#but CUSTOMER SERVICE + SERVING ALCOHOL

[acatpiestuff]

remember years ago when i would draw grillby almost every day lmao

[fingertipsmp3]

Job interview today 😵‍💫

[eu1a1awrence]

working customer service is like i have my customer-service-voice and then i have the mid-40s-single-pub-guy-customer-service-voice

[ariestrxsh]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚_____________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐  

 ⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, lap dance, role play, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, praise, pussy worship, pussydrunk!matt, softdom!matt, exchange of money for sex

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You've started a job at a strip club in your town, and while you're on stage, you notice none other than Matt Sturniolo, a good friend of yours, watching you in the crowd. Neither one of you expected to run into one another here, but he approaches you as a customer and pretends he doesn't know you.

if you're looking for a chris version with a similar storyline, you can read it here 💖

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚_____________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

It took me a few weeks to get comfortable dancing in my heels, and a month before my legs weren't sore after every shift. Having been here a little shy of six months, I was making enough money to spend on even sexier lingerie so I could bring in even more tips. I was also learning new tricks on the pole.

Taste

I had just recently started my job at a local strip club, and because I was new and unsure about how the people in my life would react, I opted out of telling my friends and family about it, so instead I told everyone I got hired at a bar, which wasn't entirely false. We did serve alcohol.

I liked my job honestly, and I didn't feel like there were many people who could say that. I liked the work, I liked the women I worked with, I got paid well, and I even liked a lot of the customers. I had fun teasing men and spending my time with them while they gave me money and attention. It was a nice exchange. And I felt like I was genuinely getting to know some of them, even though they weren't exactly getting to know me. I was putting on a persona, and it was usually catered to the person I was servicing at the time, but it's not like it wasn't me. It was just only one aspect of me that I amped up and played heavily into. But I loved it. I loved dressing up and playing a role that was so different from my everyday demeanor and being what these men wanted me to be. In my everyday life, I was reserved, introverted, and kept to myself most of the time, but when I was dancing, I was an exaggerated version of who I was when no one was looking. My fantasies, my sexual desire, an alter ego if you will.

It was almost my time to go on. I reapplied my body glitter and made a few finals tweaks to my outfit. I was wearing a white sparkly corset that pushed my breasts up nicely and a matching thong as well as glass six inch heels. I had my hair down but out of my face and curly. "Give it up for Mary Jane," the announcer came on. I didn't want to use my real name at my work, so I decided on Mary Jane because it was innocent sounding and was also nothing like my real name. 'Taste' by Tyga and Offset played over the speakers, there was a spotlight on me and other lights around me flashed and changed colors, and I seductively strutted towards the pole in front of me, gripping it with one hand and doing a little spin around it. I slowly descended down the pole with my back to it until I was in a squat, looking out at the crowd of men who were eager to see my body and what it could do. I came back up and hooked one of my legs around the pole, doing a ballerina spin around it. I could feel all these eyes on me, and I gained even more confidence as the dollar bills started raining at me feet.

I made eye contact with a few customers I recognized, men who were regulars. Then my gaze scanned across a familiar face that wasn't one I usually saw in this setting. Matt Sturniolo? In a strip club? This was not his scene at all. We were decently close friends, but I certainly hadn't told him I applied here, and I didn't think it was necessary considering I didn't think I'd ever see him here. He appeared to be alone. No one I recognized was near him. And when we made eye contact, he was looking at me some sort of way I'd never been looked at by him before, like he was hungry for me. He had to have recognized me, right? I may look different with my tits pushed up to my chin, but not that different.

I focused my attention back to my dance, manipulating the attention of every man in the room, contorting my body in ways that had every man wishing they were the pole between my legs. I finished my song, collected my ones, tucked them into my corset, and carefully got down from the stage.

Once I looked up from watching my feet as I stepped off the stage, I saw Matt making his way over to me. I was really nervous about what he might say. If he'd be mad that I didn't tell him I was working here or if he'd tease me. Instead, he looked me up and down with his lust-filled blue eyes and licked his lips. "How much for a dance from you?" He asked me, smiling. He couldn't be serious. I hesitated for a second. I had never been put in a position where someone I recognized outside of the club came in and asked me for a dance.

On some level, it felt inappropriate. On another level, it felt like a bad business move to not take him up on it. "$100 for three songs," I responded nonchalantly. He casually took a $100 bill out of his wallet and tucked it into my corset with my other money. I liked the way he did that. Then he grabbed me by the waist and started walking with me towards the back of the club where he could sit down. "So, Mary Jane, did they say?" Matt asked as he sunk into his chair and looked up at me, almost as if studying the way I was gonna respond.

Was he going to pretend he didn't know me? Was this part of the fantasy, acting like we were two strangers who just met in a strip club when we're actually pretty close friends outside of this. I nodded. I turned around and began grinding on him, and he grabbed my waist in response, slowly running his fingers down my curves. "How long have you worked here, Mary Jane? Matt asked me. "Nearly six months," I replied while I shifted my weight so I was resting right against his half-hard cock. He let out a groan in response. "It's a shame I've missed you any time I've been in here," he answered. "You come here often?" I asked, it sounding like a bad pick up line in my head. "Sometimes, depends on what's going on in my life. Depends on my needs at the time," he told me. I didn't know that about Matt.

There was something about being on his lap, brushing up against his hardening member in his pants that was turning me on more than I thought it should be. I had given men lap dances before that I'd found attractive, and it definitely left me a little wet a few times. But this was different. I definitely had always found Matt attractive, and there was an extra layer to this, Matt and I acting like this was our first time meeting. The way his demeanor was different in this setting and the way mine was too. I was beginning to wonder if I was starting to enjoy this more than he was.

"I wanna see your face," Matt growled into my ear, and I obliged by turning around and straddling him. I went back to basically riding him with our clothes on while we looked into each other's eyes. Matt's hands almost immediately found their way to my ass. "You have an incredible body, you know that?" Matt commented. "You're not so bad yourself," I smirked at him. Matt's hands moved from my ass to my breasts. The way he handled me was gentle but with purpose and demanding at the same time. I loved the way his hands traced my body while I continued to grind against him. "Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad," Matt responded, staring at my lips. "You can if you have another $100 on you," I replied. No matter how badly I wanted to kiss him, I made it a rule that I'd always charge for intimate touch like that, because the men had to know it was transactional. I didn't want to make anyone feel lead on. This was my job, and this was a sale.

Matt shifted my hips so that I was straddling his knee now instead as he reached for his wallet in his pocket. I found myself holding my breath as his leg rubbed up against my already wet cunt and caused friction that sent a shock of pleasure through my nerve endings. It took everything in me to keep from riding his thigh while he pulled another benjamin out of his wallet and tucked it into the bra of my corset. I leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and pouty. His kiss was gentle, the same as his touch. His tongue slowly slipped into my mouth and brushed against my own. It was wet and velvety. While he passionately kissed me, his hands made their way to my face, softly cupping it. I pulled away, looking at him with a deep desire.

"Your three songs are almost over," I whispered, maintaining control of the situation. "I can pay for another three songs," Matt said, about to shift me onto his knee again. "Matt, please. As your friend, I can't let you do this. $300 is a lot of money to be spending at a strip club," I lectured him, breaking character. "Mary Jane, tonight I'm just another customer. I make my own money, I can spend it how I like," Matt bit his lip at me. "I wanna spend it on you, baby. I wanna spoil you," his words sent more waves of ecstacy through my body.

"Alright, another three songs," I said putting out my hand to accept another bill. "Actually, how much to take you to the private room?" Matt gestured towards the more intimate spaces where no one could see us. "All that you have in your wallet," I said jokingly, making a gun with my hand and jabbing it into his chest, but he took me seriously. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a wad of cash, stuck it in my g-string this time, and tipped his wallet upside down to show me it was empty all while he smiled. I reached down to the money he'd put in my panties. "Only catch is, I want you for the whole night. Until the club closes," Matt growled while I counted the money. There was almost $1000 in my hand. I was shocked that Matt had this kind of money to blow at a strip club. And the fact that he did this semi-regularly? Matt was very quiet about how much money he had and about what a freak he was, and I liked that.

I thought about declining his offer and telling him I couldn't mix business, friendship, AND pleasure. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd be dumb not to. He was hot, he wanted me, and I'd never made this much money in one night before. "Deal," I said, tucking the money into my corset. Matt grinned at me. "Follow me," I said, leading him back.

I'd taken men into the private rooms before many times, and I liked it. It was quieter, away from all the noise. There was a bed and a couch. Usually, men would take me in there because they wanted more privacy. I'd never slept with a customer, no matter how much I'd been offered, but there were a few times where I'd definitely maybe crossed an ethical line that could technically get the club in trouble, but I'd never tell. I was good at keeping secrets. There were a few men I'd given handjobs to, one john who had taken my tits out of my bra and teased my nipples with his tongue, and one guy who rubbed my clit over my panties until he made me cum. I remembered being so embarrassed and blushing after that encounter, but that was the most money I'd ever made in one night. Until tonight.

"Why don't you take that top off?" Matt inquired when we were alone in the room. I smirked at him as I pulled all the cash out of my bra and set it next to my shoes I'd slipped out of to get more comfortable. I was nervous for him to see me like this, but it was just business. I started undoing the clasps on my corset when Matt came up behind me to help me. When all the hooks were undone, Matt slowly slid my straps down my shoulders one by one. He let my corset slowly fall to the ground, and when it did, he took both breasts into his hands and looked at them in awe. "Shit," he whispered to himself, fondling them, brushing up against my sensitive nipples.

Matt made his way to the couch and comfortably sprawled out, taking up space and licking his lips while his eyes studied my every curve while running his hand along his hard dick in his pants. "Come here, princess," Matt said, rubbing his leg and patting it, motioning for me to sit down, so I did. Once I leaned back into him, he played with my nipples some more, teasing them, pinching them, sucking on them. His hands slowly moved to the front of my panties, rubbing me through the fabric for a few minutes, and moved my thong aside while I sat on his lap. "Your pussy looks so pretty with your panties all pushed to the side like that," Matt complimented me in a voice that was barely above a whisper as he reached for it. When he started moving his fingers in circles skillfully around my clit, I let out a soft moan. "Oh, you're so wet, darling," Matt observed, exploring me with his hands. I loved sitting on his lap like a giddy little girl. His touch felt amazing. He slipped a finger inside of me and then another one while he looked down at my entrance, enthralled by how much wetter he was making me. "Oh, Matt," I whimpered as I started to get close. "Come on pretty girl. Cum all over my fingers," Matt smirked. I couldn't believe I was hearing these words leave Matt's mouth, but I took them as a command. I came unraveled while I sat on his knee with his fingers pumping in and out of me. I felt my body tense up and tremble for a few seconds, and then a glorious release.

"Good girl. You think I could make you cum again?" Matt cooed, licking his fingers while I tried to catch my breath, but I nodded and smiled. He lifted me up off his lap, revealing a wet spot on his pants under where I was sitting, and Matt seemed turned on by it. He sat me on the couch and got down on his knees on the floor between my legs. He pulled my panties to the side again, and I felt his hair tickle my thigh as he leaned it and attached his lips to my vulva. He teased me by kissing and licking everywhere but my clit while he looked up at me, smiling. "Please Matt," I whined, tugging at his curls, trying to bring him closer to where I wanted him to lick me, but he was doing it on purpose, making me beg for it, and he loved it. "Your pussy is so pretty up close and personal like this. Let me take my time with her," he smirked, teasing my entrance and kissing the insides of my thighs. He finally gave in after a few more minutes of my relentless pleading, manipulating my sweet spot with his tongue. He started moving it faster and more enthusiastically. It felt so good, I found myself sliding down on the couch, slowly but surely inching my pussy towards his face. He grabbed my hips and held me in place while he passionately moaned against me, sending shivers through my body. Matt was surprising me by the minute. He was certainly a jack of all trades, and I was learning I didn't even know a lot about him at all, only the parts that he wanted me to see. And the more I saw, the more I liked.

I started digging my nails into his shoulders as he continued to eat me like a mad man, running his hands and his tongue anywhere he pleased, and every time I was responsive to the way he touched me, he moved more eagerly. I was a moaning, writhing wreck under the flick of his tongue the carress of his fingers. I had never let a customer go down on me before. There were a lot of ethical boundaries I was willing to cross at this point for Matt. It just made it even hotter that we were playing into this fantasy that we didn't know each other and that he was just paying for a stripper - and at this point, basically a prostitute. I liked that Matt was paying me to eat my pussy. What a dream. And he was so wonderful at it too. Such attention to detail. So thorough. So restrained yet so urgent. I couldn't get enough of how much he wanted me.

"I'm so fucking in love with your pussy, I could eat you for hours," Matt mumbled in between licks. He closed his lips around my swollen bud and gently sucked on it until I was trembling and nearly screaming his name. "Yes, pretty girl. Make a mess on my tongue. I know you can do it," he cooed. His encouragement along with his skillful mouth had my second orgasm hitting me even harder than the first. I couldn't keep my hips from grinding against Matt's tongue while I twitched and whimpered obscenities, gripping the back of his head.

"Oh my fucking god. Where did you learn to do that?" I smiled down at him once I started to recover from my intense climax. "You're the one who basically showed me what to do with your body language. All I had to do was listen," he smirked. His answer was as hot as what he had just done to me. I liked the way Matt was in tune with my body, and the way he was trying things out to see how I'd react and then doing the things I loved over and over again. It was similar to how I behaved with my customers.

"Have you ever gone down on any other women in these clubs?" I asked him. "No, not ever. This was a first for me," he confided in me, which made me feel special. "First for me too. Guess it wouldn't hurt if we went further.." my voice started to trail off. "Say no more, princess," Matt said, finally taking the time to take off my panties instead of just moving them to the side again.

He unbuttoned his pants, pulled down his boxers, and entered me with no warning. I felt myself invite him in easily, and he started pumping in and out out of me aggressively. I loved the way he filled me and the way he spoke to me. I loved the way his lips parted to let out a stream of moans and the way he looked at me with his glazed over blue eyes, letting me know he couldn't take it much longer. His cock repeatedly hitting my pleasure spot was sending me over the edge again. I throbbed around his thickness as another wave crashed over me, and I got lost in it for a moment. All I could feel was endless pleasure, and there was a ringing in my ears that lasted for several minutes after I came. Matt loudly groaned "Oh, fuck," while he pulled out, leaving a mess on my pussy, and we both watched as his cock twitched and released his sticky white substance. He smiled down proudly and in awe of the way his ejaculate glistened on my womanhood.

He collapsed on the couch beside me after it was all over. "You're so much different at work as opposed to the shy girl I see every day," Matt nudged me. "Not shy, just keep my cards close to my chest," I corrected him. "But yeah, you're so much different as well. Who knew you could fuck like that?" I said, licking my lips, and he grinned as I complimented him.

"I've gotta go, sweetheart. The club is closing in ten minutes, and I've gotta come up with something to tell Chris and Nick about why I've been gone for several hours," he laughed. He leaned down one more time to stroke my face, and he gave me a sensual, slow, deep kiss. "Matt, seriously, come again. I loved doing business with you," I smiled up at him, not wanting him to leave. "I'll be back darling. Don't worry. I'd pay a million dollars if I had it to drown in that sweet pussy again. Just promise me, it'll be our little secret."

[subwaysurf45]

The Cafe

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: nothing really (except for the fact that I haven't posted in like a year lmao), alcohol, self-doubt, etc...

A/N: don't get used to this...just an idea I managed to finish.

The first few times you were seen in the campus cafe it was when you were by yourself. You must have been completely unaware of the constant nail biting or when your neck would let your head fall forward in discouragement, all the signs that you were stressed flew under your radar. 

As Bucky Barnes stood behind the cash he looked over his customers should to see your head fall forward once again, the third time since his shift started fifteen minutes ago…not that he was counting. He knew it was a problem when the customer he was serving looked over their shoulder, not understanding what Bucky was looking at. 

He’d watch you go from sitting completely still to your finger flying across the keyboard with a new idea, as if you were rushing to write it down before the idea slipped through your fingers. When you’d hit your groove, not looking away to grab your coffee mug provided by the cafe, Bucky took it as a sign to tone down the stairs to see if you were okay. 

With your headphones on and music blasting the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up like they normally do when someone was looking at you, truthfully, you had caught the barista looking a few times but you had no idea that wasn’t even the half of it. 

Bucky was truly hypnotized by you, and he had no reason to be. Maybe it was the insane work ethic that blew him away, always by yourself with headphones on your laptop open. Maybe it was the way in which you talked to service workers, always adding a please and thank you no matter the service you got. It didn’t help that you were beautiful in his eyes, he could stare at you for hours, taking in your attributes as if he was being tested on it. 

His stomach always twisted when he saw you pack up after a few hours. Part of him wanted to go up and talk to you, maybe offer another cup of coffee to keep you there for longer. But he knew that it was selfish, and creepy. He’d always dreamed of following you out of the cafe and asking you out, or even for your name…probably the name would be the first question. He felt like he knew you before ever really conversing with you, but the moment you left and vanished from view out of the windows he was reminded time and time again he did nothing, just staring and holding back. 

********

“Welcome to another lecture everyone,” Dr. Fury spoke from the front of the room, you were already set up with your notes, hands hovering over the keyboard due to the speed at which he talked. He was an amazing professor, you’d tell people, but he couldn't help how fast he talked when he was in the middle of lecturing. 

“I thought you were going to skip,” you whispered to Wanda as she sat down next to you, rushing to pull out her notes. It was only one minute past the class start time and yet Dr. Fury was beginning his lecture, “why can’t he talk about his weekend for like two seconds,” Wanda whispered as she opened up her laptop to a black screen that stayed that way.

All you could do was laugh before taking out your charger, “there you go.” 

Wanda just looked at you with an apologetic smile, “you are a lifesaver, this and the notes you let me borrow,” she thought for a moment, “let's get coffee, let me buy you a coffee as a moment to thank you for our friendship.” 

You giggled quietly to yourself as your fingers began to type, “I’ll never say no to a coffee, but you don’t need to always pay me back, you know I have your back.” 

“I know,” Wanda quickly responded to not annoy the students surrounding you, “but just let me, okay?”

All you could do was nod with a smile on your face, a small warmth bloomed in your chest as you took a moment to reflect. You had a good friend with you, one that you’d want to keep for a while; especially if she likes to buy you coffee. 

When the class finished you stayed back to ask Dr.Fury a question about a topic that didn’t make sense in the lecture, Wanda was going to meet you at the cafe after her meeting with her biology professor. Dr. Cho held weekly tutoring sessions that Wanda found extremely helpful. 

Before you could fully make it out of the lecture hall you felt a tap on your shoulder, when you turned around a semi-familiar face greeted you. Something was off about the individual but you knew you knew them. Even though you didn’t really remember the boy, you smile wide. 

“Hey,” he said quickly, “I love your sweater, did you see them live?” 

Your eyes lit up, “yes I did and thank you,” without thinking you grew coy, “it was like a religious experience, I love live music,” you managed to pull a giggle from him. “I know this sounds so rude but I know you but I don’t at the same time…” you trailed off with a squint. 

“I work at the cafe?” it was a question, “I also have a class in here right now so maybe-”

“James, I didn't even recognize you without the hairnet and apron oh my god how stupid of me!” Your face grows hot, your favourite barista compliments your sweater and you forget who he is. “I am so sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” he quickly waved his hand, “I know, the uniform becomes a part of you at some point,” his eyes lit up when you giggled. 

“I’m heading there now to get coffee with a friend, when do you work next?” you could see in his face for a moment that he was surprised at the question, as if he didn’t fully believe youd care enough and actually go in to see him. 

“I work tomorrow, I have a lab due tonight so that’s going to take the top spot on the to-do list,” he bashfully smiled. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, James,” your face grew warm again as you back away, “have a good class.” 

“You too,” James said before biting his lip, you just had your class, idiot.

But you just giggled and left. Didn’t point and laugh that he couldn’t flirt, didn’t care to point out his heavy blush the entire time he spoke to you, didn’t make fun of him when he let his true thoughts show on his face. 

Bucky sat down at a seat, he placed his hands on his face to feel a radioactive heat still burning hot. He knew he’d be completely out of it the entire class, how could he focus on molecular genetics when all he could think of was the girl he was hypnotized by talking to him; nevermind asking about when his next shift was. 

“Why are you sunburnt?” Sam asked the moment he sat down, Steve joining Bucky on the other side. 

“Shut up,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

Sam whipped his head to look over, “oh that’s not a sunburn, that’s a blush!” Sam poked his shoulder to be a nuisance, “I forget how red you guys get it’s hilarious,” Sam laughed to himself, “who got you that flustered?” 

