately as you could.

He said nothing, not even looking at you. This made you angry— enraged, even.

"Fucking look at me, Theo!" you screamed, "You haven't had any difficulty with it all week— staring at me like I'm the shit on your fucking shoe!"

His eyes locked on to yours.

"If you regret fucking me, just say it!"

"I don't regret it," he said, his volume low but tone dangerous, "Everything I've been raised to believe wants me to regret it but I can't."

You stood, stunned at his confession.

"I need you like I need water, you're an itch I can't scratch," he was stepping closer to you, making you step back, "You make me feel fucking ecstasy and misery all at once."

Your back hit the wall, and he grabbed your wrist again, bringing it to press against his crotch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he said darkly, "I've never been so hard in my life."

You gulped, "I'm not just gonna be another of your bitches, Theo, so forget it." Even though you wanted it so bad, and you were dripping from your core.

"That's the thing, L/N," he chuckled sinisterly, "I don't think I could ever get enough. I don't think anyone else will be able to satiate me ever again."

You jaw dropped.

"I think..." he continued, "...that you're a drug I got addicted to after only one hit."

You closed your mouth, looking up at him expectantly.

"And I don't think I ever want to be sober from you."

"But, I'm a muggle-born-"

He cut you off by slamming his lips on to yours with such furious passion your mind became hazy as you eagerly returned the kiss, lifting up your arms to wrap them around your neck. For a moment, he pulled away, just to whisper, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't think I care. I think I just want you in every humanly possible way."

"Then have me," you murmured.

It became a blur as his lips crashed on to yours yet again, and he picked you up by your thighs with his blood stained hands, leaving imprints on your bare skin through your fishnets. He moved you over to his bed, kissing down your neck while he blindly reached for the hem of your top. He wasted no time in pulling it off, along with your bra, so he could continue kissing down your body.

You relished the sensation— savouring it— feeling like you were the only girl in the world. Theo was treating you with such roughness and yet such care, like he had tunnel vision for you and only you.

He pulled off his shirt, before moving down to pull down your skirt, fishnets, and panties all at once. You watched breathlessly as he dived into your leaking pussy and ate you out like a man starved. He groaned, murmuring, "I've missed this taste so fucking much," before continuing his ministrations, eliciting the filthiest moans from you that had ever been produced. This felt even better than the last time.

"You are my goddess," he licked up your pussy, "And my devil."

He began sucking on your clit, and your body felt as if it was lifting from the bed as your orgasm hit you like a shockwave, coursing through your body and sending you to places you had only brushed against before.

"Fuck, Theo," you moaned, "Please fuck me."

The man didn't need telling twice, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his trousers. He didn't waste any time going to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, tearing it open and pulling it on in record speed. You would have helped him, but your orgasm had you borderline paralysed.

And, then, he was lining up in front of you— for the first time in his life, all he wanted was to fuck missionary. He wanted to see your face (and your nipple piercings that had him drooling) and he wanted to see your expressions as you came undone below him. To him, this was the most intimate that you could get in sex, and he only wanted that with you.

He groaned louder than he had ever groaned when he let himself push inside you, knowing that no other pussy would ever feel as magical as yours. Knowing that he should never have even considered depriving himself of this for some stupid blood purity reasons.

"Fuck, baby, you feel fucking amazing," he breathed out. You reached your arms up, gesturing for him to come down closer to you.

Theo obeyed, kissing you as he began thrusting, while his bloodied hands explored every inch of you, leaving a trail as they went.

"I'd rub your clit, but I don't want to get blood there," he said through heavy pants. You couldn't help but let out a small giggle, moving your own hand down to aid yourself along.

Your moans increased tenfold, as did his pace, and it wasn't long before he was biting down on to your neck in order to contain the groans that were fighting their way out of him. Who would have thought that such plain love making could make him feel so on top of the world?

"Theo- I'm gonna come," you choked out, and the way his teeth sank deeper told you that he was going to as well. As you both reached heaven in unity, he gave up suppressing his moans, and gave you the most melodious earful that you had ever heard as his movements became sloppy and tingles spread through your veins.

Eventually, he collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair gently as you lay in a post-sex haze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, making your brain short circuit.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry for being a pretentious asshole."

A smile creeped on to your face, "So, is this just a sex thing, or...?"

"Fuck no," he snapped, "I need you all the time. You're mine."

"So, it's a girlfriend boyfriend thing?"

He froze, but then relaxed, and said into your neck, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You guess?"

He sighed, "Well, you've ruined me for anyone else."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 07/04/2024 —> 08/04/2024 published; 10/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

[writeforfandoms]

Homeward Bound 1

Find the series masterlist

Welcome to my newest wip, because dragons are my absolute favorite fantasy creature. Also, please leave canon at the door, this is a full on fantasy AU we're now entering.

Seriously. I have so much world building already done for this. Come ask me questions.

We've got a bit of a slow burn, dragons, baby dragons, and drama. What more could you want?

Eventual Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, fantasy au rules, literal dragons.

Word count: 1k

You huffed as, yet again, Kyle and John invaded the nesting area. They had gotten more polite over the last weeks, but still. 

Truly, though, you couldn't entirely blame them. They were both in the group for this upcoming Hatching, and were very eager. John had been passed over last time, and Kyle was new this time. 

You would never tell them, but you had a good feeling for them, for this season. 

“Quiet down,” you told them, stern and no-nonsense, refusing to smile at their silliness. 

“Aw, we jus’ wanted te see,” John wheedled, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the capital. 

You rolled your eyes. “Quietly, then,” you stressed, taking a quick look round. Most of the dragons were still calm, only one or two first timers fidgety and anxious. Good enough. Nothing to fuss over. 

Kyle nodded eagerly, making a face at John. But the two were quick to look around the nests, whispering to each other. 

You just closed your eyes and leaned back in your seat. They'd be fine. And if they weren't, they'd get hissed at. 

Good enough. 

Yawning briefly, you blinked lazily up at the ceiling of the cave, which stretched far above your head. Strategic perches had been hewn into the rock over generations of dragons, giving plenty of spaces above the hatching grounds for the dragons to observe. The seating had been added for humans to observe, long before you. 

In a matter of weeks, the seats would be filled, and the cave would be the site of great joy once again. 

Kyle cleared his throat softly, prompting you to look at him instead of the ceiling. You raised one eyebrow in silent question. 

“You know best,” he murmured with a little smile. “How are they looking?”

“Healthy,” you murmured. “No issues that I can see. It's a good clutch this year.” 

“Good.” Kyle smiled, clearly pleased. “That's good to hear.” 

“You don't have long to wait now,” you encouraged gently, taking pity on the young man. 

He nodded, looking at the nests and the mothers with something akin to awe in his eyes. “Not long,” he agreed in a murmur. 

Your lips twitched in a smile, a little against your will. You had appearances to maintain, after all. “Go on,” you murmured. “Either go say hi to some of them, or go elsewhere.”

He shot you a look, a little startled and a little betrayed, but he nodded. He made the smart choice and went to the silver near you, greeting her. He'd be fine. 

You, instead, looked for John to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. It took you a moment to spot him, way out by Ilsbet. Rather to your surprise, she had tucked him into her nest. 

Could be first-timer instincts, although most first-time mothers went the other way and drove everyone away from their nests… 

You meandered your way over there, smiling when Ilsbet chirruped at you in greeting, stretching her head out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, scratching under her chin. “You seem to have a pest in your nest.” 

“Oi!” John's indignation was muffled somewhat. 

Ilsbet purred, trying to encourage you closer. Probably so she could tuck you into her nest along with John. 

“No, sweetheart.” You patted her nose. “I can't. We've talked about this, remember?” 

She drooped, massive green body only squishing John a little. He oofed. 

“Oh come now,” you scolded gently. “None of that, hm? Or your rider will insist I'm tormenting you.” 

“Are you not?” The dry question came from behind you. 

You didn't jump, but you did slowly turn to look. Ilsbet's rider was big and broad, blonde hair kept short, the usual fabric covering the lower half of his face. Brown eyes stared at you, impassive and unimpressed. 

“No, Simon. I am not tormenting your dragon.” You kept your tone flat as you spoke to him, none of the teasing warmth you had for Ilsbet coming through. 

Simon grunted once and stepped around you, staring down at John in his dragon's nest. “Out.” 

“But–” John started to protest. 

“Out,” Simon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John sighed but got out of the nest carefully. Ilsbet didn't even notice, busy purring and chirping at her rider. You did catch a glimpse of four eggs, shells still soft beige flecked with gold. Good. 

You were quick to back off and leave Simon alone. He was notorious for being difficult to get close to, even among the riders. And since this was Ilsbet's first time nesting… Well. You expected him to be extra grumpy. 

But the hatching wasn't that far away now, thankfully. 

You made your way back over to your seat, settling down again. In a little while, you'd check on the mothers, see if they needed anything. See if you could get another count on the eggs. 

But that would be in a little bit. For now, you found Kyle and John, watching them talk quietly. Your gaze wandered back to Simon, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his body language had softened as he spoke to his dragon. 

He did have a heart. You'd known that, of course. You'd been at the hatching when he'd been selected. Dragons didn't select people who were heartless. 

Although how such a sweet dragon had selected someone as reserved as Simon… You would never understand. 

John and Kyle left, and Simon left not long after them. Your domain returned to quiet, the sand warm even through your shoes. All was as it should be. 

You breathed out slowly, eyes drooping half-closed again. This was better. 

Not too much longer until the hatching. 

Not that you went a single day without seeing Simon, as he came in to check on Ilsbet often. It was almost like he didn't trust you. 

Honestly, you weren't sure if it was just you, or if he was just like that in general. After several days of dealing with him, you were inclined to think he was just like that. 

Well. The hatching would be over soon, and then it was unlikely you'd see much of him for three more years.

[reiding-writing]

mistletoe [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer accidentally slips to the team that he doesn’t like Christmas, and you take it upon yourself to try and change his mind during one of your bi-weekly movie nights.

WARNINGS: mentions of schizophrenic episodes, mentions of divorce, slight miscommunication

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: 99% fluff, tiny bit of angst, two oblivious idiots in love

wc: 4.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: watch someone who doesn’t like christmas, write about a reader who does like christmas 😭 thanks to ml @flowersfromautumn for beta reading this for me 🫶🫶

Spencer Reid was not a Christmas person.

The rest of the team found it a little ironic, especially considering his overwhelming love for halloween, but he wasn’t going to tell them that the reason he hated the holiday season was because his mother’s paranoia spiked during them. He wasn’t going to tell them that the last time he’d tried to do something with his family for the holidays it ended with his mother locking herself in her bedroom for three straight days and Spencer finding a copy of divorce papers half-hidden under his father’s work files.

He wasn’t going to tell the team that the whole month of December felt like a massive dissociation for him every single year to the point where - despite his eidetic memory - he couldn’t remember most of the Christmases of his childhood.

His younger years were enjoyable, at least, he thinks so; Filled with festivities and family-bonding. But as his growth was overshadowed by his mother's battle with schizophrenia, the jingling bells and festive lights brought memories of unpredictable episodes, turning what should have been joyful celebrations into overwhelming anxiety and stress.

The only Christmas he had a clear memory of was the one in 1990, the day he found out that his family was no longer a family at all. That’s a lot for a nine year old to handle, even if his mind preceded his age twice over.

“Spencer?” You knock - kick - at the front door of Spencer’s apartment, right on time for your bi-weekly movie session. “Spencer Reid? Hellooo?”

It takes a minute for Spencer to open the door, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses as he does so. “Sorry I was just-“

Spencer cuts himself off as his eyes meet the large cardboard box in your hand, noting how you’re leaning it on top of your thigh with your leg balanced in the air so you don’t drop it. “What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” You give him a half-smug smile as you push your way past him into his apartment, dumping the box on his coffee table and shaking out your arms to relive them of the ache of carrying its weight for the last several minutes.

Spencer follows soon after you, pushing the door closed and tilting his head at the box like a puppy who’d just been presented with a ball for the first time.

Its oddly endearing, and you find yourself getting distracted from the box as you take in the way the warm lighting of his apartment cascades over the side of his face, leaving a soft shadow that accentuates his jawline in the most perfect way to make your stomach do a flip in your torso and stir a kaleidoscope of butterflies awry in its wake.

You’re thrust back into reality by Spencer speaking your name, his tone so sweet you’re sure it could give you cavities. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh- right, right yeah uh-“ You peel the tape off of one side of the box, peeling it open to let the two flaps at the top of the box loose. “Okay don’t be mad at me-“

You slowly open the box up to let Spencer look inside it properly. It was completely filled to the brim with a collection of miscellaneous decorations fit for the Christmas season, all neatly packed into smaller boxes and plastic containers, separated with labels on each.

Spencer says your name again as his eyes scan the contents of the box, this time with much less sweetness and much more apprehension.

“Why did you—“

Reid cuts himself off for a second time in the last five minutes as he reads the labels on the smaller boxes, getting caught on one lining the main box’s long side. “You brought a tree?”

It’s a small one,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve just released a mischief of rats into his apartment.

He was expecting to be sat on his couch with you at his side, devouring cheap take-away pizza whilst indulging in multiple hours of re-runs of Doctor Who. Instead, you’d dumped a box of Christmas decorations on his coffee table which he can only assume you’ll hound him into putting up.

He’d been ambushed.

“You know I’m not really fond of the whole Christmas thing,” Spencer says, running a hand through the fluffy mess of brown hair that you would gladly spend hours with your fingers in if he’d let you.

“I know you aren’t Spencer, but this is the time of year where people are supposed to spend time with the people they care about, I’m not going to let you spend it hauled up in an undecorated apartment by yourself,” You begin to unload the boxes onto his coffee table with a soft sigh.

“It’s just another day,” Spencer’s voice is soft, appreciative of you going out of your way to do something like this for him but also not entirely sure of the point of it. “Besides, don’t you have plans with your family?”

“They’re on the other side of the country Spence, and as much as I love them i’m not taking that trip down, just in case something comes up with the team,” You unbox the artificial tree first, pulling it out of its box and tugging the flattened branches outwards to make it look more tree-like. “So i’m saddled up here for the holidays,”

You move the tree over to a side table next to one of the walls of Spencer’s apartment, the dark green complimenting the olive of his walls.

“Do we really have to do this?” Spencer’s voice is non-confrontational, not wanting to fight with you.

“It’ll be fun I promise,” You blink up at him with those eyes of yours and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to say no to you.

Spencer sighs softly, dragging his fingers over his closed eyelids under his glasses before reluctantly opening a plastic container labelled ‘lights’, beginning to untangle one of the strings of lights from the others. “I don’t think I’ve put up a tree since I was around eight or nine,”

“You don’t think?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you continue to adjust the faux branches of the tabletop tree.

“I- don’t actually remember most of my Christmases…” Spencer’s pursed smile fills you with an overwhelming amount of upset sympathy that he can immediately read all over your face. “I was never exactly ‘enraptured’ with it anyway,”

That was a total lie.

Spencer tries to shrug off your concern as he successfully manages to untangle the lights. “Did you know that the first ever rendition of ‘Christmas’ as we know it happened roughly 5000 years ago?”

And there goes Spencer’s distraction technique. He’d always manage to turn the attention away from himself and towards something academic when he was becoming uncomfortable with his own vulnerability.

“It was originally actually celebrated on December 21st as a celebration of the mid-winter solstice, and the Neolithics, or new stone age people, would gather around Stonehenge to have feasts and exchange gifts with each other, even playing music associated with the holiday on bone flutes from the cattle used for the feast.”

A part of you wants to stop Spencer’s tangent, to bring the topic back to why Christmas was such a bad time of the year for him as a child that it caused gaps in his memory despite him remembering the rest of his life down to the most minor of details. But another part of you knows that if it’s that bad, maybe it’s best to leave it be. He’ll tell you when he’s ready to.

“So-“ Spencer rummages around for a few seconds in one of his drawers to pull out some batteries for the lights, then turning a warm yellow once they’re powered, twinkling on and off intermittently. “How do we know what goes where?”

He begins to carefully wrap the lights around the length of the tree down in a spiral, leaving the battery box in the small fake pot underneath the tree. He at least knows where to put the lights.

“We vibe it,” You shrug your shoulders softly at his question as you go back over to the coffee table to retrieve your box of baubles, a mix of red and off white, with a few of them covered in glitter.

“We- Vibe it?” Spencer furrows his expression slightly as he watches you arbitrarily place one of the baubles on the tree.

That was one of the things he remembered about decorating with his parents when he was younger. The tree was organised. And he remembers the arguments that spanned from what should have been a family-bonding activity.

The end result always looked more like one of those display Christmas trees in department stores than a Christmas tree put together by a loving family. But he supposes it makes sense considering the dynamic of his parents.

“Yep, we vibe it,” You pick up a second bauble to hang from the tree. “Just try not to put too many of the same colour in one area otherwise it can look a little dodgy,”

“Right- Okay…” It doesn’t take long for him to get a feel for where the baubles should be going, and he follows your lead in hanging them on the branches.

He’s a lot less stressed than the fragmented memories of his show him he should be as he decorates the small tree with you, and he’s sure it’s because the soft smile adorning your features as you pass him baubles of different colours and sizes houses some sort of black magic that just erases all semblance of negativity from his mind.

After a few minutes, Spencer takes a step back from the tree to look over his work, feeling pretty satisfied with himself, a small smile gracing his features that the warm light of the fairy lights only accentuates, casting a soft glow over his face. “Not bad,”

“Ah-” You hold up a hand as you rifle through the box, pulling out a very obviously handmade tree topper in the vague appearance of a fairy. “One more thing,”

“A fairy?” Spencer takes the topper from your hand carefully, as if he’s afraid of breaking it if he were to hold onto it too tightly. “Who made this?”

“I did-“ An almost unnoticeable flush covers your cheeks as you watch him examine the cone of white card with a painted styrofoam head and yarn for hair, wings cut out of translucent iridescent lining and haphazardly folded into shape over jeweller’s wire. “When i was a kid-“

“It’s adorable,” Spencer’s voice proves his genuinity. He feels somewhat touched by the fact that you still had it. “You’ve been holding on to this for years?”

“Yeah- I usually put it on top of my tree at home but I figured that you’d benefit more from it this year than I would-“ Spencer almost melts at your thoughtfulness. It’s honestly one of the sweetest things he thinks anyone has ever done for him. It obviously meant a lot to you, and yet here you were, surrendering it into Spencer’s care to try and make his holiday season more festive.

“That’s- really sweet of you…” He smiles fondly, gently placing the topper on top of the tree, rotating it slightly so it faces into the main portion of his living room. "It looks like you,"

You laugh softly at the statement, “Vaguely,”

The fairy-topped tree now radiates a cozy warmth in Spencer's living room. The soft glow from the lights and the sentimental touch of the handmade topper seem to transform the atmosphere, creating a space that feels more like a home than just a place to reside.

As you both step back to admire the decorated tree, a sense of accomplishment fills the room. Spencer's eyes linger on the fairy topper, appreciating the connection it holds to your childhood and the kindness behind your gesture.

"We’re not done yet,” You grasp both of his shoulders in your hands for a second, giving them a soft squeeze before heading back over to the box to continue decorating around his apartment.

He smiles at the sight of your enthusiasm. “You’re getting carried away,” Spencer’s tone borders a laugh as you start to scatter decorations around his living room.

You hang a line of gold tinsel along the mantle of his faux fireplace, drape a string of fairy lights over his bookshelf, and hand him small festive table toppers for him to scatter into spaces on his home office, and slowly but surely, his apartment radiates that festive energy associated with the Christmas season.

“You can never have too many decorations,” You shake your head softly at Spencer as he glances over the decorations you’d shoved into his hands.

“But do I really need any decorations?” Spencer sighs softly, slowly putting down the decorations flooding his arms down on his dining table, trying not to sound unappreciative of your efforts.

A little part of him wants to tell you that all of these decorations weren’t really making him feel any better about the holiday season; But he wants to see you happy, even if he has no desire to decorate the place himself.

“It’s just me here,” he adds softly.

“That doesn’t matter,” you tilt your head at him slightly as you retreat back to the cardboard box to retrieve more decorations. “Besides,”

Your eyes catch on a small sprig of mistletoe, and you adjust the wiring to flatten it out properly as you pull it out of the box. “You never know,”

“You expect me to bring someone over here?” Spencer laughs in a mix of astonishment and embarrassment. “Who would I even bring over?”

You respond only with a shrug of your shoulders as you pick up one of Spencer’s dining chairs, carrying it over to the front door so that you can stand on it to comfortably reach the door frame.

“This is way too extra,” he says, looking at the mistletoe that’s now being fastened above his front door as he stands at your side, one hand braced on the back of the dining chair to make sure that you don’t accidentally tip yourself over. “What if I bring someone back and it’s all awkward?”

“You just have an excuse to kiss anyone you think is attractive when they walk into your apartment, sounds like a win win to me,” You hop off of the dining chair once you’re finished, bringing it back to its rightful place under his dining table.

Spencer flushes slightly. “You do realize what you’re saying, right?” he asks. “Like you’re insinuating me going out of my apartment, bringing a random person in here, and kissing them immediately upon entry.”

You give him a pointed look that silently tells him that he’s reading too much into it as you pack up the rest of the box, satisfied with your work. “It’s about time you got some lovin’ Spence,”

It’s not like he doesn’t agree with your sentiment, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not extremely flustered.

“I’m not sure anyone is interested,” He says that like he hadn’t almost had a fling with a hollywood actress a few years ago, like he didn’t constantly have women fawning over him during cases, like you weren’t completely head over heels for him to the point where you’d gone out of your way to spend your saturday night decorating his apartment for Christmas to try and make his holiday season a little more enjoyable.

This man had to be the most oblivious profiler in the FBI; And it made you want to cup those beautiful cheeks in your hands and kiss those beautiful pink lips until his beautiful brain understood just how wrong he was.

Spencer clears his throat at his own awkwardness as he tries to move the topic of conversation away from his love life, his eyes flickering around the main room of his apartment. “I uh, you did a good job with the decor,”

“Thank you, thank you,” You oblige to his change of subject with a dramatic bow, fearing you’ll implode if you think about how obliviously attractive Spencer is any longer.

“Now we can watch a movie,” You move the, now thankfully much lighter, box off of the coffee table to give a clear view of the television from Spencer’s couch. “A Christmas movie.”

Spencer’s eyes widen a little bit as you mention watching a Christmas movie. “Is that something I can opt out of?”

“No?” You give him a look of mock offense as you push him over to the couch to sit down, and he reluctantly obliges with a sigh. “It’s a movie night, and it’s the middle of December, we have to watch a Christmas movie, it’s a rite of passage,”

He’s never been a fan of any of the cliche christmas movies, even if they’re supposed to be cheesy and fun.

He’s willing to compromise, though. For your sake.

“Can it at least be a good Christmas movie and not something that has a plot that was clearly written by the Hallmark Channel?”

“We’re watching the Grinch duh,” You furrow your expression as if the movie choice is obvious, handing him the remote as you grab your satchel bag and hurry off into the kitchen.

“I will be back in like two minutes, don’t even think of trying to escape from this,”

“I’m not going anywhere don’t worry,” Spencer sighs with a soft smile as he watches you disappear around the corner. Even if the Grinch movie doesn’t sound like his cup of tea, he’d do just about anything for you.

He scours through Netflix as you busy yourself in his kitchen, and you waltz back out a few minutes later with a small tray housing two steaming mugs and two plastic wrapped candy canes, placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Et voila,”

Spencer doesn’t have to ask to know what the mugs hold, he can smell the chocolate from his seat. “Alrighty then, christmas movie time it is,”

Spencer watches as you make yourself comfortable next to him, crossing your legs and draping a throw blanket from the arm of the couch over your legs, and it’s hard not to look at you and think about how comfortable it would be for him to lie with his head in his lap with your hands running through his hair. The idea makes him all flustered, and he hides his flush behind his mug as he takes a sip of his drink.

“You’re sure that we can’t just watch Doctor Who like we were supposed to?”

All it takes is a small slump of your shoulders at his question and Spencer’s resolve quickly melts like snow in the sun.

“Alright, you win,” he sighs. “I’ll watch the Grinch.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Spence,” You concede defeat at Spencer’s disinterest in watching the film. You’d already forced him into decorating and you were starting to feel guilty for forcing all of this onto him.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Spencer shakes his head softly at you. You’re sharing something that you enjoy with him, who is he to shut you down? Especially considering how many times he’d over shared about his own interests. “It’s only two hours,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Why did the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes?” Spencer asks, his eyebrow raised as the credits play. “I don’t get it.”

“it’s a metaphor Spence, it doesn’t actually grow three sizes,”

“I know it’s not literally growing,” Spencer dead-pans. “I’m just wondering if there’s a reason why they put three specifically.” He seems to be looking for some deeper meaning in watching this movie, even if he’s not really engaged with it.

“Like is the Grinch’s heart growing meant to be a sign of him becoming a better person?”

“Yeah, because at the beginning it was two sizes too small, so if it grows three sizes, now he has a ‘big heart’ that’s full of love and empathy and all that stuff,”

Spencer’s gaze burns into you as you explain the metaphor to him. It’s not an ‘i’m trying to really understand this‘ gaze, but rather a ‘I’m engaging in something you enjoy and trying to understand and you’re so perfect when you talk’ gaze.

“Like, he’s realising ‘hey Christmas isn’t so bad when you have people who love and care about you to spend it with’,”

“Is that what Christmas is to you?” Spencer asks, his tone genuinely intrigued. “A way of spending time with the people you love?”

“Yeah-“ You give him a small nod, joined with a yawn as you stretch your arms up above your head. “That’s the whole point of Christmas,”

Spencer smiles warmly at you, although he’s not entirely sure whether it’s because of how you describe what Christmas means to you, or because when you stretch you scrunch up your nose like a cat would. “What now?”

“I should probably head home and stop bothering you with my overwhelming desire for christmas to just happen,” You let your arms fall back to your sides with a satisfied sigh, glancing at the grandfather clock Spencer has against his wall. 12:25. Looks like you spent longer decorating than you thought.

“It’s pretty late,”

“Yeah, it is,” Spencer follows your eyes over to the clock, hiding his subconscious disappointment over your inevitable departure as you retreat to his front door to put your shoes on.

“Let me escort you to your car,” he says quietly, following after you. “It’s dark outside.”

You chuckle softly at his offer, leaning your shoulder against his apartment door and lifting up your legs one at a time to tie your shoelaces. “You really don’t have to Spence it’s alright,”

“I want to,” His tone is soft, and you can’t help but notice that he cuts off his sentence abnormally quickly as if his words got stuck in his throat, and as you drop your left leg back down to the floor and turn your head to him, you notice he’s not looking at you, but above you.

Your eyes follow his up to what he’s looking at, catching on the mix of white and green fauna directly above your head.

Oh-

You’d royally screwed yourself over. God damn it. The night was going so well.

As you follow Spencer’s gaze, he immediately becomes distracted by the way your eyes are looking up at the mistletoe above you, glistening softly under the warm lighting in his apartment, and he almost implodes because god damn is your face gorgeous when you’re all flustered.

“Did you know that mistletoe was originally used by ancient celtic druids as a symbol of good luck to protect against evil spirits?”

There’s that distraction technique again. Although, his tangent is much more of a ramble as his eyes examine the mistletoe above the door as if it’s an exhibit in a museum.

“The Greeks also used mistletoe as a medicine for almost every ailment you can think of, from cramping to epilepsy and even poisonings. The custom of kissing underneath mistletoe wasn’t developed until the 1700s when victorians-“

“Spencer stop.”

He does ask you ask immediately, blinking at you as his eyes snap downwards towards your face, his expression a mix of hurt and embarrassment. “Oh- I- I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Just-“ You put your hand up in front you effectively halting his attempt at an apology. “Stop speaking,”

“Right… I’m sorry…” Spencer purses his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure it’ll bleed.

He didn’t want to make the situation uncomfortable. That was quite literally the last thing he wanted to do. God, what was he thinking? Why did he let you hang that god damn plant above his door?

“I’ll- you-“ He takes a sharp breath in, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll see you on Monda-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as you again stop him from speaking, but not with a raised hand or a verbal signal.

No. Instead, his words are ripped of the chance to be spoken by a tug on the collar of his t-shirt and a gentle pressure against his lips.

Spencer can’t help the widening of his eyes as your lips press against his, nor can he stop the gasp that escapes his mouth as you effectively swallow his apology with your lips.

Those soft, perfect lips that Spencer had been dreaming about for god knows how long.

No, he knows exactly how long. 1,472 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes.

The sharp tick of the grandfather clock cuts through the soft silence between you.

1,472 days, 6 hours and sixteen minutes.

He effectively melts in your affection, the feeling of your hands sliding into his hair at his temples, the subtle taste of mint on your lips from the candy cane you’d been eating whilst watching the movie.

And the heat, oh, the heat.

He never knew one person could be this hot, this warm.

Spencer’s hands go to your waist as he gently pulls you further against him, his eyelashes fluttering softly as they fall closed.

You're kissing the man of your dreams. And enjoying every second of it.

And the best part? He's enjoying it just as much.

“Merry Christmas Spencer…” Your words are little more than a whisper as you mumble them against his lips, your thumbs tracing slow lines in front of his ears.

Spencer can’t help but gasp softly at the weight of your words, and this time not because you’d caught him by surprise, but because he's completely lost in you.

He’s starting to understand the Grinch metaphor you were explaining to him earlier, although his heart doesn’t feel like it’s growing three times over. It feels as though it’s growing ten times over. A hundred times over. That it might burst out of his chest with just how much he was feeling in this moment.

"Merry Christmas..."

He whispers your name softly, barely able to get it out over the slight quiver in his breathing.

This was the best Christmas present he’d ever gotten.

[nia-academia]

Science Student Things

Getting a warning from every. single. senior. that its going to be hell but thinking "how bad can it be, i can handle it" (avg 10th topper misconceptions)

Being on a massive high after 10th results thinking you're gonna academically obliterate everyone in 11th-12th only to go into an extreme low within the first round of 11th grade exams

Cursing yourself for not researching enough before choosing science as your stream, fantasizing about how much better off you would be with Humanities or Commerce (delusional bcz those are hard asw but science is deadly tho)

Finding almost every chapter hard in the beginning and stressing over how you will ever complete the always-massive syllabus only to find that once you reach the end of the year what you thought was hard was just the tip of the iceberg (this also shows growth though so well done everybody)

Communal hatred for organic chemistry, anybody who doesn't hate it is either a genius or absolutely unhinged or both

Teachers always saying "you're a science student now" whenever they want to lecture you on how to never have joy in life and only live for marks

Having massive panic attacks and living in constant anxiety but nothing beats the joy of getting a hard numerical right in the first try

Scouring academic pages for study tips and routines and watching study vlogs etc but as a form of procrastination

Stressing over competitive exams ALL.THE.TIME because everyone you meet will talk about just that incessantly for two years

Realising that there are a plethora of careers you would rather choose than 'doctor' and 'engineering' but feeling unnecessary shame and guilt to pursue those

Coaching classes fooling us all into thinking they'll make us geniuses when actually they mostly add to the stress, even though they aren't completely useless they're definitely not worth lakhs of fees

Missing out on so so so many things in order to stay home and study even though its completely unproductive studying as you would rather be doing the thing you've sacrificed

Feeling guilty about doing ANYTHING that isn't studying, being made to feel guilty by others for doing things you love because "these two years are for sacrifices, after that you have all your life for these things''

The high of acing a test because it is so rare and takes actual blood sweat and tears that it leaves you with dopamine enough to last a week

Having your parents and relatives continually talk to someone older than you who has cracked the exam ur sitting for to get "tips" even if they cracked the exam 7 years ago and the format was completely different and much easier then

Having to rush over the syllabus so much that you forget how much you actually loved to study the subject, having your heart broken thinking that you're not good at your favourite subject anymore when actually its just the fact that its being taught in such a rush and not that you've lost your spark

Having the sympathy of all your non-science friends and always having moye moye talks with your science friends

[naughtyneganjdm]

Returning Home For The Holidays

Summary: When you return to your hometown for the holidays after getting a divorce, you run into your old friend Negan who makes your Christmas better than any you've had before.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52520974

Warnings: Christmas themes, fluff, small amount of smut (not very detailed), second person reader, etc.

Notes: I wrote this really quick because I wanted to write something small for Christmas. This is a shortened version of the second Christmas story that I wanted to write, but never got the time to. So, I hope you enjoy it!

Warmth flooded your veins while you sat in front of the fireplace on Christmas Eve. What you thought was going to be one of the hardest Christmases of your life surprisingly became one of the best yet. The year started off horribly for you when you found your husband Shane cheating on you. Shane had never been much of a husband, but the two of you had a daughter together that was eight years old. Everything was very hard for your daughter because she loved her father very much, but, unfortunately, Shane was never much of a father either.

Once you found out about his affairs and requested a divorce, Shane made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with his family in the first place. You had originally moved with Shane for work, so when everything happened you moved back to your small hometown in Virginia. Your first day back was stressful enough. Your daughter Daisy was upset that her father didn’t want to be around her for Christmas and didn’t understand why she had to leave everything she knew to move somewhere completely new. On top of that, your car had broken down your first day back in the middle of a massive snowstorm before you could even get to your family’s place.

What felt like the worst luck ended up being some of your best luck. The person who came to give you a tow was Negan Smith. Someone that had been one of your best friends growing up. Unfortunately, in the last year or two of high school the two of you had grown apart. Back then, you didn’t understand it. But when you started thinking about it once you saw him again, you realized it was likely because of your relationship that you started with Shane. Shane was very possessive and didn’t like you being around other men, so that would have explained why you and Negan had lost contact.

When he had shown up, you were surprised to see that he had his own mechanics shop because you had heard he was the local high school’s gym teacher and coach. In fact, you had seen many articles about Negan in the past because of his teams winning so many championships. Knowing that he was able to do both the school job and he owned his own business was impressive. Especially after you had heard rumors about his wife passing away.

That night you had met Negan’s daughter Elizabeth who ended up being only a few months younger than Daisy and the girls hit it off immediately. They had started playing together while you waited for Negan to fix your car and after that they were inseparable. So after that day, you found yourself at Negan’s home more often than not because your daughter had now found a new best friend in the town that you had moved to. And what was once miserable for Daisy, was something she was really happy to find.

It was also nice for you to be able to spend some time with Negan. With it being Christmas, Negan was stepping up in places in terms of being a father toward Daisy that Shane never had done on the holiday before for her. And it was just natural for him to be like that since he was already doing it for Elizabeth himself. You didn’t even ask that of him either, he was just involving your daughter in everything on his own and it was something that awed you. You had more of a Christmas this year than you ever had with Shane.

Right now the girls were sitting with Negan painting both his fingernails and his toenails while they were all sitting in front of the fireplace. That was something Shane would never let his daughter do to him, so the fact that Negan was letting both girls do it had Daisy in giggles. It was very sweet while Negan interacted with them.

“Oh. Girls,” Negan blurt out, holding his hands up when they finished with their work on his nails. “This is beautiful. You did a great job. This is definitely my color.”

Holding his hands out, Negan let you see them and you felt a rush of color flooding in your cheeks. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips and you gave him a small nod, “Don’t you think these are my colors?”

“I do. I think the red and green are very festive. The green goes with your eyes,” you commented on the nail polish color causing Negan to snort when he looked down at his hands and feet.

“Your turn?” Daisy looked back at you with a big cheesy smile, her dimples warming your heart. It had been a long time since you had seen your daughter this happy.

“It’s only fair. The rest of us have them,” Elizabeth commented, throwing her hand up to show that she had matching nails with Negan and Daisy. “So you have to do it too.”

“Yeah Y/N, you just have to do it,” Negan explained with a smirk, adjusting his thick black framed glasses over his face. Seeing the smile that he gave you drew your heart to flutter inside of your chest and you smiled.

“Of course girls,” you held out your hands for the girls while they eagerly put you where they needed you to start painting your nails. “You know, after this Daisy we are probably going to have to head back to your grandparents home. We’ve been with Negan and Elizabeth all day. They probably want to get going to bed so that way Santa can make it to their house.”

“Oh, come on mom,” Daisy frowned, her head lifting up dramatically when she looked out at you with her big eyes. The pout she gave you showed that she wasn’t ready to leave. “Can’t we just spend the night here? It’s already late. We’re in our pajamas and it’s nice here.”

“But what about the gifts that Santa will be bringing you at your grandparents?” you reminded your daughter of the gifts that she would be getting, but it didn’t seem like that bothered her all that much. “I don’t know if Negan and Elizabeth would be okay with us staying here on Christmas.”

“Of course I would be okay with that!” Elizabeth boasted, her dimples prominent much like her father’s while Negan looked between all of you with his expressive eyebrows. “I love spending time with you and Daisy. I think dad likes it too.”

“Oh?” you looked to Negan and a tiny smirk tugged at his handsome features. With a simple shrug, Negan nodded his head hearing the girls begging soon after. “That’s up to Negan. Santa probably wont know you’re here though because we didn’t let him know ahead of time.”

“Oh, I think Santa will know. He’ll bring her a few things,” Negan declared, shocking you with that comment. Looking to him, you could see the way his jaw clenched and he nodded his head. “The rest of your stuff will be at your grandparents, but I think he might leave a few presents for you here.”

“Really?” Daisy seemed excited to hear that as they finished up with Y/N’s nails. “Does that mean that we can stay?”

“I’m okay with that,” Negan answered with the excitement from the girls following. “You two just have to make sure you go to bed tonight though. You don’t want to be up and scare off Santa. Do you?”

“Of course not,” Elizabeth answered her father, hopping up from the ground to run into her father’s arms. Her bear hug caused Negan to let out a happy sound and he peppered kisses against the side of her face. Negan stroked his fingers through Elizabeth’s blonde hair and his hazel eyes hooked with yours. “I promise we will be good. And in the morning, you can make us your special Christmas pancakes.”

“Special Christmas pancakes?” Daisy muttered with interest behind her eyes. “What’s that?”

“Daddy makes the best reindeer pancakes. It was something him and my mom started when I was younger,” Elizabeth explained to your daughter, her green eyes glistening amongst the lights that Negan had set up in his living room. “They’ve always been my favorite.”

“Oh! That sounds good,” Daisy almost bounced with excitement looking to you, reaching for your hands to squeeze over them. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

“It sounds great,” you agreed with your daughter, a weak smile expanding over your features. This was the first Christmas where Daisy looked forward to everything that was going on. “Why don’t you finish up your hot chocolate and then we can get the two of you to bed?”

“Okay,” Daisy eagerly got up from the floor and went to the kitchen where the mug Negan had gotten for her was to drink her hot chocolate. Elizabeth followed her to do the same and you looked to Negan.

“I’ll explain everything when they are in bed,” Negan whispered, reaching out to place his hand in over your knee to give it a firm squeeze. Getting up from the ground, Negan held his hand out to help you stand up from the ground. When he pulled you up, it had you stumbling in closer to his chest. Wrapping his arms loosely around you, Negan snickered and shook his head. “I know you’re falling for me, but this is ridiculous.”

“What?” you exhaled loudly, a tiny laugh falling from your throat. Negan’s right eyebrow arched up, his head tipping to the side while he gazed you over. With a smirk, he shook his head and released you, but you could tell that a warmth had flooded into your face.

He wasn’t wrong. How couldn’t you fall for Negan? After the way he immediately took on your daughter and how good he was with you, it would have been pretty damn hard NOT to fall in love with him. Instead of approaching the subject, Negan went over to the girls to talk to them.

“Alright girls,” Negan grunted, lowering down to wrap his arms around both of them carrying each one of them under his arms. Both girls started giggling while Negan carried them down the hallway toward Elizabeth’s room. Following them, you stopped to watch from the doorway as Negan put the two girls to bed, tucking them in. “Now no funny stuff. You know the deal about tonight. Santa is coming and we all need to go to bed or else he won’t show up.”

“You know, I was thinking,” Elizabeth began, her big eyes staring out at Negan when he reached out to brush his fingers through her hair. “Maybe Santa can make all of us a family this year. This is the first time we’ve been happy since mom passed away.”

“I’d love to have Elizabeth as my sister,” Daisy boasted, gazing out at you and it made a nervous laugh fall from your throat when Negan looked back at you. “And Negan would be great to have as a dad. “

“And you’d be a great mom,” Elizabeth noted causing you to walk into the room and kneel down beside Negan who was smiling. “What do you think?”

“You really like it here, don’t you?” you wondered eliciting an immediate nod and smile from Daisy’s lips.

“And we really love you here,” Negan piped in, his deep voice drawing a chill down your spine. “Elizabeth isn’t wrong. This is the nicest Christmas we’ve had since we lost Lucille. I know it’s been a rough move for both you and Daisy, but we’ve enjoyed having you around.”

“We’ll have to see then,” you noticed the way that Negan’s long eyelashes fluttered. “Santa is very capable of a lot of magic. So you never know what will happen.”

“Better get to sleep,” Negan instructed both of them. He leaned down to press a kiss over Elizabeth’s temple while you did the same with Daisy. “I love you sweetheart.”

“I love you too daddy,” Elizabeth brushed her fingers down over the side of her father’s features. It was amazing to see how good of a father Negan turned out to be because you were so used to someone like Shane that you didn’t know if father’s like Negan were even something that were real.

“See you in the morning girls,” you stood up and followed Negan toward the door hearing the girls giggling when they whispered about things. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight mommy,” Daisy called out with a big yawn while getting more comfortable in the bed. Negan turned the light off and closed the door leaving the two of you standing together in the hallway alone.

“Come here,” Negan reached for your hand which you happily accepted, enjoying the warmth his body radiated when he led you toward the kitchen. Motioning you to wait, Negan grabbed two glasses and headed for the fridge. Pulling out the eggnog, he poured some of it into the cups before digging around in another cabinet. When he revealed the bottle of brandy in his hands, you let out an amused sound. “I think the adults have been adulting long enough, don’t you?”

“Should Santa really be drinking on the job?” you inquired in a teasing fashion when he poured some of the alcohol into the eggnog.

“You’d be surprised the things Santa is capable of,” Negan returned both the alcohol and the eggnog to the places they belonged. Grabbing something to mix the drinks, Negan finished up and grabbed the glasses. Handing one to you, he stepped before you and offered up one of his cheesy big smiles. It made you laugh when you accepted the drink. “Are you okay being stuck here for the night?”

“Stuck?” you repeated the word with a huff, taking a sip of the drink he gave you. “Not exactly how I would explain how I feel about being here. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Negan slurred, his eyebrows bouncing up after he drank down some of his eggnog. “How would you explain it then?”

“Like home,” you whispered, seeing the expression in his features changing when you muttered those words. “I can’t explain it, but every time Daisy and I are here everything feels like it is meant to. I thought coming home would be miserable, but since the first day having you and Elizabeth show up in our lives has been one of the best things we could have asked for. You helped me with Daisy. She was so lost, but with you and your daughter, she’s happy. Happier than I ever saw her when we were with Shane. Christmas was not special back when we were with Shane. It was just another day, but with you? You’ve made it something amazing. And you’ve been so good to her. Better than Shane ever was. You can tell that she’s latched onto you.”

“Because she deserves nothing but the best, and so do you,” Negan reminded her with a sincerity behind his hazel eyes. “Which leads me to the whole Santa thing. I got Daisy some presents since she’s been here so much. I thought it would be nice for her to have some things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you finished up with your drink, going over to place the glass in the sink. Negan finished off his drink and moved in beside you.

“I wanted to,” Negan responded, setting his glass next to yours and you turned to face him. There wasn’t much space between the two of you when you cleared your throat.

“Negan, I’m sorry,” you breathed out when you thought about your past together. Your comment made Negan’s head tip to the side and you frowned. “The two of us were so close when we were younger. And then Shane showed up in my life and I just ignored everything between us.”

“Oh,” Negan’s eyebrows bounced up, his hands pressing over the edge of the counter trapping you between his arms while he stared down at you. “It did suck a little bit back then. I was head over heels in love with you, you know that?”

“Really?” you stammered, noticing the way that Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his throat. “But what about Lucille?”

“Lucille showed up junior year when you had already ditched me. I don’t regret Lucille. I loved her so fucking much,” Negan claimed with a firm nod of his head, “but I do know that growing up, I always thought I was going to sweep you off your feet and marry you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you wondered, feeling your throat tightening up when you thought about your past together as teenagers.

“I’m a guy?” Negan shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head about. “When Shane showed up, I just assumed you were more so into football players than you were baseball or basketball players.”

“That wasn’t…I didn’t,” you stammered, finding your thoughts twisted up when Negan hushed you. “I’m so sorry. I wish I would have realized back then how things were because you are so…amazing.”

“Things happened for a reason,” Negan assured you, lifting his right hand to drag his fingers down over the side of your face. Sweeping his thumb over your jawline had a chill flooding down your spine with the warmth of his breath over your lips. “We have two beautiful girls and we would have never had them if we would have realized things sooner. You’re here now.”

“And you still feel the same way?” you inquired seeing the awe in Negan’s eyes when he softly chuckled and nodded his head. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Negan repeated, lowering down enough to capture your lips in a tender caress. It had you tipping up on your toes toward him with his other arm loosely wrapping around your waist. The taste of the eggnog and alcohol lingered on your lips, but you didn’t mind it. Leaning back, Negan’s eyelashes fluttered and charming smile expanded over his handsome features. “You are so beautiful. You know that?”

“So are you,” you circled your fingers over the area where the button was undone on Negan’s pajamas. It made both of you chuckled before Negan grabbed your hand to lead you back toward the living room. Watching with confusion, you saw Negan laying out a blanket before the fire on the floor. “What’s this?”

“Patience,” he responded with a huff, grabbing two of the pillows from the couch and setting them down on the floor. Urging you toward him, he lowered down onto his knees and you followed suit. Laying down on the floor beside the fire, you laid beside Negan cuddling next to him when you got comfortable. Pulling the other blanket he had in over the both of you, he sighed and nuzzled his nose in against your head. “What would you say if I said I want to have you in my life? Like, officially. Not like marriage, immediately. But like dating? I really like spending time with you and being with your daughter. I haven’t dated in a very long time, but I thought…”

Lifting your fingers up, you placed them over Negan’s lips to hear his words come to a halt, “I would say yes.”

A faint kiss was brushed against your fingers before you crawled in over Negan to bring your lips together in a tender sweep. Over and over again the two of you kissed before the fire, each kiss growing in strength.

“You think the girls are asleep?” Negan inquired, listening carefully with his lips parted showing that his breathing was heavy. After taking a minute, you nodded your head and Negan frowned. “Are you sure you want to be doing this with a man who has his nails painted?”

“That makes me want to do that all the more,” you reached for his hand to bring it up to your lips to pepper it with kisses. Snorting out, Negan curled his fingers around the back of your neck to lead you to him. Claiming your lips with his, he carefully rolled you over onto your back and crawled in over you. Plucking open the buttons on the shirt of his pajama shirt had him tremoring over you. Once you had the material separated, you caressed your hands up and over the lengths of his torso, teasing your fingers through the dark hair that covered his flesh. “Can you be quiet?”

“Of course,” Negan hummed, looking down when you dipped your fingers beneath the material of his pajama pants. With a groan, Negan’s eyes fluttered to a close when you wrapped your palm around his manhood, stroking over his flesh in unhurried strokes. “Can you be quiet?”

“Tonight I can be,” you tipped up to kiss over Negan’s jawline hearing him releasing a moan, his fingers dragging down over your sides. Bracing himself, Negan pulled apart the buttons of the pajama shirt you were wearing getting the material separated before getting to his knees. Hooking his fingers into the pajama pants and your panties, he set them beside you and moved in over you after pulling them down your legs. With Negan over you, the skin-to-skin contact felt amazing along with the warmth of the fireplace beside you and it made you tip your head back. Pushing your fingers into the back of Negan’s pants, you managed to get them down far enough seeing that his eyelids grew heavy with want while he stared down at you. Making sure the blankets were over the both of you, Negan got comfortable between your thighs and adjusted his body weight.

“Look at me,” Negan instructed, reaching down with his right hand leading himself to your body. With a soft roll of his hips, Negan was inside of you drawing your hips to arch up toward him. Taking his time to let you get used to him, Negan laid over you and stroked his fingers over the side of your face. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

Taking his time, Negan started to thrust into you, his body’s movements unrushed while he wanted to focus on every part of you. Every so often, you would have to bring his lips to yours to keep you both from making a sound, but it was a romantic moment that one could only dream of having in a romance film. Every movement, every touch, every kiss was meticulous and passionate. It was something you weren’t used to, but you were loving every second of it.

This was a buildup of time and you found yourself thankful that you were able to find Negan again. Now that you were together again, you weren’t ready to separate from him. This was too good to be true, but this was real and you were going to cherish every second of it.

After everything was said and done, you laid with your head over Negan’s chest listening to the sound of his heart beating. Tracing shapes over Negan’s flesh, you couldn’t help but find happiness in this moment.

“I know we have to, but I never want to leave this place,” you declared hearing his raspy laugh follow. Negan pressed a kiss over your head before cuddling you in closer to him. “I love you Negan.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear that since I was eight years old,” Negan stated with a laugh drawing you to lift up to stare out at him. Sucking at his bottom lip, Negan nodded and let out a sigh. “I love you too. You’re the best Christmas present I’ve had in years.”

“And you won’t want to return me after Christmas?” you confirmed eliciting a groan from his lips and he rolled his eyes. “I’m just making sure.”

“No, I like this gift. Very much,” Negan assured you, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip and he couldn’t help but smile. “And I’m not going to give you up. You’re mine now. For good. As long as you’ll have me and my family.”

“I couldn’t think of something I want more,” you whispered, meeting his lips in another kiss. It made Negan bob his head about after you pulled away, his smile contagious. “We’re going to have to get moving soon so Santa can get the presents under that tree.”

“Santa can wait a little while longer,” Negan hushed, pulling you to him again. “I want to hold you for a little while longer. And then Santa can do whatever he wants.”  

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor​ @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams  @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny​ @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl @xsarcasticwriterx​ ​ @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost​ @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight  @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „  LOVER, LOVER

tw. noncon, somno, implied size kink, praise, possessiveness, panty stealing, breeding, thoughts of violence, unreliable narrator, yandere esque wordcount. 4.8k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by a follower who i'm so very grateful for ♡ thank you thank you thank you for the commission!!! clingy bokuto is just such a joy, i love him so much and i hope you do tooooo!! i really hope you like where i've taken your idea and that you enjoy reading my love! ♡♡♡ and ty ty ty to rhi and yuli beta-ing!

bokuto koutaro x fem!reader

There’s a little glimmer in Konoha’s eyes— but he’s quick to swallow his laugh. “So you’re telling me there’s no you and Bo?” he confirms, thin brow raising high on his visage to almost comical effect. 

“There’s no me and Bo!” you quickly say back, trying not to laugh too when the gray haired man’s pretty eyes flick up to meet you. Bokuto’s talking, his loud voice raising the energy in the room to a peak, and you happily watch how he lights up everything around you. There’s so much happiness in his smile, and the way he carries himself, but it’s unmatched by the way he looks when he’s looking at you.

It’s only when you feel the full force of Bokuto Koutaro that you can truly, deeply appreciate him. And the force of nature he becomes when he’s in his element.

“I love him like a friend! But… I’m happy right now. I don’t want to ruin an amazing friendship for something more.” You admit it all while watching him wave his hands around while talking, brighter than anything else in the room. “He knows! I’ve told him.” As if always sensing your eyes on him, he stares back at you for a second, before his cheeks pull up even more and he scrunches his nose your way. And the ashy blond by your side slowly takes a sip from his drink, until you look back at him.

“Did Bokuto retain that info? Because…” he trails off, and shakes his head. You continue to look at your mutual friend for what feels like a while, as he slurps the coke through his straw with an unneeded amount of noise.

+

“Thank you so much,” your voice barely travels loud enough for the bartender to smile, watching you carry the plate all the way towards the table. Koutaro had thrown the biggest fuss when you so much as suggested staying home tonight, and- you don’t often have the heart to tell him no. Your best friend is splayed out in dramatic fashion over the tables of your booth by the time you make it back— full ‘woe is me’ as he’s about to break the tables under his weight. Something Akaashi is clearly doing his best to avoid, with the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the furniture as he sends you a desperate glance.

“Bo, you’re going to break it,” you just give them a little shake of your head, but it’s enough to have the silver haired giant perking up and looking over his shoulder for you. It’s a surprise even to you that he even heard you over the noise— less of a surprise when he’s picking the plate out of your hands before you can place it down and shoves the thing in front of Atsumu’s nose, and grabs your arm to pull you into his side.

“There’s my favorite girl! Don’t run off without me, I miss you,” he pouts down your way, and you can’t help but wonder how it’s possible that a muscled, grown man like Bokuto is as childishly needy as he is tall. And he is very tall. Despite it though, you’ve only ever known him to be gentle and kind to everyone and everything, a bundle of sunshine on two very muscular legs, and a massive pushover for- well, you. You met Bokuto when you got paired up with Akaashi on a final project— stressed to hell under last year of high school pressure. Keiji was the hardworking, quiet type; and finding Bokuto attached to your hip afterwards was just kind of par for the course.

It didn’t shock you when the light-haired, boyish extrovert took a liking to you— as the type of guy to see the good in everyone. It does still shock you a little that years later, he’s the one claiming the title of your best friend. Even with all the unbridled chaos he carries with him. The -lock pinkies and tell secrets in the dark- type best friend.

Atsumu takes a quick glance your way before holding out a shot toward you, and grins. “Yer goin’ first, aintcha? How’s about ya try outdoin’ Bokkun or Omi Omi for once. C’mere, I’ll make sure ya don’t have to hang out with that sap all night.” It’s just a joke, you know Atsumu well enough by now to know so, but an arm tightens around your waist.

Koutaro’s leaning into your body but staring down at his years-long teammate with a silence uncharacteristic of the tall spiker. His big eyes narrow the slightest bit as the uncomfortable void grows thick. Atsumu isn't even looking, already prompting others to take their own shots in the short time it took for him to get more than tipsy, with a healthy flush and lidded eyes. But you are looking, and it’s strange enough for you to give him a questioning frown over your shoulder.

“Bo?” He doesn’t say anything. “Earth to Bokuto?” you try again, attempting to laugh it off. There’s a thoughtful sort of glaze over his eyes before he grabs your cheeks in his hand and makes you look up at him.

Bokuto’s always been touchy. It’s a fact you had to get used to extremely quickly, when on only your third time meeting, he’d flung his arms over your shoulders and kissed you, backing you against a wall right in the middle of the very busy halls. It had taken Akaashi a lot of back and forth explaining to fix that one, but you like to think you became better friends despite it all. It was forgiven a long time ago. But the way he holds you now, no enthusiasm boiling over, or as much as a smile, feels off. “Don’t listen to him. Don’t drink like that tonight.” The serious tone in his voice throws you off even more, and you roll your eyes.

“Why not? It’s the weekend- We’re with friends.” Whatever he hears in your voice makes his brows tense more. And it makes you mutter softer, “Neither of us are driving either.”

He licks his lips with a strange sort of disdain. You can’t quite place where you’ve seen this version of Bokuto before, but it makes you feel a bit apprehensive, and you say his name again. This time he nods, and even puts on a smile; though it doesn’t reach past his cheeks. “Why get wasted when we can do that any other time, though? I wanna have a good time with you. And I can’t enjoy myself when I constantly have to search the dance floor for you- or check which freak is hitting on you, or trying to do something— You know you become so defenseless.” His voice gets pouty and exasperated quick, and you know he probably doesn’t get that what he’s saying might be hurtful.

It’s fine. This is Bokuto Koutaro, the guy who spent three whole years using every single free opportunity to impress you with his thoughtfulness, and to get you to admit he really was ‘your favorite person’. Even kittens have their claws, so it’s fine. “I’m not planning on getting wasted— and even if I did, I’m a grown woman.” He opens his mouth to talk more, but you’re quick to cut him off by taking his hand and squeezing his fingers with a softer sigh. “I appreciate your worry, Bo, but I’m allowed to have fun.” You expect that to be the end of it.

Bokuto is good at pushing boundaries, but he’s also softer with you. Always was so willing to listen. So you are more than a little shocked when he doesn’t settle down, getting more up into your face instead by staring down with a scorching fire in his eyes.

“No, you can’t. Not when they’re around,” Koutaro harshly replies, low in volume. You slowly brush his hand away to look back at Atsumu for support. The blond surely didn’t hear what was just said, but you’re not sure you’re comfortable with what it’s implying. If it’s implying anything at all— and you look back at your friend with more confusion. But before you have the chance to ask, Kuroo Tetsuro, mutual high school acquaintance and ever the disrupter of the peace, chimes in with a loud cheer and swoops you up into his arms to slam two whole shots down before you with a grin.

“Chug ‘em, or you have to get up on stage with me.” Bokuto’s face fades from your view with Kuroo’s exuberance, the light in his tone instantly calming your anxiety. You don’t want to fight with your best friend over nothing, your thoughts quickly chant, and Kuroo’s a great way to pick your mood back up. “That strip pole is calling our names.” You snort as he slides the glasses even closer, dragging out the scraping noise, and forget about the weird interaction almost as soon as it came.

+

You’re just being friendly. Bokuto knows this, knows you’re inherently, deeply wired with the ability to make it seem like the person you’re talking to is the most interesting thing you’ve laid eyes on all day. And sure, it definitely wasn’t the first thing he noticed— that probably would have been the way your eyes glistened like two fire beacons with those long, long lashes aimed at him, and then your fine fucking body; he’s a healthy, young-blooded man after all —but it was definitely a prominent factor. Despite your quiet, reserved nature, he’d been glowing coming off of the first time talking to you, like everything he was saying was just so… interesting.

It’s a stretch to call you naïve, because you’re not. You’re smart, like Akaashi is, and you managed to pull the two of them through the disaster of a final assignment upon just meeting them. But there’s something in your smile, in the way you look at the world through wide, inviting eyes that seems to beg for his attention. It makes him want to squeeze you and never let you go, if he’s being honest. He knows he’s supposed to take it slower, knows that for all your kindness, you’re not one to rush into things.

But he’s been more than patient in his eyes, and because of it, you’re now staring up at Kuroo with those pretty giggles and nods that sure as fuck made him fall head over heels for you. He’s not unreasonable. He cares about you enough to allow his friends to get near. He’s trying, truly! But Kuroo’s arm around your waist is a bit too much, blood boiling as he balls his fists so tight his knuckles turn white. The instinct to land his fist straight into Kuroo’s teeth is pushed down with a deep breath, before he wipes those sweaty palms on his pants and makes his way to you with a plastered-on smile. It falters only a little when you look up as he calls your name, and it makes his stomach tie into tight knots.

You’re so fucking good, so pretty, so— perfect; it’s really no wonder everyone else tries to cut in. If he didn’t always feel like his heart was about to swallow him up, he’d understand. You’re magnetic, a vision of his future. If he loved you any less, he might’ve already beaten Kuroo’s face bloody. He likes the guy a whole bunch, but not enough to give you up. He can only dream that you feel the same.

That you think of him when you fall asleep, when you wake up, when you glide your dainty hand into your panties and rub— “Hey, Bo,” you smile at him, before giving him a poke in the chest. It’s an adorable display of how drunk you’re getting, and he has to fight back the glare he longs to send Kuroo for getting you this far in the first place. What if he wasn’t around, if he was preoccupied and hadn’t been watching you like a hawk all evening? But then you lean in a little grin. “Came to find me?”

Of course he did, his mind chants while taking your hand in his, he’d fucking chain himself to your side if you’d allow it. He doesn’t need to say that for it to be clear to anyone watching, right? You’re teasing. So he just pats your head, and pushes himself between you and Kuroo against the wall. “You ran off without me,” his pout is back, and you give a soft ‘sorry’.

“I was going to give ‘er back, Bo,” Kuroo chants to his side, but he doesn’t waste a second looking over. If he does, he still might plant his fist into his face— and you’d get upset with him. And he’d rather hurt anyone who so much as looks at you and then himself than have you upset with him; he really does love you a whole lot, you know? There’s other ways to get you out of here— and you are so very sweet to him when he plays it off. Something about a taxi and an incoming storm is enough to have you collecting your stuff and waving everyone goodnight, letting Kuroo squeeze you in a hug much too long for his liking.

He must show it on his face, because Akaashi’s dark, questioning eyes meet his; and he takes that as the sign to get out of there. He’s getting antsier by the second. And can’t help but get handsy, wrapping his arm around your waist as soon as Kuroo’s releasing you. He bumps his friend aside and smiles over his shoulder without the slightest bit of regret. “G’night, guys!” You don’t get to say bye, and that’s just fine by him. The way he has to hold you up a little to get into the taxi is too, preferable even. 