“Ended up talking to the girl from the cafe,” Bucky muttered, the seats around him were filling up and the last thing he wanted was to have a group therapy session with everyone in his class about the girl who finally talked to him. “She’s as sweet as I thought.” 

“Oh you’re a goner,” Steve shook his head, “invite her to the house party, maybe she has a friend she can bring to make it less obvious, you guys can talk there.” 

“It’s too soon,” Bucky shook his head, “I’m not doing that.”

“I think you should, even if she says no at least she actually knows you want to see her again, maybe get to know her.” Sam dropped the joking tone and got as serious as Steve, the two of them could see how much he liked that girl. “What did she say to you?”

“I just complimented her sweater, I know the band and I know they were just on tour, she-...” his words got caught in his throat when he realized inviting her to the party wasn’t a stretch, “she asked when I was working next…”

Sam facepalm, “because she wants to see you again…” The mocking tone came back, James honestly preferred the devil-angel situation with Steve and Sam instead of them both getting serious on Bucky. “But no of course, it’s too soon.” 

The class started and Bucky barely took any notes, he was thinking of you at the cafe with your friend. His mind wandered to all the terrible outcomes of you going to the party, any outcome other than him getting with you - or even speaking to you. Both Sam and Steve knew Bucky was not looking for another notch in his belt, being raised by a single mom gave him a unique view of women; including the mommy issues. 

********

Bucy Barnes had never made so many coffee’s wrong in one shift. Everytime the bell rang on the door  to signal a new customer, he’d look up to see who it was and somehow mess up a pour or leave the milk to steam a little too long. He’d never admit to anyone how high he got his hopes up, he’d think how pathetic he was and miss his pour, landing hot coffee onto the back of his hand. 

His shifts were long and he felt like you knew that as well, there would be times during midterm season where you’d out-last him at a table while he worked his shift. Part of him always wanted to stay back, not knowing how long you stayed; he wouldn’t be surprised if you had walked yourself home in the dark more than once. 

Bucky was in the middle of an order when the ball rang again, his eyes shifted slightly when asking for the customer's name - his stomach dropped; you actually showed up. Not that he would ever think you wouldn’t show up but the anticipation was over. 

Seeing that he was busy you waved with a big smile, raising both eyebrows as you found a table. Once he finished his order and began working on the coffee he took his time watching you, seeing how you set everything up before getting your coffee. 

“Totally didn’t expect to see you here,” you spoke softly as you walked up to the counter, “how’s the shift been?” 

Bucky smiled, “pretty good,” while he was thinking of every time he messed up thinking of you, “pretty slow as well which is always nice.” 

You giggled, “I’m glad to hear, can I just get my usual, please?” you pulled out your wallet. 

“Of course,” Bucky punched it in, a simple order that was always the same. “Anything else?” 

“No, that’s okay, thank you!” you smiled, ready to pay.

This is your moment, do something. 

“Come on, let me get you something to eat, on the house?” he pointed to the small treats they also sold beside him, definitely not as popular as their drinks but he knew you’d be here for a while, who wouldn’t want a little treat? 

He could see you grow coy again, tucking your chin into your neck like you did yesterday when he complimented your sweater. It was as if you didn’t experience this often, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It occurred to him at that moment that you might be as nervous as him, maybe guys being interested wasn’t as often as he thought, especially someone as beautiful as you. 

“What have I done to deserve that?” your voice has grown so quiet. 

“For starters, you’ve always been extremely polite whenever you order, you’d be surprised how many people think we’re robots,” hearing the giggle he pulled from you made his heart soar, “and because you deserve it, you’ve been studying here forever and you deserve a little recognition, a little something - I don't know…” Maybe he gave too much away, maybe you were thinking to yourself how he knew how often you studied, maybe you weren’t as interested in him than he thought. 

“Chocolate chip muffin, please,” you beamed and all the worries washed away, “that is so kind, James, you just made my day.” 

Before he could say anything, even correct you to use his nickname, the door blasted open. In that moment all the confidence he accumulated dissolved right between his fingers. All he could think was oh no as he saw Steve and Sam burst through the door. To think he was actually about to ask you to come to the house party, to think he actually made progress with you, all torn up in one moment.

“Bucky!” Sam shouted. 

Bucky stood still as you looked over your shoulder to see the two men attempt to squeeze through the single door at the exact same time. He could see your brows pulled tightly together, the way you were so thrown off by the loud call in a semi-full and semi-silent cafe. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered before the two men managed to approach the cash. 

All you did was smile at James, realizing whatever condolence you offered would be heard by the two guys approaching. You quickly paid and stepped to the side, thinking they just wanted to order next. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, “how’s the shift?” 

“So great,” Bucky deadpanned as he made your coffee, looking over to see you trying to cover a smirk. 

When he placed your coffee down you reached out quickly, managing to brush your hand against his. “The muffin?” you whispered, not wanting to further embarrass him in front of what you assumed were his friends. “Thank you again, that was really sweet,” you said as you picked up the plate. 

“She got a free muffin?” Sam whined, “you never let me get anything for free.” 

You stood there giggling, “maybe don’t almost break down the door when you walk in and see people studying,” you shrugged, “just a thought.” 

Not wanting to entertain any longer, you walked away, back to your little spot in the corner. Once your headphones were on you began to work, toggling back between tabs as you worked on your paper. The one thing you learned about James when you worked here was that he was a very focused guy, rarely ever did you see him standing around or slacking off. There was always something going on behind the counter, he was always busy. 

As you worked you could see the two men who barged in slowly shrink into themselves, you could tell James wasn’t very happy, which is a first. Part of you had to agree, it was a very cute moment. Being told you’re a memorable customer that has an impact took you out of your normal routine. Most days were the same, it would have you thinking late at night what was it all for? 

Moments like that, when you’re gifted with a free muffin by someone who makes you smile almost everyday. It was now retrospectively obvious there was something else under this offering, which was why James was so upset. To say that James was harsh on the eyes would be a blatant lie. He was a very handsome guy but to you he was someone working a job that involved a customer service persona. 

After yesterday, seeing him in his element, you realized that persona wasn’t just so he could pay his rent; he actually enjoyed the moments with you as much as you enjoyed them with him. But it was spoiled in a way, a way you thought was left in high school. 

You didn’t even notice when the two boys left, the bell ringing for another customer that rang right when a song faded out brought your attention up, seeing James smile to the customer walking in. You let yourself pause to think for a while, working through what your next paragraph would cover, but an all too familiar habit began to roll out as you watched James work behind the counter. 

Who the hell is Bucky? 

He was James, that’s what his name tag said. In what world did James logically connect to Bucky, it must have been some inside joke or story you obviously didn’t know. It never occurred to you that he was someone else to others, you had realized how repetitive you have been, how robotic. 

“Hey,” James slid into the chair in front of you, scaring you half to death, “sorry.” 

You slowly slid your hand off your chest, reaching over to music at the same time. “Don’t worry,” you smiled. 

“Sorry about my friends earlier,” he couldn’t look more sincere, “they always do this, like, always.” you just laughed, understanding how annoying this was to him. “So I just wanted to say sorry, I don’t know if they made you uncomfortable or anything.” 

“Not really,” you shook your head, “I’d like to remember the moment right before that instead.” 

This seemed to take him by surprise, “me too,” he spit out, making sure to keep you on the same page, as if this would never happen in his wildest dreams. “Also,” he paused for a moment, “those same,” he sighed, “those same guys are having a house party this weekend and before they crashed in I was going to tell you about it, I don't know if parties are your thing but I thought if you were looking for one…we could maybe, y’know,” his eyes got lost, he was losing confidence, “see each other when I’m not working, as actual people, you know?” His voice was pitched up, his eyes squinting. 

You were nowhere close to a party monster in your mind, most weekends you stayed in, sometimes with Wanda, and just chill. The week ate away at you and left you too tired to even think about getting ready, pregaming, going out, so on and so forth. But you were tired of feeling robotic, this was the time to live it up. 

“I’d love to go out this weekend, I can't remember the last time I was at a house party, honestly.” you looked out the window to think but couldn’t remember the date, just drunk memories that didn’t make sense now. “Do you mind if I invite my friend, I promise she won’t keep me to herself but I think she’d love a party.” 

James quickly agrees, “yeah, of course, of course, no worries, Invite whoever because I know for a fact those two-” he couldn’t find another word, “-idiots want some rager, I don't know.” All he could do was laugh, “so bring whoever.” 

“Since I’m going I need to make sure they let me in, will they kick me out if I ask for James? Who’s Bucky?” you laughed and sipped your coffee, slowly pushing your laptop screen down a bit to show your attention. 

In a moment you saw his face grow red, he tried to cover it with his hands but to no avail. “That would be my nickname, so happy you noticed,” he said sarcastically, “my middle name is Buchanan, so of course my childhood best friend- the blonde one -shortened it and somehow it has stuck all these years.” 

“You don't seem to be happy with it?” your hands clasped under your chin to hold your head up, your eyes squinted as you studied him. 

He tilted his head back and forth, “I mean they’re my buddies so I can see why they would call me by my nickname but y’know, I don’t mind James…” his face grew red again, “especially when it comes to you.” 

It was your turn to grow warm, covering your face as well. “You are such a flirt, first the muffin, now this,” you giggled. 

“First the compliment, really, I had never seen you outside of the cafe before, I wanted to make an impression,” he said after a while, “now I feel like I’m spilling all my secrets,” his eyes met yours quickly, “I just-...” he sighed, “I feel like I can just talk to you, I don't know.”

“I’m glad,” you smiled, “because you can, and I’m very excited to see you this weekend.” 

All he could do was smile to himself, “me too,” he drummed on the table a few times before looking at his watch, “sorry, even though I could keep talking I only had a fifteen minute break,” his thumb jerked over his shoulder, “I gotta get back.” 

“That’s all good, I’d never get my work done,” you grabbed your headphones again, “wait, I need to know how to get there, the party,” you clarified. 

“Right, okay,” James looked over his shoulder, the pen he used to write down expiry dates on the dairy products was clipped to his apron that he still had on. With the clean napkin you grabbed for your muffin he quickly scribbled down something, “I’ll see you Saturday night, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, watching with a smile as you see him get right back into working. You slid the napkin towards you and saw his number, followed by the address of the party. Knowing you, you’d lose the napkin before Saturday and would need to text him.

But he didn’t know that, he just gave you his number.

********

YOU: Wanda do I have news for you

WANDA: TELL ME TELL ME

YOU: you know that really cute barista at the cafe I always go to…

WANDA: SHUT UP

YOU: he gave me a free muffin and an invite to his friends house party this weekend

YOU: and of course I asked if you could come, so do you want to party this weekend? 

WANDA: Is that even a question???

WANDA: also I need to lend you clothes for this, you need to end the night with that man oh my lord

YOU: Alright take it easy, we’ll see how it goes!

WANDA: don't be stupid you two would be so cute together!!

********

Throughout the week you and James had been texting all the time, you even waited after Fury’s class to say hi to him again. It ended up that you took the entire ten-minute grace period between classes to catch up since texting last. Conversations both in person and over the phone were easy, it didn’t feel as complicated as your other situationships and relationships. 

There used to be calls with Wanda, freaking out over what was too risky or what was too boring. Forget the spitballing of the same sentences with minor changes, forget the excruciating nerves that came in the window after pressing send and before hearing back. 

He was an interesting person to get to know, but you didn’t regret it. By Saturday you understood how Bucky could be so fitting, under the customer service persona, in his element, he’s a hilarious guy. It wasn’t always flirty, it wasn’t always serious, it was just a well-balanced conversation that seemed to continue for days. 

As you stood in the bathroom, drink in one hand and mascara in the other, you bounced with Wanda as you both got ready. Friday night you and Wanda booked a study room and grinded your to-do’s that had yet to be completed, and a grind it was. Three red bull’s ,each, later you and Wanda were ready to take the entire day to pamper yourselves. 

With no weights on your shoulders you took an everything shower this morning, feeling clean and well moisturized. You ate what you wanted throughout the day, treating yourself to the first thing that popped into mind. Wanda did the same, sleeping in until noon before beginning her wake-and-bake. 

All of that pampering led to now, you and Wanda mouthing to Beyonce as you placed the finishing touches on your makeup. 

“Another shot!” Wanda poured two shots, both of you taking them back like it was nothing. 

“How long until the uber gets here?” you asked between coughs, trying to fight the vodka burn. You downed the vodka cranberry you made before spraying Wanda’s setting spray. 

“Five minutes, we should head down,” Wanda did one final once-over before turning to you and making jazz hands around your face, “super-model is getting some dick tonight!” Wanda shouted before you could cover her mouth. 

“Shut up!” you laughed and pulled Wanda into a hug, “are you sure you’re gonna be good if I go off with James?” you asked as you both grabbed your final things to shove in your small purses. 

“Oh, of course,” Wanda looked over her shoulder, “but I want to meet those idiots and show them how to introduce a friend,” you couldn’t see her face but you knew she rolled her eyes; she found the story more annoying than you. 

“Relax with that, let’s have an open mind,” you said as the elevator began to descend. Your phone in your hands, you were texting James to let him know the two of you were on your way. 

When the two of you arrived the party was in full effect, before fully entering you sent another text to James, he hadn’t responded to the first one. The ride was short, not expecting the house to be this close. 

JAMES: come down the main hall and into the kitchen, you’ll see me

You grabbed Wanda’s hand and began to march through people standing and talking, couples making out against the wall. There was a basement door before the kitchen, you could hear different music coming from the speakers down there. People were cheering and yelling, most likely playing a drinking game. Pushing through the final group of people you were in the kitchen, and there he was. 

Two closed cans extended to you and Wanda, a tipsy smile gracing his face. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” he spoke loudly to be heard over the dub-step music. “My buddies are there, I wanted to make sure you got in alright,” he confessed, bringing a blush to his cheeks. Three of you walked over to the two men you recognized. “Sam, Steve…” Bucky coughed, “this is y/n and her friend Wanda. Wanda, this is Sam and Steve,” James pointed to them respectively. 

“Hi boys,” Wanda greeted with a half-smile.

Tipsy and slightly nervous you jutted in, “Wanda is a chem major.”

“We’re all in stem,” Steve lit up, “I’m in engineering, Sam’s in Biology with Bucky.” 

Wanda almost spit out her drink, “who the hell is Bucky?” 

Everyone laughed, in that moment you looked to James to see a wide smile, Wanda was in between you two so a look was all that seemed appropriate. The conversation flowed, primarily about stem activities. For a while you stood silently and listened to their similar stories and experiences. James didn’t talk that much, he seemed to be waiting for something. 

The party had only grown but you all stayed in the same spot, you didn’t realize until a small push how crowded the kitchen became. Wanda jolted forward and James stepped in, moving Wanda to where he was standing so he could push back against the large group of guys obnoxiously jumping and screaming to a song. 

Your circle slowly began to shrink, Sam and Steve stayed pressed against the counter, right by the corner. Wanda snuck in beside Steve, you noticed her flirty look at him. Instinctively you moved to stand more in front of James rather than beside, his hand quickly wrapped around you. 

“This is okay, right?” he asked and brushed his thumb a few times on your waist to signal what he was talking about, you looked up quickly and nodded. The moment he saw your face his brows pulled tight, “are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you spoke over it all, he leaned down to listen, his hair almost in your face. As he bent down a gust of his cologne hit you, it had an undertone of beer. “Just kinda crowded.” 

“Tell me if you want to go to the basement- how about that? They're playing beer pong down there, maybe we can watch?” 

You nodded quickly, looking at Wanda who had moved away from Steve and was talking to another guy. “Wanda,” she looked over her shoulder, “I’m going to the basement, okay?” 

Wanda’s eyes grew big as she gave a thumbs up, “I love you, I’m all good, have fun!” 

You giggled and took Jame’s hand, he took the long way around the annoying crowd and to the door you noticed when you walked in. Finally starting to move after a while, you realized how drunk you really were. The stairs were steep, as one hand grabbed the hand rail the other was placed on his shoulder. 

Once you got to the bottom he gently took your arm to get your attention, “still good?” he giggled. 

“I’m very drunk, but good drunk!” your laugh pushed you into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you. After a quick squeeze he pulled away and brought you away from the stairs, the both of you watched the game as you nodded your head to the beat. 

“Have you been enjoying the party?” After a while James leaned down to your ear from behind you. The smell of beer washed over your face as his lips tickled the side of your ear. Before you could respond, a full-body tingle, accompanied by goosebumps, rippled down your body. James could obviously tell you had a physical reaction to him, “I saw that,” he whispered again, peering over to see your eyes gently close. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist you slowly turned to face him, “that was like ASMR in real life,” you blurted out, your guilty pleasure slipping through your teeth. James laughed and nodded, his reaction calms your nerves because it seemed like he was drunk enough to admit it to. 

“That shit is great!” 

A burst of laughter ripped through you, your hand covering your mouth. “Imagine you recommending a coffee to someone like that,” you tried to imitate but another wheeze of laughter hit you, the alcohol making everything so much funnier. 

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled to himself, a genuine smile gracing his face. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes switching between yours, though his smile faded a small grin stayed implanted on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” you bit your lip and nodded, your eyes flicking down to his lips as he licked them. One hand that sat on your hip moved to cup your jaw, his eyes watching your lips the entire time. As you leaned forward the alcohol pushed you a little too hard, there was no way you were going to ruin this moment by stumbling so you placed your hand on his chest, gently closing your eyes as you felt his lips connect with yours. 

It seemed neither of you wanted it to end, holding onto the moment before slowly pulling away. It must have been the alcohol between the two of you because neither of you were satisfied, instantly you both kissed again, James prodding his tongue against your lips. 

Getting the hint, you slightly opened your mouth and slid your hand up his chest. Grabbing a fistful of hair you kept him right where he wanted. Kissing him was like a drug, every second thought or insecurity slowly faded away as your shoulder rolled back for the first time this evening. Due to the lack of air you  both pulled away at the same time, giggling to yourself as you looked around; realizing how public that make-out session was. 

“Are you okay?”James asked, you quickly nodded and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, making him blush. “You are such a good kisser,” he added. 

“You too,” you tucked your chin into your neck, not knowing what to do with the attention. 

After watching the end of the beer-pong game you both headed back upstairs to find Wanda, James was more than happy to come with you to check on her. She was with the same guy you saw her with when you left, when she saw you her eyes lit up. Before you could say anything she turned back to the guy, speaking quickly with an apologetic face. Quickly, she rounded the counter and grabbed both of your arms, “I see a little lip gloss smudge,” she reached up and wiped your top lip. 

“Stop,” you gasped and quickly wiped around your lips to make sure it was all gone. “Now, who is that guy over there?”

“His name is Vision- he’s European, we’ve been talking so much about Europe it’s so nice to talk to an international student,” she leaned closer, “it also helps that he’s hot.” 

You laughed and looked over Wanda’s shoulder to wave to the guy, looking confused as to why the girl he’d been talking to all night ran off. Before Wanda could leave James came back, empty hands leaving his pockets to wrap an arm around you. 

Wanda took one look at James before a wicked smile grew, “love the lip gloss, what shade is that?” In an instant James covered his mouth, the crinkles around his eyes told you he found it as funny as Wanda did. James didn’t have anything to say back, obviously being caught. Wanda didn’t harp on it though, she just sipped her drink with a chuckle. 

The night flew right past you, you had slowed down on your alcohol consumption but still held a decent buzz. After the moment in the basement it seemed James was stuck to you, and you weren’t complaining. If you were dancing, talking, or even moving from one room to another James was touching you in some way. 

His hand rested on your hip for the majority of the evening. It was grounding to feel his side pressed to your shoulder, you felt protected in ways you never felt before. You hadn’t asked him to gently pull a strand off of your lip gloss and tuck it behind your ear, you didn’t tell him you wanted a hug everytime you came back from the washroom, he did it because he wanted to. 

********

The walk to the cafe had never felt more stressful than it did right now. Flashes of the previous night caused a lull in your stomach, a slowly growing ball of stress. 

Last night was too perfect, this morning you laid in bed and analyzed everything you could remember about the party. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the ceiling, nit-picking every interaction you had with James. Even the thought of the kiss you shared in the basement caused a wave of nausea to hit you. You had sent him a text when you got home, he sent a quick reply. 

This is definitely a fluke, you thought to yourself as the cafe entered your view, he just liked me because we were both drunk. Part of you didn’t know why you were so keen to go the next morning, maybe you should have stretched out the rejection; living in your fantasy for as long as possible. 

With a deep breath you pulled the door open, cringing at the bell ringing; you had hoped for a stealthy entrance, maybe you could both go about pretending not to know each other. 

There he was, barely anyone else was in the cafe at the time, he looked right at you. “Hey,” you said softly, eyes casted low. 

“...hi,” James dipped his head to try to make eye contact, “y/n, what’s wrong?” His eyes widened in a fraction of a second, shooting him forward, “did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he whispered, placing his hand on the counter. 

In shock your lips slightly parted, “I-um, yeah I’m okay-um,” you just shook your head, speechless. “I just thought this was going to be different.”

“How?” 

With your eyes wide, you tried to find the words you wanted to say without sounding like an idiot, you hadn’t even entertained the idea of him genuinely liking you after one night out, especially when there was a steamy make-out session that wasn’t spoken about for the rest of the night. 

“I-I genuinely thought you would regret yesterday, I don’t know why I- I just thought it was because we were drunk,” you fiddled with your hands as you spoke, not wanting to deal with this any longer. 

“I need you to understand,” James spoke as he rounded the corner of the counter, taking your hand and pulling you to the back. “You come here all the time, you are consistent, you are a creature of habit.” James placed a hand on your shoulder, “almost everyday I think about when you’re coming, what you’re doing while you’re here, if your work is going smoothly, and if you get home safe. I always look at the door thinking it’s you walking in, okay?” He chuckled at the confession, “this is not because I was drunk, this was not because you were drunk. It’s simply because I like spending time with you, in fact, I love it now because I can actually get to know you; not just from your window seat.” 

It came as a whisper, “okay,” slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him instantly pull you close. “I was really preparing for the worst, but I do really like you too, James,” you giggled after feeling him squeeze you tighter at the sentiment. 

“I know your coffee order, my friends came and made fun of me in front of you,” he led you out of the back and began making your order, without you paying. “There are so many reasons this is not a fluke, okay?” 

Taking your coffee into your hand, you quickly nodded. “Thank you, James,” you slightly lifted your cup to him, “maybe I can get you back for the muffin and coffee…” you tucked your chin to your neck, “maybe dinner would be the logical reimbursement…”

James just laughed, “I would love to get dinner with you, but you are sure as hell not paying on the first actual date,” he continued to laugh, “that’s just not happening.” 

“Fine,” you took a seat at the bar, “you can pay for the first and I’ll pay for the second.”

James’ smirk grew, “sure, totally.” 

“I’m serious,” you laughed, “let me pay for at least one!”

All it took was a knock-out smile, “you’ll pay on the one-thousandth date, and I am not keeping track.” 

[iliketangerines]

Raiden and Kung Lao with a reader that looks like this?? Like she works at madam Bo’s and comes from outworld. Shes fast with her work and now’s the boys orders- tehe

made to order

a/n: can't gang know i fw encanto (i cried during the rewatch of the movie)

pairing: raiden x reader x kung lao

warnings: xenophobia

Raiden and Kung Lao stare at you from their table as you effortlessly put down two waters on the table while taking their order in your other hands at a customer’s table

when Lord Liu Kang had opened up the barrier between Outworld and Earthrealm, there was a never ending flow of people coming from Outworld to explore Earth

people also loved going from Earthrealm to Outworld and last either of them heard, some corporate bigwig was trying to make a tourist industry out of it

but Kung Lao and Raiden supposed it wasn’t so bad as they watch you finish greeting a table with a loud smile and gentle laugh

you glance over at the two of them, tucking a stray strand of water behind your ear, before coming over to them with a big smile

Raiden clears his throat as you ask them how they’re doing today and that you can take their order, and Kung Lao flashes you a smirk, opening his mouth no doubt for a bad pickup line

Raiden elbows Kung Lao in the ribs, trying to do it subtly to stop him, but you catch the action as Kung Lao grunts and shoots a glare at his friend

you just smile and ask if they need any more time, and Raiden quickly says no, saying that they’re just a bit tired from picking cabbage all day

he puts in his order, saying it’s what he usually orders, and Kung Lao quickly puts his in, adding on that hey come here a lot to Madam Bo’s

you snap your fingers together on one of your many hands, and you exclaim that they’re Madam Bo’s prized students

Raiden raises his eyebrows at the statement, Madam Bo talked about the two of them?

Kung Lao just takes the chance to lean in closer to you, saying that yeah they were those students, learned everything they knew about fighting from her

you smile and cock your head, tapping another hand on your chin before you ask them to meet you after your shift, if they're willing

you want to test your skills, and Madam Bo had told you that they were the best fighters in this side of China

they glance at each other, answer already clear in their heads as they both say the same thing in unison: yes

you beam at them with that gorgeous smile and walk away with a wink, putting their food orders to the kitchen

both Raiden and Kung Lao chat, watching you out of the corner of their eyes as you flit around the restaurant putting down plates and pouring glasses of water and taking orders

your arms certainly came in handy for sure

finally, you serve them their meals as you pour them new tea, and you tell them to enjoy their food

Raiden gives you a polite nod, thanking you for the speedy service, and Kung Lao gives you a large smile and tries to say something flirty

except he misjudged where to place his elbow as he leans his head on it and ended up slamming his forehead into the table

you place a hand over your mouth, stifling your giggle, and you nod your head at them before disappearing to serve the next table

Kung Lao rubs his forehead and Raiden ruffles his friend’s hair before going to eat his meal, a casual conversation easily rising between the two of them

several minutes pass, finishing their meal, and they hear a small commotion and look over, finding you looking rather irritated as a man too red in the face points at you

they spot the empty bottles of alcohol, how the spittle flies from his mouth, and then they see how his hand grab onto one of your wrists tightly

the man is shouting insults about how Outworlders don’t belong on Earth and that they should all go home, and Raiden rises up to help

but then, they watch you grab onto the man’s wrist with your other hands, easily pushing his grip out of yours, and bend his wrist back so far they’re surprised the bone hasn’t broken

they hear the man howl in pain, kneeling down to try and relieve the pressure, but all you do is bend his wrist further back with a cold smile on your face

you ask him to repeat his statement, asking if he really wants to test you right now, and he sobs out an apology, begging you to spare him

sighing, you let go of him and tell him to get out of the restaurant, but not before paying

he scrambles, leaving his wallet on the table, and you pick it up, fishing out a generous amount of money and counting through it as you walk over to the counter

you hand over some of the cash to the lady at the register and then pocket some of it for yourself before noticing how Raiden and Kung Lao stare at you

walking on over, you give them a slight embarrassed smile, saying you really wish they didn’t have to see it, but the both of them reassure that it’s fine, that they can’t wait to fight against you

you give them a relieved chuckle and ask them to just stick around a little longer, that your shift is almost over

you take their empty plates away, handing them the check

but not before sending them a flirty wink as you walk away, sending both Raiden and Kung Lao’s heart stuttering

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Cherries

Jiraiya x Reader. MDNI 18+ only. Ao3

You’re a waitress at a gambling club, and a fan of Jiraiya’s book, when he comes into your club you can’t help yourself from going home with him.

This was kind of inspired by the song Cherries by Annie Kemble, a good friend of mine. It’s a great song, give it a listen even if you don’t wanna read this fic. But I hope y’all do both. Love y’all as always <3 Doodle

Content notes: SMUT, smoking, drinking, pussy eating, uncut dick (b/c why would anyone in the Naruto universe be circumcised?), jiraiya is his own warning tbh.

The sound of shouting players, and the smell of smoke was second nature to you now. You had been working in the parlor for two years, serving drinks, selling and lighting cigarettes, loading pipes and blowing on dice. You were frequently propositioned by customers for more salacious services, many offered money. Sometimes you would take it, if you were feeling comfortable enough, or the price was enough to tempt you, they never asked too much of you. Usually short encounters, over before the sun rose again. You had no problem making money this way, and why should you? You were working, you were talented in this regard, they had a good time and paid you well. As long as you kept yourself safe from harm, you rarely even got nervous anymore.

Tonight had been on the slower side, the middle of the week wasn’t often popular for gambling. You hadn’t been tipped that well, two different tables had stiffed you completely. You didn’t think you would be walking home pleased with your purse tonight. Breaking from the foggy main room, you slipped into the private bathroom reserved only for employees. Your makeup was immaculate still, but you applied another layer of ruby colored lipstick, patting it lightly with your finger before cleaning up the edges. You mussed your hair slightly in an attempt to give it more volume, before giving yourself one last look and smiling. You were beautiful, you were so grateful to know it and feel it.

While you were in the bathroom, Jiraya entered the parlor. His boisterous laugh gathered the attention of everyone, his hulking figure shook the table as he sat down at one of the games. The energy around him was light and fun, people of course recognized him and were excited to buy a man of such legend drinks, or play against him. Of course he wasn’t a great gambler, Jiraya was primarily here to get drunk and to flirt, shaking off another long day of training and mentorship. His eyes rose from the game table just in time to catch the most beautiful woman he had ever seen exiting from the back of the parlor. Well done up, makeup clean and vibrant, showing elegance with a clear personality that he would love to discover. Styled hair, pulled away from her working face, but falling perfectly where it could to give the appearance of casual effort. He was shaken by the man sitting next to him, and brought back to the game. Barely paying any attention, he offered a raised bet, and lost near instantly. He didn’t care, he took the last of his drink and shot it back, standing from the table and moving through the crowd over to where you were reloading your tray with drinks.

“Hello, gorgeous.” The alcohol had reddened his cheeks and lowered his already rock bottom inhibitions.

You gave him a practiced smile and began to lift the probably overloaded tray, “hello sir, is there something you might need from me?”

“I’ve got a couple ideas, but I’ll save them until you’ve dropped that tray off.” He took a seat on the available bar stool next to the drink well, “don’t worry about me, honey, I’ll still be here when you get back.”

You giggled flirtatiously, ever the professional, before passing him to deliver the bottles of sake and beer to your patrons. You swished your hips as you walked, knowing he was staring at you. You didn’t mind, he was a bit older than your usual type but you knew his reputation.

Master Jiraya of the legendary Sanin, you had even read one of his books. A girlfriend had recommended it to you, starting a scandalous book club you briefly belonged to. You were sure his writing was generous, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to find out for yourself. He was tall, and handsome, and fucking big. Everything about him was big: his body, his presence, his voice, his reputation. You wondered if everything else was just as big.

Clearing your tray, you turned back to the bar, he was still watching you. You assumed he had been the whole time. His dark brown eyes crinkled up at the sides following the line of a wide grin. The red markings down his cheeks bent and blending into his blushing alcohol fevered cheeks. You stood to his side, sliding in between stools and leaning your body against the counter. Flirting was part of your job, keeping the patrons entertained and engaged was just as much your work as serving drinks. Sure this may have had some selfish motives, but no one could say you weren’t working too.

“So….I have to confess something,” you flicked your eyes up at him, through your thick made up lashes.

“Oh sweetheart, I would love to hear a confession from you. Need me to offer you forgiveness?” He was becoming brazen, moving his large hand to your waist, which you leaned into.

“I’ve actually read a few of your books.” You moved your hand over the arm that he leaned on the bartop.

He watched you trail your finger over his forearm. He was flattered by your admission. His mouth was starting to water.

“Well, it’s always nice to meet a fan. Especially one as beautiful as you.” He watched you blush at his words, “do you have a copy? I’d love to sign it for you. Is it back in your bedroom?”

He started to stand up, but your hand was sturdy on his shoulder, pressing him back down onto the stool.

“Not so fast.” You smiled, your fingernails toying playfully with the hem of his sleeve, “I’m excited to meet you, Master Jiraya. And I’d be happy to continue spending time with you tonight. But you see, I’m still working. And I’m not finished here for another hour.”

You closed the distance between the two of you, fingers moving his long white hair over his shoulder and leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. He smelled like jasmine and pipe smoke, something else lingered as an undernote, something earthy and organic.

“I’d love for you to sign my book. I don’t live far, but you’ll have to wait until my shift is up. Think you can do that for me?” You pulled back, batting your eyelashes and pouting your lips, fingers still tangled in his hair and clothes.

His eyes were glassy but locked onto you, his heart pounding in his chest, if you looked hard enough you were sure you could see his pulse in his neck. He nodded and you nodded back, an agreement made and a promise to be kept.

“Can I top off your drink?” you offered, reaching across the bar top and not so subtly arching your back and grabbing a fresh sake bottle.

“Only if you share it with me,” his eyes licked over your body.

He couldn’t believe his luck. The most beautiful girl in the whole place not only was talking to him but knew his work, and seemed to be interested. You pulled an extra cup and filled both glasses, offering one to him. He accepted graciously, still struck by the ease of the whole situation.

“To your work.” You offered

“To your work.” He offered, tapping his glass against yours before drinking together.

You two shared the bottle over the next half hour. You would occasionally need to seperate yourself and assist your coworkers, who were also engaging in the night's entertainment and service. You didn’t have any more tables to yourself, so you were mostly running drinks and offering support. Everytime you left his side, Jiraya always waited patiently for you to come back to him.

“So what keeps you working here?” He asked upon one of your returns.

“I like it. The money's good, the hours are better,” you nudged his arm, “the people are interesting.”

“Are they?” He asked, catching your hand in his and running his thumb across the back of your knuckles.

His touch was hot against your skin, leaving little prickles of electricity in its wake. You weren’t sure when exactly it had happened, but you found yourself becoming more and more excited by the idea of spending the night with him. He was forward but had remained respectful, keeping his hands relegated to your arms and back, but never on your legs or hips. The conversation flowed naturally, he was actually very funny, giving plenty of chances for you to swoon at his wide smile. His good looks were filtered by age but he was still an incredibly handsome man, his strong nose leading up to his dark eyes, big lips growing wetter and looking softer at every passing shot.

“Yeah,” you answered, flipping his own hand over to run your index finger over the inside of his palm, tracing the lines, “although they aren’t usually so handsome. Or accomplished.you wouldn’t believe the amount of stories I’ve sat through about farming or markets.”

“You know, gorgeous, if I didn’t know any better. I’d start to worry you were playing me a bit. Are my stories boring you?” He watched your finger trace over his palm, and he watched when it stopped.

Your slender finger ceased its cartography of jiraiya's large palm, moving his hand over so it faced down. You slotted your fingers in between his. You let them linger for a moment, joined together, before bringing his knuckles up to your lips and kissing lightly. Your lipstick transferred lightly, leaving a red kiss mark across the ridge of two of his fingers. You met his gaze as you pulled away, his bottom lip was caught in between his teeth as he watched you.

“Not at all, Master Jiraiya. I feel quite fortunate to be talking to you tonight.” You set his hand back down on the table, but kept your hand tucked into his.

His voice shook slightly as he asked, “how much longer is your shift?”

Your eyes flicked over to the clock on one wall, “twelve more minutes. Think you can wait here while I wrap up?”

He nodded and breathed out, releasing himself from the previous moment of tension. He leaned back slightly as you stood up and walked to the back to settle your cash for the night and close out your final tabs. Besides Jiraya it had been a slow night for you, but despite the lower than expected take home pay, you felt giddy as you collected your final tabs and closed out with your bartender and manager. Before finishing up, you swung by the bar one last time. This time opting to not sit beside Jiraiya, but lean behind him, pressing your chest into his back and talking directly in his ear.

“You actually still have to settle your tab.” You reminded him, circling a lock of his hair around your finger.

“Ah, right.” He got the bartender's attention and closed his tab, leaving a hefty tip, “should I tip you as well? Or does that come later?”

He turned to face you, suddenly his ever confident aura had dimmed slightly, as though he had grown nervous.

“You're signing my book, that’s a great tip, especially after I sell it as a collector’s item for having a genuine signature!” You teased, laughing.

He laughed along with you before standing. You realized he towered over you, he was well above six feet, probably by another half. He looked down at you, your features enticing him in further and further. His mind raced, thinking of your eyes fluttering at him, how soft your lips felt against his hand, the smell of Cherry that followed you every time you walked past him.

“Why don’t you head outside, I’ll meet you out front after I grab my bag from the back.” You told him.

Just one more hurdle until you could finally have each other. The tension continued to build and build until you knew it would eventually compound in on itself. Hopefully in your bed, and hopefully again and again until the sun comes up.

“I’ll be waiting.” He said, and lifted your own hand to his lips this time. Offering a more dramatic, showman’s kiss before loudly smacking his lips off.

You hurried to the back to hang up your apron, grab your coat and bag, and say goodbye to your coworkers. You slipped out the back and walked around to the front of the building.

Jiraya waited patiently, but nervous. This wouldn’t be the first time he had been duped by a beautiful woman’s promise of a “good time”. When you finally emerged from the side of the building, his face lit up, shoulders relaxing as he took you in.

“I hope you didn’t think I was going to leave you out here.” You read his mind.

“Of course not, just enjoying the night air. It’s good to clear the mind.” He looked down at you, you had walked straight up to him, nearly chest to chest.

The two of you stood for a moment, then two. Breath syncing up, heart rate too. In the moonlight your features look softer, eyes sparkling up at him. Jiraya fought the urge to hold your cheeks and press your lips together, you were still outside of your place of work and he didn’t want to embarrass you.

“This way,” you finally took his hand and led him down the street.

Your conversations from inside the bar continued as you walked home with Jiraiya following you closely. Your walk home wasn’t far, only a few blocks, and he was right about the night air. You had only had a few glasses to drink, but the soft summer wind was already helping you feel more alert and awake. When you finally entered the grouping of apartments where you lived, you led him to your door.

“I wasn’t expecting company, so you’ll have to excuse the mess.” You said, you had actually just cleaned the previous day, but it couldn’t help to under promise and overdeliver.

Jiraiya couldn’t care less where you lived, or how, he was just so excited to be in the home of an incredible young woman who had invited him in. You opened the door, moonlight illuminating the dark living room. With him following closely, you moved to turn on a few lamps, brightening the space. Your place was nearly immaculate, not devoid of personality, but neat. You had drapery hung over your windows and around your light fixtures allowing the light to take on different hues. Purples, blues, and golds filled the space, casting patterned shadows over the walls.

“Wow, kid. Nice place. You do all this yourself?”, Jiraiya let out a low whistle, impressed with your home making skills already.

“Mhm,” you nodded, setting your bag down on your dining table.

You moved to undo the buttons of your coat, when you felt his hands slip around you from behind, his chest was right up against your back, his head stooped down to speak in your ear.

“Please, allow me.”, his fingers were quick to undo your buttons, moving smoothly up your lapels and sliding the jacket off of your shoulders, leaving them bare and chilled with excitement.

His smell of jasmine filled your space, you felt intoxicated with him already. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, then the juncture of your jaw and neck, then the side of your throat. You bit back a moan along with the urge to lean your head back against his chest.

“Are you trying to get out of signing my book?” You teased as his hand began to circle your waist.

He laughed, it shocked you a bit. The usually booming laugh, subdued and hot against your ear. He knew just how to play you. You turned to face him, stepping back slightly, not so subtly trying to regain your footing.

“Of course not,” Jiraiya smiled down at you, his large hands still in your waist, “you keep it next to your bed?”

You pushed his chest slightly, “you wish.”

You pulled out of his grasp and moved to a low bookshelf in your modest seating area, you had to bend over to retrieve it. You heard him suck in some air as you did so. Finally pulling the bound text from your shelf, you stood again and faced him. A blush crept up your face, you realized you had dogeared a few pages, which reminded you that you had actually made notes in a few margins. Maybe you liked this book a bit more than you let on. He noticed too, taking the book from you and opening to the first page.

“You have a pen?��� He moved to sit cross legged on your floor over the coffee table.

You grabbed a writing utensil from your desk drawer and offered it to him, loving to sit next to him.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, hiding the book, “no peeking.”

You rolled your eyes and sat across from him instead. You watched him carefully as he thought of what to write, and with a devilish glint in his eye, started scribbling his autograph. He was taking longer than should be necessary for his name.

“You’re not writing something dirty in there, are you?” You tease, sliding your foot under the table to nudge his crossed leg..

“I already did, that’s why you like it so much.” He flirted back instantly, not even slightly shaken by your contact. He was clearly in his element.

Finally when he had finished his escription, he read over his own words. Giggling to himself, he brought the book up and mimed a kiss against the page, before blowing on it softly, to dry the ink.

“There you go, gorgeous. One of a kind.” He closed the book and set it on the table with his hand still over it, inviting you to try to take it from him.

You took the bait and reached over, he slid it just out of reach, “Almost.”

You got the game. Sliding around the table, you now were next to him, your hand fit next to his, fingers intertwining on the bound leather. You moved your body up his, with him seated and you on your knees, you were finally eye to eye with him. He watched you closely, pupils blown in excitement. You moved to sit on his lap, finally in a full embrace. He was so wide, it was hard to fully straddle him, but you managed. You could feel him getting hard underneath you, too many layers separated you from him. You could feel how wet you had gotten from the back and forth of tonight. You wanted him so bad. His large, delicious body, his experience, his charisma. It had all drawn you in. His hands moved from the table, abandoning the book and over slid your hips, then up your back and down again. The sensation was soothing and also titillating.