He’s so glad you’re just a little thing, really. Every part of him shows you up size-wise, and selfishly, it makes him think that he was really made for you. To protect you, hold you close. Shelter you under his body when the first drips become a full on shower. He thanks whatever deity it is that starts the downpour then, because a few raindrops run down your lashes and the tip of your nose when you look up at him getting under the overhang. He’s getting too excited, it rolls in waves off of him until he can barely contain himself. You look like everything he’s ever wanted— fuck, and how you smile at him. His hands are itching to push you up against a wall and kiss you until you’re crying out his name, maybe hike your legs up onto his shoulders.

You don’t seem the exhibitionism type, but then again— he doesn’t think you’d fight him on it. Would you? But he holds it in, and waits for you to get out from under the umbrella created by his arms. “Come on in. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to let you head home like this,” you breathe out with a sniffle, pushing at the door to your apartment. You go find some towels, leaving him in the middle of your house with adrenaline running through his veins. Now, he might not be the brightest, but this is an opening, isn’t it?

Akaashi said something about boundaries, and all he can think is that if you’re letting him into your house without a second thought, something must’ve changed. It must’ve. You might’ve turned him down once that while ago, when he was claiming your mouth in the hall— but that was then, and you both are older now, closer. He can’t help but snoop as you search through some back closet for spare clothing; entering the dark bathroom with a little sigh. Like he expected, your products are neatly displayed in the cabinet, hand towels freshly washed and folded, everything seeming more like a hotel than a house. His eyes land on the basket next to the bathtub, and a hot shiver runs up his spine.

Some lacy, frilly panties are just visible sticking out next to the sweater he met you in this morning— going tingly and burning all over his skin. He already can’t help but imagine you bouncing on his cock and tearing up at the stretch when you pout; knowing that this was underneath it is enough to set him up in flames. He glances over his shoulder, before quickly picking out the panties and bringing them up to his face. It smells of feminine products and laundry soap, but there’s a musk that's unmistakably you, and his cock twitches hard in his pants. You wore these for him, didn’t you? He feels himself chub up more the longer his thoughts wander—longing to just wrap the panties around his fist and fuck into them.

But your steps are returning, so he pockets the lingerie with quick hands and puts on his best smile. You peek your head into the door after knocking, cheeks a little shiny and warm as you hand him a towel and some fresh clothing. Big… clothing— that most definitely isn’t yours. It’s fine though, he bites through the sting in his soul, you can’t know how much he adores you, and loves you, and needs you all to himself. He hasn’t exactly made it clear, and you’re also unaware of just how fucking attractive you are, right? “It doesn’t look like it’ll clear up any time soon.” Your smile is gentle when you nod. “So you can stay over if you want to. I don’t mind!”

God, he could kiss you stupid. 

His hands are restless by the time the lights are all off, tossing and turning every second longer he has to remain on the extra mattress. Don’t you have any idea of how crazy you’ve made him now walking around in your short, loose fitting pajamas? It’s a domestic dream, and you’re front, center and back in every single thought. As he lays in the silence, there’s the soft sound of your chest rising and falling, of breaths softly slipping out of you— and for the nth time this night Bokuto has to admit to himself that he’s so in love with you it’s making him feel a bit sick.

You didn’t exactly make things easy on him. He still remembers calling up Akaashi every night for weeks after you rejected his advances, when you were struggling to meet his eyes after. And sure, he’d been a bit too enthusiastic. He knows that now, knows he scared you away; you’re shy, he understands. But this time is different. This time he’ll do it right. He sits up on the bed, can see how you’re slumped into the pillow. He could eat you up with how fucking cute you are. But he’s still careful as he calls your name, twice, before slowly getting onto the bed. You barely move, letting out just the faintest breath.

And Bokuto can’t help himself, he’s already leaning in to brush his thumb over your pouty lips. It’s not bad to look. He’s allowed to look. He does that all day already, studies your face like you’re his own personal universe. You would too, if you saw what he sees. Of course, it is a little different, because his cock is straining against the confines of his boxers every second longer he’s touching your soft skin, close enough to place a kiss on the tip of your nose. You breathe out, and he can almost convince himself it’s a moan. It’s enough to have him gripping himself through his shorts and biting his lip, hard. “God, f-fuck, baby.”

He nudges your head a little closer to him, and before he knows it, he's kissing you. There’s so much he wants to tell you— spill all of his love onto you without stopping, but he figures there will be time for that later. He holds himself over you into the kiss, chest heaving and foot tapping nervously up and down. His tongue swipes over yours, claiming you once again, and moaning into it when a little puff of air dusts over his skin. Could you be any cuter, any hotter? Even asleep you’re making him so hard it hurts, one hand moving down to squeeze his balls. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it, and he chuckles into your mouth when you move under him a little. “Sorry, I’ve just wanted you for so long,” he admits, pulls back and lines your neck with kisses too.

All the while your lids stay shut, and he’s careful to untie the front of your pajamas with the softest motions he can manage. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby, I swear. Give you everything.” As he trails his fingers down your body, you wiggle aside a bit, but not enough to escape his now greedy fingers. His cock bops between his thighs when he lands between your legs, and ever so patiently pulls the shorts down the softness of your thighs, swallowing through the tightness in his throat. “Oh, shit—fuck.” You’re perfect, and a shiver goes down his spine at the idea he might be a tight fit.

He can’t help it, he’s already dipping to kiss down your pussy, rubbing you up and down with first one finger, then two. You definitely moan though when he lays a lick on your covered clit and sucks it from the hood, his hips rutting against the bed with a low, rumbling whine. Precum is making his boxers stick to the head of his cock, but he’s much too preoccupied lapping up your folds and making them all messy and wet with his enthusiasm. He’s basically shaking, but how can he not be? He’s been picturing this for fucking years. Through every date, every hookup he’s had— you’d laugh if you knew.

He sucks harder, and slides his long fingers inside you to stretch the clenching, soft walls of your pussy apart; and fucks slowly into the soft of the pillows until that turns too excruchiating to continue. So instead he shoves his boxers out the way and takes the time to fully peel your panties off your legs, then places them apart. His cock is rock hard, flushed and throbbing an angry shade of red at having to wait, before he wraps his hand around himself and allows a few lazy pumps. Just enough for a clear drop of pre to bead at the tip before he’s lifting up your one thigh over his and lining up.

Your pussy is so hot, wet by his doing, and your face scrunched up just the slightest bit. It’s agony, really, baby. His thoughts are barely a strung together mess as the head of his cock slides between your bottom lips, neck and back tight from the adrenaline. This is what you do to him. Every night. He’s gonna cum if he keeps going— and he can’t, he can’t do that to you, not when he’s been dreaming of having you for so fucking long. But leaning down to kiss you doesn’t help, and you let out the prettiest whine when he starts pushing into you.

His breathing speeds up, sweat collecting on his brow. “Oh, baby. Baby, I—  fuck, I wanna go slow,” he moans back against your mouth, tasting your tongue, grabbing your tits with one hand. Everything’s fuzzy. But once the head pops in, it’s like a whole other world. You’re so fucking hot, pussy so soft and sucking him in like he belongs there— any thought of taking his time is gone. It’s impossible, his hips start pushing and pushing until he’s bottoming out and your slick, gushing pushy squelches when he pulls back. You’re godly. He clamps a hand down over your neck to keep you from bouncing too much as he pushes back in and drives himself as deep as he can go.

And back out, and then you’re making more noise. “Hmm-ugh?” Your face scrunches up hard when he fucks back into you, driving you open so deep he can feel where he’s hitting in your tummy, and moan long and high. “Ah—agh, Kou? Boku- to, wh—” you struggle to regain your consciousness when he pushes your knees back to your chest and uses his body to fuck even deeper, deeper— clenching around him so tight it’s making him lightheaded.

“I know, baby, I know. S’gonna feel good, I swear,” he’s clenching his teeth together so hard it hurts watching his fat cock push into your tight, little cunt again and again and again, watching slick gush out around his length. He can tell by your strained expression that whatever is going on in your brain is outnumbered by the way he’s pawing at your tits, or bumping his pelvis against that puffy nub.

And you do manage a stuttered, “Bokuto, s-stop,” but it’s hardly anything to be concerned about when you squeal and tear up at the circles he rubs into your clit. “What’re y’ doin, Bo?” Your tears bead so prettily at your lash line. Your body shudders under his when he raises a leg and uses it to fuck into you faster, driving the air out of you with each wet ‘pap’ of skin meeting skin. His balls hit your ass each time he bottoms out, and make his cock feel like it’s going to explode, but he couldn’t stop if he tried. With your brows screwed together and your face all hot and cheeks glossy, it’s hard to think of anything other than fucking you full of his cum.

Of bouncing you on his cock until you’re crying out for him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you so much, ‘m almost there.” He wants to give you everything— fucks deep and hard like maybe that’ll convey his thoughts better. He’s just not that good with words, you see, he’s tried and failed that so many times. But this, rutting into you like your pussy is his personal heaven; and that’s what it is— it leaves you breathless and reaching to dig your nails into his shoulder. He moans and grunts, whispering your name, fucking into your warm clutch until his balls pull tight and his thighs start aching. “Gonna cum, angel. Gonna fuck y’full- you like that, right? You want it?”

He’s rambling out without any collected thoughts, just focussed on watching as you suddenly pull tight like a bow and unravel before him, trying and failing to push his hand from between your legs. “Ohh-fuck— ugh-fuckk~” You cum with an adorable, little whine that makes it impossible for him to hold it any longer. He slumps over you as cum spurts into you, emptying his balls in your tight, little pussy until every last drop is inside. When he pulls back, his hot, white cum runs out like you’ve been entirely fucked full of him— and it makes his tongue drop out to lean in and kiss your cunny until he dies between your legs.

He could go happy, you know? But as he tries to hike your thighs over his shoulders, you must finally regain some of your situational awareness, because you’re placing a foot to his shoulder and pushing him away from you with wide eyes and tears running down your cheeks. “What are you doing, Bokuto? Wh- I- why would you—”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he’s instantly cooing, grabbing your ankles and keeping you in place despite your struggling. It’s so cute, but you don’t have to be scared of him. He adores you, baby— wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Everyone else, but never you. “I’ve got you, don’t freak out.” He allows himself to snuggle up to your body, pulling you in nice and close despite the way you’re glaring through your tears. It’s the stress talking, of course, but you’ll be fine. He’ll make sure of it. “You want to come again?”

“No,” you instantly snap, and though you’re pushing at his chest, it’s so easy to keep you nice and warm pinned between his strong arms and chest. You huff a little, and look between his face and your bodies, before breathing out sharply. “Bokuto, please, I—”

“Stop wiggling, baby,” his voice comes out a little too low and sharp for his liking. “Just lay here with me for a bit. And then in a second, I’ll help you clean up, and make you something warm to drink. The whole nine yards, I promise.” He’s smiling, so fucking wide it’s making his cheeks ache. But he can’t help it, you see? You’re such a dream. “I’m so happy, baby. So, so happy, you have no idea.”

As he squeezes a little more, kinda, sorta forcing your face to rest against his collarbones; you finally stop pushing back against him, and let out a soft whimper of his name. “You’re my favorite person in the world, y’know that? I know I say it a lot, but— I really do mean it.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2022. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[redladydeath]

Okay, so last night I decided I wanted to do something with Vox and body horror and this story concept ended up manifesting in my brain. Massive CW for psychosis that's not actually psychosis, as well as self-harm and body horror.

Vox and Alastor meet in the 1940s while they're both doing electrical engineering work for the war effort. Vox is only 22, so he falls fast and hard for Alastor, who decides to use the younger man's infatuation with him to his advantage. One night while they're out drinking, Alastor convinces Vox to make a blood oath with him. He tells him it's just symbolic, but in reality, there's magic involved; if Alastor kills him, he'll get all the years Vox was supposed to live added to his own lifespan, which is dwindling. He lures Vox into the woods and tries to murder him, but is shot by a hunter who happens upon the struggle. Vox nearly loses an eye, but survives the encounter and is able to go on with his life, albeit with some pretty intense trauma.

Twenty years later, it's the 1960s. Vox has been a successful television presenter for 10~15 years now. He's rich and is married with children, but is less than an ideal husband/father. When he's not at work, he's usually with Valentino, a young male prostitute who he's been having a secret affair with for the past year or two. The two of them are currently somewhere between a sugar daddy/baby arrangement and a legit relationship. Vox is overall pretty content with his life and hasn't thought about Alastor in years. That is, until he starts feeling everything change.

At first, it seems like it's just a bad cold; his joints are stiff and he has the chills constantly, but that's nothing too unusual and he continues going about his daily life. But then the delusions start. Vox begins hearing strange things whenever a radio is on– words and phrases that shouldn't be coming out of it, said in a familiar tone of voice. He starts seeing shadows moving just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look at them, they're gone. When Vox looks in the mirror or watches clips from his show, there's something different– uncanny– about his own eyes that make him feel like he's looking at a stranger. It must be stress, he thinks; he's been working himself too hard.

But things only get worse. Vox's body is stiff and jerky and cold– suddenly very cold to the touch, although no one other than Vox can feel it. Food and drink and cigarettes lose their taste. His emotions feel muted– all except fear. He starts hearing this loud, irritating humming when he's in the studio and it makes it hard for him to work. People are starting to get worried. He's acting erratically, asking if they can hear or feel things that simply aren't there. His wife thinks he's building towards a nervous breakdown, but Vox knows that's not true. Something's happening to him, something no one can perceive but him.

Things continue to deteriorate. Vox thinks he can hear metal creaking when he moves. His face won't show up on camera anymore; the footage always ends up damaged somehow for reasons no one can explain. He smashes the family radio in front of his kids when he clearly hears Alastor's voice coming out of it, taunting him. He asks Valentino, who hasn't even been to church in the past decade, to connect him to his childhood priest because he thinks he's being possessed and wants an exorcism— if the Protestant God won’t help him, maybe the Catholic one will. It still doesn't work.

Things come to a head one night when Vox, desperate to prove to himself and everyone else that he's not crazy, takes a knife and cuts deep into the hand he used to make the pact with Alastor all those years ago. He cuts and cuts and cuts until finally– finally– he sees it: metal and wires and no blood. He was right. He tries to show his wife but only succeeds in scaring her out of her wits. He flees the house and takes the family car: he needs to go see Valentino, show him, ask him for help. He crashes the car into a lamppost while trying to drive with one hand. A cashier working late in a nearby television/radio store tries to help him, bringing him into the store to wait while he calls an ambulance.

When the cashier leaves him alone to go make the call in the backroom, Vox hears it again. He hears Alastor's voice coming out of the radio, telling him that his time is up; he's been living on borrowed (or rather, stolen) time for the past ten years and now it's time to come join him, down where they both belong. Vox can feel his "bones" cracking, his skin stretching and tearing; he can't hear anything except Alastor's voice alongside the blaring static emitting from all the TVs and radios in the store. He's dying he's dying he's dying– until he stumbles into a fusebox and the whole store is engulfed in an electrical fire.

When the firemen dig through the rubble, they never find a human body.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Free Fall

Summary: Tony Stark arranges for an Avengers Teambuilding Day at a local amusement park. Loki had been hoping to avoid it -- he's had enough thrills to last a lifetime, he has no desire to seek out more -- but you and your endearing enthusiasm for roller coasters convince him to come along. However, the free fall drop tower you start out with turns out to be a bit more thrilling than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3,482

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Drags self out of the grave and awkwardly waves

So it's been a minute since I posted lol. Those of you who follow may be aware that I recently graduated from college with the Final Semester From Hell that involved my computer hard drive dying on me in class and causing me to lose not only forty pages of my honors thesis two weeks before it was due, but also almost every WIP I had been working on in the past four years because I am an idiot who chronically forgets to back things up :D I did make it through college, but between stress, burnout, depression, and the death of any motivation to work on anything because of having to restart from the beginning for all of my projects, I went a while without writing anything. But I'm slowly getting back into it -- I have several projects in the works and I'm hoping to get back to posting more regularly. This fic was a short piece that I had started prior to the computer death that I had a lot of physical notes on so they weren't lost when my hard drive decided to yeet itself into the sun. I'm not entirely happy with it, but honestly it feels so good to finally finish something that I don't care.

Anyways, sorry for the obnoxious A/N. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack, a bit of motion sickness?

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :) (I also realize that this taglist is Old so if I need to update it please let me know)

Read it on Ao3!

Standing in the shadow of the great tower, heart thudding in his throat, Loki is suddenly aware that he’s made an enormous mistake.

Next to him, Stark whistles. “This is what you usually start with?”

You grin up at the spire, a massive construction of electric green cutting through the cloudless sky. Two elevators, one on either side, are creeping slowly up the length of the tower. They linger at the top for just a moment before plunging back down to Earth, their occupants screaming. Loki feels ill just watching, but you’re practically vibrating in place. “It’s good to get the blood pumping.”

He can’t bring himself to look at you.

It’s your fault that he’s here. Loki hadn’t planned to come today at all. A day spent outside in the sweltering summer sun, following Stark’s gaggle of misfits onto various machines designed to fling mortals from side to side to simulate the feeling of a near death experience? Loki couldn’t imagine anything more torturous. Thor’s begging and cajoling received nothing in response. No, he hadn’t the slightest intention of coming today, not until last night, when he came across you restocking the main refrigerator.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you had asked as you arranged rows of Red Bull on the top shelf. “I can’t wait to take you guys around Rapid Rails—I’ve been begging Mr. Stark to do a teambuilding day there ever since he hired me.”

Your eagerness caught him off guard— as Stark’s personal assistant, you had been present at all of his godforsaken teambuilding events, but Loki had never known you to be particularly excited about any of them. “I … I wasn’t aware you had such an attachment to it.”

“Oh yeah—I grew up just down the street from there!” You beamed at him, breaking down the cardboard box you had used to carry the cans. “We used to have season passes – they were way cheaper when I was a kid – and we’d just go there to hang out all the time. Gosh it was so fun. And now I get to go for work!” You let out a merry laugh. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Loki huffed a soft chuckle. He had never seen you like this before, practically bubbling over in excitement. It was … rather endearing. “I suppose not.”

“You are coming, right? Thor said you hadn’t made up your mind yet.”

Were the circumstances different, Loki might have scoffed. Hadn’t made up your mind yet—Norns, his brother lived in denial. Instead though, he hesitated. “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Really?” The way your face fell actually hurt his chest. “Why not?”

“I—” He glanced away, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure I’m one for your roller coasters,” he said, finally. “You’d likely have a better time without me there.” It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but you only seemed more disappointed.

“Oh, that’s not true at all! I was really looking forward to—” you stopped suddenly, and when Loki looked up again, you were biting your lip with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it would be really fun if you came with us. But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I suppose I could come, if you so desire.” He hoped he sounded nonchalantly cool, and that you couldn’t see the way his heart fluttered at the idea that you might want him there. “I wouldn’t wish to let you down.”

“Oh, I mean—” You looked away, the light from the refrigerator silhouetting your frame. “I don’t want to force you, if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t do it just for me.”

“No, I …” He inhaled, then smiled. “I think I would like to join you.”

And so here he is, at the base of this great metal monstrosity, intently studying the sign outside of the line entrance to avoid Thor’s knowing smirk. His brother has never worn self-satisfaction well.

DEATH DROP: THE TALLEST AND FASTEST DROP TOWER ON THE EAST COAST

 The description is illustrated with a photograph of two people strapped to their seats, mouths wide in mid-scream as their hair flies every which way. Loki lets out a shaky exhale as he reads. The tower, it claims, is 400 feet tall. It reaches top speeds of 85 miles per hour. The ride itself lasts about 90 seconds in total. The measuring stand besides the entrance indicates that participants must be at least 48 inches tall.

400 feet. That doesn’t sound too terrible, he tells himself. The concept of a foot as a unit of measurement is still something he struggles to wrap his head around, but he knows that Stark Tower stands at over a thousand. So that’s not too bad. 400 feet would be a drop in the bucket, really, compared to …

No. He pushes the thought down, back into the dark recesses of his memory. None of that. Not today.

Stark smirks at him. “You’re looking green, Tommy Wiseau.”

Loki swallows, straining to maintain his stiff mask of composure. It’s bad enough to have Stark reveling in his discomfort, but now you’re looking over at him too, brow furrowed in concern, and he wishes he could melt away on the spot. “I’m quite fine.”

“Of course he is!” Thor booms, slapping his shoulder with a hearty thwack that does nothing for Loki’s stomach. “We’ve fallen from much higher heights, haven’t we, brother?”

Weightless. Breathless. Engulfed by inky nothingness, the air so thin he can’t even scream —

Loki’s smile hurts. “Yes, very true.”

“You don’t have to go, Loki,” you interject. “It’s totally okay— I have friends who love roller coasters and refuse to touch this ride. It’s a lot.”

He knows you mean it as reassurance, but he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, as if he were a frightened child, too fragile to be brought along. Are you regretting having convinced him to change his mind? Do you feel that he’s only holding you back? Somehow, the idea that you no longer want him here is almost as sickening as the thought of the fall.

Loki huffs a breath. No. He will prove himself worthy of your coaster. “I assure you, I am fine.” His voice is more strained than he’d prefer it to be. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

…

The attendant seems rather starstruck as he ushers the group onto the ride—he stumbles and stammers through the explanation of the seating arrangements and the harness. Loki’s not really listening as he follows you to the left side of the cart, trying not to ignore the buzzing that seems to be settling behind his ears.

You smile up at him. “Would you rather sit on the side or in the middle?”

He frowns. “Does it make a difference?”

“Well, personally I don’t think so, but I know some people who get scared of heights think it’s easier to sit in the middle.”

“I’m not scared of heights.” The words come out far too quickly to sound believable, and he curses inwardly at himself. “I can sit on the side.”

“Are you sure?”  You eye him uncertainly. “It’s okay if you—"

“I’m quite capable of managing such a seat.” He sits before you have the chance to question him again.

The seat is rather tight—Loki wonders if that’s intentional, or if it’s simply built with a smaller frame in mind. In the cart off to the right, he can hear Thor fumbling about with the attendant, and he chuckles despite himself. If he’s finding it to be a bit of a squeeze, he can’t imagine the troubles his bulky brother must be having.

It’s a momentary reprieve from his darker thoughts, and Loki is actually smiling when you warn him to sit back against the seat.

“The harness is going to be coming down soon.”

“What?”

You motion to the contraption above the cart, two plastic green masses shaped like upside down u’s that hover above your heads like the top of a clam shell. “It sits over you and keeps you from flying out of the cart.” You let out a small laugh. “It’s like the harnesses on the Quinjets, but way less cool. They also have little handles that you can hold on to if you want.”

Loki is eyeing the harnesses uncertainly. “What do you mean they’ll be coming down soon?”

“You used to have to pull it down yourself, but they have it all programmed now.” A great mechanical creak cracks through the air, and you press yourself against the back of the seat. “Oh, here it comes now!”

He frowns, mimicking your movement to sit as far back as he can. The green restraint descends slowly over his head, with a metallic groan that does not give him much faith in the construction of this monstrosity. He expects it to stop once it was hovering over his torso, but it continues until it’s pressed snuggly against his chest, pinning him to the seat. The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but Loki barely registers it over the feeling of the restraint. It’s … it’s not a painful sensation, but the firmness with which it holds … he’s been restrained before. Little flames of memory spark in the corners of his mind, flames he can’t seem to douse no matter how hard he tries.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

He gives an apprehensive tug on the metal handles that now rest on either shoulder, a tug which quickly turns into a hard yank. The harness does not move. His mouth has gone dry.

“Loki?” you’re frowning at him, your head only barely visible through your own harness. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You’re not bothered by the restraint. Of course you aren’t—how many times did you say you’ve ridden this ride? It’s fine. It’s fine. Goodness, what must you think of him, seeing him panic over the safety harness that you’ve worn hundreds of times before for fun? He nods his head, shaking away the feelings and memories and emotions and all the other thoughts that he wishes he could just wash down the drain …

“Are you sure—?”

“Perfectly,” he spits, but it comes out more snappishly than he intended, and you recoil with a look on your face that makes him despise himself.

I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“And enjoy your ride!” the attendant finishes with a flourish, and the thick metal cranking is all the warning you get before the cart begins to lift off from the ground. Loki’s heart jumps to his throat, pounding so fast he can’t make out the separate beats.

“This part is the scariest bit,” you yell at him over the grinding of machinery. “The anticipation kills me!”

Loki inhales. The elevator continues to rise, inching up slowly along the spire, the ground beneath their feet melting into miniature. This is alright, he tells himself. If this is the worst part of the experience, then he’ll be just fine. There’s nothing particularly frightening about it—he spoke the truth when he told you that he had never been bothered by heights. It’s all perfectly fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

Norns, they’re still going up. He risks a glance at the track above him—surely they must be close now? The movement makes him queasy, and he quickly turns back to face straight ahead. His knuckles are white from clutching the handles. The harness is digging into his chest and it takes all of his self-control not to rip it off. The elevator stutters—is this it? His breath catches, but no, they’re still going up. They seem to be slowing down though, don’t they? Or is that only his imagination?

I’m going to be ill.

They’ve stopped. That’s not in his head. Everything seems frozen in place. Why did he agree to do this? Loki presses his eyes closed. Any moment now. Any moment …

Still nothing.

His chest aches. He may have forgotten to breathe. Why have they stopped? Is something wrong? Loki turns to you—you look ecstatic, eyes crinkled with elation, mouth wide in an open grin.

“When is it going to—”

You drop.

The world goes silent. He feels it, that awful sensation in his stomach as the line goes slack and colors rush before his eyes in a blur until it all fades to darkness, airlessness, weightlessness, his lungs burning and drowning on the empty void of space—he’s falling, he’s falling again, he’s falling again oh please Norns not again—

There’s ground beneath his feet. He’s not sure where it came from. His knuckles ache. You’re talking – to him? He’s not sure, he only barely can make out your voice …

“Loki? The harness is coming up. Can you let go?”

He’s still clinging to the handles. Can he let go? He’s not sure. His body feels like lead. He pries his fingers from the metal tube and the pressure against his chest vanishes with a woosh over his head.

“There you go.” Your voice is soft, encouraging, closer than he remembered. He looks up to find you kneeling on the ground before him. You flash a nervous smile. “You alright?”

He’s not sure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, insist that yes, of course, he’s quite alright, he didn’t mean to give any impression to the contrary, everything is fine, but the words catch in his throat.

stars melting together smothering his last breath

Loki lets out a shuddering breath, settles for a nod.

“What’s the hold-up?” Stark calls out. “Barton and Romanov are waiting with the kids on the other side of the park.”

“We’re just taking a break for a minute!” Your reply is hurried. “You guys can go on, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is something wrong?” Thor sounds concerned, and—oh great—now both him and Stark are walking over to their cart. “Loki? What happened?”

“I—” But words, so often his steadfast ally, seem to be failing him right now. What happened? He has no answer; at least, none that his brother would accept. For nothing had happened, not really, and yet that was enough to send him spiraling through the fabric of reality.

He hates this. He hates feeling so weak.

Stark is chuckling. “If I knew that this was all it took to shut him up, I would have rented this place out sooner—”

Enough.

Loki forces himself to stand – far too quickly, his stomach churns at the movement, but he swallows the bile in his throat. He needs to get away. It doesn’t matter how, but he needs to not be with them. Besides him, you scramble to your feet too.

“I’m well.” His voice doesn’t sound right—it feels foreign, and thick like syrup, nothing like his own. “You may go on without me.”

“Are you certain?” Thor is frowning. “We can wait—”

Please don’t.

“I’m certain. I just need to sit for a moment.”

“There’s a bench nearby!” You’ve taken on the same cheery inflection typical of your working voice, and it adds a sense of normalcy to a distinctly abnormal situation. He’s grateful for it. “I can show you where!”

Both Stark and his brother seem reluctant to leave, but you insist that it’s fine. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He feels slightly steadier as he follows you to the bench—it’s just a wooden thing on the side of the concrete path, across from what appears to be a diner of some sort. You mumble something about going to get water. It’s a relief when you turn away, so you don’t see how he collapses against the seat.

There’s ground beneath his feet. Loki closes his eyes, focuses on that. There’s ground beneath my feet. The asphalt is firm, hot with the summer sun, anchoring him to reality. He lets out a breath. It feels safe.

Unless, of course, it crumbles beneath your step and flings you back into the abyss –

“Hey.” He jerks up at the sound of your voice, and the suddenness causes you to jump as well. You shift apologetically, standing in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loki swallows. How did he not hear you come up? “You didn’t.” Although it must be obvious that you did. At least you’re kind enough to allow him the lie.

You offer him a plastic cup. It’s a flimsy thing, but quite cold, relieving against his feverish skin. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re studying him with a quiet sort of concern.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask after a moment.

Loki bites down on the inside of his cheek, relishing the way it stings. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just – I mean – ” you glance down, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “I get panic attacks too.”

“I don’t—” But he stops himself, stops the urge to argue. Gives a gentle nod instead. “I’m well, thank you. I just … I need a moment to catch my breath.”

“I’m sorry …” You look away guiltily. “Death Drop is kind of a lot – we shouldn’t have done that first.”

“It’s not that. I –” He wants to explain to you. He wants you to know that he’s not usually like this—he never used to be like this, he’s strong and steady and perfectly capable of anything you could ask of him, but his voice is failing once again. Loki huffs a sigh. “You ought to go on with the others. I don’t wish to ruin your day.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined anything. I’ve been on every ride in this park about a million times. It’s fine!” Your voice is bubbly and light as you sit down next to him on the bench. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound. “Besides, it’s bad etiquette to leave a friend by themselves at an amusement park. Buddy system and all that.”

A friend. He can only stare at you.

You falter. “Unless … unless you’d rather I left?”

“No—” Loki surprises himself with how quickly he answers. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Several minutes pass in silence, the frantic beating of his heart slowly tapering off into something softer as he drinks in your presence. He’s grateful for it, grateful for how you let him soak in the quiet. Thor would never have allowed him such a moment’s peace.

 He’s considering asking if you’re sure you don’t want to go on any other coasters (he feels guilty for keeping you here—perhaps he can accompany you through the queue and wait on the ground?) when you suddenly sit up stock-straight. “Oh!”

Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”

You turn to him with a wide grin. “I just remembered they have Dole Whip here!”

“They—what kind of whip?” What sort of ride would a whip be, he wonders? A human sized slingshot, perhaps? His stomach lurches at the thought.