You felt yourself dampen further, and your breath increase. You moved your arms around his neck, leaning closer and closer, you could feel the tie that held his long hair back and you pulled until it came loose, allowing his white hair to fall freely. Your lips were so close to his, you could smell sake on his breath, you could feel his heart beating under you.

“Jiraiya?”, your lips were nearly against his as you spoke his name.

“Yes, gorgeous?”, His big hands squeezed your hips, keeping your firm against his clothed erection.

“Are you going to kiss me? Or are you going to make me beg you for it.” You looked at him under your lashes, catching his eye just in time to see him shudder a bit.

“All you had to do was ask.” He caught your lips in his, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to him.

His lips were so soft, but his kiss was so hard and passionate. His tongue immediately slipped between your lips, quickly mapping the inside of your mouth. He had the faintest taste of smoke, probably a pipe or cigarette from earlier in the night. His hands moved through his hair, tugging lightly, making him moan against your mouth.

“Such a pretty girl,” he mumbled between hot, wet kisses, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Feeling emboldened by his praise, you moved one hand between your joined hips to stroke his hardened dick, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

His hips bucked at your touch, a half moan-half laugh sputtering from his lips. He cursed and pulled at the back of your shirt, removing it quickly. His hands were rough against your skin, decades of both training and writing causing his palms and fingers to callus. Your skin was so soft by juxtaposition, smooth and even, plump and vibrant. He removed your bra skillfully, your breasts spilling out for him to quickly latch his mouth onto.

You moaned, throwing your head back, “Master Jiraiya!”

He could barely hear you, he was completely immersed in how good it felt to have your bare chest in front of him, against his lips, against his tongue. He flicked his skilled tongue over your nipple, pulling back to watch it harden and peak.

“You’ve got such great tits, baby. Such a pretty thing for me.” He kissed up the side of your neck.

You were rocking your hips against his, trying desperately to pull more of those shocked moans from him in the process. Your hands moved under his tunic, unknotting the tie and pulling the sides apart. His chest was so broad, a large star shaped scar bloomed from the center outward. You had hooked up with shinobi before, you were familiar with the combat scars and various bruises to be found on their bodies. But this was unlike anything you had ever seen. It was expansive, and evidently distracting, as you had stopped your grinding to gawk at the large healed wound.

“Thought girls liked scars.” He joked.

You ran your hand down his chest, fingers exploring the topography of muscle and scar tissue.

“I do.” You leaned down to kiss the side of his neck, hand traveling further down to his hip bone and further to undo the tie of his pants.

“You work fast, honey.” He bit his lip trying to cover the moan your eager touch pulled from him.

You moved off his lap, now pulling his trousers along with you as you moved down his body, “worried you can’t keep up, old man?”

This struck something in him. Something competitive and cocky. Before you realized it he had you up on the couch, and he was kneeling between your legs.

“I hope you don’t mind if this old man takes a turn first?” He growled holding your hips in place as you tried to figure out just how he had moved you so quickly.

His hands pulled at the top of your skirt, undoing the zipper on the side and sliding it down your legs.

“It only feels fair after I so graciously gave you my autograph free of charge.” He removed your skirt completely, leaving you only in your red panties.

You were so wet already, the panties were sticking to you. You wanted them off so bad, you wanted him so bad. His hands ran up your thighs, Jiraiya delighting in the hot, smooth skin of a young woman writing under his touch. You were so gorgeous, a beautiful body, a beautiful face, charming and intelligent. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky. You were looking at him so desperately, he could see how badly you wanted him. And if he wasn’t sure from your eyes and your words, you were practically dripping onto your own couch in front of him. He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to taste you for himself. Jiraiya leaned forward and took the front of your panties between his teeth, pulling them down, using his hands to roll the flimsy fabric off of your legs. A practiced move he had perfected over years, but never failed him.

Watching him remove your panties with his teeth had you moaning before he ever touched your aching pussy. He watched you gasp in awe and arch your back, body begging him to pleasure you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He slid your panties in his back pocket for later. He knew he was a pervert, but he couldn’t help himself.

Finally, with nothing separating him from your sex, Jiraiya moved your legs over his shoulder and pressed forward, giving you a long, languid lick all the way up your slit.

His tongue was devilish; skilled and wicked. Strong hands keeping your thighs in place as he devoured you. You couldn’t stop the wanton moans that spilled from you like a waterfall, he had barely started and you were already whimpering and pulling at his hair.

“Baby you taste so good, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. How many do you think you can take?” You could barely hear him through the sound of him lapping at your dripping pussy.

He was talking about his fingers, thick and waiting to push inside of you. They were bigger than yours, bigger than anyone’s you had been with, and fuck you wanted them inside of you.

“Two. Two. Fuck, Jiraiya, please.” You begged him, needing more and more from him despite how good you already felt.

He pushed his first two fingers inside of you, tongue still slurping around your clit. Feeling him spread you open, you felt the white hot build up of orgasm approaching. Your voice was giving you away, panting moans, barely intelligible curses mixed with his name. You tugged at his hair, paying no kind to if it hurt him or not. He certainly wasn’t stopping, nor was he complaining. He was too drunk off of your taste. He hooked his fingers inside of you, deliciously hitting your g spot.

You nearly went blind with pleasure. You were cumming before you even realized how close it was. Not only cumming, but squirting. Gushing around his fingers and into his waiting mouth. He drank from you, everything you had. Leaving you a well pleasured, panting mess above him. The heels of your feet had dug into his shoulders so hard he may bruise. But tomorrow if he woke up with any mark of you left on him, he would be a happy man. Finally detaching his mouth from your puffy, spent pussy, Jiraiya sat back on his heels, watching you carefully, licking his fingers clean.

“Ever done that before?” He grinned cockily, your squirt still dripping down his chin onto his neck.

You watched him take great pride in cleaning his fingers of your cum, “once or twice.” You told him.

“Think I can make you do it again?” He leaned over you, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you forward, against the front of his barely done pants.

You shuddered at the thought. You had read his books, you were familiar with his proclivity toward having the heroines orgasm again and again, until they were begging for mercy. You had always assumed it was fiction, and that couldn’t, shouldn’t reflect on the desires and skills of the author. But the way he watched you as you came undone for him, the way he looked down at you now, you knew it was autobiographical.

He wiped a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear before leaning down to kiss you again. This kiss was softer than before, he cupped your face sweetly, not tugging and pulling you into him, but holding you firm and steady against his lips. You kissed him back, finally feeling grounded in your body again. He tasted like you, you were sure you tasted like him too. The experience of letting someone’s taste overpower your own was at times more sensual and pleasurable than the act of sex itself.

Your hands moved over his back, feeling the strong muscle, the divots and grooves of his body. Your eager hands moved to remove his pants, and he joined the effort, stripping himself completely before you. He joined you on the couch, kneeling between your legs, still kissing you. You felt his hardened length hot against you, sliding up and down your slit, he reveled in the fruits of his previous labor.

“Please Jiraiya, please.” You whimpered against his kisses, reaching down to stroke him.

He was diamond hard in your hand, long, and thick. Of course he was, of course this literary Casanova had the personal equipment to back it up. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing through his erection. You ran your thumb beneath his foreskin to pull the precum from him and coat your hand to lubricate his length. Jiraiya shuddered and lifted you back onto the couch again, joining you and slotting himself between your legs. Your lips were hot against his, spit and moans exchanged in between sloppy kisses. His thick, white hair shielded you from the light in the room, blocking out everything else but him. He reached down to join your hand on his length, his eyes meeting yours to confirm consent. You nodded again, rocking your hips against the head of his cock. You moved your hands to his shoulders. Jiraiya’s thumbs spread your folds apart for him to release a string of spit onto you. Spreading the lubrication of his spit and your previous release along his length and your slitc he started to inch himself into you.

You couldn’t help the arch that your back curved into. Nor could you stop the mewl that escaped you. Jiraiya groans above you, pushing deeper. Your vision went white as he packed his inches into you. You clawed at his muscles, whimpering as he filled you.

“I know, baby. Almost there.”, he cooed, smoothing your hair.

You squirmed at his depth, how he stretched you out, how he mashed against the wall of your cervix.

“Relax, baby. Let me in, it’s okay.” He kissed your cheeks where you had scrunched up your face.

You breathed deeply, trying desperately to relax your tensed muscles. Just as you would release slightly, he would push further and you would clench around him again. Finally after much stopping and starting, he bottomed out inside of you. His hips meeting the backs of your legs, your calves over his shoulders, and your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Jiraiya…fuck…you’re so deep.” You trembled against him.

Jiraiya panted above you, running his hand up your leg soothingly. You were holding him so tight, he was struggling to keep from fucking into you further.

“Let me know when I can move, sweetness.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the ball of your ankle, petting your leg again.

After finally accommodating his size, you nodded. He pulled back carefully to the head of his cock before sliding into you again. He began an even thrusting pace, he rocked his hips against your sweet spot inside of you. You couldn’t help the broken, nasty sounds that fell from your lips. He was setting your body ablaze with pleasure. His head fell back as he maintained his rhythm, letting out a lazy, delicious moan. You felt electric, like all the energy in your body had illuminated and was glowing. His hands traveled from your thighs to your hips to your breasts and back again. You felt as though he was unstitching your every piece, taking you apart at the atomic level. And it was marvelous, his touch was practiced and methodical, he knew just how to touch and to please you. You couldn’t control the begging pleas that spilled from you.

“Raiya, please, yes, fuck, oh” in repetition again and again.

He was similarly babbling, “yes baby, so tight, so good, good girl.”

Your sweat transferred to his skin, and vice versa, when he finally leaned over you, closing you in against the couch, you couldn’t help but keen to kiss him again. His big, strong hand pulled your hip up to meet his thrusts, and you helped him, fucking yourself up into him. Your bodies worked in perfect sync, meeting his thrusts, him moving his fingers in between your bodies to circle your swollen clit. Your voice raised in pitch, eyes rolling back as he played you like a fiddle. You had no idea earlier in the night how incredible he would be.

You felt yourself inching so close to climaxing, and you made it clear.

“Please Jiraiya, please!” You begged

“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He smiled, pushing deeper into you, making you arch further.

“Yes! Fuck yes please. Let me cum!”

“Cum all over this cock. Make a mess for me, baby.” He choked out, circling your clit and sucking into your neck.

He pushed harder into you, the combination of his cock and fingers finally bringing you to your desperate, whimpering, squirting climax. You coated his cock and abdomen in your cum, he shuddered against you trying to keep his pace as he reached his own orgasm.

“Fuck!” Jiraiya cried out slamming himself against your g spot, finally letting his release take him.

You could feel his cock pulse, shooting his long streams of cum inside of you, painting your walls white. Jiraiya collapsed his full weight onto you, which was not insignificant, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You stroked his fluffy, white hair as he caught his breath atop you. He pressed lazy, hot kisses to your neck, collarbone and chest as he caught his breath. Minutes passed with you two locked into this embrace. Finally the weight of his body was too much, and you tapped on his shoulder, urging him to sit up. He did, pulling you up with him, having you straddle his lap so he could stay sheathed inside of you. He stroked your back, still kissing your neck occasionally. You slumped against his broad chest, feeling spent, he let his head rest against the back of your couch. When he had finally caught his breath, he tipped his head back down, holding your face in his hands, and kissed you deeply. His tongue smoothed against yours, tasting your exhaustion. He moved your hair out of your face, and looked into your eyes.

You finally found your words, “I better not read about this.”

“If you think I’m not using this as research, I hate to disappoint you…” Jiraiya laughed heartily, holding you closer.

You kissed him again, laughing against his lips. You luxuriated in his touch, his warmth, and his kiss.

Sure enough, about nine months later when his most recent book was released you rushed to the local bookstore. You found there was a dedication at the beginning reading simply.

For Cherry, Page 73.

You quickly flipped to the listed page and found the beginning of a deliciously flowery sex scene, one where the protagonist picks up a waitress and spoils her the exact way Jiraiya had done to you.

You couldn’t hide the blushing smile. That bastard.

Okay y’all thanks so much for reading! I hope y’all enjoyed! I’m nasty feral for this big bad man.

[miraclewoozi]

HIGH FIDELITY, PT 1. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem!reader.  content ; strangers to lovers.  up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.   fluff, angst, parts two and three will contain suggestive themes and smut. (MINORS DNI).  warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage.  wc ; 13.5k ( ~35k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

“What do you mean, no?”

Your best friend and longest standing employee Seungkwan turns his head away from the customer he’s serving to look at you with filth in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his features don’t soften when you double down on your response to him.

“I mean, no,” you laugh. “I’m running on fumes, dude. I’m not going. No way.”

“But…” he whines, putting down the record in his hands. “No, come on. I told you about this weeks ago. You’re really gonna make me go on my own?”

“You won’t be on your own. Chan’s still going.”

Your younger friend, upon hearing his own name, whirls around from where he’s been rearranging the wall of cassettes and lifts an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“You’re still going to that guy’s show tonight, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why?” Chan eyeballs your guilt-adjacent expression for a second before his face falls and he looks at Seungkwan with a curled lip. “What did you do? Why’s she not coming anymore?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Seungkwan barks. The customer he’s still not finished ringing up flinches at the lift in his voice, but he doesn’t notice. “Why is that always your first–”

“Shut up, don’t start this right n–”

“I’m not starting anything! You started–”

“Guys!” You interrupt, looking between the two of them and doing your best to smile apologetically at the poor lady fumbling through the cash in her fingers like it’s an Olympic sport. “Can we park this one? For five minutes? Please?”

The bickering pair fall quickly into silence and Chan sends one last glare at Seungkwan before he turns back to the cassettes, grumbling something under his breath. 

With a clearing of his throat the only giveaway, Seungkwan drops seamlessly back into his customer service voice and plasters a charming smile onto his lips. He checks the register and warmly tells the young woman her total, holding out his palm for her to place the money into. Even knowing him as well as you do, the switch-up gives you a little bit of whiplash.

The customer passes over her cash and accepts her change from Seungkwan’s hands before making perhaps the swiftest exit you’ve ever seen anyone make. No sooner has the bell above the entry to OFF BEAT Vinyl rung and the door has clicked shut, the two men turn once again.

But not on each other.

On you. And it’s the more gentle of them that pipes up first.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Chan asks, abandoning his little project and hurrying over to the desk with a frown. You’re sure it’s supposed to look sympathetic to whatever issue it is that’s changed your mind, supposed to fool you into believing that this has nothing to do with him still blaming Seungkwan entirely. But… you know him better than that. You know them both better. If Chan and Seungkwan weren’t both employed by you, you don’t doubt that they would have ripped each other to shreds within the first hour of meeting. Their dynamic is fascinating to watch — one minute, the best of friends, the next just seconds away from throwing fists; you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to send them to different rooms to avoid having to clean blood and tears off your shop (and sometimes your apartment) floor. 

“I didn’t sleep so well last night, I just want to go to bed early. Is that… okay?” 

(This is an embellishment of the truth, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

“No,” they both exclaim at the same time, but Seungkwan goes one step further and slams his hands down on the counter for good measure. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him, but he keeps his palms flat and doesn’t give any indication that he’s about to apologise, so…

“Okay — God.” You turn away from them, heading towards the little office out the back of the store to try and get a few minutes’ respite. “Whatever. Fight with the wall, you guys – I’m not going. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”

Behind you, Seungkwan dramatically calls you a traitor and says he’ll never forgive you for this, but you just shake your head and continue on your way. The world falls into silence as you shut the door after yourself and you lean back against it, letting out a deep exhale and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Now, you did have an awful night’s sleep last night, and after how on-and-off busy the store has been all day today, the headache you woke up with this morning has only slowly gotten worse. But there are reasons for those things outside of what you’re going to admit to out in the main storefront. As close as the three of you are, there are some things that you’ve always thought it wise to keep… a little bit hushed. Especially at work. 

When Chan and Seungkwan start an inquisition into your private life, it feels like it may never end. And so sue you, you’d actually like to make it home at a reasonable time, today. 

True to your parting request, the two men close down the store for you while you sit out the back in your ‘office’, lights dimmed, pouring over both a new store playlist you’re trying to compile and a few less exciting — but actually important — tasks. Chan heads out first, all puppy-dog eyed when he pokes his head through the door and asking if you’re really not coming out. You shake your head, telling him to have fun and tell you all about it on Monday when he’s next penned in.

Seungkwan is slightly less easily brushed away. A few minutes after Chan says his final goodbye, your other employee slides into your office and shuts the door, sitting down in the armchair opposite you with his eyebrows scrunched together.

He doesn’t speak for almost a full thirty seconds, at which point, you look up at him from the small mountain of receipts you’re trying to organise and click your tongue.

“What?” you ask, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know why.” Seungkwan shifts forward on the cushion until he’s sat almost entirely on the edge of the seat. “You might think you’re really good at hiding your shit, okay? But you’re not. Not from me.”

“Please,” you sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m telling you, I’m just tired today.”

“And I’m telling you that I know you better than that. Come on, talk to me.”

This is, unfortunately, something you can’t deny. It also seems to be his unfailing last line of defence every single time you’re stubborn over discussing your problems. One of these days, you’ll be ready for it — you’ll have a response sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to shut the conversation down, and he’ll be the one on the spot, and you’ll treat yourself to a pint of ice cream or something when you get home as a victory snack. But today? Isn’t that day; Seungkwan stumps you, once again, so you groan in defeat, cradling your head in your hands.

“I went on a date last night,” you say under your breath.

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. You say, louder, “I went on a date last night.”

His eyes blow wide and if he could get any closer to you without actually sitting on top of your coffee-stained worktop, you think he would. Which is strange, if you really let yourself think about it, because Seungkwan is sort of an ex-thing, and talking so openly to someone who has quite literally been inside you about going out with other people… shouldn’t come as easily as it does.

But that was quite some time ago, and for three long months, you drove each other nuts. The two of you are way better off as friends. (Whether you’re better as colleagues is still up for review.)

“You what?” he whisper-shouts. It feels almost like he’s hinting to an invisible audience that this piece of information is extremely scandalous: all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Which would be fine, except it’s not really that scandalous at all, and neither should it be a surprise: you’re single, you have been for a while, and you have an entire sub-folder in your phone dedicated solely to dating apps — you’re at perfect liberty to go out with whoever you like. You just continue to stare at him, refusing to repeat yourself for a third time. 

“You haven’t even been home, have you?” Seungkwan asks after letting the dust settle, the silence just on the brink of uncomfortable. “Oh my God. Tell me everything.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “His name’s Wonwoo. I met him on Hinge. And fuck you – yes, I went back to my own place.”

You pause for a second, taking a breath when his features cloud with the question he’s about to ask. 

“It’s just-... so did he.”

Seungkwan leaps to his feet and claps loud enough that your already tender eardrums feel assaulted, adding an ‘I knew it!’ for good measure. You cringe at his volume, rubbing your temples – you should’ve known telling him this wouldn’t calm him down, but a small part of you was still hoping. This time, he actually does circle around the desk, carelessly shoving a few bits of paper out of his way before sitting on the newly cleared wood. 

“Had you up all night, didn’t he?” Seungkwan asks. You shove his thigh, looking away from him, embarrassed. “What was the date?”

You just wish it was the kind of embarrassment that he thinks you’re feeling. Flustered, shy, giddy even. But it’s not any of those things.

“If I tell you, will you please turn it down a notch?” You ask, and Seungkwan nods, giddily kicking his legs over the side of the desk. With a sigh, you continue. “We just went for a drink. It wasn’t special, okay? It was bad. We had nothing to talk about, he was awkward, I didn’t even wanna be there – I took a bathroom break after like… a half hour, and I tried to bail but I’d left my phone on the table so I had to go back.”

“And how did that end up with him in your panties?” Seungkwan asks, thankfully a little quieter when he speaks this time. 

“Do not talk about my panties out loud ever again,” you grunt, drumming your fingertips on the arm of your office chair. You give a dejected sigh as you answer him properly. “I guess… It felt like a sign that I was trying to give up too early. So I stayed a little longer, told him the truth about how I was feeling. I don’t know, maybe it took the pressure off or something? But we got talking a little more, we found some stuff we had in common… It just got easier and he started cracking a few jokes, so…”

“So… he laughed his way into your—?”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” you interject slowly, narrowing your eyes. “I asked him if he minded driving me home.”

“You devil,” Seungkwan grins, lightly prodding your calf with the side of his foot. “Was he good? Was it big?”

“Seungkwan!”

“Did he make you–”

“He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

Your friend doesn’t say ‘oh, shit’ out loud, but he doesn’t have to. The silence he suddenly falls into speaks for itself, his newly adopted slack-jawed expression the exclamation mark at the end of his unspoken sentence. 

“Always the fucking ‘nice’ guys.” You push up from your desk and start to gather your things, shutting off your computer and grabbing your phone off the desk. You’re over it – you can deal with all this tomorrow.