Luckily though, he’s proved wrong. “Dole Whip!” you giggle. “It’s like ice cream, but fruit flavored. Like there’s pineapple and strawberry and whatnot—it’s like soft serve.” You look at him with a kind of hopeful excitement. “Do you want to try some?”

Loki hums. He has yet to try soft serve ice cream, but he knows his brother practically swears by the stuff. “Is it good?”

“Supposedly. I’ve actually never tried it— we never wanted to spend money on park food when we would come as kids. It’s stupid expensive.” You smirk. “But today’s all on Mr. Stark’s dime, so…”

He chuckles. “And you would take advantage of your employer in such a fashion? I didn’t realize I had such a Machiavellian on my hands.”

“Hey, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me!” You stand with a grin, holding your hands up in a mock surrender pose. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“Oh, I’d never,” he teases as he stands, and he’s relieved to find that his legs have regained their steadiness. “I’d be honored to experience this Dole Whip with you on Stark’s expense.”

“Fantastic,” you beam. “It’s not too far from here. And it’s right next to a bunch of these little shops—they have this ridiculous giant sea monster toy that costs like $300, I can show you—”

You continue on as the both of you walk down the path, telling him all about the park’s various hidden gems and the inside jokes you and your friends have concocted around them, and Loki finds himself laughing more than not—he can’t help it, your giggles are just too infectious.

Huh. Perhaps joining you today wasn’t a mistake after all.

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Just a Broken Ankle?

Hi there!  This is my first post ever…and it’s not proofread because I knew I’d go back and completely change everything, so I’m just throwing it on here.  This one is for all my Steve girlies, and it’s loosely inspired by my current obsession with Grey’s Anatomy.  Please take all the medical talk in here with a grain of salt…I know nothing!

18+ – MINORS DNI

pairing: fiance!steve x florist!reader

summary: you rush to hospital when you find out steve’s been taken into surgery for an unknown reason…

contains: fluff, fluff, more fluff, stress, mentions of surgery and injury

word count:  3.7k

You lean back against the desk behind you with a huff.  The tips of your fingers ache after being poked and prodded by the thorns of the many, many red rose bouquets you’ve just finished putting together.  Your back and neck are sore from your position over the last few hours, and you can feel a dull throb starting in your feet.  

Owning the best flower shop in Hawkins around Valentine’s Day was doing wonders for your business, but damn what you wouldn’t give for a hot bath to soak in right about now.  

Your angel of an employee, Phoebe, has been manning the register and some smaller orders all day long while you worked in the back, answering phone calls and chipping away at the massive order for twenty dozen assorted roses.  The two of you have been doing a great job at keeping up with the business since you opened two years ago, but you’ve been considering hiring her girlfriend for some extra hands around the shop.

“Hey Boss?” Phoebe calls from the front register.

“What’s up?” You drag yourself from the back area of your shop to the front register while stretching your sore muscles.

“I’m finishing up on these corsages and boutonnieres for the nursing home order, they’ll be labeled and ready to go for the pickup tomorrow morning in a minute,”  Phoebe steps aside to let you see her handiwork.  Her attention to detail is really what makes her the love of your life, aside from your fiancee Steve of course.  She’s arranged red and white roses with baby’s breath so beautifully, you’re positive the people at the nursing home will be tickled pink this Valentine’s Day.  “I was wondering if I could maybe cut out a bit early after I’m done.  Ally is planning this romantic dinner and I wanted to go pick up some wine to surprise her on my way home.”

You give her a warm smile and reach out to place a hand on her shoulder.  “Anything for my favorite employee.  You did a beautiful job on these!”

“I’m your only employee, Boss.  Thank you!”  Phoebe chuckles and turns back to finish up her labels.

You turn to go back and add some finishing touches to the rose order.  “What would I do without – “

You’re cut off by the shrill ring of the shop’s phone.  “I’ve got it!”  You skip over to the phone to answer.  “Hi, thank you for calling Lavender Lane!  How can I help you?”

“Hello, may I speak to (Y/N) (L/N) please?”

You feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach.  “Uh - yes, this is she.”

The woman on the other line clears her throat.  “Hello, ma’am.  I’m an ER nurse here at Hawkins Memorial and I’m calling in regards to Steven Harrington…”

You hear your blood rushing in your ears as the nurse's words start to fade out.  All of a sudden it becomes exceedingly difficult to breathe normally.  The only words you’re able to catch are “...ambulance…surgery…emergency contact…”

You feel Phoebe’s hand on your shoulder, and you think you can hear her ask if you’re alright, but you’re too busy trying to figure out whether your heart is still beating inside of your chest.  Steve?  Your Steve?  In the hospital?  You feel yourself beginning to panic as you drop the phone and run to grab your purse and keys.  

Phoebe struggles to keep up with you as you flitter around the back in search of your keys.  “What’s wrong?  Who was on the phone?”

You’re throwing papers around frantically, looking for your keys in the mess on your desk.  “Uh, Steve is – Steve is i-in the….the h-hospital.  Have to get there..have to get to him.”  It’s becoming harder to see, you can’t figure out why your vision is suddenly so blurred until you realize that you’re crying.  You’re terrified. 

Phoebe takes a firm hold of your shoulders and spins you to face her.  She shoves your keys into your hands and looks you dead in the eye.  “Take a deep breath.”  You follow her breathing as she inhales deeply, then exhales.  “Good.  Now keep doing that, I don’t want you driving if you’re going to freak out the whole time.”  You nod shakily and hurry to the front.

As you reach the door, you remember that Phoebe wanted to leave early.  You turn to apologize but she beats you to it.

“Don’t even think about it, Ally’s wine can wait.  I’ll take care of everything here, you go check on your man.”

You nod as tears run down your face.  The bell on the door rings as you push it open and sprint to your car.  You can hear Phoebe shouting at you to drive safely, but all you can focus on now is Steve, Steve, Steve. 

Your engine revs and your tiles squeal as you peel out of your parking lot and onto the main road.  You drive way too fast, thinking all the while about all of the possible situations that await you.

Was there an accident?  Did someone try to rob the house?  Was he shot?  Stabbed? 

What if he’s dead?

You shake your head to expel such a dark thought, and push down even harder on the gas pedal.

Break

You don’t remember much about your journey to the hospital, but you realize that you’ve probably parked very illegally as you run inside to the desk.   The poor nurse sitting behind it looks at you with wide, scared eyes as she takes you in.  Your mascara is running, you’re sweating and trying to catch your breath as you unload your panic onto her.

“S-someone called me about my fiance.  Steve, S-Steve Harrington,  where is he?!  Where is he, please, I need to see him.  I need to know if he’s alive I-”

Your panic-induced rant is interrupted when an older man with a kind face, who most definitely could be a doctor, approaches where you’re bent over the front desk.  You figure maybe he knows something about Steve’s condition and rush towards him. 

“H-Hello, my name is (Y/N) and my fiance is here and I just want to know what’s going on please.”  The feeling of helplessness starts to creep up on you, and you feel hot tears stream down your cheeks.

The man introduces himself as Dr. Prichard and assures you that Steve is being well taken care of.  They’re in the middle of his surgery right now and he has to get back to the operating room, but he’ll come out with an update for you as soon as he’s able.  

You feel like there’s cotton where your brain should be as you watch him retreat back to the double doors he came from.  How were you just supposed to wait?  What is even happening right now?  You look to the nurse behind the desk, hoping to get some answers out of her, but she immediately ducks her head down before catching your eye.  You let out a sigh of defeat and trudge over to the waiting room.

As you sit down in a chair for the first time all day, you couldn’t feel any farther from relaxed.  Your head swims with possible outcomes and what ifs, and your shoulders start to shake from the force of your cries.  You drop your face into your hands and cry quietly for what feels like an hour, but was probably much shorter than that.  You sit up and take a deep breath as you lean back in the surprisingly comfortable chair, looking around at the room.  

You see an elderly couple walking the halls of the hospital, the woman assisting the man in a hospital gown as he uses a walker.  He stops to peck her on the cheek, and they carry on.  You can’t help but to picture you and Steve at their age one day, and you think about how magical your engagement to Steve has been thus far.  He’s the love of your life, your absolute, without-a-doubt soulmate, and you couldn’t wait to marry him.  You would’ve gone down to the courthouse to get it down the moment after he dropped to one knee, but he insisted on giving you the wedding of your dreams.  Money wasn’t a problem, thanks to Steve’s fancy marketing job and his trust fund, and he’s made sure to do his fair share of the wedding planning.  Together you’ve picked out the perfect venue, tried all of the cakes (much to Steve’s delight) and of course arranged for all of the flowers you could dream of (though Steve let you take the lead on that one).  Now all that was left was to walk down the aisle in three short months, say I do, and start the rest of your lives together.  

You feel yourself begin to cry again.  What if those plans have to change?  What if you don’t have as much time left as you thought?  You’d marry Steve Harrington right here in this goddamn hospital if you had to.  Screw a big white wedding, you’d do anything to be bound to Steve in as many ways as possible. 

You decide to stand and pace, maybe some movement could help calm your nerves, you want to be as level headed as possible when the doctor comes out with an update.  

Your mind races as you think of all the plans you had with Steve.  All the things you still had to do together.  You still had to get married, honeymoon in Italy, buy a house, get a dog, have kids, grow old and senile together until you eventually die in eachothers’ arms at the old age of 100.  It’s been the plan all along, and what if everything is about to change?  What if your entire life is about to get flipped upside down?  What if -

“Miss (L/N)?”

You whip around and see Dr. Prichard, the same doctor you spoke to earlier.  He has a vague expression on his face, and you’re terrified yet eager to hear what he has to say.  You walk towards him slowly, almost in a daze.

“...Harrington…” you say shakily under your breath as you approach him.

Dr. Prichard leans forward, having not quite heard what you mumbled,  “I’m sorry?”

You stand a bit straighter.  “My name, i-it’s Mrs. Harrington.”

Dr. Prichard then looks at you with a warm smile.  “Of course it is, Mrs. Harrington.  Walk with me.”  He gently holds your elbow as he leads you through double doors, towards Steve.

Break

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Dr. Prichard chuckles at your disbelief, after telling you that Steve is in fact just fine.  “Not at all, ma’am.”

You open and close your mouth like a fish, unable to find the words.  “B-but…they told me about an ambulance…and the surgery!”

“Yes ma’am, Steve was brought to us by ambulance, but that’s because it would’ve been unsafe to drive himself here.  We were told that an older woman, Ms. Gertrude, I believe, called 911 for him.”

You’ll thank Jesus every day for your nosey 71-year-old next door neighbor Gertie.  “And the surgery?”

Dr. Prichard sighs and you prepare yourself for the worst. “I’m terribly sorry if our nursing staff led you to believe anything extreme,” Dr. Prichard leans in closer as though he’s sharing a secret ,”Just between you and I, the nurses here have the people skills of pre-teens.”  He chuckles while you give him a look that says tell me already!!! 

 “Steve’s surgery was to repair a broken ankle.  We had to go in and place a few plates and screws to get everything back where it’s supposed to be.  Other than a couple bruised ribs on his left side, your fiance is okay.”

You could feel the stress melt off your body as you pull Dr. Prichard in for a bear hug.   He laughs, startled by your sudden affection.  “Oh my god.  Thank you.”  You want to cry, laugh and sleep all at the same time.

Dr. Prichard rubs your back as you begin to finally calm down.  “There, there.  Everything is A-OK.  His room is just up ahead if  you’d like to see him now.”

You release the older man from your bone-crushing hug.  “Yes, yeah, of course.”  He leads you up the hall a bit further until reaching a room and knocking softly with one knuckle.  

Dr. Prichard turns to you before opening the door.  “He should be awake by now, we put him under for the surgery and he might be a bit loopy still from the drugs.”  

You nod eagerly, just excited to see Steve for yourself and make sure he was alright.  

As Dr. Prichard opens the door, you hear girlish giggles coming from within the room, followed by the deep, hearty chuckle that could only belong to one man.  You trail behind Dr. Prichard as he enters the room.  “You have a visitor, Mr. Harrington.”

You emerge from behind Dr. Prichard and see Steve’s face light up entirely.  

“There she is!  My beautiful wife!” he yells, quite loudly.  You discover where all the giggles were coming from as you see two middle-aged nurses laughing at Steve’s antics.  “Just look at her ladies, isn’t she gorgeous?  I told you she was gorgeous!”  You look down trying to suppress your own girly giggles as you feel your cheeks heat up.  “My god, honey.  You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“And you’re higher than a kite right now, Steve.”  You don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see him as you approach his hospital bed.  You take in his heavily wrapped left ankle that’s elevated off the bed, and you survey the rest of his body for other injuries.  He has some small scratches on his arms and one just above his left eyebrow, but nothing major catches your attention.  He really is okay.  Your heart stops as your eyes meet his.  He’s giving you that smile, the one that scored him a second date all those years ago.  God, he’s so handsome.  

“The only thing I’m high on is love, baby.”  You laugh at this and sigh as you turn to look back at Dr. Prichard, who is also chuckling. 

“You sure weren’t lying about him feeling loopy.”

“He’ll be back to normal before you know it.”  Dr. Prichard puts a hand over his mouth and whispers “, Your guy is quite the character.  He’s got all the nurses on this floor charmed half to death and giggling like school girls in the halls.”  

You both turn to look at the nurses, who are failing to conceal their blush after a flirty wink from Steve.  You shake your head and laugh, “Typical.”  

“We’ll give you two some time.” He says as he ushers the nurses out of the room along with him. 

You turn back to Steve, doing your best impression of his ‘angry mom’ pose and fixing him with a stern look.

He looks right back at you with round eyes, “What?” he whines.  

“Don’t ‘what’ me Steven!”  He winces at the use of his full name.  “Do you mean to tell me that I was losing it out in that waiting room scared out of my mind while you were in here flirting with nurses?!”  Steve’s mouth opens but no words come out.  You’re not actually mad of course, how could you be when he still manages to look sexy in a hospital gown?  You felt obliged to give him a hard time after you cried for hours over what turned out to be a broken ankle.  

“Baby I – how else was I supposed to get the good Jello?”  Steve nods towards the discarded tray next to his bed where you were able to count five empty Jello containers.  You laugh incredulously and sit next to him on the bed.  

“Unbelievable.” You find it hard to muster even the slightest bit of annoyance towards him when he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.  Steve wraps his arms around your waist to the best of his ability and squeezes.  You lean down to brush some hair out of his face and you rest your hand on his cheek.  He feels warm, a little prickly from his stubble, and alive.  You take a deep breath, relieved that everything is going to be okay, and he leans into your touch.  

“I love you…so much.” 

Steve sighs dreamily, “I love you more.”

You slide your hand to grip his chin, squishing his cheeks together playfully as you lean in for a little peck.  As you pull away, Steve whines, “Aw come on, what was that?”  You laugh and look at him, confused as he yells,  “I just survived a major surgery, baby!  That deserves a real kiss!”

You throw your head back and laugh loudly.

“C’mon woman, plant one on me!” 

You’re still giggling at his slightly slurred words as you lean back down to press your lips to his.  He reaches up to hold your face with both hands as he slips his tongue between your lips.  You make a surprised sound at the welcome intrusion, and to this Steve lets out a loud, borderline pornographic moan.  The kiss is passionate and messy as your tongues mingle together and you both smile through it.  You can’t help but to laugh as he kisses you dirtily in his hospital bed, high off his pain meds.  He breaks apart from you with a loud “mwah!” and falls back onto his pillow with a shit eating grin on his face.  

“You’re so beautiful, baby.  C’mere.” Steve holds his arms open to you, and you lie down with him.  The blanket he covers the two of you with is surprisingly soft.  Maybe all of his flirting actually paid off.  You make sure to rest your ear over his heart, to ensure that it’s beating as it should be.  

You’re quiet, and Steve notices because he notices everything.  “I’m okay, baby.”  He rubs circles onto your back soothingly, as if you were the one who got hurt.

You lean on an elbow to look down at him with tears in your eyes.  He winces, the thing Steve hates most in the world is to see you in any sort of pain.  “I know.  I know that.”  You reach up to toy with the gold chain that lays against his collarbone.  “It’s just…it was just really scary Steve.”  A few tears slip out as you recall how terrified you were just hours before.  “All I knew is that you were in surgery a-and no one would tell me anything else and I…I was just so afraid to lose you, Steve.”  You were full on crying now, and Steve held you tightly to him as he rocked the two of you back and forth.  

He smooths your hair down and presses a kiss to your hairline.  “I’m so sorry, baby.  That must’ve been so scary.  I know if I were you I would’ve torn this place apart brick by brick until I got some answers.”  You laugh wetly into his chest.  “So, good on you for not turning into Godzilla.”  Steve pats your back and this only makes you laugh more.

You lean up on an elbow again to look at him. “You gonna tell me what even happened?”

Steve throws his head back and groans dramatically.  You can see a blush start to creep up his neck and onto his ears, so it must be embarrassing.  You poke him in the cheek to spur him on.

“Okay, okay.”  He looks at you and takes a deep breath, readying himself.  “You know those trees we have out front?”

“...Yes?”

Steve squints, like it pains him to say this.  “Well, I was just lookin’ at ‘em and lookin’ at ‘em and I said to myself, ‘Steve, you’re a man.  You should be able to take care of your own yard.’ you know?”  You try to hold back a laugh, knowing where this is going already.  “And so I thought, why would a man, such as myself, have to hire someone to take care of his very own yard?”

“--Oh my god, Steve.”  You put your head in your hand, shaking it in disbelief. 

Steve laughs through his next words as he continues on, “And then, I remembered that I’ve seen Mr. Sanders – you know, the man who lives a few doors down from us – I’ve seen him trimming his trees before.  So I walked on down there and asked him to borrow his gear, and he said yes!”

You’re struggling to hold back your laughs as you listen to Steve’s storytelling.  Steve is also holding himself back from bursting into laughter, which makes the whole thing that much funnier.

“He did offer to help me out, but he was on his way out to run some errands and I didn’t want to bother him of course, so I told him not to worry about it.”

You gaze at him fondly as he tells his story with animated hands and facial expressions.

“And then, y’know, I started out alright.  But then I was trying to reach the higher branches and I guess I just lost my balance or something because the next thing I knew I was flat on my back staring up at the sky, babe!”

“That sounds crazy, honey,”  You slide your hand into his hair to scratch your nails along his scalp.

Steve moans, he loves when you do this.  You see his eyes start to get heavy and his head falls back a bit.  He’s so adorable when he gets all sleepy.

“It was sooo crazy.  Then Gertie was there and then the ambulance guys were there and then I went to sleep and now I’m here,”  You push up on the bed so that he can lay on your shoulder.  Steve snuggles in as best as he can while not disturbing his wrapped up leg or bruised ribs. “Do you think it’s okay if I sleep for a little bit?  I’m kinda tired.”

His eyes begin to flutter closed, and he feels heavier on your shoulder as he falls deeper and deeper into sleep.  “Yeah baby, get some sleep.”

Steve grumbles a bit, just on the cusp of his impending nap ,”Mmm…I love you so much.”

You squeeze him tighter against you and lean your head back to try and get some rest as well.

“I love you more.” 

[applejuicefruit]

hey, can you do one where kylian is kind of down because of this massive (unnecessary) hate he's been getting lately? but he always tries to pretend he's fine, but the reader notices how downcast he's been lately, and comforts him, please? if you can...

yes please ⭐️⭐️ he doesn’t deserve all the hate he’s receiving 😭

thank you for requesting this ❤️

kylian mbappe x reader

Not everyone’s favourite

After France lost the world cup something in Kylian changed. You saw it. His family saw it. His friends saw it. Even his fans saw it. He was more determined now. Determined to win every single PSG match. Determined to be the best football player of all time. He was just determined. But this thing was stressing him out a lot and even if he never said anything you knew it was getting worse. After he missed the two penalty during the last PSG match and after he got injured only 20 minutes into the game you knew something was completely off with Kylian, you just wished he talked to you but he never talked about emotions with anyone, not even you, it didn’t matter if you were dating for more than a year.

He got home the day after the game, he was beating himself up even if PSG won that match. But things got worse when you saw all the hateful comments people were writing about his two missed penalties. Not everyone can always have a perfect day and in that match Kylian wasn’t there mentally. But still people were writing awful things and you couldn’t believe how fans were easy to turn side, one time they are fans when he scores, the second time they hate him because he missed a penalty, what hypocrisy!

You just wished Kylian didn’t see the comments. But in the same moment you were in the living room checking twitter, he was in your shared bedroom doing the exact same thing.

You decided to go check on him because you knew he hated being alone, even if he didn’t feel like talking, you knew he needed comfort.

“Hey babe, what you doing?” you asked sitting on the bed next to him

“Just checking twitter…” he said and you knew he was reading the comments

“Babe” you said grabbing his phone and tossing it over on the other side of the bed “I think you need to rest a bit”

“I was reading what people are saying about me, about the two missed penalties…I’ve disappointed them and they are completely right” he said not even looking at you. In that moment your heart broke a little, looking at Kylian’s face you knew he wanted to cry and to let his emotions out, he just didn’t want to do it in front of you

“Kylian, listen to me…you didn’t disappoint anyone okay? Not everyone can be perfect all the time…” you said grabbing his hands and kissing them, he smiled at your kind gesture

“But I want to be perfect, all the time…” he said

“Kyky, you’re just human, it’s okay…you had a bad day last night and it’s completely fine…” you tried to reassure him

“I can’t believe that the people writing this things are the same people who cheered when I score 5 goals in the last game” he said, a tear falling from his eye but he quickly wiped it

“Babe…I need you to listen to me…people’s gonna hate when you do something wrong and they’re gonna love you when you do something right…those are just hypocrites, not fans…and they mean nothing okay? You know your worth and you know your value…you also know you’re just human and it’s normal to have bad days or make mistakes, that’s part of us…” you said, Kylian completely breaking down in tears letting all of the stress of the past days out “you’re just human Kylian and you need to remember it before you hurt yourself…and I’m not talking physically…” you said kissing his forehead “you know you can always talk to me…about anything”

“I know baby it’s just…after the world cup everything got better and worse at the same time…” he said now opening up to you “and now it’s hard trying to keep up this imagine I create at the world cup”

“You do you Kylian…you are the man who can play for more than ninety minutes and score a hat trick but you also are the man who can miss a penalty and get injured…you’re human Kylian but that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of doing great things again…” you said wrapping your arms around his body and keeping him close to you.

It was your time to comfort him, remembering all the times he did it for you. You held him while he let a few tears fall, letting all the stress and the adrenaline go out. You gently stroke his back and arms and let him cry in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you mon amour” he said “you know how I hate talking about emotions…but with you everything is easier, I love you” he said wiping his tears and kissing you on the lips. You smiled back at him and let him rest on your shoulder.

These are the moments you are most thankful for, the moments you remind him that he’s just human and not iron man, that he can’t be perfect all the time and that’s okay to make mistakes sometimes.

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

The Wedding

Y/N is stressed planning for their wedding and Harry can’t seem to do anything right.

Warnings: angst, sad ending, explicit language

Word Count: 1.2k

Y/N gazed at the bling on her finger, the stone catching in the sunlight. It had been 6 months since she had said yes and wedding planning was in full swing. Of course with Harry being CEO of one of the largest Fortune 500 companies in the world, their wedding was all any of the tabloids were talking about.

Harry and Y/N. London’s power couple. There were now less than 2 months before the big day and Y/N had everything under control. Well… she thought she did. Y/N sighed and rubbed her temples as she stared at the seating chart, a massive binder beside her. A steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of her as Harry kissed the top of her head before sitting down next to her.

“Y/N. You’ve been staring at those charts for the last two hours. Why don’t you take a break?” She raised an eyebrow before taking a deep breath.

“Take a break? Are you kidding me? Our wedding is in 2 months Harry. And the seating plan still isn’t finished. I still haven’t bought my dress, you haven’t been to get a tux and we haven’t booked the flowers. We haven’t booked the flowers Harry!” He chuckled before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“It’s going to be fine Y/N. Ok let me help. We can have our parents seated together on table 2… wait. Your mom isn’t on this list?” Y/N sighed as Harry looked up at her quizzically.

“I don’t know if I want to invite her. We still haven’t worked out all of our issues and I don’t need her coming in and running the whole show.”

“Why don’t you invite her for a visit? You need to work things out and I’m sure she would love nothing more than to be there for you on our day.” Y/N took a large sip of her coffee, shaking her head violently.

“Nope. No way Harry. I can’t deal with her right now. I’m stressed enough as it is.”

“But maybe if you tried you could-”

“I said NO Harry. Stop pushing it.” She turned her attention back to the seating chart, shutting him out completely. Harry watched her for a few moments before shaking his head and walking to the study. She’s just overwhelmed, he told himself. We’re going to be fine.

~

3 weeks later Y/N felt like she was drowning. She had found her dress but it was the wrong size since she had lost so much weight for the wedding. Everyone was getting on her nerves. Even Harry. Well… especially Harry. She heard the front door open then close and tore her gaze away from her planner to see Harry come in through the front door. Noticeably, without a tux. He leant down to kiss her hello, before noticing her annoyed glare.

“Everything ok hun?”

“Harry… where’s your tux?” Y/N asked coolly. His expression turned to confusion.“Y/N, what are you talking about? You told me last week to pick it up on Wednesday. It’s- he checked the date on his phone- shit. I thought it was Tuesday. Doesn’t matter, I'll just go tomorrow.” Y/N slammed her book shut before glaring at him once more.

“You can’t just “go tomorrow.” They’re closed for the next 3 weeks Harry. You won’t have time to make any adjustments if it’s wrong. God why can’t you just listen for once?!” She bit out frustrated.

Harry laughed dryly.

“Why can’t I just listen for once? Jesus Y/N, I have been listening to you for the past 6 months complain about each tiny thing that has gone wrong. Big deal. I forgot to collect it. I’ll go and get it when I can. Calm down.” Y/N stood up from the couch seething.

“Calm down? Are you fucking serious? I am so busy Harry. I have a company to run and the wedding of the year to plan. Have you seen these tabloids? I am so sick of all of them asking whether or not I’m having a baby because I seem to have ‘gained a little weight’ lately. I’m asking you to do one thing and you can’t even do that. What have you done to help me Harry? I am so sick of you.”

“Oh my god Y/N what the hell is wrong with you? It’s our wedding, it’s not the hunger games. No one is dying if it isn’t perfect. I don’t understand why you-” The doorbell rang, silencing the both of them.

Y/N stalked over to the door and wrenched it open.

“My baby!” Y/N spat out a mouthful of blonde hair as she was brought into a bone-crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you so much! And a wedding? When Harry called me last week to invite me, I just couldn’t believe it!” Y/N tugged out of the hug shooting a death glare at her fiance.

“Harry did what?” Lauren Williams beamed at her daughter, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“He invited me to the wedding honey.” She repeated patiently. Lauren moved around to give Harry a hug.

“I can’t wait to help you with everything sweetie. Have you chosen a dress? Can I see? What about flowers? Because they can be hard to-”

“Mom,” Y/N said through gritted teeth. “I just need to have a quick chat with Harry ok?”

Y/N dragged Harry to the spare bedroom down the hall to make sure Lauren couldn’t hear them.

“Ok what the fuck Harry? I specifically told you I didn’t want her here!” Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I thought it would be better for you guys to sort out your issues before the wedding but it seems like we have some stuff to work out ourselves.” Y/N huffed before crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah? No kidding. This is another example of you not listening. You don’t make an effort Harry and it drives me insane since I’m here fighting for this wedding. For us.” Harry snapped.

“Well if it’s so difficult for you then maybe we should call off the wedding! This clearly isn't working for us anymore! He yelled.

Y/N’s mouth snapped shut, her anger replaced with sadness. Her eyes glistened with tears and her bottom lip trembled.

“Are you… serious?” She asked quietly. “You just want to give up on us?” Because of an argument?” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident.

“One argument? All we do is argue! I haven’t had a single conversation with you that hasn’t ended with one of us screaming in the last 2 weeks. I don’t know what you want from me Y/N! I’m trying. I swear to god I’m fucking trying.”

“So is that what we’re doing then? Calling it off?”

“No Y/N I didn’t mean that. I just-”

“No, you made it pretty clear what you meant.” She let the tears fall freely now, dodging around him to get through the door, grabbing her purse off the table ignoring the confused look from her mother.

“Y/N, come back! We can work this out.”

“I have to get out of here Harry.” She rushes out onto the street, tears clouding her vision, her one goal being to get to her car. She doesn’t hear Harry screaming her name until it’s too late. The car hits her just as she looks up, but she’s unconscious before she can even feel the pain.

A/N: 🫠

Taglist:

@lukesaprince @intimacywithceline @styleslover-1994

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks For The Sub (ksj) | Chapter One

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Chapter One length: 11-14k 18,371 (OOPS LOL)

Release date: Fri. January 19, 2024.

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: After a clip of you sucking at video games goes viral, you've become somewhat famous, with thousands of subscribers now tuning in each week to see you play. Overnight, you've gone from a sexually frustrated grad student who reads smut in her room to a gamer girl (or rather, a not-gamer girl). This would have been the perfect job, except it was never the job you wanted. Desperate for money to pay for grad school, you bounce between your new gig and working at a local restaurant to pay the bills, where your hot coworker-now-boss Seokjin plays many of the lead roles in your sexual fantasies.

Seokjin, two years post losing his fiancé and job within the same day, is tired of the rut he's dug himself into and wants to start over. Now 30 years old, he's stuck managing his family's restaurant where he harbors an insanely inappropriate crush on you on top of carrying one hell of a secret: Seokjin is also known as Jin, a successful gay-for-pay camboy on the streaming site Worldwide Handsome.

When the stress of the upcoming semester and the pressure to stream becomes more than you can handle, you seek out some much-needed stress relief online, only to discover a man who looks a little too much like your boss is staring right back at you.

Warnings for Chapter One: Swearing, cheating (not between main characters), big age gap between lesser characters that can be uncomfy, sex work, gay sex work when the worker is actually not gay (but everyone is chill about it), <- allusions to queer fetishization bc of this, feelings of shame and guilt, feelings of failure/depression, improper restaurant safety procedures, the existential crisis of your late-20s/30s that we all seem to go through, off-handed references to kpop culture including fanfics because I'm a clown and need to call us out sometimes, silly literary tropes, references to pregnancy (NOT reeader), boss-employee power dynamics, allusions to queer BTS members or relationships, cameos of au Seventeen Members (Wonwoo and y/n are besties). NSFW sex stuff: big dick Seokjin (of course), Seokjin with rolled shirt sleeves and cutting things in a kitchen, Daddy Dom Seokjin makes himself known, blindfolds, camming (obviously), f/m masturbation, lots of dirty talk, sex toys, degradation kink, praise kink, sexual fantasies at the worst moment, kink exploration, a lot cum (sorry), I mention the omegaverse as a joke, a sparkly pink dildo, seokjin has a massive collection of toys and he intends to use them, seokjin and reader are constantly horny, reader is kind of inexperienced, implied exhibitionism kink, implied voyeurism, implied public sex.

a/n: it's here (and longer than I intended but oh well!) this fic is inspired by a combination of fics from the lovely writing community on here, the copious amounts of smut I read, a dabble of my friends or my own experience, & the high drama of kdramas. I felt really compelled to write this fic after rereading "tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love)" by minilouvre on ao3. I feel like the camboy/person trope is so fun to explore and I wanted to try my own take on it with our Seokjin, who doesn't seem to get as many fics written about him but absolutely deserves it. I also wanted to create space for a fic that explores the weird transition of late 20s-30s that both BTS and I (and maybe many of you) have experienced in the last few years. I hope you enjoy! I keep my inbox open, so lmk your thoughts!

xo - h

That’s it baby cum for me. 

Such a good little slut for Daddy.

Wish that dildo was my cock. 

Fuck this is so hot.

The tip jar was going wild. The mute button tapped long ago, tonight was by far the most successful night camming Seokjin had ever had. He would definitely be able to afford that new gaming PC after this. 

Thank god. After three hours streaming, he was getting tired of riding the glittery pink dildo. It was cute–a Christmas gift from one of his loyal subscribers– but admittedly, he hadn’t prepped well enough before putting it in an hour ago, and when he let out a pained groan as he sank down on it, he immediately knew he would be feeling it tomorrow, and maybe the next day. 

His only consolation was the five new top-tier subscriptions he’d received while experiencing searing hot pain. He’d clearly appealed to someone’s kink. Well, there was always something for everyone. 

Seokjin knew this well. Today was his two-year anniversary since his first livestream on Worldwide Handsome, an international gay live cam site. During those two years he had seen just about every kink requested, from wax play to autoerotic asphyxiation to something called the omegaverse; he’d sifted through the internet and researched enough on each request to decide which ones he’d be willing to perform, and which kinks were too much outside of his comfort zone. 

Now, with an apartment full of gifted costumes and drawers full of just about every type of sex toy known to the human population (and perhaps even some aliens if those toys held any accuracy), it was obvious that Seokjin was a knowledgeable and successful camboy who could fulfill so many men’s fantasies.

Except for the fact that Seokjin wasn’t actually gay. 

Which is, as it turns out, also something people are into. 

Two Years Ago

It wasn’t that Seokjin ever intended to be a gay sex cam worker, much less a camboy at all, but two years, four months, three weeks, and twelve hours ago, Seokjin hopped on a plane after finishing a week-long conference in Los Angeles. He’d booked the first flight out, eager to come home to his fiancé. 

During the week, he hadn’t heard much from her. He understood, of course. She’d mentioned before he left that during that week she would be busy catching up on work and finalizing a really important project with a looming deadline. She’d been stressed about it the morning he left, practically shoving him out the door with his suitcase. 

But he missed her desperately, especially with the distance between them, and he was hoping he could regain some of that intimacy by trying phone sex. They’d been having less sex recently, probably from the stress of work, but he still craved her every single day, just like he did when they were in college. 

For most of his and Soon Yi’s relationship, they were insatiable. In college, they were known for being embarrassingly public in their displays of affection, with Yoongi once catching them in the kitchen at a party with Soon Yi’s hand down Seokjin’s pants and Seokjin’s hands up Soon Yi’s shirt. At first, Seokjin wondered if he always felt so horny because of his raging hormones and the fact that Soon Yi was the first person he’d had sex with. But even three years later, on the night he’d proposed, they had to leave the restaurant he rented out so they could have sex in the car. 

Soon Yi was charming. She matched Seokjin’s wit, always ready to keep up with a joke and take it to the next level. She fit in effortlessly with his group of friends, remembering their birthdays and always showing up with a tiny treat for them, even if they hated celebrating. His parents adored her the moment they met her. She was frequently fawned over when she visited his work to bring him lunch or to just stop by and say hello. 

When his boss, Mr. Choi met her during the company’s annual gala, he told Seokjin she was enchanting, she was the moon that lit up the evening sky. Mr. Choi was also incredibly drunk when he said this, but he wasn’t wrong. 

Soon Yi glowed through Seokjin’s darkest nights like the moon. 

That’s why when she denied every video call request he made during his trip, Seokjin knew something was wrong. He felt desperate and needy, something he’d never experienced during their relationship. 

As he laid in his hotel bed, touching himself to their memories, a strange need overtook him: he wanted to remind her that despite all the work stress, they always got through everything together and ultimately, being intimate might help with reconnection. 

So at the end of his boring conference, he flew back, planning on surprising her when she got home with a delicious meal and sexy massage. Maybe he’d even use those silly novelty heart-shaped handcuffs Jungkook got him as a gag gift. 

He was ready to rekindle his love for the moon. 

What Seokjin wasn’t ready for was the fact that when he walked through the door of his house, the only moon he saw was that of Mr. Choi’s naked ass as he thrust into Soon Yi on the dining room table. 

As it became immediately apparent, Soon Yi’s “work project” was clearly what was playing out before him as he watched the only woman he’d ever been in love with writhe in ecstasy underneath his much older work superior. 

It would have been one thing to lose his fiancé, but in witnessing this entanglement, Seokjin also knew he’d lost his job. Due to the blur of his memory, his brain trying to erase what he’d seen, he wasn’t entirely sure when they realized he was home. However, by the time he had grabbed another duffel with some fresh, non work-related clothes from his dresser–after he breezed past his unmade bed that probably didn’t smell like him anymore–Soon Yi and Mr. Choi were half dressed and sheepishly waiting for him near the entry.

Seokjin couldn’t bring himself to look either of them in the eyes as he stated his resignation letter would be on Mr. Choi’s desk the following morning. 

When he arrived at Jimin and Jungkook’s apartment to crash, that’s when reality set in. What would he do now? He had no house to live in, no job to make money from, and he just lost the love of his life. 

His head was splitting from the idea of car payments, a mortgage under his name for a place he wouldn’t be living in, having to tell his parents, calling the wedding venue and paying that awful cancellation fee on top of not getting his deposit back. The extra zeros in his bank account were depleting fast and it wasn’t like he would be able to sleep on Jimin and Jungkook’s couch forever. 

After two weeks of dodging family phone calls, desperately applying to every job that didn’t sound like a scam, waking up in the middle of the night from the lumpiness of the couch or Jungkook’s horrible snoring, Seokjin felt like he was out of options. 

“I’m going to call my parents and tell them. Maybe I can work at the restaurant for the time being while I wait for callbacks. I have some money in my savings for my own apartment. I just can’t keep doing this,” he said. 

“Hyung, are you sure? You know that we don’t mind you being here as long as you need. Really, it’s not an issue.” Jimin was gentle as always, the concern on his face knitting his eyebrows together. 

But Seokjin knew he was avoiding the inevitable, so when he nodded and then called his parents, their warm voices on the other end felt like a sign he’d made the right decision after all.  

The next week, Seokjin began working at his family’s restaurant, filling in for shifts that were short, typically in the kitchen. Chopping and prepping the food for the chefs, dish washing, and anything that kept his hands busy were welcome distractions from the painful reminder of what awaited him outside of the restaurant. 

Soon Yi was pregnant. Seokjin found out one day when he stopped by to grab a load of his things to bring to his new apartment. While both he and Soon Yi agreed to sell the house, it appeared she was taking longer than him to pack. He figured this was because she would be moving in with Mr. Choi, who lived in the penthouse of a luxury apartment complex downtown. 

During their meeting with the real estate agent, Soon Yi had scribbled her new contact information and mailing address onto some forms with Mr. Choi’s details. Wealthy people always operated on their own timeline, one where they could hire a moving company to have everything neatly packed and stored within hours. 

Seokjin, however, was limited to an ongoing loop of back and forth where he crammed his car full of silverware, lamps, and his MapleStory figure collection Soon Yi once mocked him for collecting. As Seokjin continued to pack away his belongings, he saw it. In the guest bathroom outside of the kitchen, there were two positive pregnancy tests in the garbage can. 

Soon Yi was pregnant and the father wasn’t him. The last time they’d had sex was three months ago. She would have known by now if that were the case. 

A wave of nausea rushed over him, and somewhere between bouts of gagging and wiping tears from his eyes, Seokjin realized that things were truly over. 

Two months passed, and still he couldn’t find a job. While the restaurant gig was taking care of some of his bills, it was only a matter of time before Seokjin would be unable to take care of himself. At 28 years old, he’d have to move back in with his parents, which was next to impossible in terms of space, not to mention the fact that his brother and wife were living with them while their apartment was being renovated to better accommodate a life transition of their own: they were expecting their first child.  

Given his semi-recent discovery, being around a pregnant woman was something Seokjin didn’t particularly want a reminder of. 

“I don’t know what to do. Something has to give,” he said one day as he sat in Yoongi’s living room. A thick coat of snow was covering the earth outside, though from the sweat running down the back of Seokjin’s neck, you would never be able to tell. Yoongi always kept his home at the exact opposite of the climate outside, trying to quell the possibility he would have to experience any physical discomfort if he dared to ever leave his house, which he rarely did.

His friends all sat around him, quietly sipping their whisky or beer while the flashing light from the TV casted a kaleidoscope of colors across the coffee table. Hoseok nudged Taehyung, who’d fallen asleep at some point between the long pauses in conversation. Seokjin couldn’t blame him. 

It was late, much later than the invitation Yoongi extended typically lasted, but this meetup was different. Everyone had always known Seokjin to be optimistic. From a goofy dad-joke-making 18 year old until now, he’d consistently been a source of light. When Taehyung’s grandmother died a few years back, it was Seokjin who made him first smile again with a spot-on impression of his own halmoni as they slurped bowls of naengmyeon.

His hair was shaggy and unkempt, his smile fading quickly from his face after cracking a joke. His jokes were also darker, less silly and eye-rolling and more self-deprecating and sarcastic. It was like his life was draining from him before their eyes, and it was becoming nearly impossible to stomach. 

But concern doesn’t always lead to action, which is why they were sitting around in Yoongi’s living room hoping the whisky would give them some inspiration to find a solution to Seokjin’s problem that he wouldn’t immediately turn down. They’d scoured job sites together earlier, and anything in Seokjin’s former profession only led to him suggesting his next boss better be a woman or else he might have to keep his future girlfriend away from corporate events or dining tables. Other careers in his field were met with similar disdain. 

Seokjin wasn’t always this way. In college, he didn’t know what kind of job he wanted or where he wanted to end up, so he majored in acting, hoping that it would lead him where he would eventually develop some sense of passion. 

In a sense it did. During an internship with an entertainment company shortly after he graduated, his attention to detail, natural charisma, and flexibility showcased a skillset he didn’t even know he had, which resulted in him being offered a position in their corporate headquarters the following fall. He’d been there ever since. 

But Seokjin didn’t want to return to the same life he’d had. So much of his life up to this point had been the same, and it clearly didn’t work out for him, so why continue on? The only issue was that he once again felt like he was 18, trying to decide on a path to follow when he didn’t even know who he was anymore. Nothing was appealing to him. 

“What about video game streaming?” Namjoon suggested. “You love games, and you have all the equipment. You used to talk about doing that all the time.” 

“Yeah, hyung. You’re also really good at talking and stuff, so it would be fun to watch you do it!” Taehyung perked up at this suggestion, shaking off his sleepiness to contribute to the conversation. “I’ve seen how much streamers make with all their sponsorships and stuff, they don’t even have to work another job!”

The energy in the room picked up slightly as they waited expectantly for an answer. 

Seokjin grunted. “Okay, look. I would love to do that. That’s my dream job. But you’re forgetting something important. Those streamers didn’t just jump on the internet one day and then got thousands of subscribers and sponsorships to pay their bills overnight. Some of them took years to build up their following before they even started making money off of it. A lot of people actually lose money from game streaming. And I need money now. I don’t have that kind of time!”

Taehyung deflated, settling himself back into the couch next to Hoseok, who gave him a tender pat on his thigh. 

“But what if…what if you did a kind of streaming that made you money pretty much right away?” Jungkook offered quietly. 

Seokjin glanced over at his youngest friend, who was holding his empty whisky glass in his hands instead of looking at him. 

“What do you mean? Is there some kind of gaming livestream service that does that?” Now Seojkin was curious. 

“Um, well, not for gaming, exactly. I was just thinking. Um, you could always do like an OnlyFans or something? I have a friend who does it and she sometimes makes $1000 a night. And that would take care of–”

“You mean being a camboy? Jungkook, seriously? Listen I know we’ve all had a bit to drink, but that’s a ridiculous idea.” Seokjin snorted. “Besides, the market is flooded with people doing their own sex work. Maybe your friend is just really pretty or something to make that much from it, but I highly doubt I would make any money off OnlyFans because no one would even see me!” 

Jungkook nursed his bottom lip between his teeth as he was dismissed, his body mirroring Taehyung as he fell back into the couch cushions. 

“Hyung is right,” Jimin added finally, having spent most of the night settled quietly next to an even quieter Yoongi. “He wouldn’t make much money on OnlyFans. All the men on there are either ugly or buff, and Seokjin-hyung looks way too gay to appeal to that market.” 

Yoongi, who was sipping his whisky as Jimin spoke, spluttered into the glass as he lost his composure, falling into a fit of laughter. From the other side of the room, Hoseok joined in, clapping and gasping for air between laughs.

“Excuse me? What the hell does that even mean? Yah, stop laughing! It’s not funny!” Seokjin fought the smile that was trying to form on his lips. Okay, it was a little funny.

“Well, hyung, isn’t it obvious? Remember that one time we went to a gay bar and all those guys I tried to pick up tried to pick you up instead?” Jimin sighed as he glanced at Seokjin before reaching across the coffee table to grab a handful of cheese balls. 

“We’ve been over this. They weren’t trying to pick me up. They just told me I was really handsome and had fuckable lips. And they’re not wrong!” 

“Wait when did you guys go to a gay bar? Where was I?” Yoongi cleared his throat, finally recovering from his laughing fit. 

“You didn’t want to come, remember? I don’t know why you’re asking this, you never want to go anywhere. Anyway that’s besides the point. Seokjin-hyung and I went to the gay bar and he stole all of the guys I was hitting on because they wanted to make him their baby girl!”

Hoseok wiped a tear from his eye and chuckled. “Yeah, no, hyung I’m sorry but if Jimin is being passed up at a gay bar for you, you clearly give off that vibe. I can see it. You look all soft and plushy and like you would be the perfect bottom.” 

Seokjin tried to fight off the heat that was creeping up his neck into his ears, but after a few glasses of whisky, and the ungodly temperature of the room,  it was a failed mission to avoid being flushed.

Jimin shot a glare at Hoseok, who shrugged. “What? I meant it as a compliment!” 

“Well, thanks I guess. Now I know I look like I’m gay. That doesn’t seem to solve my problem here!” Seokjin looked over at Namjoon for backup, but all Namjoon seemed to be able to do was give him an apologetic smile.

 “No, I know, I know. We got off topic.” Jimin said, “Sort of. Listen, like I said before you wouldn’t be successful on OnlyFans, just because of what they market. But you could always market yourself differently. And I’m thinking, if you really need to make money fast, you could always work with what you’ve got going for you.”

The entire room went silent. 

“Wait,” Namjoon said, “you don’t mean…” His eyes flitted to Seokjin and widened in alarm. 

Slowly, everyone shifted as they realized what Jimin was suggesting, Seokjin evidently being the last one. 

How was he supposed to work with what he had when what he had was apparently drawing a different crowd of people from the one he was interested in? What did Jimin mean by marketing himself differently? Was he supposed to just stream on websites that were exclusively for gay men? 

Oh. That’s exactly what Jimin was saying. 

“Wh-Jimin what the fuck? You mean I should be a gay camboy? I know we just talked about me being attractive to men, but I’m not interested in them that way!”

Jimin huffed. “Well obviously I know you’re not gay. Otherwise we might not be in this situation.” 

Seokjin winced. 

“Sorry, that was unfair. It’s just…hyung, you’ve been so not like yourself lately. And you’re right, something needs to change. I know you’re not gay, but this still could help. Haven’t you heard of gay for pay? Like in porn and stuff a bunch of straight actors will fuck each other or some gay guy because it pays more than straight porn. It’s the same thing.”

“Only you don’t have to actually fuck anyone. Maybe you should remind him of that,” Yoongi added. 

“Right, exactly! Look, you don’t have to do it. But it could help you get by and pay bills in the meantime until you find something else that you want to do. And there’s a lot of sites where you can stream even once and get a direct payout the next day. It might be worth a shot.”

Seokjin thought about it for a moment. It didn’t sound completely awful. From what he’d seen from the times he saw cam sites out of curiosity, most of what happened was masturbating and talking to people. And he didn’t hate people. But something about it made him nervous. 

“I don’t know if I’d be okay with being watched. That seems embarrassing.” 

“Oh please, the number of times you and Soon Yi fucked basically in public is astronomical. You’re practically an exhibitionist,” Hoseok teased. 

“That was different! I was with her! Now it would be everyone watching just me up close and personal. Namjoon-ah, talk some sense into them. This is crazy, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if it actually is, hyung,” Namjoon said lightly. “Jimin-ah and Hobi have made some good points. And I think…I think if you weren’t even just a little bit curious you would have immediately said no instead of going back and forth with them over it like how you flat out said no to the other stuff. Maybe you’re feeling a bit shy because it’s been a little while and you are trying to heal through the breakup and stuff, but you also don’t have to do it or you can do it once and change your mind after if you want. 

“It just doesn’t seem to me like this is the worst option for you. You get to talk to people, you can maybe have fun. You don’t see the people on the other side anyway, so if you wanted to pretend they were girls instead of guys you could, or turn off the comments probably? It’s not real sex though. And even if it was, is that so wrong? It’s not like you would be cheating on Soon Yi for doing this. I mean-”

“Thanks Hyung! I think we get it!” Jimin interjected, raising his eyebrows at Namjoon as if to say shut the fuck up. 

Seokjin felt his stomach sink. Is this why he was panicked at the thought? It wasn’t real sex, but it almost felt like he would be doing something wrong by doing this. Not morally against himself, but someone else. Maybe he was still hanging on to Soon Yi in ways he didn’t fully realize. 

He felt almost like a heavy weight was pressing on his chest and forbidding him from moving on. What would happen then if he tried doing this for himself? Would the weight still feel the same? He wanted to know. 

“Ah, fine, I’ll think about it.” He looked over at Yoongi, who looked relieved that the conversation was nearing its end. “You have anything to add to this? A final voice of reason?” 

Yoongi snorted as he jumped up to stretch. “Nah. Except, as your former roommate, ‘Seok’s got a point about the exhibitionism thing. You were way too into showing me your dick all the time and walking around naked when we roomed together.” 

The room erupted into laughter, Seokjin himself joining. This time his smile didn’t immediately fall from his face. 

Slowly, everyone else stood, bodies unwinding from furniture and each other. While Jimin ordered Jungkook and himself a taxi, Seokjin waited with him. 

“My only issue is, how do I pretend to be gay? Won’t they know I’m not?” 

Jimin scoffed as he nudged a sleepy and tipsy Jungkook into his shoes. “I don’t know hyung. You have an acting degree. Use it.”

A few weeks later, Seokjin held his first stream, nervously engaging with the handful of viewers trickling in and tried to deflect the discomfort he felt in his new spotlight.

“Um, hi everyone. My name’s Jin. Thanks for coming. You can probably tell, but this is my first time and I’m really nervous. I hope you enjoy the show.” 

Seokjin decided to shorten his name for his streams to help him feel like he was embodying a different persona, someone named Jin who may actually be gay. It wasn’t a big change, but it was nice to give himself some separation from Seokjin, the guy who was doing gay for pay to afford a new life.

Unfortunately, Jimin’s suggestion for Seokjin to act wasn’t as easy to implement as he’d hoped. Within the first half hour, viewers of his stream had noticed he was still nervous, and started asking him questions to get him to unwind, and hopefully undress. 

“Ah, yeah, uh, anal. I’ve done it once or twice, it’s nice.” It wasn’t a lie, he’d tried anal a few times with Soon Yi and did find it nice, but he also knew that this wasn’t what the question was asking. 

“Do I have a boyfriend? No, I’m single.” 

Slowly he began undressing, the heat of his half-truths causing him to feel like he was burning up. 

“Are you really gay? Well, what kind of question is that? I’m here aren’t I?” 

That question seemed to satisfy his audience for another half hour, until a new thread of people trickled in, asking him the same questions. He was running out of ways to answer.

I don’t care if you’re straight. You’re still hot. 

When he read this comment, he exhaled deeply. And from that one reaction, a flurry of others joined in. 

Yeah, idc either. You’re still so pretty. 

So hot if u were straight. Maybe I’d convert u. ;)

I’d let you put it into my ass and let you pretend it was a pussy.

For some reason, these comments began to fuel him. The attention was kind of nice. It reminded him of how he used to feel. 

Maybe he didn’t need to act gay to get what he wanted. Maybe he could just enjoy the pleasure of the compliments and company and see what happened from there? The weight he had been carrying around in his chest was feeling a bit lighter, and the comments were helping distract him from the pinches of guilt that he was doing something wrong. Because he wasn’t. 

Here, he was Jin, a sexy, flirty guy who could shine in the sky of his own making. 

Jin, the moon. 

That’s it. He was the moon.

Present

“That’s it, give it to me. Please, I’m gonna cum.” Seokjin hoped the words he moaned at his camera were true. He was so tired, and he wanted to be free from the stupid dildo.  

Lately, Seojkin has been having a hard time cumming on stream. He wasn’t sure why. For so long it had never been an issue, but streaming had begun feeling less like a fun way to relieve stress and more like an actual job. 

Never before was he so popular with his stream, and while it’s nice to see a larger deposit being made into his bank account each week, every time he came home from the restaurant and knew he was scheduled to do a cam show, his stomach knotted up with dread. 

The last time he felt this feeling was a little over two years ago, when hopping on planes to fly to mundane conferences or sitting in board rooms for morning meetings consumed all his time. Even during the period he was jobless, there was a tiny part of him relishing the fact that the work-related dread was over. 

And it returned with a vengeance. Seokjin tried everything, ventured into new kinks and even the game features of the website with the hope that he would feel the rush he used to love from streaming. But nothing really worked. It was now just his job.

He didn’t even want to stream for so long tonight, but because it was his anniversary, he wanted to make sure he ended on a good note to thank his viewers. 

One thing Seokjin’s viewers loved was seeing him cum. It was the part of his stream when he always earned the most tips. Jimin had been right. 

If Seokjin knew anything now, it’s that he had many assets worth using to finance his life, and his pretty face coupled with his big dick seemed to work for him.

But even as he stroked himself, precum dripping down the head of his cock, and even though he was riding the dildo in a way that would hit his prostate and finally give him an easy out, he could feel the edge pulling away.

���Fuck,” he grunted. He was losing it. He doubled down, rocking his hips to see if hitting a different sweet spot would do the trick. But it was to no avail; his cock was softening.

On his nightstand, his phone pinged, which only could mean one thing. Seokjin always turned his do not disturb mode on during his work hours, only allowing phone calls from his family or one alert from an app to pierce through the silence. This one was the alert.

It meant Y/N was online and you had just started a live stream of your own. 

You were one of this month’s top gaming streamers, bringing in more viewers than Seokjin had ever received during his top months of streaming. You were popular not because you were good, but because you were the exact opposite.

You were awful at most games you played, jolting at jumpscares over and over, losing in first rounds of Fall Guys or Dead by Daylight. One time you jumped into a game of Fortnite and were eliminated by a potty-mouthed child the second you landed. Your jaw hung open as the tiny, high pitched voice called you a bitchass before falling into a fit of laughter that had Seokjin himself in tears. 

You were inspiring. Sexy. You received dozens of comments every stream about how pretty you were or how great your laugh was, which you often didn’t read out loud but always offered a humble nod and show of thanks when you did. There was something about you that hit up the world around you, and though he wouldn’t so much as utter it out loud, Seokjin had a massive crush on you.

But Seokjin was also sort-of-not-really your manager. Unlike all the people pining over you in your comment section wishing they knew you in real life, Seokjin actually did. He saw you three times a week at his family’s restaurant that he was strong-armed into managing while his parents took the opportunity to finally travel and see other parts of the world. 

Seokjin stayed, not because he needed the money. Not that his pay was all that much anyway. 

Camming was incredibly lucrative for him, cementing his income in a way that allowed him to pay rent in a very nice apartment downtown. Seokjin was also someone who had always been smart with his finances and knew how to invest in the best trends. 

When his house with Yoon Si finally sold (after four months of her taking her sweet time to gather her last belongings and sign off on him putting it on the market), Seokjin took his cut and applied it toward a better streaming setup and some lower level stocks…and a special edition MapleStory figurine to celebrate the new chapter in his life. 

Seokjin’s family never seemed to question how he was able to afford his fancy apartment given how much money he made at their business. Well, they did ask once, but Seokjin orchestrated some simple lie saying he worked in cryptocurrency, and that seemed to be enough of an explanation for his family. No one wants to know how crypto works, which in the end worked in his favor. 

He’d planned to leave the restaurant about 8 months ago, but then you showed up one day asking about a job. The restaurant was within walking distance to your university, where you were getting your master’s degree in early childhood education. While the program you were enrolled in had some funding, you’d told Seokjin’s mother you were a student and in need of work. The following Monday, Seokjin walked in and found you with an apron tied around your waist, your bright eyes and smile shining back at him. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after that. 

A few months after you’d started working there, Seokjin and you had become somewhat friends, sharing stories about past jobs (minus some key details on Seokjin’s part), student observations you had to do for school, and your interests. You mentioned casually you were a livestreamer for gaming, never alluding to how popular you actually were.

Eventually, Seokjin convinced you to give him your username, batting his eyelashes dramatically and promising he would be your cheerleader. For some reason, that seemed to work, and later that night, Seokjin tuned in to your stream, one man among the thousands. From that moment on he let his crush become a safe thing where, like his own viewers, he could fantasize from behind a screen. Maybe soon he would actually ask you out on a date, taking your coworker relationship and transforming it into something more.

And then a month ago his parents left, leaving him with the roles and responsibility of manager. Which meant he was an authority figure who could arguably do whatever he wanted. Similar to how his boss in a way was an authority figure who could get whatever he wanted. That idea turned Seokjin’s stomach sour. He could never do anything about this crush now, not while you worked underneath him. It was too familiar and distorted, and he never wanted you to be in the position he was once in. It was completely inappropriate.

But try telling his dick that.  

Two days ago, Seokjin witnessed you in the kitchen bending over to pick up onion peels that had fallen to the ground. You definitely weren’t aware, but your skirt had ridden up a bit while you were working, and that meant he could see a tiniest delicate trim of lace on your blush colored panties. 

And despite the fact that Seokjin was 30 years old and had believed he’d gotten past his boner-in-public-just-from-seeing-underwear era during his teen years, he was evidently wrong. Because those panties and soft looking curve of ass didn’t just belong to anyone; they belonged to you.

This wasn’t the only time he got hard for you at work. Sometimes on days when there were no customers, he would watch you study at one of the tables, where you were prone to stretching your body after long periods of staring down, trying to unknot the tense muscles caused by sitting almost completely still as you tried to comprehend what you were reading. 

During those stretches, you would often let out the most sexual moans and sighs as you felt relief and it was enough to have Seokjin tucking himself under his belt like a horny school boy. God, what he would do to hear you moan underneath him, because of him. 

He thought about recording you stretching. He was addicted to your voice, your soft sighs. It would be so easy to just “leave” his phone in the booth behind you. Then he could hear it forever while he imagined what else made you moan. Did you like your nipples sucked? Did you sigh when you were being stretched open and felt full? How did you taste? 

And then Seokjin pulled himself together and realized how sickeningly perverted he was to be thinking about you like this as he stood hard and aching in the middle of his parents’ fucking restaurant.

He wanted you. So much so that now as he worked his cock in his fist, he let himself fall more into fantasy, one where you were watching, curious about the many toys and gifts around his apartment, wondering how you could reach the limits of what you wanted and needed to make you scream. He imagined that across town, you weren’t firing up your computer for a night of cozy games, but rubbing your pussy at the same speed he was stroking himself, wet and begging for him to cum all over those gorgeous tits, that wet tongue–

Seokjin groaned as he came, his entire body trembling as a thick load erupted all over his hands, chin, and chest. Normally he could control the direction to minimize the mess but this orgasm caught him a bit off guard, almost completely lost until it crept up with a burning need and coated him. He hadn’t felt that good in a while. 

As he panted and focused his eyes back onto the screen, his comments were flooded with praise and tips, viewers exclaiming how this might have been his best orgasm they’ve ever seen, which was saying a lot considering some of his subscribers had been with him from the very beginning, and there had been some pretty fantastic orgasms. 

He wouldn’t deny it, though. He felt looser in his joints, calm washing over him and breaking apart the bitterness that was in his gut from how lackluster streaming had been recently. He wiped his chin with a grin and reached for the towel next to him, ready to wrap up his show. As he delivered his thank yous, one comment drifting through the chat stopped him dead in his tracks. His post-orgasmic high was crashing as panic flittered into his stomach. 

Did you guys hear him moaning a name as he came? Who the fuck is Y/N?

She had to leave. If the king couldn’t overcome his malice, she knew she couldn’t stay. No amount of love she had for his son was going to make him see that. She’d told him she loved him despite the scar that ran over his left eye and down his soft cheek. She vowed to be good enough to marry him, do whatever it took. Yet the king and queen had laughed at her, had their guard hold his foot on her back so she couldn't stand up from her deep bow. 

Laughed as they stood from their thrones to welcome the guest’s arrival: the consort for their son. The prince stood with them, silent as he followed them through the open doors. Quiet like how he used to be back in the first days of when she met him last summer. In memory, she couldn’t even fathom how he was anything like the man she’d grown to love. Yet, looking up from the pulp of the floor, she’d seen him return to that man. 

Hadn’t the days she’d spent walking those palace gardens with him been enough? They’d stood together under the plum blossom tree in the middle of winter and he’d promised that he would love her even while the buds were hibernating. 

“We can watch them become flowers together in the spring,” he’d said. 