Seungkwan hops down, biting the inside of his cheek as you pull your keys out of the pocket of your jeans. “Come with us tonight,” he tries one more time, laying a hand on your shoulder and sounding the kind of gentle that makes your skin itch. You swerve out from beneath his palm, shaking your head at him again. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I don’t need my mind taking off anything,” you insist softly. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like going out. Gonna order in some food and get my ass to bed. Okay?”

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, your best friend finally stops pressing. He circles around you and flicks on the overnight alarm, letting you lead your way out of the office and then through the front of the store. He helps you pull the shutter down and tests the lock for you, as he so often does, before he holds both of his arms out in front of him. With a resigned roll of your eyes, you walk into his embrace for a couple of seconds.

“I’m okay, Seungkwan. Go without me. Have fun and let me know if this Vernon guy is any good, okay?”

“We’ll miss you,” he says as you pull away, and you clap him on the upper arm once before turning away, slipping your headphones on over your ears. 

What you neglected to inform Seungkwan, even after allowing yourself those rare few moments of vulnerability, is who you bumped into on your way to the bar where you met Wonwoo last night. The encounter that set the tone in the first place. The reason you were so cold with the stranger who sat across from you in the booth, the reason you tried to bail, and two-thirds of the reason you’ve felt so damn out of it all day. That’s a story for another time, you tell yourself on your walk home. Maybe. 

But… then again. Maybe not.

You’ve been marinating on your couch in a pair of sweatpants and a crisis hoodie for at least two hours and are currently on your second bowl of evening cereal when you hear a knock on your apartment door. You purse your lips and set the spoon back down inside the milky sludge, but you don’t set your ‘dinner’ to one side just yet. It’s probably just the old lady next door, asking if you’ve seen her cat, Houdini (you can’t help but feel like she was asking for trouble giving him a name like that) (in any case — no, you haven’t), or the middle-aged couple opposite asking you to turn your music down (you won’t) (it’s not even that loud).

You’re not getting up. All you have to do is wait for them to give up and away. 

Knock, knock, knock.

They’ll leave. 

Knock knock. 

Any second, now.

…

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

You groan loudly as you haul yourself to your feet and skid over to the door, crossing your arms tighter over your chest to try and shield you from the chill that always lingers in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs P,  I haven’t seen H—” you start on exasperated autopilot, falling quiet the moment your eyes land first on Chan’s beaming smile, and second on Seungkwan’s guilty eyes. “How… the fuck did you guys get in here?”

“We followed someone in,” Chan tells you as he slides past, inviting himself into your haven and heading through to the living room where your favourite album is spinning on your record player. “That really tall guy – I think he lives on the second floor? Crazy hairline. Like, right back h—?”

“Cool,” you interrupt, except it’s actually everything but cool. Seungkwan steps through the door too, following behind you as you stalk after your younger friend. “Next question. Why are you guys in here?”

“You’ve been in a funk all day,” Chan says, tossing himself down onto your couch and nearly tipping your cereal all over the cushions. He eyes the glass you have on the side-table, raises a brow and looks back at you. “And you can’t deny that. You’re drinking rosè and eating fruit loops at 9pm on a Saturday. You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you tell him, sitting down on the armchair to Chan’s left that only ever gets used when these two idiots show up at the same time. 

“One hour?” Seungkwan tries again, crouching down in front of you and taking hold of your hand. “You don’t have to be out late. And – and I’ll open tomorrow. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”

“Do you guys ever stop?” You ask them, and in tandem, the two men shake their heads at you. “I’m staying here. You’ve gotta go, or you’re gonna be late.”

Chan whines your name loudly, stomping like an upset toddler. “You know it won’t be as fun without you.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” you shrug, picking your feet up off the floor and resting them on the coffee table. “Come on. I’m serious. Get out of here.”

Seungkwan watches you for a moment longer but when you eye him sternly, he stands up again, giving your hand a squeeze and sending a nod to tell Chan to get up and follow him. First taking a long sip from your wine glass, the younger man does as he’s instructed, concern etching a frown onto his lips as he walks towards the door.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are, okay?” Seungkwan says and you nod at him. “See you in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind them and you feel your shoulders droop, a long sigh leaving your lungs now you’re finally back on your own again. You roll your head side-to-side, relieving a tiny bit of the tension that you’ve been holding up in your neck all day, before relaxing back against the cushions behind you.

I’m not going out tonight, you tell yourself as you try to time your breaths to the beat of your music, letting it drown out the fact that the young couple who live two doors down have started arguing just outside your front door. It’s not gonna happen. 

There’s no way. 

The chill of an ice-cold glass meets your palm not even an hour later.

Chan and Seungkwan had been sitting on the stairs outside your apartment building, giving you fifteen more minutes just in case you happened to change your mind. To your credit, neither man had expected you to get out of your quarter-life-crisis outfit. Each gave a whistle of approval as you stepped outside into the air in a nice pair of jeans and a cute, long-sleeved shirt.

You all set off in the direction to the Arrowhead (so-called thanks to the venue’s unconventional triangular room shape) and both of your friends managed to successfully paint a few smiles on your face along the way. Once inside, Seungkwan dragged you by the wrist up towards the main bar space. Before you even had time to process the blurred faces that you walked by and the fuzzy neon signs all the way up the stairwell, enthused cheers and applause from the room ahead and the melodic strumming of a guitar drowned out the dread you’d been feeling ever since you woke up.

“This guy is not covering U2,” Chan says almost incredulously as he thrusts the drink he paid for into your hand. You manage to work your way through the crowd a little: it’s busier in here than you’ve ever seen it before, and certainly way more full than you would have really expected, but there’s still just enough movement room.

“Yeah, he is,” you say as you weave your way into a decent spot, where you can actually see the musician whose logo has been plastered on every notice board around town for the past month and a half. You even end up with a bit of breathing space, which is a rare, but welcome, treat.

But whatever you were about to say next – about how you don’t like U2, and how you’ve never really forgiven them for putting their entire new album onto everybody’s iTunes back in 2014 – dies a magnificent death on your tongue. You pause with your drink halfway to your lips as your eyes land on the main attraction, the man up on the stage; he has a small band up there, too, but all the lights draw your focus to him. His eyes are sparkly. Both his hands are wrapped around the microphone like he’s caressing it, his rosy lips brush over the metal as they move with each word that comes out of his mouth. Watching him quickly becomes almost hypnotic.

So. This is Vernon.

Long, dark hair sits low over his temples, perfectly parted and shaped in the middle to frame his brows. The top few buttons of his emerald satin shirt are popped open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the hem half tucked into his black jeans. He has rings on almost every finger. A silver chain around his neck. He looks good, but his voice?

I think I hated this song ten minutes ago, you think to yourself, but there’s something about Vernon’s deep, rough-edged tone that has you considering never listening to anything else. If you could stand to look away from the way he cradles his mic, and the way one of his eyes squeezes tighter closed as he lifts up into a higher note, and the way he moves on the stage like he was born to be on one, you might notice your friends (and everyone else around you) equally entranced by this gorgeous rendition of Beautiful Day as yourself. You can’t, though, so you don’t. 

You keep your attention locked on the singer and instead start to wonder just what he injected the air with when he stepped out from behind that curtain. 

Vernon’s eyes flutter back open right as he hits the final line of the song, a smile spreading over his lips. You realise only now that you’re hardly breathing, nor blinking — your body doesn’t remember to function in the ways it needs to survive, too caught up being immersed all the way to the last beat. You think he looks right at you from up on the stage, you swear one of his eyebrows lifts and his features twist into a satisfied smirk. You’re certain, because for half a second it feels like the world tumbles into slow motion and it’s like he’s reading every single one of your secrets, scouring every corner of your mind. 

And then… he looks away. He looks across the crowd applauding and cheering and whistling for him, before crouching low and taking a sip from the water bottle sitting on the floor beside his mic-stand. Only then does he speak. 

“Risky opener, I know,” he chuckles, his speaking-voice deep and smooth and wholly entrancing. The room erupts into soft laughter, a series of whoops coming from the crowd, everyone disarmed by his slightly awkward charm; the singer’s cheeks turn rosy and a gummy smile lights up his face before he continues. “Thank you guys for giving it a chance, though. If you didn’t know… I’m Vernon—…”

You’re hooked on his every word as he starts to introduce himself and the band behind him — everyone is, but you don’t care about the people around you. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with your two best friends and with every breath inhaling the overpowering cologne of the guy standing right behind you, it feels, in a way, like you and the singer could be the only two people in the entire room. 

The set lasts just over ninety minutes and is a carefully put-together mixture of mostly original songs and a couple of crowd-pleasing covers, a few slower ballad-types to offset the higher energy rock songs that he beams the whole way through. In-between, Vernon wins over the crowd with his dry sense of humour and a natural charisma that has you feeling mortifyingly warm, despite the fact that you know he isn’t speaking directly to you when he breaks to talk. You’ve been to more than your fair share of gigs in this venue over the years, but few performers have ever made one of their shows feel so genuinely intimate; by the time he says goodnight and heads off the stage, bidding everyone a safe journey home, it feels, in a weird way, like… you know him.

Most of the more local artists who play in the Arrowhead tend to hang around after their sets – sometimes they’ll have copies of EPs, others come with pins and badges showing off their logos, various cute freebies for people to take home. A few even just stand around in the bar and talk for a while, thanking people personally for coming, sharing information about their upcoming releases and future gig schedules. Unless you’ve been really blown away, this isn’t something the three of you often stick around for, though.

It’s therefore a bit of a surprise that when Vernon re-emerges some fifteen minutes later, you don’t even have to convince your friends to work your way into the crowd already starting to form. If anything, the look exchanged between you all establishes that wanting to praise this guy and say hello is very much mutual; the time that ticks by before you’re face-to-face with him really feels like no time at all.

The people in front of you move off to the side and you catch your first actual, unobstructed glimpse of him. He takes a sip from his glass and wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand before greeting you kindly. Somehow, he’s even more handsome up close. You really didn’t think it was possible. 

“Amazing set, man,” Chan says brightly, doing little by way of snapping you out of your trance. “Super fresh.”

“Seriously. So, so good,” Seungkwan gushes.

Vernon pushes away from where he’s leaned against the bar, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and extending it to your friends in turn. 

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Glad you guys liked it.” Another one of those easy, bright smiles spreads over his face. Maybe you entertain, for a second, that it grows a little more when he holds his hand out to you, too. 

You’re still stunned into silence by how breathtaking he is, but you put your drink in the other hand and wipe the condensation off your palm on the side of your jeans before shaking his hand, as well. He’s really warm, maybe even a little clammy, but when he squeezes with his fingers and looks straight into your eyes, this becomes a very negligible detail.

“Your vibe really reminds me of someone… God, what was his name-...” Chan starts to babble, clicking his fingers at lightning speed as if it’ll help him remember. “He was on that survival show-...”

“We’re sorry about him,” Seungkwan interjects after a few more seconds of nonsense and half-spoken, incorrect names, lifting a hand and covering Chan’s mouth. “He gets a little… it’s just when he’s excited.”

“No I don’t,” Chan huffs, swatting Seungkwan’s hand away. You inhale deeply, trying not to cringe as you watch Vernon’s amused eyes bounce between your two friends like he’s watching a tennis match. 

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Case in point—” Seungkwan starts, at which stage you lay one palm on each of their shoulders to try and get them to stop talking.

By some miracle, it works. At least, their mouths stop moving; there’s definitely a silent conversation ongoing in the filthy looks they continue to exchange, but they stop bickering aloud and that’s good enough for you, for now.

“Come on, let’s leave the poor guy alone,” you say, and Chan shoots Seungkwan a filthy look before he nods and takes a small step back from the altercation. 

Vernon’s eyes glitter under the venue’s neon lighting, wide and focused on you while you do your best to mediate. You only notice this when you look back at him, by which point it’s far, far too late to stop the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re really good,” you compliment finally, a smile tugging your mouth up on one side. 

“Thank you.” Vernon grins, briefly dipping his head in your direction, but looking for a second as if he’s about to say something else. His chest rises with a breath, his lips push forward like they’re about to separate again, but before he can, Chan finds one more thing to come out with. Of course. (Seungkwan, regretfully, was right — he does get a little…)

“Do you like records?” he asks, pulling Vernon’s gaze away from you. The singer tilts his head, questioning. “Records. Vinyl – albums? Records.”

“Shit – yeah.” Vernon nods then. “Yeah, sorry. I um-... Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

“She owns a record store,” Chan says, jerking his head towards you. You feel your eyes blow wide and you’re tapping harshly at his back in an instant, begging him to stop. “OFF BEAT Vinyl. Not too far from here – it’s a cool spot.”

“No kidding?” Vernon says, glancing back in your direction, but you’re too busy silently pleading at Chan to shut up to realise.

“Mm. You should swing by, some time,” Seungkwan agrees, and all of a sudden, you’re overcome with the urge to fight him, too. “We all work there.”

“All right, let’s go,” you cough eventually, grabbing both men by the wrist and tugging. Vernon chuckles softly at the interruption; it’s almost as sweet a sound as his singing.

“OFF BEAT Vinyl,” he repeats, tasting the store’s name on his tongue, swirling it around his mouth like a wine he’s trying to savour. “For real. I’ll look it up.”

Chan grins proudly, finally letting himself be pulled away from the singer, and you manage to make exactly two paces before Vernon’s voice rings through your eardrums one more time.

“Hey, uh – what was your name?” he asks. It’s unmistakable who the question is aimed at (your friends don’t even entertain for a moment that he could be asking them), but regardless, it takes you a moment to let yourself believe he really wants to know. Vernon doesn’t push, though – he knows you heard him and he waits for your answer, leaning a little forward. 

So, you look over your shoulder and you tell him. You see his lips move silently as he repeats it to himself, just like he did with the name of the store. He tastes it. Plays with it on his tongue, remembers the way it feels. As if it’s something he really intends to remember.

“Cool,” he breathes, pushing his hair back and off his forehead and making it very difficult to feel in any way rational. “Well – it’s great to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out, again.”

Finally, you manage to get your friends away. One of them, at least – Seungkwan decides that he actually wants to grab a few copies of his EP (‘one for me, a few for the store’) and rushes back towards the singer; you tell him to just meet you back at the bar.

Then, with another round of drinks on order, you turn to Chan and land a gentle thump on his bicep.

“Dude,” you groan, and he looks at you incredulously, rubbing his upper arm with a pout. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chan asks. 

“Tell him about the store!”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was classified?” he says. “Shit’s slow right now, and he seems like the kind of guy to have a record collection. What’s the damage?”

Seungkwan appears behind you with his hands full of CDs, badges and a scrap of something that you’re reasonably sure is firstly, a napkin, and secondly, has been signed. So you rest your elbows on the bar and place your head in your hands, grumbling quietly about how you don’t know you’ve managed to survive this long knowing these two losers.

“Because you love us,” Seungkwan says, fastening a button to your t-shirt. “Stop trying to deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, accepting the drink from the bartender and taking a long sip. “God, you better have been serious about opening up for me, tomorrow.”

(Well. You have to give it to him: he was.)

“It’s just my opinion!” 

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock. 

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask. 

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work. 

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright. 

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return. 

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?” 

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?” 

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Deadly serious,” Seungkwan laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he must see you start to freeze up: he keeps talking instead of letting the silence settle. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks. When all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Chan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

You’re not sure what it is about the onslaught of passive praise that gets so deep into Vernon’s head, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself other than repeatedly saying ‘thank you’. Relief comes in the form of another customer jingling the bell above the door and drawing the attention away from him for a few moments.

“I’ll take these,” he says breathlessly as he turns to face you again. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a second to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually. 

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their action. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m playing at the Orchid? Uh— it starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds. 

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it. 

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your heart finally start to slow down as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink. And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles? 

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without much disturbance and with evening plans now in place, you make the executive decision to send the boys home half an hour early. The three of you agree to meet outside The Orchid at just after eight o’clock, giving you all a chance to eat, wash up and change before the show; your friends separate and head in the different directions to the places they call home, making a promise to text your group chat before you leave to coordinate the link-up time. You head back into the office to finish tying up your loose ends and manage to depart just an hour later. 

On your way to your apartment, you plan everything out to the minute in your head. You even allocate yourself twenty minutes to sit on the couch and decompress from your working day. So, when you settle down a little further into the cushions and put your head back, resting your eyes… when you tell yourself you’ll get up in just a minute and hop into the shower…

You certainly don’t expect to be woken up two and a half hours later as your phone vibrates on the floor of your living room.

With one eye still closed, you pick it up, yawning and stretching the lingering wisps of slumber from your body. Seungkwan’s contact name shows on your screen and you swipe to answer the call; on the other end of the line, a song you’ve never heard before is audible, but it’s accompanied by a voice you most definitely do know.

Everything snaps into place at once; in an instant, you’re wide awake, and you feel physically sick.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss into the speaker, scrabbling upright, tugging the phone away from your face to see the time. How is it already past 9pm?

“Oh, hello to you, too!” Seungkwan has to half-shout to be anywhere near audible over the music. You can almost perfectly visualise the way he’ll have sandwiched himself in a corner of the venue, pinching the bridge of his nose, head resting against the wall to try and block out enough sound to hear you. “Good to know you’re actually still alive!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” you say, rushing through to your bathroom to check if you can get away with leaving the house as you are. (Jury’s out, but you don’t have much of a choice.) “I… don’t know what happened. I fell asleep – I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Seungkwan chides you again, this time reminding you that he’s been on your ass about going to a doctor to get your iron levels checked for months, that your timekeeping is terrible and that you really better hurry. You promise you’re on your way and hang up the call, pocketing your (horrifically under-charged) phone and slipping into a pair of sneakers you keep by the door before you head out. You told him you’d be here. Seungkwan’s voice rings loud and clear in your ears as you lock up your apartment.

But of course, bad things never happen in isolation. Waiting on the street outside your apartment block, you find yourself being cancelled on by not one, but two uber drivers: by the time the third reaches you, and has to follow the world’s most inconvenient diversion to get past some construction work, it’s 9:35. You know it doesn’t matter how quickly you run down the last stretch of the street and get up the seemingly never-ending staircase: it’s going to be too late.

You only manage to catch the literal last two songs of Vernon’s set. You’re not sure he even knows you’ve arrived, and in a way, you hope he doesn’t. Maybe having him believe you were a no-show is better than him knowing you’re about as low-functioning as a grown adult can be. You just slip in through the door as discreetly as you can and hover at the very back of the room as he rounds up for the night; Chan slips an arm around your shoulders as you turn to the bar and order yourself a drink, but it doesn’t do much to reduce the guilt that weighs heavy in your chest. 

Which… is odd, really, you suppose. Seeing as you hardly know the singer much beyond his name and, now, a fraction of his record collection. Seeing as you certainly don’t owe him your presence at any of his performances. But there’s something in the way he made sure to ask you personally if you’d be able to make it, too, and you can’t shake it off, and… yeah, screw it, maybe you did want to be here. Maybe you did want him to notice. Maybe you do care what he thinks of you. 

Maybe… you hope he feels the same about you.

Your drink hasn’t even arrived yet by the time you hear a chain of ‘excuse me – sorry, can I just? Yeah, thanks – sorry, excuse me’ -s behind you. Your eyes fly wide and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, growing closer and closer, somehow audible over the background music floating through the speakers, over the other chattering voices and shrieks of laughter in every direction. Part of your breathlessness, admittedly, is to do with how immediately you just knew who that voice belonged to.

“Excuse m–” it sounds again.

And then, softer: “Hey.”

You turn around on your bar stool, barely managing to bite back a smile. “Hi.”

Vernon grins at you from a few feet away, a dark singlet hanging loose on his frame, showing off his long, lean arms, displaying the few bracelets he wears on one of his slender wrists. You’re staring – you know you are; you don’t even notice the fact that Chan takes several steps away from you, or how he throws a side-along glance toward Seungkwan, nor the fact that your two best friends start talking quietly among themselves, leaving you and Vernon almost alone.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to…” But Vernon’s already shaking his head, coming up beside you at the bar, settling into the seat on your left. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing over at you where you’re sitting. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”

Chan stumbles over to you somewhere around midnight and claps his hand down on your shoulder, interrupting Vernon’s very enthusiastic explanation as to why flying is totally a better superpower to want to have than invisibility. Your giggles fall silent and Vernon stops mid-flow, waiting to hear what your friend wants to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Chan’s words are barely intelligible; it’s only when a marginally-better-for-wear Seungkwan appears too a moment later that you’re able to make any sense of him.

“We’re gonna–” Seungkwan hiccups, covering his mouth with his hand and wincing, no doubt at the burn of everything he’s had to drink now sitting high in his throat. “Gonna head out. Are you coming? We’ll split a taxi with you.”