He had taken her to his bed that night. Used his sensuous tongue to lap at her sweet nectar. He devoured her heart and soul. Climaxed with her and held her through the heavy snow.

Where was that man now? She didn’t know.

She waited until well after nightfall, when even the latest bird twitterings were silenced by the call of sleep. She knew she couldn’t bring much, but she managed to slip into the kitchen after dinner to pull together a few scraps for the road. Where would she even go? The nearest village was at least a two-day walk and if he sent his men for her, she knew word would spread before she’d even arrived. 

Unless he didn’t send anyone for her, she realized, her stomach dropping with nausea. He wouldn’t send anyone for her. She knew this. It’s why Prince August stood in the throne room, lethal as ever, even with no sword in his belt. August. Sugar. Whichever person he decided he was in the moment. Her nickname for him didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t sweet. His desire for power showed the bitterness in his heart. He had given in to his parents’ wishes, despite the times he swore he would never give them the satisfaction.

He was cruel. But even worse, she believed he wouldn’t be. She was a fool.

It was the darkest part of the night when she left the servant’s quarters. She’d miss the ladies and all their kindness, but she knew she couldn’t serve August his breakfast in his bedchamber after this. After knowing that the sheets she once laid in with him were now being laid in by someone else. 

She took the back route, near the interior of the garden, ducking behind the ornamental shrubs and skirting past the watchpost the guards usually abandoned at this hour with ease. All that was left was to make it through the courtyard and she would be free. 

She padded her way along the path. A light breeze of the pre-dawn was catching, fluttering the branches of the newly blossoming trees around her and blowing petals in their wake. She caught one in her fingertips and fought a sob. Plum blossoms.

Should she take one with her? For the memory? So that she could always have a part of him with her? 

No, she decided. It would be too much to remember this. Once she passed through those gates, she would not be the same woman she was. Holding her breath, she let the petal go, hoping wherever the wind carried it, it would find the peace she too was looking for. It swept to the end of the courtyard, over the gate that was now her future. 

This was a sign, she mourned. Not all promises were meant to be kept.

With a final look at the place she’d learned to call home, the man she’d learned to call home, she opened the gate, ready to forge into the unknown. 

“Petal,” she thought she heard his call, his nickname for her. Though when she turned around, he was nowhere to be found. 

She must’ve imagined it, wished for the impossible. As she took steps through the gate, she looked out at the world around her, the plum petal a few feet in front of her. Maybe she would take a piece of him with her, after all. It was too tempting not to. 

She moved, trying to ignore the tug she felt back toward the palace, the invisible string of fate she thought that tied her to August trying to tangle her back in. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t go back. 

She bent down, clutching the petal tenderly in her palms and letting the first tears fall. 

“So that’s it, hm? After all that, you weren’t even going to wish me goodbye.” 

She rose swiftly, whipping around to the voice’s owner. 

There, leaning against the outer palace wall, was August. 

The alarm on your phone chimes, pulling you from the book in your lap. You’ve been reading all afternoon, the sun now taking its final bow before plunging the world into darkness. Soon you’ll have to turn the lights on, then it will be time for work. On your only day off. 

You groan, stretching your neck as you allow yourself to come back to reality. 

To some, it would be hard to call your job “work”. Many people dreamed of being professional game streamers. Who wouldn’t want to be paid to sit online, play games, and talk to people? 

You don’t. That’s the problem. 

Your ascent into gaming stardom was a fluke. About 9 months ago, you were in between semesters for your grad program and looking for ways to unwind. Your oldest friend, Wonwoo, was a pretty successful streamer who often hosted game nights to play with his viewers and friends. 

You frequently watched his streams, letting his soft voice be the perfect background noise as you studied and formulated the next lesson plan or behavioral assessment. You’d known Wonwoo for what felt like forever at this point, being his first subscriber, first moderator, and first kiss (not in that order). But your middle school kiss outside of the convenience store never led to anything more than that, as desperately as you’d wanted it to. 

Once he moved across the country, you let your crush die with the distance. The years turned faster and your twenties were spinning by with the revolving door of lovers you’d watch him pine over, cry over, and in one case, almost marry. Streaming then became one of your main forms of connection, and your role as his moderator tied some part of you to him out of loyalty. To imagine him as anything other than a friend now feels ridiculous. 

But that loyalty you have is also to a fault. When Wonwoo’s usual streaming friends bailed one night during a tournament, you subbed in…for a game you didn’t even know how to play. 

And to make matters worse, this was a game that required talking to each other on-stream, which meant you not only sucked major ass at this game, but Wonwoo’s 700 viewers that day were also subjected to your constant frustrated squeaks, swears, and embarrassed maws as you tried to key-smash your way to victory but ended up throwing the entire team’s game with your incompetence. 

Wonwoo wasn’t mad, though many others were. He knew what he was getting into when he agreed, and his streams operated with very few rules: no hate, no spam, and we are in this to have fun. And he did have fun. By the time the first round was over, he and most of the chat were losing it over your commentary. 

As he wiped tears from eyes and took in a breath, he read his comments. “‘Damn, I never heard a chick threaten someone with a plunger like that before’. Yeah, I’ll give it to you, Y/N, you got really creative with your insults in that. Hey, PartyShitty thanks for the sub! ‘I can’t BREATHE’, yeah I’m still trying to get it together. W00000000000000000ziiiiii–damn that’s a lot of zeros in that username–thanks for the 5000 points! ‘Is she hot’ uh, I mean, I don’t— 

“Oh shit, LetsGetIt15, thank you for gifting twenty subs! ‘Please, Y/N, start your own channel. I’ll be the first subscriber.’ Actually, no, I’ll be. But really, that's not a bad idea.”

Wonwoo navigated the rest of his stream with ease that night, but after it was over, he called you to try to convince you to start your own channel. 

“It could help with school at least! Or you could get that special edition of that one book you like with the dragons or the blue alien porn stars or whatever it is.”

“They’re neither of those things, they’re actually–”

“Whatever they are! The book that has people fucking nonstop and some plot. You know, the special edition cover that you keep talking about in your close friend story that you won’t buy?” Wonwoo said. “The point is, if you start streaming you could finally buy it and then stop talking about it and I won’t need to see sections about how hot you think their alien or fairytale or demon whatever cocks are.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his exasperation. “That won’t stop with me getting that book, just so you know. And if it bothers you so much, I can take you out of the close friend story. I didn’t even know you looked at my stories that much.” You didn’t know he still used Instagram at all actually. He very rarely posted. He mostly lived on his Discord channel talking about games with his subscribers or other friends.

Regardless, it was nice to know that he was trying to be aware of your interests, even if it was incredibly embarrassing. Although the copious amount of smut you read wasn’t something you always wanted to broadcast to the public, you’d still made some friends from online book communities over the last few years and enjoyed keeping them in the loop of your reading list.

Also, Wonwoo had a point. Streaming could help paying some of your school expenses…or get you more books. You told him you’d think about it, and while you weren’t completely in love with the idea of streaming, it did provide you with some steady income until you landed your job at the restaurant.  

After that conversation, you haven’t discussed smut or cocks since, and you’re honestly relieved, not because Wonwoo is hard to talk to about things, but because you are. Which is why streaming always feels a little uncomfortable and your position ironic, because you can barely have conversations successfully unless you really know the person to ramble about your interests to, or you can occasionally eke by with small talk. 

But streaming requires the spotlight being on you in some way at all times. It’s your face that is fixed to the corner of the screen, monitoring your every reaction. It’s your voice that echoes into the mic and responds to your chat. Sure, you have mods and some streamers don’t interact with their chat at all, but you don’t want to be like that. You’ve been on the other side before, and know that most people are just lonely and looking for connection. . 

From the moment you decided to do this, you were aware that because you were now a “gamer girl” you would be subjected to the three extremes of the comment section: chronic oversharers who tell strangers all their personal baggage perhaps in the hope that you will assume some role of therapist to them, people coming to insult your gaming (which is the point so that can’t impact you) or physical appearance, or sexually explicit comments. 

Over the months, you’ve seen many things flitting by on the screen, deleted in haste by your trusty mod squad, but it doesn’t stop the fact that you still see them. 

Those things you can handle. They are impersonal and a direct copy-paste of the same thing.

But when people compliment you? That makes you want to bury yourself under your covers and never come out. Because the compliments are always personal and touching a part of you that is authentic.

The people in your chat want to know you. They want to know what kind of music you like, your favorite foods and books. They ask if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner, compliment your hair or the shirt you’re wearing or your gaming setup. It feels intimate. Almost like you could find these people and touch them and let them know you. 

But they can’t. Because the only thing that drew them to you, the part where you’re this funny, positive gamer chick who sucks at video games but is down for whatever, isn’t real. 

Spring Day Streams Y/N is a persona. You don’t stream because you’re her. You stream because you have to be her in order to survive.  

And now she’s taking up more time. Last month’s streams landed you Streamer of the Month, which thanks to the exposure, brought dozens of new subscribers and thousands of points, and that helped take care of some of your expenses for the new semester. Some. You’re still behind on your credit card bill. 

Also, more people means more expectations for streaming. So you’ve kicked up your streaming schedule from twice weekly to three times a week, with you occasionally hopping onto Wonwoo’s channel even if you aren’t streaming to mod. 

When you aren’t glued to your computer, you’re usually at the restaurant, in a cramped kitchen where you do the prep work, often alongside him, your sexy coworker-but-now-boss, Seokjin. 

The man you are quietly obsessed with. You can’t think about Kim Seokjin without thinking about all the positions you want him to fuck you in. 

Which is also why you’ve been devouring books lately. When you’re home, you throw all your energy into the escapism they provide, especially ones where you can get yourself off to whatever fantasy Seokjin effortlessly slips into. 

For every hot mob boss, corrupt CEO, longterm best friend, dragon-rider, fairy, demon, alien, ghost, or hockey playing love interest you can find, Seokjin is sure to fill the role. A hot merman looking for someone to help him grow legs and something else? Seokjin. A Grinch who inherits his family’s Christmas tree farm and discovers how much he loves to ho ho ho? Seokjin. A god who tears apart the underworld to find his lost lover, and then during the reunion fucks her on the throne of Satan while she wears the crown? All Seokjin. 

Unfortunately, his transition from co worker to boss has made your fantasies all the more dirty. 

It’s been incredibly difficult for you to handle the fact that any flirtation you two previously shared in the months before he was your boss can no longer continue. But it’s also incredibly hot.

Fantasies of him eating you out on the counter have been replaced with the fantasy of him shoving you in the back office and fucking you on the desk while wearing one of those perfect-fitting dress shirts he often parades around in. 

And when he rolls up the sleeves to help in the kitchen? Fuck, it’s humiliating how wet you get.

The entire thing is pathetic really. He’s just standing there half the time, lecturing everyone on proper kitchen hygiene and ensuring one of the cooks doesn’t use expired seasonings for his eomma’s secret sauce. 

And you’re standing next to him clenching your thighs together because when you’re this close, you can just make out the freshness of his cologne and feel the heat of his body close to yours. 

When someone fucks up, he has a tendency to take over, chopping with unmatched precision and self assurance, trying to keep his voice even and usually failing as everything builds in intensity until he’s accidentally speaking at a million miles an hour and lecturing until his face turns red. 

If someone were to pass by the shop, they’d probably mistake his shouting for anger, but you’ve come to understand Seokjin is just passionate about things. Usually when he comes down from his tangent, he’s embarrassed and apologizes, and not long after the entire staff is laughing along with him as he cracks a joke at himself for his inability to tone it down.

Which to you makes him even hotter. Seokjin is able to see his faults and work with them, not against them. He holds himself accountable. He’s nothing like the haughty men you’ve gone on brief dinners with after downloading dating apps for the hundredth time while you’re drunk. He’s actually funny, knowing the right way to use humor and tell jokes, never at someone else’s expense, and definitely without being disgustingly crude. 

All those clowns you suffered through drinks with always made comments and digs at other women or referenced their cock like they were setting up some goofy scene from porn and you would find it hilarious and endearing. 

Seokjin isn’t like that at all. He probably refers to his dick as a penis and would blush to high heavens if he knew how horny you are for him. He’s unwound you, and he has no clue. Maybe if it hadn’t been literal years since you’ve last had sex you could tone it down. 

With working all the time and going to school, it’s already been hard to even go on singular dates here and there. And since the prospects were frankly awful, sex is just something that has had to go onto the back burner for a bit, but you seemed to scorch the fucking pan by forgetting to turn the heat off and now you are burning and hungry. 

With a final sigh, you put the book down, annoyed that you didn’t have time to finish it today or at least get to a good part where you could insert yourself into the role of the palace servant and Seokjin as the Prince. Based on the reviews, there’s sure to be a hot sex scene coming up involving using a sword in a particular way that has piqued your curiosity. 

In a moment of depravity earlier, you’d snaked one hand down the front of your panties to rub a few damp fingers around your clit to take the edge off. 

You check the time on your phone, already aware that you don’t have time to cum before streaming. You already hit the snooze button twice. The spicy stuff will have to wait. 

Defeated, you stand up, turning on the lights in your apartment as the sun finally fades away and the dark creeps in. You eat a bowl of cereal while doing your makeup, what little of it you want to put on. Finally, you fire up your PC, trying to ignore the irritation you’re already experiencing from being so high strung and unsatisfied.

The second this stream is over, you’re going to make sure you cum until you pass out. Until then, it’s time for work.

“At what point am I supposed to become good at this again?” You ask Seokjin as you attempt (and fail) to julienne carrots. 

When you arrived at work at an ungodly hour this morning to prep for the weekend rush, Seokjin had already started the coffee. 

Your empty cup now idles next to your scrap pile of too-wide carrot blocks that’ll have to be pulverized by the blender and repurposed in another recipe. 

Seokjin chuckles as he buzzes about the kitchen, reaching tenderly around you to grab your mug for a refill. 

“That all depends on how much you practice.”

“So should I expect a large carton of carrots to be delivered to my home this evening with the instructions to have them julienned by Monday?” You tease, as you split another carrot down the center, half of it flinging off the prep counter and onto the floor. 

Seokjin smirks and bends down. He picks up the carrot and deposits it into the garbage bin. “Two cartons, actually. Given how many carrots we’ve lost already today, I need to make sure at least some of our inventory lands on the customer’s plate and not just into the trash.”

“How considerate of you,” you chide, and put down the knife, reaching out to accept your newly filled coffee mug. Seokjin’s hands are red from the constant washing and chopping of potatoes, which you recently learned he’s allergic to. 

As well as garlic, and you’ve already voluntarily peeled and minced that for the day. That much you can do without guidance, but anything besides your imprecise chopping is on the list of knife skills Seokjin wants you to improve upon. 

This is fair, given how dangerous your previous cutting methods have been. Once Seokjin saw the way you tried to stab at a watermelon, it was over. Now you often come in an hour and a half early before each shift to practice. 

And to also be alone with Seokjin before he is forced from the kitchen to deal with other duties. 

“Thank you,” you say, as you take the first warm sip and shiver. It’s freezing outside, and it’s only supposed to get worse. 

There’s snow forecasted for the weekend, which could mean one of two things: everyone stays home and avoids driving, or they all leave the house in one show of silent agreement and fill every nook and cranny of the restaurant to order bowls of sundubu jjigae or crisp and hot pajeon. 

Seokjin predicts that because a warm front is moving in afterward, people will utilize one of the only days of snow you’ll likely get this winter to gather together.

Valentine’s Day is soon, and the city has started to prepare. Storefronts have begun switching out new year sale signs for pink and red heart motifs, with spas and restaurants offering couple specials. The perfumeries have moved from campaigns advertising the perfect Christmas gift to ones of sexy, decadent colognes sure to transform a man into his inner beast. 

And then there’s the chocolate. It’s like the air in the neighborhood the restaurant resides in smells different, less greasy and grimy and more sweet. Everywhere you turn there’s pastries, cakes, bonbons, crepes, chocolate dipped nuts and other confections that just looking at makes your teeth sore. 

With the district washing itself in a pink glow, more and more couples have been braving the cold, landing in the restaurant after weighing themselves down with shopping bags. 

You’ve seen what’s in them, often tripping over or kicking at least one bag each shift while you attempt to bring an order to the table and spilling the contents. This year seems to be popular for matching couple outfits. You’ve seen a lot of pairs in their early twenties wearing or recently acquiring sweaters that have the same characters or color combinations. With the temperatures dipping into a bitter chill this week, some have elected to wear cute but inconvenient sets of mittens that allow them to hold hands as they stroll. 

When it snows in the city, the world gets quieter, cleaner. Even if people shuffle around in the bustle of novelty experiences, how they show their love, from brushing the snow off each other’s coats or taking kissing selfies in front of snow fallen trees, it always makes you feel a little softer, a little more at peace. 

Snow is really romantic.

“What?” Seokjin asks, which alerts you to the fact that you’ve been staring at him as you let your thoughts run, a dopey grin splattered across your face. 

“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about how much I love the snow.” You break eye contact, feeling the heat of embarrassment flood your cheeks. 

“Ah, yeah. It’s supposed to start soon,” he looks at you thoughtfully before looking back down at the tofu blocks he’s draining. 

A silence falls on you, the once normal pause now becoming a bit awkward. 

“What do–”

“I just–”

You both stumble over each other, trying to fill the unnatural pause you’ve reached, which has you laughing and Seokjin cracking a wide grin. 

“What were you going to say?” he asks, and then motions for you to get back to your carrot desecrating. 

“Ah nothing. You were going to ask something?”

You slice a carrot, this time less match stick and more shaved. Damn. 

“Oh, um. I was going to ask you what you like about the snow. That thought kind of came from nowhere and I was trying to follow.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying not to offend you. Is he nervous?

Your mouth draws into a thin line. Can you risk saying what you were just thinking? Is it inappropriate to talk about romance in front of your boss, who you’ve thought about kissing in the snow at least three times a day? You don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’re aware of the ways in which Seokjin’s new position of authority weighs on him. 

While he’s always had more authority due to being the owners’ son, it isn’t like Seokjin walked around the place with a power complex before his promotion. You two had become something akin to friends in the months you’ve worked together, falling into occasional flirty banter as you shuffled around each other to mop floors or wash dishes. 

You know he used to work for a large company a few years ago but quit to help his family with their restaurant. You also know he loves MapleStory and is always showing you his newest splurge from their online shop or the latest piece to his collection. 

He doesn’t have any pets, but sometimes debates getting a dog and then when shown support, he dismisses it with boisterous laughter, talking about how he doesn’t have the time and if he ever wants to get a dog, he will have to buy a house. Usually once he lands on discussions of a house, he gets a little more quiet, perhaps a bit sad.  

He has an older brother who has one child and another on the way, a major reason for his parents’ decision to travel now, before the new baby arrives. His brother and brother’s wife have visited a few times while you were working, but Seokjin’s mother had mentioned that her son and his wife recently moved into a new house outside of the city, and with the new addition joining sometime in the spring, it can be a bit exhausting to pack up the car for a few hours of visiting time. 

While you haven’t experienced Seokjin as an uncle, you know how much he loves being one, excusing himself from the front of the shop to Facetime with his nephew from the back office, where you can hear his voice carry with high pitched impressions and jokes or random songs he babbles to the youngest Kim. 

Knowing him in this way feels a bit awkward now that he’s the one signing your paychecks. Since his transition, he’s been a bit more formal with you, you assume trying to be respectful and professional. 

You understand where he’s coming from, but you miss the past connection you two had formed. And that seems to dictate your response. 

“I like how romantic snow is. How it not only makes the lights twinkle more, but how people do cute things in it. Snowball fights, drinking hot chocolate, building snowmen. They change their behaviors for the snow. To celebrate love in it. Last time it snowed here, I saw one girl push her boyfriend into a snowbank.”

Seokjin laughs as he begins popping the tofu blocks into containers. “That sounds awful,” he says. 

Your heart plummets. “Oh,” you squeak. 

His head darts up to catch your expression and his eyes flash. “Oh, no no! Not like that. I mean, being pushed into the snowbank. That poor guy was probably soaking wet and freezing after that!” He waves his knife in his hand wildly with his gesture and then quickly deposits it into a sheath before stepping over to your workstation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” 

You recover. “Oh he was. He also got his revenge by pulling her in with him. And she wasn’t even wearing a coat.”

You watch Seokjin’s tense shoulders relax. His broad frame is so close now, towering over you. He smells a little like the earthy starch of potatoes, but you like it. 

“I, uh,” he says, his voice becoming more raw. “I like the snow too. You’re right, it is romantic in a way. The snowflakes getting caught in your hair, you huddle closer to someone to share body heat, it’s nice.”

As if on cue, your bodies inch a little closer to each other. Seokjin reaches his arm forward, brushing along yours as he grasps one edge of the workstation to lean in. 

“Yeah,” you reply lamely. 

You blink up at him and he smiles back. You both sit there for a moment, neither of you moving, just studying the other’s expression. 

Then, he leans in.

Your breath catches, and his other arm lifts up above you on the other side, caging you to the workstation.

Your eyes close from the intensity. He’s so close that you feel the fabric of his rolled shirt sleeve graze against your cheek. 

All it would take is him leaning in and searing his lips onto yours and you would fold for him. You know this.  

This is what you often fantasize about, the two of you in this position. That’s the power he has over you, his smooth seduction, your willingness. 

If he asked you right now, you would strip down and bend over this workstation, let him fuck you with your nipples brushing against the cold steel of the counter, carrot shavings squishing against your face as he impales you with his cock. 

It would be so easy, he just needs to ask you. 

“Y/N,” he says, a bit more distant now, but you shudder at how roughly he says your name. 

“Mm?” you hum, forcing your eyes to reopen. Seokjin has pulled away from you. How long has he been just looking at you standing here with your eyes closed?  

“Turn around,” he says. 

Wait, what? 

You stare back at him blankly. Is he reading your mind? 

Seokjin rolls his eyes and laughs, holding up the package of dried seaweed that was above you on the shelf. He tosses it on the counter behind him.

“Are you still here or did I lose you? I said turn around.” You freeze, confused. 

He did all that to reach above you for some seaweed? Is he fucking with you? And what does he want you to turn around for? 

“Wha–”

You open your mouth to ask but Seokjin moves in, his hands on your wrists as he takes you and spins you around so you’re up against your workstation, his stomach resting on your back as you stand sandwiched against him and the cold counter. You clench your thighs, suddenly aware that you are wet. 

Fuck.  

“You need to focus,” he says low in your ear. You take a shaky breath. 

Focus. How are you supposed to focus when you imagined this exact scenario exactly one minute ago? 

“I, what?” Your words fail you as you stand there, stunned and aroused but also completely confused about what he wants from you. This entire situation is a mindfuck. 

Seokjin’s hands leave your wrists and make their way to your hands as he moves you like a puppet. 

“Y/N, were you even paying attention? We just went over this. God, I swear, I’ve told you. You need to be present in the kitchen space. You’re lucky I resheathed the knife for you while you were on another planet. You could have easily gotten hurt.” Seokjin scolds you overhead. 

Oh. You look to the right and see the kitchen knife you were using back in its protective shell and not where you left it, which, come to think of it, was incredibly close to where your hands were now on the counter under Seokjin’s. Yikes. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling a prick of shame seeping through the fog. Seokjin isn’t trying to fuck you against the counter; he’s trying to make sure you don’t cut your finger off. 

He tuts above you, his grip still firm as he directs you to the uncut carrots and chopping board. 

“Tsk, honestly. You’re ridiculous. What am I going to do if my best girl is hospitalized after losing her hand because she’s too busy daydreaming about snow storms instead of having basic kitchen awareness? You know, I could send you home over this. Make you unable to come back until you rewatch those kitchen safety videos with the fake blood and awful actors. Seriously.” 

You shiver at his words. He’s so busy setting up for a rant, you almost miss it. 

“Your best girl?” You ask lightly. 

Seokjin stills, your joined hands hovering over the cutting board. “Oh, uh. You know what I mean. You’re the best….girl we have on staff. You know.”

You don’t. You’re far from the best girl on staff. Seha has a degree in culinary arts. She’s usually the one who has everything prepped days ahead with perfectly formed cuts. She manages the kitchen cleanliness with rigidness. She even barks orders at Seokjin when he’s in the kitchen because he isn’t as clean as her. 

If she wasn’t out with the flu, none of this work would even need to be done. Maybe Seokjin is getting sick too. He’s been feverish looking and a little uneasy around you all morning, and clearly he’s now being delusional.

“Ah,” you concede, and give your hands a shake to urge him to continue. 

“Right, anyway. You’re getting better at your cuts, but I’m losing money quickly with all your sacrifices to the floor goblins. And we don’t have much time left before the others start coming in, so let’s finish this up.” 

You let Seokjin guide you, literally hand-over-hand, as he restructures your positioning on the knife and angle of the blade to slice through the carrots a lot more cleanly and easily. 

“That’s it, good. You’re doing such a good job,” he breathes. 

You feel his exhale along your spine. God, you’re a pervert. He’s just trying to help you better yourself, and all you’re thinking about is how dominating he seems right now and how much you want to please him. 

God, if he calls you a good girl you know you’re going to moan audibly. That’s how bad he’s got you.

You keep working, and once you get the hang of it, Seokjin’s grip loosens, allowing you to finish the bag by yourself. But his hands are still on yours, even if you’re the one in control. 

After a while though, it’s becoming too much to handle. Him bent over you like this is limiting your range of motion, making it hard to wipe the sweat on your hands or move your scrap pile further down the counter. 

He’s also a human furnace, the space between you still so limited that you’ve begun sweating under him. 

In one particular cut of carrot, the sweat caused by the joint heat of your hands causes you to lose your grip, shooting it down onto the floor. 

Reflexively, you reach down to grab it, but with Seokjin still attached to you, it proves to be an immediate disaster. 

You throw your body into a bend, which forces you back, your ass grinding directly into Seokjin and being met with something very large. 

You gasp and Seokjin grunts, swiftly releasing your hands, which are actually balancing you in your bend. 

You fall forward, smacking your head into the edge of the counter as you go down. 

The kitchen echoes with an embarrassing clang as your forehead ricochets off the metal. 

“Fuck,” you groan, a sharp pain shooting through you.. 

You scramble to recover, one hand going to your head as you steady yourself, rubbing the soreness. Seokjin flails above you, panicked. 

“Oh shit! Y/N I’m so sorry! Oh my god. Are you okay? I shouldn’t have let go, I just was–” Seokjin rambles as you stare up at him, trying to get him to steel himself. 

“No, fuck, ouch, it’s okay! I’m okay. Seokjin, can you please just get me some ice and help me up?” You aren’t sure you can get yourself up as your vision swirls from the heat of the pain. You really went down hard. 

Seokjin ceases his flailing and shouting, leaning down and picking your body up off the floor with impressive strength and carrying you to a clean workstation in the center of the room. He sits you on top of it, making you now almost his height. 

Holy shit.

Once sure you’re not at risk of flopping over, he walks over to the ice maker with a clean kitchen cloth and folds some ice cubes inside. 

You reach for the cloth, but he refuses to hand it over. 

“Yah! No. Please let me do this, I can see the bump forming already. I’m the one who caused your injury.” He gingerly lays the cold cloth against your head. You wince. 

“‘Snot your fault,” you pout, trying to ignore the pain. “It was an accident. No one caused it.” 

Seokjin sighs and places his free hand behind your head, discouraging you from angling away like you’ve subconsciously been doing. 

“It is my fault. I let go of you. After just lecturing you about kitchen safety. God, what kind of example am I setting? I’m really sucking at this boss thing.” 

You reach up, placing your hand on Seokjin’s wrist to remove it from the ice. But he doesn’t relent. You keep your hold. 

“Seokjin, you’re not a bad boss. God you’re literally the opposite. Everyone here loves you. You’ve only been the manager for a little while. Give yourself some time. And keep in mind both of your parents ran this place, and now it’s down to just you.” 

You feel the tendons under his wrist adjust, his grip a little looser. Seokjin’s wrists are soft and tan, a thin coating of hair trailing up his forearms and under his sleeve. Your grip loosens too, and you let your thumb brush back and forth through the hair. 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t supposed to be the manager. My brother was supposed to manage the restaurant when my parents were ready to retire. That was always the plan, anyway. But things change. When they were getting their apartment ready for my nephew to arrive, I think they realized how tight space can be living in the city. We grew up in an apartment complex not too far from here and it always felt like we were on top of each other. 

“Which, we kind of were. My brother and I shared this tiny room that had bunk beds, and we lived that way until he went away to college. I used to always smack my head against the ceiling when I was a teenager and woke up in the middle of the night. My forehead would get huge bruises on it, probably a lot like the one you’re going to have on your head.” He frowns. 

“I guess my brother didn’t want to see his kids living like that either. I never minded it so much, but maybe that’s because I was the younger one. Not having any privacy during puberty or dealing with me during puberty was probably a nightmare for him.”

You shoot him a sympathetic smile. “It was nice of you to take over on his behalf then. I know you used to work for major companies in the business district downtown. This must have felt like a sacrifice.” 

Seokjin’s arm falls away from your head, your soft caress pulling away with it. He sets the cloth down next to you. He worries his bottom lip into his mouth and then shakes his head. 

“No, it was never like that. I’m sure eomma filled everyone and their brother’s ears with stuff about me. ‘Seokjin is our business minded son! He’ll make a great leader!’ ‘Seokjin is talented in the kitchen and spent his whole life working for us. We trained him well!’ ‘Don’t worry about him abusing his power. He knows exactly how it is for everyone!’” Seokjin’s says, his voice inotating the same pattern of his mother. 

“Well, she wasn’t wrong. You are all those things,” you argue, lacing your fingers in his. You know it’s not necessarily appropriate behavior between a boss and his employee, but at this moment, you’d argue Seokjin needs a friend more than anything. 

“I’m not, though, Y/N. I didn’t sacrifice anything to do this. It wasn’t some great act of loyalty where the son with a promising future gives up his dream for his family business. In fact I had to beg my parents to let me work here! Because I, their failure of a son, lost everything and had nowhere else to go! And the shit I ended up doing to even keep myself afloat…I’m not a great leader. I’m nothing more than a fraud.”

Seokjin rakes his free hand through his hair. 

“I had a good life before this Y/N. A good job, a nice house, a fi-...just..I was living a dream that I no longer have for myself is all. But at the time I was on top of the world and now I feel like such a fucking failure.” 

Seokjin looks like he’s falling apart, eyes darting madly as he shifts around, suddenly transforming into nothing like his usual cool, goofy self. 

You need to stop this from getting worse. To distract him and stop him from talking himself into a pit of despair. If Seokjin’s mouth is occupied somehow, he can’t continue with all the negative self-talk. 

A stupid idea flashes in your head. You don’t even think before you roll with it. 

“Jesus, I can’t even manage properly. I messed up Mino’s paycheck a few weeks ago and I’m still not sure how it happened. I’m just not–”

Your lips connect with Seokjin’s, your legs wrapping around his waist to tug him closer as you move your body against his. Seokjin returns the kiss in earnest, parting his mouth to welcome your tongue as you lap the words out of his mouth. 

His plush lips feel so soft against yours, his taste a bit bitter from the coffee you both drank earlier, but you find yourself craving more of it, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth with the hope that maybe you can absorb it. 

Seokjin groans in response, gripping your hand tighter, his other settling on your lower back as he pulls you closer. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear every atom in your body is vibrating at a higher frequency from his touch. You want to feel him everywhere. 

You break the kiss, and see Seokjin’s eyelids are heavy, almost like he’s drunk. You’re about to move back in, to tongue along his sweaty, long neck, suck on his protruding Adam’s apple. 

That’s when you hear it. The slam of the back door as your coworkers arrive.

Seokjin jolts back, breaking the hold you have around his waist with your legs. 

His mouth looks a little red and swollen. And his eyes are wide, panic flashing across his face. 

“I–I’m sorry!” 

Before you can reassure him, tell him that you’re the one who should be sorry, you started this, who crossed this line between boss and employee by kissing him, Seokjin bolts from the kitchen. 

You sit for a minute, stunned, and then look around, taking in the scene around you. The carrot shavings all over the counter, the discarded one still on the floor. Your knife is unsheathed again. There’s containers of tofu and seaweed just abandoned in a pile next to a large pot. 

And you can feel the puddle forming under you from where the ice has begun to melt. What the fuck just happened? What mess did you just get yourself into? 

The rest of your shift, you’re anxious. Especially because you’re short-staffed due to the weather forecast, which has led to three call-outs from people who commute from across town. That means you’re performing multiple roles: taking orders, bussing tables, seating customers, and getting appetizers, drinks, and side dishes ready for each group of people coming through the door. 

Seokjin was right in his prediction; you guys are slammed. And because there’s less staff, that means Seokjin is orbiting around you, following behind with cleaning rags as you finish bussing or running into you in the narrow doorway as you both attempt to fetch an order from the kitchen. You’re both flushed and sweating, the hairs on the back of your neck now matted down. 

Your mind is swirling around that kiss and its consequences, but you don’t have time to lose focus; the minute you finish one thing, you’re pulled into another task for a temporary distraction.

Only to be thrust back into the reminder of this morning when Seokjin lightly caresses the small of your back as he squeezes behind you to grab more plates. 

If either of you ever need a break, you don’t say so, only pausing in between rushes to pee, take a bite of something, and chug water before you’re thrown back out into the mess. 

Finally, after you elect to work a double, it’s closing time.

“Y/N!” Seokjin calls you from the front as you scrub the grime off a stack of dirty dishes.

Your pulse quickens. You’re the last one here. The storm kicked up an hour ago, and since you live the closest, you shoved your coworkers out the door so they could get home before the roads were a mess. 

You dry your hands on your messy apron, pulling out your phone and wincing at the slew of missed calls, texts and notifications. You were supposed to stream again tonight with a bunch of other girl gamers as a part of a “Galentine's Day” collab, playing dating simulation games as a warm up before jumping into some first person shooters. 

You’d reached out to cancel once you saw the stress tugging at Seokjin’s face, his jaw set, his brow constantly furrowed. While the other streamers were completely understanding, you still have a ton of notifications from your social channels asking if you are okay and some texts from Wonwoo and a few other friends asking the same. 

You’ll fill them in later. But now, you have to face Seokjin. 

He’s sitting at a freshly wiped-down table, counting the drawers and preparing the deposit slip. 

He ushers you over and gestures at the stack of cash, silently asking you to verify his numbers. You comply, the room silent less the shuffling of bills or coins under your fingertips and your habitual mouthing of the numbers to ensure you don’t lose count. 

He nods at your final calculation, jotting the number down on the sheet and placing the bills together. You turn and begin to head back to the kitchen. 

“Wait,” he says, and you freeze. 

Your stomach is quickly turning into a bundle of knots. You suck your lips into your mouth as you spin back around, Seokjin’s eyes meeting yours. 

“I…” Seokjin takes a deep breath before continuing. “Listen. I’m really sorry about this morning. Today’s just been a whole mess and I really shouldn’t have been airing my frustrations to an employee like that. It was inappropriate and immature. I know better than to behave this way.”

Did you say your stomach was in knots? You mean it’s filled with heavy, sickening lead. “Oh, right. Uh, don’t. I mean, I started it. I just…you were panicking and I didn’t know what to do and I thought maybe this would help.” 

Seokjin’s brow furrows, a frown on his face. “Why are you apologizing when I’m clearly the one in the wrong here? Ah, no let me finish! I’ve always prided myself on my professionalism and ability to keep personal matters out of my work. And I failed in doing so, which takes advantage of you since I’m your superior. You not only felt a need to comfort me but also stop me from spinning out. I’m truly sorry Y/N, about the oversharing and the um, kiss. I definitely gave into my emotions in a moment of weakness. Please forgive me, I promise I will never touch you again. This won’t happen again.” 

His head droops and he looks down, clearly ashamed.

Oh. So he doesn’t want this. Which, why would he? He’s right in that he’s your boss, and clearly Seokjin values his reputation and his job because they’re a reflection of not just him, but his family. Why risk that with someone like you?

You swallow the lump in your throat along with any response. There is the boundary, you know better than to cross it. 

As you move again, Seokjin rises from the table. “Y/N…you know what? You go home. The storm is really coming down.”

“But, there’s still mopping and all those dishes left,” you croak. Your voice is so hoarse from being dehydrated and talking all day that you barely recognize it as your own. 

“Don’t worry about those. You look and sound exhausted. It’s not your job to take care of everything. Go home, enjoy your romantic snowy trek,” he smirks, “and get some much needed rest. You’ve more than earned it.”

When you arrive home, your body slugs onto your bed, finally giving into the fatigue you’ve ignored all day. Your feet ache, your stomach now settled enough from your walk that you are starving. And you smell awful. 

As much as you want to fall asleep, you know that you at the very least need to eat something. 

With a groan, you rise, hobbling to your kitchen to make some instant ramyeon. The collab stream is now over, you learned this while finally checking your phone on your way home and seeing a thank you message blasted out by one of the streamers. Oh well. 

You suppose you could get back to your book, see what Prince August and his lover are getting up to in their reunion, but that seems like more brain power than you’re willing to give. 

You elect to eat, then take a shower, rinsing the grime of the day off you. When you step out of the shower, you see an ugly looking bump and purple bruise on your forehead. 

That’s right, you’d already forgotten about your injury from earlier. You touch it lightly and recoil from the sharp pain. Damn, maybe you should’ve checked to see if you were concussed earlier. You didn’t realize you hit your head that hard. 

You decide to ice it before bed, crawling under your covers and trying to rest while you play back your day. 

How you started is so significantly different from where you are now. When you woke up, you were eager and excited to be around Seokjin, to learn new skills and feel light and warm in his presence. Now, the idea of going back to work in a few days, to have to muddle through the rejection you got tonight and try to get back to a baseline makes you feel nauseous. 

Seokjin wants to make this all water under the bridge, and you want to do that for him. But it’s nearly impossible when he’s, well, him. He doesn’t understand how much more difficult it’s going to be to look at him because you’re not walking around with a face like that: perfectly balanced and delicate features and a full, delicious set of lips. 

God, he really did taste fantastic. You wonder what would’ve happened if you two weren’t interrupted. Would giving into his emotional need for comfort have given you more? You know it’s wrong to think about, because you're the one who took advantage of him, not the other way around. 

He can say he took advantage of you with his power imbalance or whatever, but you’re the one who was seconds away from licking down that thick neck or grinding back onto that massive cock. 

Fuck, that’s right, Seokjin is huge under all those clothes and your ass got to experience rubbing against it today. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he seemed like he was a little hard. 

If Mino and the others had been just a little later, you might have seen it. They might have walked in on you on your knees as you choked on it, Seokjin’s moans and whines echoing in the kitchen. 

Because now from kissing him, you got a taste of those little noises he makes. And the memory has you becoming slick and needy. 

It’s late. Too late to read your smutty book, especially since you’re not at the next smutty scene yet. August and his beloved are just reuniting. You’re sure it’s bound to be good, but you don’t have that kind of patience right now. You need to cum, to get your ideas about Seokjin and what he firmly set as a boundary out of your head once and for all. 

Which means you need to give your fantasy of him out of your head too. You shove the ice pack you’ve been holding to your head aside, ready to relieve some tension. 

You reach under your shirt and gasp when the chill of your icy hand plucks at one of your nipples. Yes, you need more of this. 

You touch the other one with your other hand, disappointed that it’s warm. And then you get a fantastic idea. You grope around for a moment until you feel the cold cloth housing the ice cubes from your freezer and pluck one out. It melts quickly in your hand, but the cold water is stimulating as you feel it run down your forearms, a droplet or two rushing down and reaching the heat of your armpit. You pull the large shirt you use as pajamas  up further with your other hand, fully exposing your chest and stomach to the chilly air of your apartment.  

The ice cube drips over your navel. You hiss as the new sensation floods your core with warmth. Some of the water pools in your belly button, a satisfying dampness taking over your body. Then, you drip the melting ice cube onto each nipple and relish how erect and sensitive they’ve become from your arousal. 

Your breasts are plush, something you love to grab and tug as you play with yourself. They’re heavy, the weight of gravity tugging them down instead of staying up as porn once made you believe was possible. 

You can understand why people sometimes get caught up playing with tits all the time. They’re arguably fun to play with. 

As the ice cube warms and shrinks, you become more curious, taking it between your fingers and swirling it directly over each nipple, a shock of cold hitting them and your hips bucking in pleasure. More. Whatever you’re feeling right now, you need more of it. 

You rip your sleep shorts and panties off in desperation, splaying your legs open and aiming yourself up so the last drips of the ice cube can fall directly onto the folds of your pussy, a few dribbles landing right on your aching clit. 

Heat, that’s what you actually feel. Fire and ice swirling together in a decadent and hot pleasure. You reach over and grab another cube, this time skipping the teasing and touching the ice right to your clit. It’s a lot. Too much. Not enough. The pain shooting through your clit is also full of so much pleasure and you don’t want to stop. 

You rock against your hand, rubbing your clit with your fingers as the ice melts, mixing the wetness of the water with your own, getting you messier, hotter, hungrier. 

The memory of Seokjin holding the ice pack flits through your head, how cold his one hand was as it held yours, similar to the chill of your own hand as you grind it against your pussy. You need something inside of you. Now. 

And unfortunately for you, all your toys are currently dirty. When you finished streaming last night, you made good on your promise to fuck yourself until you passed out, which means your collection of dildos and vibrators are now discarded in a pile next to your bed that you’d intended to wash after work today. 

You insert a finger and sigh. It’s not enough. The angle is too awkward and you can’t get far enough in. Seokjin’s hands are much larger than yours, capable of pumping his long fingers deep within you, to get to the part of your core that is aching. If he were here right now, he could be itching that scratch, a smug look on his face as he comments on how soaking wet you are for him and commands you to cum. 

Ugh. You said you wouldn’t think of him, yet here he is again, stirring up inside your fantasies. You can’t give in, you need to distract yourself, look at another face so you can feel motivation. 

You remove your fingers, wipe them on the damp washcloth next to you, and reach over on your side table for your laptop. 

You don’t watch a lot of porn, finding the videos often too fake, but you’re desperate. You scroll through the website, quickly losing some of your arousal as you click through pages of straight porn, the ones you know that will have some awful plot, or the woman has some nasal and fake moan that kills your buzz. Or the guys are so ugly, proving that porn always has the male gaze in mind. 

You just need to cum. Today has been awful enough, and knowing you have to stream tomorrow again is already causing you to wind up. No, this is necessary stress relief. An unwinding. Make it dirty and to the point. 

You click over into the other categories. You need just a man, someone else who isn’t Seokjin. You hover over the male masturbation tag, still disappointed. Then you see a banner ad for a camming site: Worldwide Handsome, Hunks From Around the Globe. That, you think, seems more promising. 

Live cams are interactive, more with immediacy. Usually the guys on them are hot or gay or both and just ready to jack off for money and give in to some dirty talk. Even the gay camboys don’t always care if women are viewing. Money is money. 

You click the banner, praying this doesn’t immediately give your computer a hundred viruses that will delete all your coursework you���ve saved to the harddrive. 

Luckily, it’s a legitimate website, much like OnlyFans, just with the emphasis on queer men from every country. You might just be saved. 

There are so many categories to choose from: couples, kinks, trans, bisexual, furries, just chatting, BDSM, interactive games, private rooms. It’s a little overwhelming. You select the “solo” tab, which, of course, has the most videos under it, and begin exploring. 

You click on one that seems promising, but quickly exit out because the user has fallen asleep and it feels too intimate. 

In another, the streamer is yelling at his chat for outting him to his parents, and you exit out of that as well. 

You’re about to give up when you refresh the page, but then a recently started stream catches your eye. It’s quickly gaining views, and has a little “1” next to it, probably to indicate that this streamer is the most popular one in his category. 

The title for the stream is Unwind with me. Late night play with Daddy which makes your core throb a little with promise. The thumbnail is black, which is a little odd, but you’re curious who this “Daddy” is and how he plans on helping his viewers unwind. Because that is exactly what you need. In his associated tags, there’s a tiny banner at the bottom that urges you forward “all genders welcome”. 

You click the link, and the video itself is black, but there’s still hundreds of comments fluttering through the chat. Is your stream broken? This sometimes happens when you stream too, but after a quick refresh you realize that the screen isn’t black. There’s a little bit of light pouring through whatever is covering the camera, detecting some movement through the veil. 

“You don’t know how stressed I am today,” a low voice groans. 

Whoa. You lean closer, tapping the volume button on your laptop to the max and leaning back. God, whoever this guy is, he sounds hot. This might actually work to get you off and get over Seokjin.

You balance your laptop on your knees and roll your hand down your stomach and between your legs, finding your aching clit and sighing as you delight in your touch. 

“I know we don’t always play games like this baby. I know you usually like it when I beg. But I can’t play like that today. It’s been so long since I got to fall back into what I desperately, absolutely need.”

His voice is so seductive yet also comforting in a way that’s familiar. You feel more of your arousal dripping out of you, and you scoop it up to swirl it around your clit, feeling a little twinge of that white hot pleasure return to you. 

“And what I need is to take the edge off, to remind all of you who is in charge. Some of you have been very, very bad lately. Haven’t I given you enough? A two-year anniversary stream? I gave you all my cum didn’t I? All of it.” 

The chat is going nuts, comments replying with “yes Daddy” accompanying tips that vary from twenty bucks to one thousand dollars spilling in. You check his timestamp. He’s only been live for five minutes and he’s already getting this much? Even your most successful streams take hours to reach a little over a thousand after royalty cuts. 

To his credit, though, if you had a grand to drop on him, you just might, and that’s going by his sexy voice alone.

“I let you watch me spill from my cock, let you see me touch myself. And you were greedy. Don’t think I don’t know what you did. I saw your questioning comments, trying to shame me for muttering someone’s name in pleasure. But I’m not ashamed. I’m proud.”

Fuck, what you would do to have this guy moan your name. You feel your orgasm approaching and rub yourself harder, a soft squelch echoing through your room.

“You took what I gave you for granted, you fucking whores. And now, you need to be punished.” 

You’re so close, the little peaks of pleasure starting to build up higher in intensity. 

The mystery man stops talking, and you along with the chat, begging for more. 

“Please,” you moan at your screen. 

Suddenly, you hear it, a wet, slick sound. Fuck, is he touching himself? 

“It’s been a long day. All day, I was working and I was so horny because some people in this world can’t stop fucking teasing me, tempting me to punish them, just like you.”

You feel the tremor of your first orgasm, but it’s not as sharp, more like a hint of what is to come. You pinch your clit between your fingers, sighing a little bit at the relief of pressure.

“You’ve all been very bad. And until you show me you can be good, I’m going to pump my cock and not let any of you see. You think you can do that? You think you can be my good little subs and prove to me you’ll behave?”

Oh god. Fuck. He’s insane, he’s so hot and insane, and you’re also insane, nodding along. The condescension is so hot, and it reminds you of earlier in the kitchen, when Seokjin scolded you for not being safe with the knife. His voice got rough just like this guy. And it makes you feel so needy and desperate. 

Please, you beg silently, just like how you did this morning. I’ll do anything. 

Almost as if he knows this, you hear a moan carry through your speakers. You assume he’s reading the comments and tips with promises to behave. You clench around nothing, really wishing at least one of your toys was clean for you to use to feel less empty. You’re never falling asleep without washing them again. 

“Good, that’s what I like to see. Now remember, you don’t get to cum until I get to cum. Go ahead and play with yourself for me, get yourself all worked up. And then be good and listen. I’ll tell you what to do next.” 

Whoops. Well, the first one didn’t count. You aren’t satisfied. 

He groans, signaling that he’s stroking himself again, rough jerks you can hear from the way his hands are sliding over his (you assume) lubed cock. 

“You want to see me cum? You want to earn it all over you? You know what you have to do, my pretty little subs. Work for it. And not a penny less.” 

In a frenzy, the tip jar continues to buzz in the bottom corner, the graphic of coins depositing into it glitching out a bit as it fails to keep up with the volume of tips. While he’s the most popular streamer on this site, it’s not as though the website is the only one of its kind, and that means that his couple hundred viewers are putting in the work and the cash. 

You watch the numbers rise next to the tip jar as his subs showcase their double entendre: both his subscriber count soars and his comments flood with loyal submissives.

Please, Daddy. Please let me cum. 

I’m sorry Daddy. I’ll be good, I swear. 

Remove the blindfold please! I need to see your big cock! 

Ah, it’s a blindfold. Of course. 

The graphic of the jar changes, exploding and sending animated dollars and coins across the screen. This is wild. His viewers have already met the milestone. They’ve just raised ten grand in less than 15 minutes. That has to be some kind of record. 

He tuts and the sound of it punches your gut. Why does he sound so familiar?  “Tsk, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I knew you could do it. You want my forgiveness that badly, huh? Okay, I’ll give you what you need. I’ll forgive you.” 

Your pussy is throbbing. You’ve had to scale back the touching, feeling a weird sense of obedience to this camboy that you can’t describe. 

There’s a ruffling sound and the camera jolts before light pours into view, a blur of shapes and colors you can’t make out greeting you until it comes into focus and you’re met with a massive, leaking cock. 

“Holy shit,” you moan, finding your footing on your bed and moving your resting hand from your inner thigh back to your clit. 

The camera is framed from the user’s toned abs down to just the top of his thighs, showing off his heavy, tight balls and red, angry tip. 

“Is this what you’re begging for?” 

Yes, you shudder a breath. Yes. 

Large hands with long knobby fingers run along his thighs, one sweeping under to cup his balls while the other works his shaft, thumb sliding over his slit to rub precum around the tip. 

“Alright, then.” He begins pumping, smooth, tight jerks that have him squeezing his length and encouraging more strands of precum to leak out. He falls into a steady rhythm and you mirror the pace on your clit, gasping for breaths as you become all the more sensitive now that you have a visual to follow. 

“My face? Oh, no. You didn’t earn the right to see that. Don’t start with me. If you want to see my face when I cum, you have to reach the next milestone. You know the rules.” 

You don’t know the rules, but you hope someone else will be desperate enough to reach it for you. You’re dying to know what he looks like. 

Almost instantly, the money animation explodes on the screen again. A $5000 tip. Jesus Christ.

“Ah, of course mapl3stor33, I should’ve known it was you. Always so good to me.  Because of you I got to get that new collector figurine. Thank you. Well everyone, because of mapl3’s generosity and mmm…loyalty…fuck. I guess I’ll let you get your full fantasy. Let you see my face as you imagine you get to make a mess of me, milk my fucking cock all over you and let me make a mess of you.” He’s moaning as he speaks, pausing between sentences to pump himself harder as he gives “Maple” a proper shout out. 

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. It’s one thing for you to create the fantasy, but him acknowledging it with some judgment, as though you’re not good enough to even fantasize about him, it’s leading you quicker to your undoing. 

His pace builds to a heavy, slick rut. His hands are slightly red, almost like how yours looked after washing the dishes before Seokjin kicked you out. 

Wait. Red hands. His look similar to Seokjin’s, with the same knobby long fingers. And the figurine and Maple…like, MapleStory? 

There’s no way. No, you’re clearly just losing it with your fantasies. This one is taking it too far. 

“Fuck, yeah that’s it baby. Touch yourself. Be good for me. Where do you want my cum? Oh, you dirty slut, fuck, yes. Okay, I’ll cum all over myself. Just for you. Shit. Almost, come on.”

Your fingers are still following his lead, unable to stop, so close to finishing, to the release. 

He moans, his hands blurring as he strokes fast and hard, jerking into himself. And that’s when you know. You heard that moan. You caused that moan. 

With a final solid, slightly whiny grunt, he backs up. His face coming into frame, and the first strands of thick white release cascades across Seokjin’s chest as you focus in on the pure bliss washing over him, his head thrown back and mouth shaped into a delicious “o”. 

“Oh, fuck. Take it, take my cum. Yes, that’s it. That’s my best girl, so good for me. Such a good girl.” 

The second you hear the praising fall from Seokjin’s mouth, he takes you over the edge with him. Your body rockets into your orgasm with a heavy clench of your core, feet losing their solid hold below you as you begin to shake and succumb to the feeling. 

You’ve unwound, the tension of your body unfurling as you’re cast out to sea, your body bobbing along each wave with a newfound euphoria. Out here on the water, the world is silent except the ring in your ears. You bask in the peaceful ebb until you feel a tingling in your fingertips and toes calling you back, forcing breath back into your lungs with a heavy pant. 

Once you recenter, you gaze back at the stream, confirming that this is the smiling and grateful Seokjin you just saw three hours ago. 

He called you a good girl. He came all over his sweaty chest. And he’s the top streamer on a gay sex cam site. 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[chelseachilly]

THIS LOVE - prologue | high tide came and brought you in

pairing: ben chilwell x reader

rating: T

word count: 1.5k

summary: you and ben have been best friends since you were kids. there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, including pretending to be his girlfriend to help his career when his public image has taken a hit. what’s the worst that can happen?

A/N: hi everyone! welcome to my latest ben fic! thanks to everyone who voted in the poll i made recently, ultimately i couldn’t decide so ended up going with both fake dating and friends to lovers lol. the title is from this love by taylor swift (taylor’s version obvi) <3

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When you woke up today, becoming Ben Chilwell’s girlfriend is the last thing you would’ve expected to happen. Short of an alien invasion or a complete nuclear apocalypse, there is hardly any conceivable scenario that you would’ve had a harder time believing.

The day starts like any other.

You wake up after hitting snooze a couple times then hurry to get ready for work. You don’t have time to make coffee at home, so you grab a latte and a bagel from Pret on your way to the hospital.

It’s a typical, stressful day in the life of an A&E nurse, with a few major traumas coming in and the usual NHS understaffing issues.

You have lunch with your favourite coworker talk close friend Valerie, who you met in uni, and talked shit about your least favourite coworkers while eating mediocre salads from the cafeteria.

By the end of the day, you’re totally exhausted, practically dragging your feet as you walk up the stairs to your flat and collapse on the couch.

You’ve just mustered the energy to change into your pyjamas when there’s a knock on your door, and you excitedly run over to grab your dinner.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the Indian takeaway you’ve ordered waiting for you on the other side, it’s your best friend Ben.

“I thought you were Indian food,” you groan.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Ben chuckles as you step aside to let him in and he kicks off his shoes. “Tough day?”

“Long day,” you reply, walking back over to your couch and plopping down as Ben walks into your kitchen to get a drink, making himself at home.

You and Ben have been best friends since you were six, when you and your family moved and you started at the same primary school as him. He was the first kid to show you some kindness by asking if you wanted to join him and his mates for a game of football at recess. Obviously, at the time you couldn’t have predicted that the childhood pastime would turn into a massively successful career for him.

You two grew closer over the years and remained close even when he started at Leicester’s academy and you didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together. You almost never missed a home game, regardless of if it was a friendly in the academy days or a monumental Champions League match once he made it to Chelsea.

Likewise, Ben has always been there for you, supporting you as you worked your butt off to make it through uni and get your nursing certification. He was elated when you landed a job at a hospital in London not long after he signed with Chelsea, immediately offering you a spare bedroom.

Although you did take him up on that offer for a couple months while you saved up and looked for a decent flat, you eventually got your own place to be closer to work. And because you found that guys you went out with were either threatened or way too excited when they found out you lived with a Premier League footballer.

You’ve both been living in London for about three years now, and while you’ve made your fair share of friends in the city, there is something special about the bond you have with Ben. He knows you better than anyone else, just as you know him, and hanging out with him always feels right.

He feels like home.

Ben joins you on the couch with two beers he stole from your fridge, one of which he passes to you.

You raise an eyebrow, accepting the drink and taking a sip. “Since when are you allowed to drink the week of a game?”

“I’m just having one,” Ben retorts, kicking his feet up on your coffee table. “I’ve had a long day, too.”

“Oh, right, the PR meeting was today,” you recall. “How did it go?”

“Not great,” he sighs. “Do you think I’m a man whore?”

You nearly spit out your beer, trying very hard not to laugh as Ben looks at you with complete earnestness.

“Well, um, I wouldn’t say it like that,” you chuckle. “But…”

“Oh my god,” Ben groans. “If my best friend thinks that, no wonder my publicist says my image is shit.”

Frankly, Ben’s reputation has been better. Lately, he’s been spotted with more models and influencers than you can keep track of, none of whom stick around for very long. The media has been loving it, branding him as Chelsea’s resident playboy and splashing photos of him leaving clubs with beautiful women all over the tabloids.

You try not to judge, as it’s none of your business who Ben hooks up with, but you do think it’s a bit unlike him to be so reckless about it. Nevertheless, you’ve kept those thoughts to yourself.

“Isn’t that sort of the norm for footballers, though?” you question. “I mean, it’s not like a cheating scandal or something. Some of those guys are way worse than you, at least from what I’ve seen online.”

“Yeah, but according to Shreya, my publicist, times are changing and people don’t like the playboy shit anymore. Apparently I would have more luck getting brand deals and stuff if I seemed more…wholesome.”

You love Ben, but you struggle to see the man who proudly told you he left Jack Grealish’s party with two girls a few weeks ago as wholesome.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, taking another sip of beer. “Be more discreet with your hookups?”

“Not exactly,” Ben replies. “The team thinks…and I know this sounds crazy, but they want me to get a girlfriend. Well, a fake one. Someone to improve my image.”

You can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and Ben narrows his eyes at you.

“God, I didn’t know famous people actually did that,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter. “Who’s she gonna set you up with? Please say it’s Taylor Swift. She’s single now!”

Ben laughs for a moment before setting his beer down on the table and turning to face you with a slightly more serious expression on his face.

“Actually, they had someone else in mind,” he says sheepishly. “Someone I already know.”

“Who is it?” you ask, trying to rack your brain to think of what girls Ben knows that would improve his image. Outside of his family and his mates’ girlfriends, you’re pretty much the only woman who is a constant presence in his life. “Wait, are you - don’t tell me you’re asking me?”

Ben pauses for a moment before hesitantly nodding, looking a bit as though he’s afraid you’re going to hit him. Which, frankly, you’re considering.

“The PR team asked if I knew any girls that would work and Mark started going on and on about how you’re my best friend and a nurse and they all said you would be perfect-“

“Ben, I can’t date you!” you exclaim, cursing his agent, Mark, for even suggesting something so absurd. “Who would even believe that?”

“We don’t need people who know us to believe it, just the public,” he states. “And you don’t have to actually date me, we just have to pretend in public for a couple months.”

“I know, but…”

“Please, Y/N?” Ben says, looking at you with wide eyes that you’ve found hard to resist since he was using them to get your extra biscuits in fourth year. “I know it’s a weird request, but it could really help me out.”

It’s really hard to say no to that. Ben has always been there for you in every way imaginable. He once flew to Leeds, where you went to uni, on a moment’s notice because you were stressing over finals and needed a friend. A couple years into his time at Leicester, your dad lost his job and Ben insisted upon covering your parents’ mortgage for six months to help out, claiming he “owed them for all the Sunday roasts” and refusing to accept repayment even when your dad found work again.

He would never use any of that as a bargaining chip or try to cash in a favour, but you really do feel as though you owe him one. And more importantly, you want to help him.

“Okay,” you sigh. “I’ll be your stupid fake girlfriend or whatever.”

“Really?” Ben’s face lights up and he pulls you into a tight hug. “Thank you so much. God, you’re a lifesaver.”

You hug him back just as tightly, breathing in his familiar scent - a mix of his aftershave with a bit of grass and something else.

“You’re welcome,” you say, rolling your eyes slightly as you pull back. “I feel like I’m gonna regret this.”

“You won’t, I promise,” Ben assures you. “I’ll give you a cut when I land the next big brand deal, how’s that?”

“Ew, no, that makes me feel a bit prostitutey,” you chuckle. “It’s just a favour, no need to compensate me. Although you can pay for the food when it gets here, since you’re gonna end up stealing half of it anyways.”

“Deal,” he grins, grabbing your TV remote and putting on an episode of New Girl you’ve both seen before.

As you settle in with your beers and samosas, laughing at the television together, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve just signed up for.

Oh well. What’s the worst that could happen?

A/N: i hope you enjoyed this first part, please let me know what you thought!! should have the next up soon! 💕 (also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!)

[erodasfishtacos]

A Pictures Worth (Curious Gazes 3)

prompt(from kofi commission): I would love another type of curious gaze for ceorry with Ivy, Willow, Magnolia and Y/N out on a family trip maybe on vacation or like a museum or something and the kids are just really excited to be out with the whole family

warnings: light smut, language, harrys an asshole to everyone but his babies! minor dni 18+

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

*** <- click for visuals throughout the story

—

Heidi was relieved to be away from real life for a little bit, to take a step back from the burnout where everyday was god awful.

Her job was extremely stressful, with high expectations and strict schedules if she didn’t want her prick of a boss chewing her out.