You find yourself glancing over to where Vernon is standing, propped against the pool table that you’re now leaning on the edge of. He just smiles back at you, lifting his shoulders.

“I think… I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” you say after chewing it over. “You guys go ahead.”

Seungkwan looks between the two of you and frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vernon gently pipes up from your side, sliding over a little so that his palm rests flat on the felt of the table, his forearm supporting your hips from behind. But it isn’t you he addresses, despite this butterfly-inducing contact. All deep and serious, he says, “I promise, she’s safe with me.” 

He takes his time to show it on his face, but ultimately this satisfies Seungkwan, who (despite being just about able to support both his and Chan’s weight in his current condition) has before, and still will, ignore his body’s demands in the name of ensuring your safety. But maybe he sees a trustworthiness in Vernon, or maybe he knows that you can and do handle yourself quite well. Whatever it is, he’s happy with this development, and your two friends bundle you in a hug so tight that it squeezes the air out of your lungs before they make their way towards the exit.

Once they’re out of view, you turn back to Vernon again, raising both brows at the man now closer to you than he’s ever been. But it’s far from claustrophobic – not as these things can so often be. No. No.

It’s addictive.

“Oh you promise, huh?” The tease comes out before you can do anything about it. You even end up batting your lashes at him for good measure. 

“Cross my heart,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders. His eyes dip from where they’re boring into your own, glancing down a fraction, just for a moment, and you’re sure you see him start to lean. Drawn to you like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame — his breaths feel hotter as they fan against your skin, his cologne starts to smell a little stronger… then, his fingers on the other hand curl around the pool cue he’s been balancing on his side and he drags himself away from you. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick your ass one more time.”

One more game of pool quickly turns to two, and it even threatens to become a third as you tease, again, that Vernon just got lucky and he flashes you another one of those looks that says ‘oh? Try me’. But as tempting as it is, you don’t think your pride can withstand any more losses. You resign yourself from the table with a huff when he rests his palms flat on the velvet covering, leaning towards you in that mouth-watering way he’s been doing for hours. The thing is, for the size of his pool-playing-ego, Vernon isn’t even that good. Not if you consider the number of completely missed shots, questionable connections and pocketed cues. But, because your own skill level leaves plenty to be desired, he doesn’t have to be up there with the big leagues. 

He just needs to be a tiny bit better than you.

Asshole.

An announcement for last orders from behind the bar tells you that it’s nearing one in the morning as he starts to circle around the table and makes his way towards you. The bar has emptied considerably since you arrived, the music has steadily started getting more and more cheesy, people in all four corners of the room have started draping themselves over one another like well-dressed blankets, having already chosen the individuals they’ve decided to take home tonight. By all accounts, it’s the perfect time to leave. If you head out now, you’ll miss the rush of people flooding into the street and, if you’re lucky, the surge in taxi prices. The really good takeout place around the corner doesn’t close for another half hour, too. 

There’s just one problem. You don’t want this night to end just yet.

“I think I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you say to Vernon, trying to stretch out a burning knot in your shoulder. “It’s like, a thousand degrees in here.”

Vernon nods. “Yeah – cool. I’ll come with you.”

And with your bag slung over the arm not causing you an ache, you start off down the stairwell. The doors are already open and the late night breeze has you feeling like you’re walking through the gates of heaven as you head outside. You inhale deeply, making the most of this very rare occasion of the city’s air not feeling thick with car fuel and cigarettes. Your eyes fall closed.

“I always liked being out at this time,” Vernon says as he joins you, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the outside of the bar. “Feels peaceful.”

“Sure,” you nod, craning your neck to look at him. His face is half-illuminated in the neon red of the bar’s sign above you. The harsh lighting and the shadows cast by his angular features have him looking… sort of sinful, in a weird artsy way that you can’t explain thanks to the pleasant buzzing in your brain. Straight out of an arthouse, indie movie. I bet he likes those, you think absently. 

He looks straight into your eyes, intense and focussed as if he’s trying to search them, though for what you’re not sure. Honestly, you think if he gave a few more flutters of those beautiful lashes, you’d bend in-half-and-half-again to give him anything he wanted, so in a way you’re interested to ask what he’s thinking about. You don’t end up saying anything, though. There’s something wonderful in these little unspoken moments with Vernon. Something raw. 

Something… unexplainable. 

Sitting at the bar and stealing tickled glances as the waitress fumbles and drops a tray full of glasses on the floor. Subtle winks of his right eye (always, you’re discovering, the right?) from across a pool table when he succeeds in making a shot he has absolutely no business pulling off. Standing opposite you in the store you own, waiting to find out when – not if – he’s going to see you, again –

“You know,” he starts, the tiniest edge of nervousness in his voice for the first time tonight. Is the performance adrenaline finally wearing off? Is he… maybe starting to feel a little shy? Whatever it is, your last train of thought melts away into the drain just to his right, and you focus on him as he continues down this new path instead. “I got a new coffee machine in my apartment last weekend and I haven’t had the chance to use it for anyone yet.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing. “I uh…” He bounces one fist in the palm of his other hand, searching for the right order to put the words into. “I mean, it’s not like, one of those super fancy ones, or anything… but it’s sorta retro looking? Which is cool, and—”

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You‘re a little out of practice, huh?”

He chuckles on an outward breath, bowing his head, a grin that threatens to split his pretty face in two taking residence on his lips. “That obvious?”

“A tiny bit,” you say. “It’s cute though.”

He glances up at you, head a little tilted. “Yeah?”

“Mm… getting less-so by the second,” you tease him. “You can just ask me to come with you.”

“I-…” he starts, but he takes a deep breath instead and corrects his posture, as if it’ll prepare him somehow. “Okay. Okay — do you… maybe wanna come back to my place, with me?”

Not without flashing him a look first that says ‘now, was that so hard?’, you find yourself nodding up at him. 

“I’d love to,” you say.

He pushes away from the wall and when you do the same, he falls into step, heading in the direction of his apartment. You try to discreetly roll your shoulder out again but it’s obviously not discrete enough; it draws his attention down to your arm, and he frowns slightly.

“Is that giving you trouble?” He asks. 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off, stretching the muscle as best as you can by tilting your head as you walk. “It’s been like this for years.”

He scrunches his brows. “Here — can I?” He asks, his fingertip looping beneath the strap of your bag. You look down at your shoulder, then back up at him, before raising one brow, dropping the other. 

“I mean — I don’t know if it’s your colour?” 

Vernon barks out a ‘ha’, easily slipping your bag down your arm, the tips of his warm fingers brushing against your comparatively cool skin. You make no effort to stop him. He positions it on his own shoulder instead, the one furthest away from you so he can still walk right against your side. 

“There’s a reason I wear all black, okay?” He says. “It makes everything my colour.”

His fingers smoothly slip between yours as he says it. It was quite the move, and for a second you’re impressed. At least, until it turns out that this simple action seems to jolt him back to his factory settings, because—

“I’m so serious about this coffee machine, by the way.”

“I know you are,” you laugh, bumping your weight against him and squeezing his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

“Okay, so,” you start, settling into Vernon’s couch and tucking one of your legs up beneath you. You cradle the mug of coffee he’s made you — admittedly, the retro-style machine was pretty cool — between both of your hands, a thumb brushing over the raised pattern on the ceramic. The fresh air from the walk here seems to have decently sobered you; barring a pleasant buzz, you feel almost like you haven’t drunk a thing. “How did you get into music?”

Vernon matches your posture play-for-play, biting the inside of his cheek before he answers. He drank less than you in the first place, but he seems steadier now, as well.

“Uh… a couple things, I guess,” he starts. “I mean, my parents are big into music. Sometimes they'd take me with them to shows and stuff, had a bunch of CD’s all over the house — all that. You know? I really grew up on it, so…"

You nod, tilting your head to gesture for him to continue. 

“Then… I don’t know. There’s- okay, I was kind of a loser in high school,” he goes on. You roll your eyes; Vernon nudges your thigh with his knee playfully, shaking his head. 

“I just mean, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “So…, I mean, that’s— that’s whatever. The point is that I spent a lot of time on my own and I basically had an earphone in any time I thought I could get away with it, and–... and sometimes even if I couldn’t.” He chuckles. “Weird. Most of my teachers didn’t like me much either.”

You laugh too now, and Vernon bows his head a little; every single one of his handsome features brightens up and you don’t really know where to look. His never-ending lashes are so long they cast shadows down onto his cheeks, and the ambient lighting reflects off his eyes so beautifully that they look like they’re glimmering. 

He goes on, “there was one, though. My bio teacher? She was really cool. She had a lot more time for me than the others did. And uh, she called me into her office after school one day and just said… basically, my options were to start giving a shit about… cells, and mitochon– whatever, or start really working for this great big thing that I spent all my time daydreaming about. And it’s been a little up and down, but…”

He trails off, shrugging on one side.

“I think you’re doing pretty okay,” you chime in, leaning one arm against the back of the couch and resting your head in your palm. “I bet those kids would lose their minds if they could see you now.”

“Oh?” Vernon asks, setting his coffee down on the side-table. You click your tongue at him.

“Don’t– come on.”

“No, seriously,” he laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-…” you start, shaking your head. “Okay. People go out of their way to listen to you. Everyone who comes to one of your shows… that’s an hour, two hours, whatever – of making people feel exactly the way you want them to feel. They... all want to understand you. Right?”

Vernon just looks at you, forehead a tiny bit creased — the cogs in your brain tick away trying to find a better way to explain what you mean, but he finally speaks. (You’re glad, because you were struggling to come up with anything else.) 

“Shit, I thought that was just an in to say you thought I was hot, or something.”

You push at his chest lightly, your palm lingering on his vest a moment longer than is, perhaps, strictly necessary. 

“Shut up,” you groan. But a second later… “I guess there’s that, too.”

He sits back a little, pushing his hair off his forehead with a chuckle. “I dunno, I mean — I sort of… is it weird if I don’t really think about it that way?”

“Of course not,” you tell him.

He gets that look back on his face again; the pensive one, where he appears like he’s seconds away from saying something else, something important. But he falters, and when he glances back at you, his engine stalls. 

Then, with a shake of his head, he says, “wow, okay, enough about me. I’m so sorry. Can I ask you a question?”

You take another sip of your coffee and set it down, too, nodding ‘yes’. To be honest, you were quite enjoying talking about him; at the same time, you know what it is to feel a little too perceived sometimes, so you let him move on without argument. 

“How do you just… own a record store?”

You laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve had to explain this one. (When was the last time one of your dates was interested enough to ask?)

“I’m not as good a storyteller as you are,” you preface, mirroring him when he rolls his eyes, pretending not to notice that he shuffles even closer. You launch into it easily enough — the old store owner was a friend of the family, he let you work there while you were in college, took you on full-time after you dropped out. When his eyesight started deteriorating, he chose to retire and told you it was yours, if you wanted it. 

“Place would’ve closed down, otherwise,” you shrug. “But I couldn’t do it on my own, so I brought the guys in to help. Two years later... yeah. I guess that's how.”

The whole time as you talk, his eyes don’t leave you. He’s quite expressive, you find — whether he’s lifting a perfectly shaped brow, nodding along to what you’re saying, smiling at you… you feel listened to. When he’s sat across from you, you feel heard; you feel known.

“Well, first — take it back. You’re a great storyteller,” he says. You feel your face grow warm and you nudge him with your knee, but you don’t argue — you aren’t convinced he’d let you win, anyway. “But that’s… really cool? Actually.”

“Oh yeah, I heard nine-to-five retail is the coolest thing you can do, these days,” you laugh.

Vernon scoffs at you. “You close at six thirty.”

(How on Earth does he remember that?)

To avoid thinking about it too much, and so you don’t have to try to navigate asking, you roll your eyes.

“You’re right,” you say to him. “That’s way better.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asks, and you tilt your head at him. “Well — okay. If you ignore the… boring, back-office stuff.”

“Yeah,” you say after a pause. “I guess I do.”

“Then it’s cool.”

Your coffees both go cold as you talk more, and more, and more — he asks about your life, and growing up, your friends, and he answers all of your questions in turn when you ask them. He has an interesting way of talking about himself outside of his job; it’s not so much that you have to pry for information, but he’s not super forthcoming. It’s as if he’s taking all of your questions at face value, like he doesn’t know how to go about expanding on them. 

Maybe he’s just more of a listener, you contemplate once he turns yet another of your questions back on you and you teasingly pull him up on it. It flusters him, which you can’t help but find very endearing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I just… you have such a pretty… voice?” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, ears burning pink. 

“Oh?” You ask, stumped for a moment as your heart lurches in your chest. When he nods, you find the gall from somewhere to say, “takes one to know one.” 

(You’re not sure how.)

And on it goes. On, and on, and on. More questions, more answers, more lighthearted shoves and lingering touches and shy glances away from each others’ scorching gazes as heat rushes to your cheeks. He even shows you his record collection and puts on one of his favourite albums for background noise before you settle back into the couch. It’s so natural, even when the vinyl runs to the end and the only noise from the player is a distant crackle. Being in his space and having mindless conversation after mindless conversation feels almost as comfortable as being in your own home. 

You notice something, as you’re rounding off a monologue about why your highschool math teacher was the worst person you’d ever met. A tiny hair on the apple of his cheek. One of those lashes you envy so much. Even as you try to focus back on your closing remarks, your eyes keep dropping to it and you trail off into silence a few words short.

“I’m sorry, you’ve-… got an eyelash,” you say, tapping roughly the same spot on your own cheek. 

“Mm. I have a few of them,” Vernon counters, wiping the heel of his thumb against his skin. He misses, though, and drops his arm back down with the lash still stuck to his face. 

You move before you can stop yourself, hand lifting up to his face and hovering just a few centimetres away.

“Can I?” you ask. 

Vernon nods, wordlessly. He goes cross-eyed and his lids twitch in a flutter as he watches you get closer; you brush the lash onto your thumb and he only breathes again when you rebalance it on the tip of your finger.  You hold it up to him, settling back into your own part of the couch; he just stares back at you. 

“Make a wish,” you prompt. 

His confusion is poorly concealed, head cocked to one side as he looks from the lash to you and back again. “Huh?”

“Don’t you…?”

He shakes his head. 

“Okay, wow,” you laugh, glancing down at your finger too. “You have to make a wish on your eyelashes when they fall out.”

“No, I got that part,” Vernon snickers. “I just mean — why?”

“I—” you start to explain, but you fall short of an explanation and frown instead, biting the inside of your cheek. “… I don’t know. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. I’ve always done it.”

The downturn of your lips doesn’t last very long, though. 

“Well, what if it’s not an eyelash? What if it’s like… one of my eyebrows, or something?” He asks. 

It's such a simple but off-the-wall response that you can't help but laugh, except it comes on so suddenly you start to choke on your own saliva. One of his hands circles around you and rubs soothingly between your shoulder blades as you cough, succeeding in bringing him even closer and failing to lower the fever you’re starting to feel creep up on you. By some miracle, you don’t drop the lash, even as you hack pathetically into the crook of your elbow; Vernon waits for it to subside, a weirdly fond look on his face all the while.

Now, when you turn your head, he’s right there. In your space. His arm still around your back, the glint of the bar pierced through his brow drawing your attention up away from those smiling lips. 

“I guess it just doesn’t come true? I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve never tried wishing on an eyebrow before.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, falling back against the cushions now he knows you’re not suffocating. His arm doesn’t move, though. If anything, he sort of pulls you with him. “What if it ends up like a reverse wish. Whatever I ask for, the opposite comes true, or something.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” you say, starting to bring your finger closer to yourself. 

Quicker than you can blink, he reaches to you and lightly lays his fingers around your wrist, stopping you in your path.

“Wait,” he says, pouting a little. “I didn’t say that.”

Both of you glance down to this new point of contact. Two sets of lips stay parted but two identical breaths remain held, burning in both your lungs and in Vernon’s. His gaze shifts back up to your face, eyes wide and wholly serious and unblinking. 

“What do I do?” He asks on the eventual exhale. It reminds you to breathe again, too.

“Close your eyes.”

It takes him a second to obey, but he does. His eyes flutter closed and you clear your throat, lifting your finger until it’s just in front of his face. 

“Make a wish.”

A few seconds later, his brows relax and he nods. 

“Then… blow.”

His lips purse and he pushes a breath through them, lifting the stray lash off your skin and sending it out into the room. He opens his eyes, then, smiling in a manner that you can tell is absolutely despite himself. 

He doesn’t move away, and his cologne, fresh and citrusy, mixes tantalisingly with the sandalwood candle he lit on your way back to the couch a little while ago, both accented by the chewing gum he popped to get rid of the mocha aftertaste still lingering on his breath.

“What did you wish for?” You ask, dropping your hand back down to your side.

He frowns. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s against like… wish laws, or something.”

“Boring,” you chide, slumping your shoulders, but he just grins at you, darting his tongue out over his lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his Adam’s apple bob in a thick swallow and you can feel the gentle brushing of his thumb. The slow movements, up and down over the exposed area on your hip where your shirt has started to ride up, make you shiver, and you know your chest stutters when his fingers move to press wholly against your bare skin. You know he notices, because he does it again. And again, and again. 

It's maddening. You end up stuck in this never-ending feeling of falling head-first into his arms.

“Where do you think the laws stand on showing you, though?” He asks, inching a little closer.

You hold your breath, little more than anticipatory static flooding your brain. 

“I think they’re okay with it.”

You mirror, slowly, hooked in the gaze that has adrenaline dripping down the length of your spine like honey, and you can’t bring yourself to look away until you can practically taste him. He closes the space between you in half speed, but gently, like you’re both made of tissue, he brings his thumb and forefinger to your chin and touches his lips to yours. His nose presses against your cheek. 

It’s comfortable. It’s warm. It’s easy, it’s exhilarating, it’s perfect. You feel like your heart just might burst clean out of your chest—

But… you can’t.  

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging yourself away and clamping your hands over your mouth. “Shit — I’m-… I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, you’re fighting to catch a breath, head spinning in circles, and no longer in the good way. Have those beers finally come back to bite you in the ass? Or, deeper down, do you know your sudden intoxication isn’t alcohol related at all? Vernon shoots back from you like you’ve gone up in flames and he might catch, too — his eyes search your face as you scramble to get to your feet, and he looks… scared. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. You don’t respond right away, already looking around the apartment for where you left your shoes, already trying to locate your bag too. (As you try to swim towards the surface, you forget that it wasn’t you who still had hold of it when you came through the door and placed it on the loveseat back in the living room.) “Hey… is everything-…?”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. You’re not. “I just-… I remembered-… I have to go.” 

You catch sight of your shoes, hidden behind the ones Vernon kicked off just after you, and you hurry across the apartment to get to them. 

No bag. Where’s your bag? Where did you leave it? But… ah, your keys are in one back pocket and your phone is in the other and maybe it’s not the end of the world if you never see that lipstick again—

“It’s really late,” Vernon says as you bend down to re-tie one of your laces, hovering just a few steps behind you. “Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rush. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Well, at least let me wait with you until it—”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, you snap, only now looking up at him again. He tenses, but his eyes stay soft. It’s not in the same way you’ve seen them all night, though. Not in a nice way. Not glittering and full of intrigue. No. He’s hurt. And like a wounded animal, he takes several stiff, unsure steps back away from you, swallowing hard and looking anywhere, everywhere else. 

“I’m fine,” you say again, trying to sound a little quieter, a little calmer.  Even if that is miles away from the truth. 

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced and wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “If-… I’m sorry if that was-… I didn’t mean to make you-…”

You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, but you don’t close the gap between you. You don’t reach out to him, even though you want to. You just have to blindly hope he can read your mind somehow — there’s no way to explain it quickly enough without leaving you both in a mess, and right now... 

“Hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you once more. “It’s not-… it isn’t you. I just have to go, okay?”

He doesn’t seem overly reassured by this, but he nods anyway. “Can-… you text me when you get home?” He asks. Then, hurried: “Just so I know you’re back safe. That’s all.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Yeah,” you say on an outward breath, cringing at how exasperated it sounds. You don’t mean it to — you’re really not mad at him. “I will. I’ll message you.”

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Vernon takes another step back. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves his hands as far into the pockets of his jeans as he can and watches you. 

“I’ll message you,” you repeat, opening the door, speaking more to yourself than to him. “I promise.” 

Then, you’re stumbling out into his hallway. Hurrying down the too-narrow staircase. Leaning your back against the brickwork outside, a light drizzle of rain splashing all over your bare arms. The stone prickles through your t-shirt as you slide down, as you feebly try to suck thick, damp air into your lungs, as your head starts to ache, as a dull throb starts to reside behind your eyes. 