She decided that a trip to the coast of the French Rivera was well deserved, even though her job was difficult - it paid exceptionally well and her boss was no cheapskate, just an asshole.

It was early in the morning, just about eight thirty but Heidi and her husband were early birds and already had snagged a spot in some loungers near the pool.

It was the weirdest turn of event.

She’s complaining to her husband, Paul, about her last week at work as they sip on mimosas and let the sun warm them up.

“He came into our office because Dale didn’t have the report ready,” Heidi recounts then mocking his rasp accent says, “And if you group of idiots can’t figure it out in the next five minutes, you can all be looking for new fucking jobs.”

Paul shakes his head in distain, “He shouldn’t be able to talk to you guys like that. It’s completely unacceptable.”

“He’s the owner, it’s not like I can complain to Human Resources. He’s everyone’s boss,” Heidi sighs before taking a long sip of her drink and trying to let her shoulders not tense up.

In the next moment, the same voice she just mocked - she hears from the side - her head whips as fast as a flash when she recognizes it.

And it is none other than her boss, Harry fucking Styles, in nothing but a short pair of swimming trunks and a bare chest with just gold chains decorating his neck. ***

She’s obviously never seen her boss in this state of undress, she knew he had tattoos but he was nearly covered.

Sparrows on his chest, a massive butterfly right on his midsection, ferns that looked downright obscene peeking out of his shorts on his sharp hip bones, a tattoo of what looks like a willow tree taking up his left side and what looks like vines of ivy on his other with magnolia flowers scattered around the art.

That’s not the most interesting thing though - it was a toddler who couldn’t be more than a year and a half,*** who was cradled in the crook of his one arm and a toddler, no more than three ***, was grasping his other hand and waddling next to him.

“Dadadada,” The child chanted happily as her chubby hands stayed buried in her father’s curls and she was rubbing her face against his stubbly cheek.

“Yes, baby. I hear you talkin’,” Harry murmurs to his daughter, trying to also juggling a massive tote bag that looks filled to the brim with diapers, water toys, and sun lotion.

“Where’s mummy and Vee?” The red-headed toddler lisps with a frown, looking around for the other part of her family as she stays close to her father.

“Vee is helping your mumma make some sandwiches and snacks to eat down here, lil’ red,” He replies patiently as he takes the lounge chairs right next to Heidi and Paul without even glancing their way.

He plops the baby on the chaise before popping the other one onto the cushion as well as he rifles through the gucci tote. ***

Heidi can’t help but stare as she watches the man who makes her life a living hell dig out two bottles of sunblock and squirts some on his hands.

At first he lathers it up in his palms before rubbing it all over the toddler’s arms, chest, legs before using a smaller bottle for her face.

The red-head girl giggles the whole time as her father massages the lotion into her fair skin, a likely chance she’d burn a lot without it.

When she’s done, Harry kisses her hair and tells her softly, “You're sucha good girl for your daddy. Thank you for sitting still for me, Willow Anne.”

Willow Anne.

She can’t believe what she’s seeing, the absolute dichotomy of this man is mind boggling to say the least and it’s throwing her off.

It didn’t seem like the same man who nearly fired her of a minuscule error only three weeks ago.

-

Heidi is minding her own business, typing out an email to a client when her office door slams open with force and her stomach drops when she sees who it is.

“Why has the quarterly report for sales in Dubai not been sent out? It was due at eight sharp and it’s currently nearly one in the fuckin’ afternoon,” Harry demands angrily, his jaw clench and his eyes hard as stone as they stare her down, making her feel small - like a child getting into trouble.

Heidi feels like she is about to throw up because it completely slipped her mind that it was due today and she knows she looks caught out.

Harry scoffs in disbelief, speaking sharply through his teeth, “If you don’t get that report done and sent out by midnight, I’ll have a seat ready for you in my office.”

“I’m s-sorry. I w-will, sir,” Heidi stutters out in fright, clicking off the email and opening up a spreadsheet right then and there.

He doesn’t say anything else before he’s turned on his heel and shutting door so fiercely behind him she’s surprised it didn’t splinter the wood.

She was at the office until eleven thirty that night to pump it out and have it sent - missing her mother’s birthday.

When she walked into the elevator the next morning, exhausted from only getting a few hours at home before coming back to work - her boss is slipping into the elevator next to her.

He’s on his phone, speaking quietly - just above a whisper, “I’ll be home by noon. Did Noli still have a temperature when she woke up? Give her a kiss for me.”

Then he’s replying to the person, “Of course, anything for you. Yes. Okay. I will call you. I love you, darling. Bye.”

When it’s silence in the lift now, just Harry and herself, they make eye contact when he gazes over at her - it doesn’t even look like he recognizes they meet gazes.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles,” Heidi replies awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as he stands there as still and stiff as a statue.

He appears tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his lips turned down even more than usual - she wonders if it has anything to do with the person, Noli, he was talking about on the phone.

Heidi knows looking back that she shouldn’t have said anything but she said, “I hope your daughter’s okay.”

Harry tenses like she’s just pinched him, staring directly at her and biting out, “Don’t fuckin’ speak about my family.”

In perfect timing, the elevator dings open and Harry is striding out without a single look back.

What a fucking asshole.

-

Now that same dickhead was crouched down, trying to rub the lotion into the infant’s skin but she’s not as happy about it as Willow.

“No no no,” The baby babbles with a furrowed brow, trying to push her father’s heavily-ringed hands away from her.

Heidi expects him to snap at the baby, tell her to be quiet, and let him do it.

He doesn’t.

Harry tugs his daughter closer to him, softly asking her, “Do you want to go in the water? Want to swim with Vee and Low?”

The girl nods while leaning forward to wrap her fingers into his necklaces.

“If you want to go in the water, you have to let daddy put lotion on you. If you don’t want the lotion, you have to stay under the umbrella out of the sun.”

“Lotion, daddy,” She squeaks quickly, pushing her arms out for him to apply the sunblock.

“Thank you, sweet baby,” He responds with a fond smile while tickling her sides before moving on to her chubby little legs.

“Are you ready to get in the pool?” A female voice asks Willow before Heidi sees a beautiful - like disgustingly beautiful woman step under their umbrella with a child attached to her side.

Heidi had never seen Harry’s wife or babies before, the youngest and the oldest *** that just arrived look exactly like Harry but the middle one doesn’t resemble anyone in the family.

Harry is hiking up their littlest one of his hip and turns to his wife where she’s shimmying off her cover-up and revealing a blue one-shoulder bathing suit.***

It was a simple suit but it fit like a glove, hugging every curve of her body and Heidi admired that she wasn’t trying to disguise the small pouch of skin that came from birthing children.

Harry is watching his wife intently, almost like he’s a going to devour her, and as soon as she’s just in the bathing suit - self consciously soothing her hand over her belly, he’s stepping over to her.

“Holy shit,” He grunts with hunger, his hand knocking hers away and his hand roaming her belly, hips, and then her bum before she’s giggling and pushing him back before pulling him to her again and kissing him on the lips, “Look at you. Making my knees weak, m’heart. Gonna let me take this skimpy thing off you? Later?”

“Mmm, I think about it,” She teases before the oldest one is tugging her hand towards the pool impatiently with giggles already on her head.

She trails off to the pool while Harry secures floaty vests to the two little ones before hiking both up in a hip and heading towards the water.

Heidi has to look away to stop from oogling when she notices the rippled muscles of his back, the sharp curve at the small of it as baby hands cling to his skin to hold on.

She decides it the perfect time to get in the pool for a dip, hell, who was she kidding?

She wanted to see this man with his babies.

The pool has an underwater bench, that’s where she takes up residency while Harry corrals his little herd of children into the shallow end.

The oldest one has no issue swimming on her own.

“Ivy Elizabeth,” Harry’s wife says to her daughter while fixing the strap on her pink goggles, “You stay right next to daddy and I, okay? No more than to that line,” She informs, pointing to a marking where it’s going get deep, “You can only swim from there and back. Do you understand?”

“Yes mumma,” Ivy agrees sweetly before pinching her nose and diving under the water and swimming away but in the area.

The youngest one is too little to learn how to swim but the middle child seems to be in the process of learning, while Harry’s wife holds the youngest - dipping her down in the water over and over as she giggles and blows raspberries back up at her mum.

“S’the water nice, Noli?” Harry legitimately coos at the smiling baby before he’s leaning down to kiss her nose before murmuring, “Willow Anne, shall we try swimming?”

“No, no swim,” Willow lisps with a pout before trying to crawl up him more despite the lifevest being in the way because it’s so bulky.

“Oh, come on. M’little heart. Can we give it a try? You’ve been doing so good at your swim lessons,” Harry encourages, lowering her legs into the water just the littlest bit for her to get a feel of it.

Willow searches her father’s eyes for a moment before smiling shyly and nodding that she would like to try to swim.

“That’s my good girl,” Harry peppers a few kisses over her face to make her giggle loudly and in turn, making Harry laugh.

A sound Heidi has never heard.

It was raspy, a bit like rough gravel but a minuscule pinch higher of a pitch.

Dimples appeared deep in his scruffy cheeks and his straight white teeth were flashing in a facial expression she’d never seen from him.

No one was going to believe her at work.

Willow flails for a moment before she gathers her bearings, letting out a loud whimper of distress before Harry’s tittering encouragingly, “Stay calm, lil’ red. Y’know daddy’s got you. Nothing bad will happen.”

Harry keeps his palm under her belly to keep her steady as she begins to paddle with her little arms and her tongue sticking out in concentration.

“There you go, baby! You’re doing so well!” Harry’s wife cheers excitedly, bouncing the baby on her hip who also claps her hands too and continues to babble between distinguished words.

Harry is patient as he helps instruct Willow through how to properly doggy paddle, float, and hold her breath underwater while Ivy swims like a little mermaid in her own imaginative world.

When Willow’s ready to take a break, letting her father hold her close as he wades closer to his wife who’s gently rocking the baby back and forth through the water as Noli’s eyes get heavy.

“You are so beautiful. Hurts to even look at you,” Harry tells his wife, his hand coming to rest at her hip before creeping around to her bum and making her squeak as he roughly squeezes her cheek.

“Do you think this bathing suit is alright? It’s the only one I think looked halfway decent,” She asks a bit self-consciously, nodding down towards her stomach.

“I don’t think it’s decent at all.”

What an asshole.

Heidi was about to open her mouth, to defend this poor woman who has three of his children, and had the nerve to make a comment about her swimsuit or body.

“You look absolutely indecent,” Harry continues his hand moving from her bum to her belly, “Turns me on just looking at you normally then you go and put this thing on? If we didn’t have the babies with us, I would have pinned against the lounge chair and gave it to you so good you’d cry and-“

“Ssh,” His wife giggles as a couple floats by on a pool raft but she’s giving him a kiss as he gets a couple more touches in before the middle daughter starts to whimper that she’s sleepy.

Heidi decides it’s time to get out anyways and soak up some more sun.

Time passes where she gets lost in her steamy romantic novel, ironically about a CEO and his assistant.

She’s brought out of her concentration with the sound of squeaky, displeased whines that were turning into sobs quickly.

Harry is sauntering up to their loungers with their youngest one hip and the middle on the other, Noli is rubbing her face against her father’s bare shoulder and smacking her lips together in frustration.

“Just one moment, dove,” Harry hums to his demanding little daughter as he bends down to rustle in the tote for a binkie to pop into her mouth, “Let’s relax a little, yeah? You didn’t sleep very well for mumma and I last night.”

“My binkie?” Willow chirps with a furrowed brow at her father as he wrestles them out of their life vests and into fluffy beach towels.

“No paci. Remember? You’re a big girl,” He reminds her as he towels himself off.

Willow crosses her little arms, shouting at her father, “Want my binkie, daddy! Now! Now!”

Harry crouches down, putting his hand gently on her shoulder, looking very seriously in her angry brown eyes, “Willow Anne. You do not yell at daddy. I know you’re upset that you can’t have your binkie anymore but we don’t yell.”

As soon as Willow gets disciplined, her pout turns to distress as she begins to cry - acting like Harry had just screamed straight in her face.

Harry scoops her, along with Noli who’s still grumbling, and murmurs, “Sleepy little crabs.”

Then he proceeds to lay back onto the lounge chair, lowering the back until it’s almost down laying Willow down to his side, nestled between his ribs and arm, the baby splayed across his chest.

Noli is obviously tired as she lays her head down automatically into the curve of his neck, lips suckling furiously at her pacifier.

Within minutes, both Harry and his daughters are fast asleep on the chaise - his arm wrapped protectively around both of them.

Heidi doesn’t know what she would expect of Harry as a father - both this wasn’t it.

Heidi knows she shouldn’t but she has to show the others at the office, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of the scene next to her.

And when she ends up drifting off for a quite a long snooze, by the tone she wakes up, they’re already gone.

-

Heidi doesn’t expect to see them again but they have another run in - literally.

It was her fault to be honest, she had been nearly four cocktails in, and was wobbling her way back up to the room.

Heidi was waiting for the elevator and when it opened, she didn’t look to see if there were any occupants before she stepped in.

However, when she did that she bumped straight into the little girl who was moving to get out of the steel doors at the same time - resulting in her being knocked on her bum.

Heidi’s heart leaps out of her chest and her instant reaction is to lean down to help up the child she’d just tripped over and she nearly freezes in fear when she realizes whose child it.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her,” Harry booms out as soon as he sees Heidi reaching out to help, he’s quickly scooping up the sobbing toddler and bring her close to him, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She vaguely isn’t surprised by him swearing like this in front of his child but it doesn’t scare Willow, she’s whimpering into his neck, “Daddy, cuddle,” despite him already doing so.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Heidi stammers carefully, her intoxication obvious in her voice as she speaks to them.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink if you handle your alcohol so poorly, pathetic,” He shakes his head as he bounces Willow on his hip and soothes her fiery curls back, “Now move the fuck out of my way.”

Heidi barely is able to take a step back before Harry is knocking her shoulder roughly in a haste to get out of the lift.

At this moment, she is extremely relieved he doesn’t remember who she is or she surely would have been fired.

-

Maria wasn’t enjoying her vacation as much as she had hoped she would. This trip had been a last ditch attempt to save her ten-year marriage.

However, her husband had drank too much during dinner and had fucked off to the casino - leaving her alone in their hotel room.

They’d gone all out, got an upgraded suite on one of the top floors, and a special spa package that was a pretty penny.

It was nearly eleven at night, there had been no sign of her husband coming back anytime soon and so she poured herself a glass of wine and trotted out to the balcony to sit and enjoy the view of the ocean.

Something catches her eye or someone.

It’s man, on the balcony across from their - it was a massive one that nearly took up the whole floor - it must have been the penthouse suite.

He’s faved away from her but she can see the carved out, chiseled muscles of his back, where he’s just in a small pair of briefs that show off his lean but strong legs, small perky bump with dimples on his lower back as he hangs up multiple different bathing suits to dry on a clothes line.

The lights are out in the penthouse and only a dim one is illuminating their balcony where a woman joins the man moments later- she’s in an expensive looking nightgown that hugs her curves, hair up in a messy bun. ***

Maria watches as she trails up to the man, hugging him, and wrapping her arms around his waist as she does, lips moving all over his skin.

The man abandons the rest of the swimsuits that need hanging up to return the embrace as his hands move down the small of her back, to her bum.

Maria’s not trying to be creepy or invasive but she is watching what she wants - what she wants with her husband but doesn’t have.

When he turns around, to gaze at all the other balconies to see if there’s wandering eyes, Maria realizes that it’s not just any man.

It’s her boss.

She was only human.

She knew he was a prick, not a nice guy, and she’s never had any pleasant experience with him in all her years working for him.

Maria should be repulsed and go inside but it’s impossible to deny how downright attractive he was, especially in barely any clothing.

Harry doesn’t seem to see Maria or anyone else for the matter before he’s crawling over the woman, who she guess is his girlfriend or hook-up or whatever, and dip down to kiss.

Her arms wrap around his neck and bring him further on top of her, his large hand move to slip up under her nightgown to her chest.

His partner pushes her chest up into his palm, spreading her legs to allow him to rest in between them, and his mouth travels down to her neck.

Maria finds herself touching the side of her neck absentmindedly, wishing that was her being given affection like that.

Harry is lightly pushing his hips down, grinding into her center between the barrier of their clothes, the woman’s legs wrapping around his waist to encourage him as his lips still descend now to her collarbones.

She’s trying to get her toes into the band on his brief to push them down off his hips but it isn’t working, Harry grips her ankle and returns it to the lounge but his hands are hiking up her nightgown.

Then Maria’s view is blocked when Harry ducks down between the valley of her thighs and Maria can tell by the way the woman’s back arches that it feels good.

Maria didn’t think Harry Styles would be the one to worry about anybody's pleasure but his own but that’s obviously not the truth.

She’s confused when they abruptly stop what their doing to look at something that’s propped up on the side table.

Harry’s standing up, snatching his shorts off the ground, and tugging them on before sauntering back inside the suite.

Maria is perplexed as she watches the woman readjust her nightgown and fix the straps that he’d pushed down to lay kisses on her shoulders.

She doesn’t seem upset and neither did he but what would have made him just get up like that?

Maria’s question is answered no more than a minute later when Harry exits onto the balcony again but with a whimpering, fussy red-headed baby in his hip.

He squeezes onto the chaise, both turning to lay on their sides facing inward and Harry lays the baby between them.

Maria watches as Harry leans over to give his partner one more kiss before they’re cuddling closer to the whimpering child who is desperately trying to get as close to their mum as possible.

Harry has one hand on his wife’s back and the other on his baby’s, rubbing up and down, as the red-headed girl burrows her head in her mum’s chest.

Not even five minutes later, another child appears at the balcony doors and steps out, she was older than the other one with wild brown locks and a seal stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

Harry lifts her up and squishes her into the middle, where she’s tucked neatly against his chest, and she nuzzles into the crook of his neck.

Maria never had those moments with her husband because he had surprised her with the information he didn’t want kids after the fact that they got married.

Harry seemed to treat his family unlike his employees, the woman she now assumes is his wife, his daughters, you could see even from a distance how much they adored him.

Maria is brave enough to admit that the image of Harry’s shoulders twitching and flexing when he pushed his hips down into his wife’s doesn’t leave her mind for a very very long time.

They don’t stay out very much longer, just long enough that the children drift back to sleep, and then they’re taking a baby each and taking them back inside.

-

Maria recognizes her boss once again but not until the next night around seven and this time he is fully dressed but more casual than she’d ever seen him in just an white tee, running shorts, and nikes.

He has the two girls that she saw the night before with him but now there’s another one that’s on his hip.

They’re all in nautical themed sleepers, which was probably the most adorable thing ever. It was funny to see this man with a permanent scowl at others being pulled down the hall by three girls.

They had him wrapped around their little fingers.

“Everyone gets one thing, not too much sugar before bed,” Harry reminds even as they head towards the vending machine, Maria was surprised that they wouldn’t have just ordered room service.

Maria then realizes that each girl has a few bills in their hands, clutching them excitedly as they arrive at the snack machine.

The oldest, the one who looks scarily similar to her father, begins to feed her first bill into the dispenser as she looks at all of her choices.

“No!” The redheaded child screams angrily, trying to bat her older sister’s hand away and pull back the bill she’s trying to get in, “Me! My turn.”

“Hey! Don’t do that, Low!” The oldest cries out as the bill tears nearly in half because of their back and forth over it.

“I get snack!” The middle child screeches before ultimately tearing the bill in half.

“Willow! That’s bad!” The oldest scolds but there’s fat tears streaming down her face as she holds her destroyed money.

Maria feels a chill run down her own back when Harry’s firm voice echoes through the hallway, “Willow Anne Styles.”

Willow looks up at her father with big guilty brown eyes and her bottom lip begins quivering when she realizes what she’s done.

Harry crouches down, let the littlest one off his hip and toddle over to where the oldest has resumed putting her bills in the machine.

“Come to y’daddy, please,” He murmurs sternly but his tone still managed to be soft enough to not be scary to her.

Willow is sobbing as she drags her feet over until she’s standing in front of her father, eyes directed down at her feet until Harry puts a finger under her chin so she’s making eye contact.

“We do not grab or try to take without permission,” Harry tells her, “That money was Ivy’s and you were not being kind to her. If you are upset that she was going to go first. We use words to fix it but we do not be unkind to others.”

“Because you ripped Ivy’s money, even after she told you not to. No snack from the vending machine. You can have a snack that mumma has for you upstairs. If you are kind then tomorrow you can come down and get something out of the machine. Understood?”

And Maria is baffled by….well, he’s a good parent.

Willow doesn’t tantrum further, she nods her head sadly and walks into her father’s arms where he gives her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Maria just…the sharp contrast between him in the office, out of that balcony with his wife, and then with his children.

Who the fuck is Harry styles?

-

Heidi was actually excited to see Harry Styles - when she had come back from vacation, she had made a major effort and managed to coerce a lucrative customer to end services with another company and only utilize their services.

So being called to her boss’ office wasn’t something she was dreading, she assumed that she was going to get praises, get a promotion hopefully.

When Dorothy nods for her to go into his office, she takes a deep breath, she’d never been in her before and it was absurdly beautifully designed.

Harry didn’t look the same as the last time she saw him, he was fully dressed in a well-fitted suit that covered all of his tattoos and how fit his body truly was beneath.

His golden tan was the only remanent of the trip, his lax smile and soft voice was replaced with a stone, unempathic and a scowl that would make anyone think twice about approaching him.

Heidi smooths out her skirt before sitting down in the chair across from him, her heartrate rising steadily as she avoids direct eye contact.

“Hello, Ms. Synder,” Harry greets in his normal, deep drawl with little emotion as his hands are together on his desk - rings reflecting off the lights.

“H-hello,” Heidi manages back, wanting to kick herself for stuttering but she tried to remember that he did have a caring side - she’d seen it.

“You managed to convince Shore’s Electronics to switch completely to our services?” Harry asks although he already knows.

“Yes sir.”

“Your position here is Assistant Manger of Marketing in our United Kingdom division?” He clarifies as he moves to click his mouse around on his computer.

“Yes, it is,” Heidi swallows, fiddling with her hands and picking a thread on her work pants.

“And you’re a photographer as well?” He asks with a purse to his lips as he meets her eyes for a moment, sharp mossy green.

Heidi doesn’t know what he’s talking about, “Er, no? I don’t do any type of photography work, Mr. Styles. I think there’s be some confusion.

“Oh has there?” He smiles with not humor before he’s tilting his computer screen to show her what’s displayed.

The picture she snapped of vacation.

“You sure were a photographer when you snapped this picture, hm?” His tone is steely, angry as he watches her reaction.

It’s a shot of Harry, in just in swim trunks, splayed on his back with his sunglasses shielding his eyes as well as the shade on the umbrella.

His daughter, Noli, on his chest - fast asleep and a binkie tucked into her mouth as Willow sleeps cradled against his side.

“Had to just get a picture of your boss with his kids, right?” Harry taunts with irritation in his tone, “I don’t give a fuck about pictures of me - I’m an adult. The audacity you have to take a picture of my sleeping children.”

Heidi is scrambling for an explanation but she can’t find one.

“Human Resources will be able to answer any questions you may have about your termination - starting now. Delete that fucking photo off your phone or you will be hearing from my legal team,” He finishes before he’s moving the screen back and picking up his ringing phone, clearly ending the conversation.

[vicsbasement]

I think something shifted in the Charlos dynamic last year. I think once they hit the 3 year mark, their relationship changed and became even deeper. Then it changed again once everyone found out that Carlos would not be driving for Ferrari after 2024. I think they are in a period of the “unknown.” Nothing is certain for them, how their relationship will change or where Carlos is going to go. They are just going day by day spending time together essentially waiting for the inevitable: Carlos’ departure.

You know how they say that sometimes stress puts people in fight or flight mode? Well, I think that in this case, it's kind of two sides of the same coin for Carlos' situation.

Carlos, right now, in his career, is on fight or flight mode, 100%. Not only was he working himself to the bone during the break to be in the best shape possible, but he's also just extremely focused on the year ahead, on showing his best colors, the most discipline and the biggest and best show of his abilities there is.

And yet- he's also laser-focused on not hurting the relationships he worked on in Ferrari. I mean, connections are everything, right, remaining in good terms with the team is crucial for his future because nobody would hire a guy who was difficult to work with, right? Especially now that he worked with the biggest and most important team in F1 history and they have nothing but praise to throw his way. But there's also Charles. Charles is his companion, his equal. He's got a lot of respect for him. They've shared a lot of moments, good and bad, and right now, well. The good moments outweight the bad ones because as of next year, the domestic things they used to do together, it will be taken away. They won't be able to share whispers between debriefs or little knowing glances across their seats whenever someone makes a mistake, or sneak behind their trainer's back to eat a cake that isn't in their diet.

They've always been nice to each other but I'm guessing that during this last year, their companionship shifted slightly towards something akin to friendship. And Charles is being massively supportive because even though he's got a seat and he knows that he's going to be fine, in theory, he's also confronting an uncertain future. With Lewis coming to the team and Fred doing all these moves it's like-- well. You know how Charles could be feeling? As if all of these moves and fanfare are not really for him, they're for Lewis. So he could be feeling a little cheated, a little like he's being relegated to second place in his own home so they can bond a little over that feeling, too. Because I would bet Carlos would come to Charles with these thoughts whenever he'd feel like that. Or I would like to think so, too.

So Charles is making it easier for him, too. And you know why I'm so sure about this? Because Charles himself just said something along the lines of "he's got a lot of doors open for him" because he believes in Carlos because he knows, first hand, how hard of a worker Carlos is, how good of a teammate he is, how passionate.

It is sad, yeah, but they're making it easier for each other. They're trying to be gentle towards each other and enjoy their time together as teammates, first and foremost. And I'd bet that at this point Carlos is kind of focused and waiting for the time in which he's able to say that their relationship got even closer, as he's said before, because he knows that being rivals inside the same team is complicated for their relationship and can make it sour, at times.

aaaanyway, I went off the rails again with my headcanons but thank you always for sending me these, anoooon. I have so much fun thinking these thoughts.

[celticcrossanon]

I’m the anon who wrote that your post resonated with my observation/intuition. I thought I would send in a lengthy list of things I think may be going on behind the scenes. These things may “fit” with your reading:

1) Harry has massively betrayed William and Catherine. From the Oprah interview to the accusation of physical assault in his book to gossip/lies planted in the press, he has inflicted enormous pain on them and William has actually lost his brother. In addition to losing his mother in tragic circumstances, over the last few years he has grieved two grandparents and his brother.

2) Years ago, Charles wanted to find a solution to appease the Megxit half-in/half-out demands. William and the Queen were in agreement this was not viable and chose to preserve the monarchy over Harry’s feelings. Charles wants Harry back. He has very little to no real concern for William and Catherine. It’s only about him and what he envisioned his reign would look like. I also agree with another anon that there is a triangulation layer to this.

3) Action to neutralize the threat that is Harry was postponed while the Queen was ill and grieving. It was William’s expectation that action would be taken after her death. Instead, Charles has flipped the script and wants to reverse the Megxit decision.

4) Neutralizing Harry would involve releasing dirt from Harry’s past that would end him. Charles will not do it because he covered the dirt at the time, so his reputation would also suffer badly. William wants it all out. Charles wants to keep it all hidden. It troubles William because he doesn’t want to go along with further cover ups. He feels it threatens the monarchy and his reputation as well. This is out of his control, and it causes him stress.

5) Planning for the coronation brought many huge disagreements, with Charles using demands, guilt, and manipulation in private and in the press to try forcing William into agreement on Harry’s full involvement. There was a compromise, but Charles was not satisfied.

6) William accepts Charles making Camilla queen but he doesn’t like it. The whole situation is sordid, and he has had to go along with things he felt compromised his mother’s legacy. Don’t underestimate Camilla and her intentions.

7) Charles invited William to Birkhall to dine with him the night after the Queen’s death. He told him there he would be making him Prince of Wales immediately. This was intended as a “gift,” even though it benefitted Charles and withholding it would have been ludicrous. The gift had strings attached. He expected William to go along with him in all his plans and priorities. So whenever William resists, he can think or say “What more could you want? You’re ungrateful. I’ve given you everything!” That is not true, as he hasn’t given loyalty or support, but it’s how Charles sees things.

8) Those plans and priorities include increasing the popularity and public adoration of King Charles and Queen Camilla, and the expectation is that the Waleses will use their public image to aid in this effort. Charles wants them to join themselves to him publicly. He wants continual endorsement from William (the coronation oath wasn’t enough for him) as well as “happy family” PR. But Charles has a lot of skeletons in his closet and William is wise to keep their public images separate.

9) Aside from the expectation that William will aid Charles and Camilla’s PR, there’s also the expectation that he will support and help in bringing Harry back. What you said about Travalyst and Earthshot is unfortunately plausible. I also believe that Charles feels the Duchy of Cornwall offers enough funding for William to share with Harry. He supports his siblings with the Duchy of Lancaster and wants William to support Harry financially. William will not, for many reasons.

10) Charles is not happy about handing over the Duchy of Cornwall to William. He feels personally offended with every decision William makes that isn’t exactly as he did things.

11) There are some very messy courtiers in Charles’s household.

That’s about it. I’m sorry for the length. Charles is focused on his and Camilla’s popularity and legacy as well as his “darling boy” Harry’s return. There are currently enormous threats to the monarchy, and they concern and stress William very much, but Charles’s personal feelings, desires and ideals trump everything. “I am KING!”

Only time will tell if the monarchy survives this.

All alleged, my opinions, not fact, etc.

Hi Nonny,

Thank you for coming back and explaining all your thoughts. I agree with a lot of them. Harry has betrayed his family, Charles was appeasing them for quite some time (I'm not sure of the current state of affairs), the BRF has been effective in greyrocking Harry but have been reluctant to release dirt on him or on Meghan, Charles does seem to be focused on increasing his and Camilla's popularity, and he does seem to expect William to not only welcome Harry back but to support Harry and his family financially, etc and so on.

I think that the monarchy will survive this, if only because the alternative is so involved and a lot of work, but I do wonder what sort of reputation it will have by the time the crown is passed on to William. I think he will have to do a lot of work on repairing things before he can start to build his legacy as King, so I expect his reign to have a slow and rocky start, simply because of how it will be left by King Charles III. I hope I am wrong, but I just can't see King Charles passing on the feelings of respect and affection for the crown that he inherited from his mother, the late Queen. I don't see him as having her sense of duty, and it was her sense of duty that enabled the crown to be held in such solid respect and affection when she passed.