It takes ten minutes of staring into the empty road in front of you before you feel steady enough to attempt to wrestle your phone out of your pocket. No matter how many buttons you press, no matter how many times you tap it, the screen refuses to come to life and you only now manage to recall the ‘low battery’ notification that came through several hours ago. Briefly, it crosses your mind to go back upstairs and ask if you can request a ride on Vernon’s phone. You know he’d say yes. Hell, he’d probably throw a blanket over your shivering shoulders and fix you another cup of coffee while you waited, too. But you can’t. The look on his face as you slid out his front door is burned into your memory like a brand and there surely couldn’t be anything worse than having to go back in there and face him like this.

Five more minutes pass before you find the energy to stand, to stretch out your bunched up muscles, and start on the walk home. Another thirty until you’re trudging, sodden and blurry eyed and heavy-hearted, through your apartment door. Three and a half after that before you finally manage to text Vernon to say your phone died, but you’re back, you’re safe. That you’re sorry. 

Barely ten seconds tick by before it pops up that he reads your message. (Followed by ninety seconds of staring down at the bubble that says he’s typing, waiting for a reply that ultimately doesn’t come.)

And four hours later, you’re still wide awake, lying under your covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling. You think you ought to be giddy, squirming, hiding your smile in your pillow — that’s how first kisses are supposed to make you feel. Isn’t it? Alas, you’re flooded instead with visions of the last time a first kiss felt like it made this much sense; in place of all the endorphins you’re sure should be ricocheting off every inner surface of your brain, all you know is heartache and dread. 

So you stare, and you stare, and you keep on staring; even when your eyes start to burn, you stare a little more. 

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. parts 2 and 3 are very nearly finished, as well, so stay tuned.<3

[guillotinna]

I keep seeing these Gen z is task force 141 and I wanna join

Anytime you use a computer, you do that stupid movie hacker trope of exaggerated typing and say "I'm in"

Saying "POV" in front of sentences

In the group chat saying "1 like and I'll kms", liking your own message and then saying "damn guess I gotta"

I see a lot of these posts were Gaz and Soap would understand y/n....bffr, no those geezers would not

No one knows what the gen z kid is saying they just know it's probably not good

"You're telling me a shrimp fried this rice?"

You have a small photo you keep tucked in your chest pocket and after enough times seeing you looking lovingly at it, one of the guys asks who it is. Is it a s/o from back home? 😏😏

You say no and pull out a photo card of your fave singer and they're like ??? Really

One time during a particularly physical scuffle with the enemy, you get thrown to the ground and huff out "one hop this time" only to promptly tackle tf outta your assailant while saying "take it back now yall"

Reads everyone's zodiac charts except ghost bc he won't tell his birthday let alone the time he was born so you just make one up

Price calls a 6 am meeting to which you say "double it and give to the next person"

*Alexa, play teenagers by MCR*

If you had time describe the base, you'd say it smells like ball sweat, blood and war crimes which everyone took offense to for different reasons

Would absolutely get soaps doodles tattooed

Actually speaking of which, imagine getting caught giving yourself stick and pokes with a pen and being banned from using pens period

You'd be in a meeting with a #2 pencil

Ofc a gen z member would be absolutely feral which very little regard for their own safety much to the dismay of the others

Quoting "Oh these aren't homemade, they were made in a factory....a bomb factory......they're bombs." All the time around soap even though he has no idea what you're talking about

You don't spent too much alone time with ghost bc he likes quiet and you can't be alone with your thoughts which is why you lean more towards spending time with soap or gaz

I just like puns so I'm gonna add this but gen z love borgs (a customized gallon jug of alcohol that is usually given a name) and yours is appropriately named taskforce 1-borg-1

this is mainly for my americans but i know pretty much the whole world got beef with engl*nd: before you met Soap, you thought the entire 141 was en*lish so when you finally did meet him, you said "oh thank god" with a sigh

americans 🤝 scotts

making fun of english "people"

"Pull up in the monster, automobile gangsta With a bad bitch that came fr-" "....sergeant, comms off please"

you show Ghost WAP and he has to take a walk

*price yelling at gaz and soap*: KYLE GARRICK AND JOHN MACTAVISH GET IN HERE- Y/n: oop not the government name

Another for my US baddies: if your'e ever arguing with any of the guys, the nail in the coffin would be "and it's called soccer"

"one more like and i'll-" "enough!"

you call Price "ms. girl" and he could not be more confused

someone asks "do you serve?" and u reply "yah, serve cunt"

when asked why you decided to join the military you said something like: "well i didnt think i'd live past 18 so when I did, i ended up here".....crickets from the rest of the team

"good thing we only have showers on base because i would have already taken a toaster bath by now"

ask Gaz "no bitches?🤨" one more time see what happens

price: the enemies have taken civvies hostage and blocked off all exits and entrances to the town-" y/n: "omg tea"

Also calling price "capt. Save-a-hoe"....I wanna be saaaavvveddd ;)

If you took a shot every time you said "rest in peace to all the soldiers that died in the service, I dive in her cervix", you'd be dead lmao

When asked if they like the military they'd say "it was either this or the psych ward so yah, I'll take it"

Quoting MPGIS constantly and no one even sort of knows what that is ("Crack. Is that what you smoke? You smoke crack?")

Some detainee being interrogated is spilling some nonsense, so you hit them with "oh brother this guy stinks!" And then with the butt of your gun

"Little bad trini bitch but she mixed with China, real thick vagina, smuggle bricks to-" "SARGENT ENOUGH"

Falling asleep on team mates (minus ghost's) shoulders mostly because the most peace they get is when you're unconscious

*when y/n hears any slightly suggestive/dirty phrase*: what are we talking about 😏 (iykyk)

Same energy as: " born next to a nuclear power plant, has an IQ of 2 and was hit in the head with several Rocks as a child"

Vine quotes out the wazoo, it's just awful for the rest of the team lmao

Replying to everything with "on god?"

soap: "what are you 6?" y/n: "yah 6 inches deep in your mom".....you did not walk away from that unscathed to say the least...worth it tho

[sunarots]

so high school ━━━ atsumu miya

24. dinner date ♡

You look at your reflection in the mirror, regretting not bringing some basic makeup. The fear of someone seeing the two of you and taking a picture (or ten) and uploading them online has your heart pounding, but knowing that it’s Atsumu with you makes you feel slightly more at ease.

And, of course, the worries in your mind on why Atsumu asked you for dinner on this ‘date’. Could you even call it a date? A pretend date? Who knows… The complexity of your fake relationship has played a major part on you not wanting to leave the house, knowing that someone would spot the two of yous and rip you apart even more. But, you couldn’t deny that you were relieved how close you had gotten to Atsumu. Even more so that he seemed to forget that you were pretending in private, what with your many evenings spent together on the sofa watching movies.

Did he want a relationship? Is that why he asked you here? Was he going to confess?

You splash some of the cold water in your face, an attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts running rampant in your mind. Taking in a deep breath and flattening out your dress, you gather your things from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and make your way out from the staff area and head towards the table. You give a small smile to the bar supervisor in passing, who'd shown you the ropes and basics for serving drinks and how they take orders.

You try to avoid the tables where people are sitting to get over to Atsumu as unnoticed as possible, sliding into the seat facing towards the door. "Are you sure you don't mind paying? I can pay-"

"If you say yer gonna pay me back for anything ever again, I'm gonna have Omi chase you around the apartment with a spider," he threatens, pulling his mask down to sit beneath his chin. He takes a sip of his coke, running a finger around the rim of the glass. "Do ya know what yer having?"

You nod your head, picking up the menu and pointing to it. "Kelp and soy sauce onigiri. It caught my eye immediately. What're you having?" You lean forward, elbows on the table for support to see what he'll say.

"Tuna mayo, I love tuna." Atsumu closes over the menu, setting it down carefully on the table top. He fills up a glass with the water he'd got for the table and slides one over to you before filling one for himself. "So, how was the first day? Think yer gonna be back?"

You nod your head, taking a sip of the water with a small smile. "Yeah. It was really good. It's not the first customer service job I've had. The hardest thing is remembering how to take the order. It's numbers and letters, and I'm so lost half the time. But I'll get used to it. I was also shown the ropes on the bar, too. So I can now make very basic alcoholic drinks."

Atsumu grins. “Well, I just got even luckier.”

You can’t help but laugh at his comment, covering your mouth with your hand and leaning back in your seat. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” You shrug your shoulders and try to stop yourself from laughing even more, taking another drink of water to try and help your drying throat. “How did practice go?”

“So productive,” he answers, his eyes rolling as he speaks. “Apparently it was my fault that Bokuto wasn’t feeling his best, but I’ve not done anything to him!”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding eye contact so you can get out, “Well, we are kinda forcing him to keep this secret…”

When you look back at him, he’s running his fingers across his chin, visibly cringing. “Shit… I didn’t think about that.” He sips his coke, setting it back down. He goes to speak, immediately stopping himself when his brother appears by his side.

“Hey, I know what her having, but I need to double check what y/n’s having.” He looks at you, waiting for your response. Once you confirm your order, you turn back to face Atsumu your anxiety returning.

He’s playing with the chopsticks once set carefully on the table, twirling them in his hands. You can feel his knee bouncing beneath the table. When his eyes lock with yours, you try to read his expression. There’s an unfamiliar look in his eye, a strong fear.

He clears his throat, looking around to make sure no one’s near enough to hear him and sets the chopsticks back down. “Do you…regret this?”

You furrow your eyebrows, heart stopping. You adjust the strap of your dress, straightening your posture and trying to hide the hurt on your face. “Oh… Um, I- I don’t. Do you?”

Atsumu rapidly shakes his head, holding up his hands. “No, no, no. That’s not- that’s not why I asked. I don’t regret it. Like, at all. I just…” He takes in a deep breath to calm himself, regain his thoughts. “It’s just that my fans can be a lot sometimes, and I don’t want ya to feel like they matter more to me. They do matter, but not the mean ones. I don’t claim them.”

You feel your nerves melt away, a warmth growing in your chest. Your smile grows, a soft laugh of relief slipping past your lips. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re a hot and famous guy.”

You realise what you’ve said when Atsumu reacts, his eyes wide and his signature cocky grin. “Y/n l/n. You think I’m hot.”

Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you’re thankful that one of the waitresses is approaching with your food.

“Hi, Miya-san. I’m assuming the fatty tuna is for you?” He nods, picking up his chopsticks and saying a quiet thank you.

Once the waitress has set the food in front of you and backed away, you immediately start eating to try and stop Atsumu from saying anything else. For the most part, it works. The meal is silent, save for compliments over the food. Once you both finish, you take Atsumu’s plate and set it atop yours.

“I’ll take these up-“

Atsumu stops you, taking the plates from your hands and shaking his head. “You’ve been working all day, I’ll do it for ya.” You don’t have a chance to offer, because he’s already out of the seat and away from you.

Settling back in your seat, you keep your eyes fixed on him. Your eyes scan his outfit, the tight-fitted shirt framing his muscles and a pair of baggy jeans that are hugging his thighs. Atsumu leans across the bar, handing over the plates and saying something that makes the supervisor laugh. He waves to his brother, before turning around locking eyes with you, the corners of his mouth tugging up. He taps his hand against the bar, pushing himself away and making his was towards your table. He slips back into his seat, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Don’t think I’m letting ya forget ya said that I’m hot.”

You press your lips into a firm line, trying to stop yourself from embarrassing yourself anymore. You fight back the smile wanting to show, running your fingertip along the edge of the table and considering your options: deny it, or push your luck. “I have eyes,” you mumble, a part of you hoping he doesn’t hear it.

Unfortunately for you, he does. He straightens up, laughing louder than he should have, and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the same one who said ya can’t have my ego getting too big?”

You shrug your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You know you’re hot. Your ego’s already big in that area.” You tuck your hair behind your ears.

Atsumu takes in a deep breath, forcing out, “I really like ya, y/n. A lot.”

It takes a moment for you to process his words, leaning further back into your seat. Your heartbeat grows faster, taking a sip of water to try and keep yourself calm. “What?”

He looks around himself before clearing his throat, leaning forward over the table. “Um, I like ya. I have for… a bit. A few weeks. And I’d like to see where this takes us.” He waits patiently for your answer, elbows rest on the wood. Despite the confidence on his face, you can see the concern in his eye.

“Really?” Eagerly, he nods his head. You can feel the smile breaking through. “I’d like that.”

Atsumu’s quick to rise to his feet, the chair squeaking against the wood. He tucks it under the table, outstretching a hand to you. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

# fun facts !

unlike y/n, atsumu didn’t go through her drawers

masterlist. previous | next

summary. after your best friend reveals he’s moving out of your shared flat, you’re presented with a tough choice: let one of the creeps who are begging you to let them move in with you, or find a cheaper flat in another area of town. a do-over couldn’t have come at a better time for you, but your only option for a place to stay is with someone your best friend knew from high school, and his two teammates.

taglist (open!). @reignsaway @yuminako @thiisisntlovely @diorzs @aboutkiyoomi @spicana @bakingcuriosity @kr1nqu @savemebrazilhinata @dazqa @sereniteav @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @sleezzsister @hermaeusmorax @giocriedpower @sophosphorescent @gigiiiiislife @zazathezaer @rrosiitas @iaminyourfloors @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sillygooseymood @ellouisa17 @wakashudou @punkhazardlaw @arminswife12 @libbymeows @thomatri @nanamis-right-tiddie

[hey-august]

Hey! For the prompt list can I request 4 and 18, buggy being jealous.

anon, thank you for this 🥵🥵

Prompts: “I’m going to fucking ruin you.” “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.” Warnings: NSFW, NC17, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, all parties are consenting adults Word count: ~538

you brace yourself against the bathroom wall as buggy rams into you at a brutal pace. your hips are already bruising under his harsh grip. each thrust leaves you breathless and dizzy.

“i don’t like people touching what’s mine,” he hisses from behind.

you work at a bar. you serve alcohol and customer service - that’s how this job works. sure, the clown pirate is one of your favorite customers, but some patrons have frisky hands and you can’t prevent them from groping your ass. apparently, the irony of wandering hands is lost on the guy who ate the chop-chop fruit.

“m’sorry, c-can’t help it” you groan.

“can’t help it or you like it? do you like it when strangers touch you?” his anger is louder than the wet slap of his hips against your ass.

you don’t answer, unsure if he’s talking to himself or to you. a hand in your hair pulls your head back. so he does want an answer. you stay quiet.

buggy presses his weight into you, bullying his cock deeper into your body. he tugs your head back further, causing your body to arch more and your ass to press against him harder. the position pushes you to give the depraved answer that you wanted to keep to yourself.

“-like it,” you choke out weakly. “i like it if th-this happens after”

buggy inhales sharply, not expecting that answer. a surge of anger and arousal creates a toxic combination in his body. he releases the hold on your hair and his hips snap against yours, returning to their aggressive pace.

“fuck off, i’m going to fucking ruin you,” he grunts in a voice dripping with honey and poison.

buggy bites off one of his gloves and slaps your ass with his bare hand. you wince at the sharp pain. not enough. buggy paws at your ass, kneading viciously, before slapping it again. better, but it’s still not enough. he repeats the attention until your ass cheek is an achingly bright red. until you whimper and wiggle when his hand caresses your skin, anticipating the next assault.

finally satisfied that you won’t be able to sit without thinking of him until the next time his ship docks here, buggy wraps his arm around your waist and leans his body into yours.

“g-gonna come” he mutters. he places a hand where you’re craving stimulation and applies pressure. no movement, just pressure. a shitty invitation for you to join his climax, if you could.

you squeeze your eyes shut and try to will your orgasm to arrive before his. it’s close, but not close enough. his cock throbs as it shoots his cum deep inside. he finishes seconds before you start, pulling away at a crucial moment. crying out in frustration, you reach down and replace his lost touch with your own hand.

buggy stands back and watches as you frantically fuck yourself while slumped against the bar’s bathroom wall. his softening cock twitches when you call out his name as your orgasm hits. your body shakes and trembles. his cum drips out of you, falling onto the filthy floor. he’s still annoyed, but he can’t help admiring you - a beautiful, ruined, mess.

(prompt list)

[bakugoushotwife]

Poke

Piercer!Dabi x Fem!Reader AU

req: @allofthisistemporaryy

Summary: you've been searching for the perfect place to get you nipples pierced, but nothing is like the reviews said...

warnings: MINORS DNI, explicit smut, rough sex, choking, sadist!dabi, spanking, spitting, mentions of needles and descriptions of piercing practices.

You take a deep breath in and sigh it all out, standing outside the dingiest building you could possibly picture. It looked like it smelled. Could you really go through with this? You look back down at your phone just to make sure you were in the right place. Yup, address matches. You click over to the reviews tab, something you had already studied on your mission to find the perfect piercer. You peered at the words on the screen to see if anything had changed on your way over here. 

“I always ask for Toga! She’s the best!” One review read, rating the piercer a 5 out of 5. 

“The owner is a little intimidating, but Toga is always great and painless!” 

“Toga’s amazing every time! I won’t let anyone else near my body!” 

Another shaky sigh leaves your mouth, feeling somewhat reassured, you turn your phone off and march yourself up to the shoddy door of the establishment. The building was almost entirely brick, except for a wooden porch out front. It was very obviously an old house, probably too run down and dangerous to function as an actual home. It didn’t look very big, the door on the front hanging on the hinges with nothing more than hopes and dreams. There was a neon sign that only half worked hanging in the window, the wire from the ‘Tattoo and Piercing’ sign weaving through the blinds. You take another deep breath, and throw the door open with more force than you intended. A little bell jingles as you step in, gray and stained carpet muffling your footsteps as you drag your way to the service desk. The desk was tall and wooden, overtly so. You leaned up to see if there was anyone behind, as there were no other customers in the shop. 

You can hear the faint buzz of the tattoo gun running in one room, but that’s it. The room does have a smell, you discovered. It’s a mix of tobacco and weed, maybe even alcohol. You can’t tell if it’s the drinking kind or the sterilizing kind, but with the other scents factored in it was probably the former. There was a ‘ring for service bell’ sitting on the desk, and you wondered if you should use it. 

Just as you convince yourself to press it, you hear the buzzing stop and the sound of clothes shuffling and footsteps approaching the other side of the tall desk. A man peers out at you, smirking. 

“I thought I heard someone come in. What can I do for ya sweet cheeks?” He asks, taking you by surprise. You didn’t want to stare too long, but you determined almost immediately that this must be the intimidating owner that some of the reviews mentioned. 

He was tall, much taller than the huge desk that served at the barrier between you. He was lanky, what you could see of his arms covered in brands and tattoos, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He leaned against the doorway of the room he just came from, folding the arms you were staring at over his chest. The fabric of his white t-shirt was worn enough to where you could see the outlines of more tattoos and even the metal of nipple rings peeking through. His jacket was blue, like his eyes, but the most striking thing about him was his white hair. You were nervous, you knew it was going to be hard to walk into any piercing shop and ask to get your nipples pierced, but you had done all the research to ensure you landed with a female piercer. 

“I dunno sign language, lil lady. Hello?” He asked, a pierced eyebrow raised in your direction. He chuckled after, revealing white–and sharp– perfect teeth. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You say quickly, trying to come up with a good excuse for you to be so dumbstruck. “I was just expecting a woman, all the reviews..” You trail off, unsure of how to say what you were in for today. 

The man chuckled again, the sound reverberating through him. It made you smile awkwardly, debating if he was laughing at you or not. “I see! You’re wanting a piercin’ huh? Toga’s off today, but she’s my apprentice. I’m the owner, Dabi.” 

You nod once, contemplating your next move. “Oh, well..I suppose I’ll come back another day then…” You hum pleasantly, giving him a kind smile to make up for your lack of conversation and business. 

“Ah sweetheart,” Dabi pouted, unfolding his arms to lean forward across the desk, “I never get to do the fun pokes anymore, stuck doin’ tattoos all damn day. I don’t bite, hun…what’re you wantin’ done?” He asked curiously, a glimmer of something you can’t place flashes across his eyes. 

Dabi licks his lips as he waits on your reply, looking over your figure smoothly. You were a fine little thing, he decided a few minutes ago, and he didn’t want to let you slip out of his grasp without knowing he’d see you again. 

You hug yourself, biting the inside of your lip. His presence was indeed intimidating, you can verify, but there was something else making you nervous. He was gorgeous, the type of sexy everyone models their bad boy fantasies after. You knew you’d probably have a few of those later…

The idea of him near your chest gave you goosebumps, and before you could really argue with yourself, you blurted, “I want my nipples pierced.” 

This time Dabi doesn’t try to conceal the hungry look in his eye. That was it, the look you couldn’t quite place. “‘S that so, doll?” He asks, tapping a black painted finger on his cheek with a devious grin. “I’m great with nipples, you can ask around.” He winks, you feel your cheeks heat up and your pussy throb involuntarily. You nearly gulp. He pushes open the traffic door to beckon you back behind the desk, to follow him to his piercing room where he could have his way with you in private. 

Your mind blanks, a flush creeping over you. Why save the fantasies for later? Your body moves forward, and for once you were glad it was acting on its own accord. He lets the door swing behind you, leading you just around the corner to his workspace. 

Dabi smirks as he watches you take a seat in his chair. He closes the door behind you, popping the lock subtly. He wouldn’t want anyone to intrude on his private session, now would he?

He can tell you’re nervous, even though this is by no means your first piercing. He notices a few on your ears and the obvious nostril. He grins to himself, it’s just because of him. “Relax, lil thing. It’ll just hurt worse if you tense up.” He warns, his predatory gaze seemingly devouring your innocent one. 

He pulls a rolling stool between his legs, sliding to the edge of his tattoo chair effortlessly. He sat between your dangling legs, a permanent smirk etched into his features. “So princess, wanna take your shirt off for me?” He coos, resting his hands on either thigh. His fingers were long and slender, and even the touch to your leg set you on fire internally.. You could barely stand to think about how they would feel on your skin, or inside of you. How were you gonna make it through this? 

You nod, reaching for the hem of your t-shirt. Sitting up slightly, you pull it off in a swift motion, letting it fall to the floor. Your eyes focus on his, the intensity of his turquoise glare sending a chill down your spine. You feel the prickly air blow across your nipples, perking them up beautifully. His eyes fixated on them, making you shift your legs to relieve some of the pressure. You wanted him badly.

The good news is, he wants you just as bad. “No bra, I like your style…”He purred, not even bothering to hide the way he stares at your chest, thanking whatever deity blessed him with the opportunity to put his hands on them. “Stand up, I need to mark where the needle will go…” He said, scooting out slightly so you could get to your feet. He didn’t give you much room, still sitting on his stool. You practically had your breasts in his face, and you can feel the tips of your ears burn. 

“Perfect.” He sighs, and you bite your lip. “You’re in good hands baby. You trust me?” He asked, that lusty glint in his eye returning as he reached out for his piercer pen. 

You nod. You don’t know exactly what he’s referring to, but you knew no matter what he asked you to do, you’d do it with little to no protest. Your dignity was fleeting, any rational thoughts being snuffed out by the heat in your core and the building slick in your panties. 

“Say it. Out loud.” He requested simply, laying out the pre-packaged jewelry and needles on a tray next to him. 

“I trust you, Dabi.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. You catch your lip between your teeth as you admire him again. His side profile was so pretty, every feature pointed and sharp. 

“Good girl. I’m going to touch you now, to mark these pretty things up.” He says, turning back to face you. 

“Please.” You say, mentally chiding yourself. Jeez, why wouldn’t you say ‘go ahead’ or ‘okay’, now you sound desperate.

But Dabi enjoyed the way the word sounded on your tongue, and he knew he would drive you to the point of saying it over and over again. His fingers are icy when they land on the supple tissue of your left breast. He holds it just because he knows he can, letting your breasts hang as they would naturally so your piercing comes out perfect. He is still a professional, after all. He marks either side of your nipple before moving to the next side and repeating the action. 

He watched your areolas constrict even more, making him smile. He’s seen quite a few pairs of titties, but none made his pants feel as tight as they do now. “I’m sure you’ve done your research, pretty girl? Y’know no one can go near these jugs for at least six months, probably closer to a year.” He peers up at you from his stool, and his question makes you blush again, or maybe just the eye contact. 

“Y-yeah, not gonna be a problem. No one’s been near them for the past 6 months to a year already.” You chuckle to yourself, wishing you could keep your mouth shut once more. Why did you say that, just so he’d know you’re available?

“Noted.” Dabi simply replied, almost validating your compulsive need to overshare. It seemed as if he were genuinely wondering. “Sit at the edge of the chair for me, sweet thing.” He nodded towards the seat, putting on his gloves as you obeyed. 

Suddenly, your nerves were focused on the pain you were about to endure, mind racing and body tingling with adrenaline. He picks up a needle and slides his stool back between your legs, using his other hand to drag his tray closer to him. “Aw, don’t be scared, dollface. I’ll take good care of you. You can squeeze my leg when it hurts, deal?” He offered, his stare much softer at the moment. 

“Mhm.” You nod, trying to shove away all your worries. You had been through much worse, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of this sexy body shop owner. You place your hand on his thigh, his body bent over to have a good angle on your chest. 

“Take a deep breath.” He waits for you to follow his instruction before moving on, “Ready and–” He jabs the needle through your delicate skin, humming pleasantly at your reaction. You squeeze down on his leg with most of your strength, wincing barely.“Good girl,” He praises, dragging out the ‘o’ sound to show how impressed he was. “Here goes number two.” He warned, quickly lining up for the other side. 

“I know it’s brutal but you’ll thank me later. Deep breath.” He cues, waiting for your sharp intake of breath before pushing through your other nipple. “There you go, that’s it.” He cooed, patting the hand you left resting on his leg. He slides backward on his stool to get a better look. “Oh yeah babe, those look perfect on you.” He smirks, guiding you to stand. 

You cling to his hands shakily, the adrenaline still coursing through your body. He leads you to the mirror on the wall, letting you see your newly decorated chest. You beam, pleased with the results. The pain really wasn’t so bad when you’re daydreaming about the piercer. His hands rest on your hips, his touch so light you almost didn’t feel it until you saw his grip in the mirror. Your eyes flicker back up to his gaze staring at you through the reflection. He’s smirking, like he always is, watching your expression eagerly. His presence suddenly hits you again all at once. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, just inches away from yours. His breath is icy, fanning over your face and tickling your neck. 

Before you can think better of it, you press your ass back against him. Your eyes widen once you realize what you’ve done, but  his arm slides around your waist to hold you there before you can panic. “Hm, good to know it wasn’t just me.” He cooed into your ear, pressing his bulge against your backside. His other hand slides up your body, careful of your fresh piercings, until his fingers are grasping your jaw, the arm around your waist retreating slightly, his hand resting above your clothed crotch. “Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, his eyes dancing like the flickers of blue flames. 

You open your mouth to speak, but close it quickly once you realize you don’t know what to say. His fingers dig into your cheeks a little more, demanding a response. “Y-yes, I..I want to feel you..please!” You manage, cheeks growing hotter by the second. He rewards you by unbuttoning your pants, the zipper soon to follow. He lets go of your face in favor of yanking your pants down your legs, prompting you to step out of them and kick them aside. You hear him click his tongue. 

“No panties either? Are you sure you weren’t planning on this the whole time darlin’?” He chuckles, grabbing your hips again to turn you to face him. He admires your fully exposed body, drinking in the curves of your frame and the fullness of your ass. He might be devastated that he can't play with your tits, but he can destroy everything else. He didn’t miss the contemptuous glare you threw his way, making him chuckle deeply again. “Oh I’m sorry angel, this is a little unfair, huh?” He asked, pulling his jacket off, paper thin t-shirt soon to follow. 

You grin softly, reaching your hands out tentatively. He grasps your wrists and plants them firmly on his chest. “Don’t be afraid, pretty baby. You can’t hurt me.” He teased, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he slid his own sweatpants off, discarded elsewhere. His hands land in the dip of your waist, his touch is gentle for just a moment, until he’s using this grip on you to push you backwards until you’re sitting on the tattoo chair again, legs kept open by his figure standing between them. Dabi kneels to the floor, breathing directly over your throbbing heat. You moan involuntarily, just from the sight of the man looking up at you with the carnivorous look in his eyes.

He hums at this, the sounds he can get from you without even trying to stroke his ego and grow his cock in his boxers.He hooks his arms around your legs, pulling your pussy to his face without another passing second, causing you to gasp out in surprise, He lets his long tongue lap at your center, just tasting how worked up you already were. He drags your own fluids languidly up and down the entirety of you, his lips trapping your clit. When his tongue flicks at it, you gasp again, the cold metal unnoticed previously. You shouldn’t be surprised,  most everything else was pierced, which only left his…

The sound of his own satisfied grunts drag you away from picturing his length, not expecting him to enjoy himself so much. You feel one of his arms leave you, causing you to open your eyes and figure out why. You smile, your confidence building once you notice the man palming himself over his boxers, unable to resist touching himself while devouring your sweet pussy. “Taste good, honey?” You coo, a taunting lilt to your voice. 

The tone of your voice makes him fluster, determined to satisfy you so completely that there would be nothing for you to say, you wouldn’t be able to form words if you tried. He stands abruptly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing your neck with gentle pressure. “You talking shit up here, darlin’?” He arches his brow, analyzing your shocked expression. “Now c’mon baby, you didn’t think you could get away with that, now did you?” His slender fingers tighten around your throat slightly. The pressure makes your head buzz, every nerve on your body craving his everything. 

“Open your mouth.” He says, thumbing at your bottom lip with his free hand. You obey instantly, your body arching out toward him in a need to replace his missing touch. He smirks and spits, slightly off center, watching as your tongue darts out to claim whatever he missed. “Taste good, honey?” He mocks, his hand dipping to rub quick circles around your bundle, keeping you from responding. The only thing you can do is gasp and moan breathily.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I knew you were a little freak, acting so cute and innocent.” He coos, crashing his lips on yours. He was rough, but you craved that. His lips were soft, but that was about the end of his softness, the way his mouth moved against yours like you were the breath he needed to survive, the way his other hand clutched the back of your neck to keep you from escaping, how his occupied fingers moved fervently around your sweet spot. It was getting hard to handle, the pressure in your gut building to it’s toppling point as his slender fingers slipped into your eager hole, curling and hitting your insides with ease. You screamed, legs twitching as your first orgasm crashed over you, causing you to flush with embarrassment. He didn’t let you recover, grabbing you up and turning you to your stomach. You caught yourself quickly, turning your head to see over your shoulder, watching Dabi shed the last layer of his clothing. 

It was just as you thought, his solid and achingly long cock was studded with piercings, making you weak in the knees. He smirked, noticing your stare. “Oh baby, you have no idea… I can’t wait.” He chuckled, lining up to your entrance. He palms the swells of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can watch the way your pussy puckers around him, sucking him in eagerly. He gives it to you in one push, letting you experience his excruciating thickness, stretching your insides to accompany him. The piercings tickle your gummy spot, making your vision blur almost immediately. Dabi was so grateful for the mirror in front of you on the wall, able to drink up all your lovely expressions of pleasure. 

“That’s my girl. Look at you baby, takin’ it so good for me.” He growls, driving his body weight into his already powerful thrusts. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, your mind so utterly blank. You feel his body lay over yours, his hand grabbing your jaw like he liked to so often. “I said look at yourself.” He demanded, eyes taking in the way your tits clapped together with the force of him. You open your eyes, but admittedly the only thing you’re looking at is him, the sweat pooling on his brow, the way he gnawed on his lip, his hands gripping you so hard his knuckles are white and you know there will be bruises left to remind you of the way he looks in this moment. 

“Y-you’re.. s’pretty.” You whine, falling to your forearms as you begin to crumble again. He hums, propping his leg up on the chair to drive in at a deeper angle. 

“That’s all you, sunshine.” He coos, the sounds you make in return borderline animalistic. It gives him goosebumps, to hear how loud you can get in his honor. He knows he’s close, but he doesn’t want this to end. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, letting it come back down in a harsh slap to your ass. He smiles as the handprint he leaves behind glows bright red and you barely holler at the sensation.

Your screams go silent again, your body unable to move with him any longer. Your hips ache, his abuse of your insides causing everything to go black. You swear you see new colors as you cum once again, tightening around his shaft. 

“Oh fuck babygirl.” He groans, squelching and slapping noises filling the air. “You want my cum?” He asked, leaning his weight back over you. 

You can only nod, clutching the chair for dear life. “Please! Oh, god, Dabi please!” You choke out, wishing for nothing more than to feel his relief pool in you. 

He smirks, knowing he would love the way you beg for him. It wasn’t another thrust before he was helplessly draining himself inside you, slowing down his sinful pumps until he was still. Both of you are breathing heavily, and his eyes are still locked on your body in the mirror. He massages at your sore hips, wincing slightly at the bruises already forming. “I can get ya some ice, doll.” He offers sheepishly, dick still sheathed inside. 

You giggle and shake your head. “No, no, I’m okay..it’ll remind me of you.” You hum, a smirk of your own on your face. Dabi had his way with you, as you wanted, but you knew he would be addicted to the feeling. 

He kissed the back of your neck and leaned into your ear. “Now tell me you wish you came back another day.”

[xenosagaepisodeone]

supersize me is incredible in how potently hateful it is. it's as if the pop culture wasteland of the 2000s suffocated spurlock's brain to the point where whatever synapses that hadn't shriveled up were only left capable of firing off the same demand to keep punching down at all costs that every halfwit with access to cable news and a desire to 'tell it how it is' seemed to have been afflicted with. everyone knows the methodology in this doc is bunk, but what's missing from the conversation is how this film is another artifact of antagonizing incurious dipshit libertarian smarming about how the sheepish masses cannot just simply get with the program and be better. "americans are fat fat fat fat so fucking fat and they love it so much that they'll let their kids eat the same slop that they serve in prison" "wait, back up. the same apparatus that provides elementary school lunches also supplies prison food? and you're saying the cost of healthier food isn't all that much more? is there anything here worth looking into further?" "no. but have this clip of this random guy talking about how we should heckle fat people like how we heckle smokers". what made this film notable for its time was how it was less focused on how being fat makes you look (which isn't to say that isn't still a huge component of it. because it is. and spurlock has endless shots of strangers with their faces blurred out to emphasize this), but the alleged deterioration of lifestyle, values and vitality that comes with the depletion of one's physical health. that is to say, the film is arguing that failing to live a regimented lifestyle causes one to fall into a state of moral decay. this is the buried lede, because ultimately this film is actually-actually about an alcoholic externalizing the complex he has towards his own lack of self control onto fat people.

it is no wonder why elementary school health teachers in the aughts were quick to deploy it in classrooms at the same rate they did photos of STIs in place of actual sex ed. the imagery of this greasy motherfucker throwing up in his car is meant to serve the same purpose in telling kids that this is what happens when they can't control themselves. when a corporation is blamed for something, it's only inasmuch as it enables people to be dumb and fat. spurlock points out how mcdonald's predatory advertising normalizes it's products in places it should not be (hospitals in particular), which you think would warrant further discussion- but in line with pushing responsibility onto the role of the individual, this is framed as merely mcdonalds tricking customers instead of actively encroaching on their way of life via invading media and legislature. no, the real villains are cafeteria lunch ladies, who are not instilling discipline in your children unlike National Weight Loss Hero Jared Fogle, who educates children around the world. one can only imagine that spurlock's libertarian values compel him to feel a sense of kinship.

the funniest part of this film was the one doctor who seemed to know that he was bullshitting about not having any drinking habits but doesn't want to be up front about confronting him. at first he comments on how how spurlock's liver resembles one belonging to someone engaged in long term alcohol abuse, and then later in the film he gives some generic lip service in response to spurlock's report like 'well, i wouldn't think that fast food and liver health are connected, but your report seems to indicate otherwise' before cutting straight to "whatever you're doing, stop pickling your liver". also at another point spurlock goes "lunch time" and there's a hard cut to some fat mcdonalds employees and he's trying so hard to evoke disgust with all of these shots but my response to these baddies is just "zamn looks like they got dinner and dessert too 🥵🥵💦💦💦💦💦💦💦"

but anyway

[nvirskies]

v. garza - last one open

warnings: angst: hurt/no comfort, mentions of alcohol, being drunk, predatory behaviors while drunk (nothing graphic or explicit), hidden relationships, vague allusions to past sex (never gets into it), assumed death of a loved one, fem reader (no use of y/n) summary: former especiales!r opens a food stall, the only one left with business hours into the early morning. a group of drunk men stumble in one night, and an unlikely woman with them.

word count: 1.4k

taglist: @lesvii

a/n: oh no my finger slipped and i wrote another angst piece, whatever shall i do? i wrote this instead of my overdue english essay

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16- / 21+ dni

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a long night, especially being the last food stall open this early in the morning. Even the military couldn’t prepare you for the absolute mental and physical drain of owning and working your own food stall, since everything was already prepped and provided for you. There was no need for pitched-up, bubbly “customer service” voices that exhausted you beyond belief to keep up. No need to plaster a smile onto your face as inebriated men all tried (and failed) to shoot their shot with you, their words slurring together and eyes crossing. You almost missed the routine and the rigid structure of it all.

Almost.

There was one big factor that was the main driving force in why you had left the armed forces.

Valeria.

You two held a bond that was certainly more than friends, but never had the time to define it. Stolen kisses behind closed doors, nights spent sneaking into each others’ rooms in the barracks, always having your and her uniform patches swapped, always finishing training first before everyone and heading to the showers together, only for you to emerge flushing redder than the arroz rojo served in the mess hall. 

You swore up and down to your bunkmates that you showered only in cold water, mumbling some excuse about it being better for your skin and scalp. But you never offered up any explanation as to why you didn’t smell like body wash or shampoo, and instead of a very distinct cologne.

On the outside, you and Valeria seemed like the closest of friends. It was only natural, especially being the only two women in the Especiales, that you would become fast friends. That was all that anyone ever saw. Two women, in the prime of their lives, forming an inseparable bond reinforced by the camaraderie and patriotism of being part of Mexico’s most elite fighting force. 

But it all came to a grinding halt one fateful day. She had been called out as a member of the RED Team for a mission. She never disclosed where, when, or why she was leaving, only that it would be soon, and quickly changed the subject with a chaste forehead kiss.

One morning, you had woken up to an empty bed. Her things were all as she had left them the night before, scattered around the floor, seemingly as if she had never left. Her uniform was still on the floor in a crumpled heap, her boots unlaced, and her stack of hair ties still looped around one end of the metal bedpost. The unopened bottle of her cologne was still in your bag, having been placed there the night before. But she was missing, nowhere to be found. 

Later that week, after being denied time and time again by your superiors in your near-frantic requests to communicate with her via the radio you knew never left her belt, there was a small, white envelope pushed under your door with your name on the outside of it, written in her signature scratchy handwriting. That, alone, was enough to send you into a fit of tears and uncontrollable sobs as you just stared at the envelope in your trembling hand. You knew letters like this were only ever given to soldiers who had just lost a loved one, whether they were on or off-duty. 

The sound of the bell attached to the shop’s door jingled, snapping you out of the melancholic haze of memories that you had nearly lost yourself in moments earlier. Your head snapped up and at attention, watching with keen eyes as a group of very intoxicated men stumbled in and seated themselves at the high stool seats at the counter. 

Even as they were presumably parts of the same group, there was one thing that stood out about all of them: they all were armed to the teeth, even donning bulletproof vests with rounds of bullets clinking together in a compartment on their utility belts. The sounds of loud, raucous laughter floated through the small area, mixing with slurred words and vague gestures from the men. 

You stood there, behind the counter with your hands firmly in your pockets as you surveyed them all carefully, analyzing their mannerisms and how they seemed to be just a tad too confident at this time of night, drunkenly traipsing around. Plastering your signature customer service smile on your face before approaching the men with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, twirled around between your fingers in an intricate pattern. That pattern had been taught to you by Valeria while the two of you were still in boot camp and bored during the class lectures, but the habit stuck. “Are you gentlemen ready to order, or do you need more time?” you question, all of their heads turning to look at you with gazes that weren’t unfamiliar. These same gazes you had endured for years, all too aware of the way their eyes raked up and down your body in the shirt and sweatpants you had decided to wear. 

What they failed to see, in their collective drunken stupor, was the strength of a fine-tuned human weapon underneath the facade of a smiling woman. It might have been years since you had left the military, but your skills were just as sharp as ever. You might have had a bit more muscle definition in the past, but the quiet strength was still there, lurking just under the surface.

Suddenly, another jingle from the door catches your attention as a head of familiar black hair and a husky laugh you had sworn you wouldn’t ever hear again, rang out. “Boys, mamí’s here!” 

In an instant, your hand stills, the pen that was spinning atop it falling to the tiled floor with a sharp clatter. Thoughts raced through your mind at the all-too-familiar sound of the woman’s laugh, rich, full, and husky in all the right ways. The laugh you hadn’t heard in years. The laugh that both haunted and soothed your dreams. 

It was her. Valeria Garza. The woman you had assumed to be dead for the past six years, alive, well, and seemingly happy, stood behind you. She was oblivious to your identity, only registering a vague familiarity upon seeing your back and hair. You didn’t even have to turn around to know it was her. 

There’s a soft grunt from behind you as she squats down to pick up the pen that you had dropped onto the floor, and a tap on your back accompanied by a soft request. “Ma’am? I think you dropped this pen-” she begins, but she’s quickly shut up as you turn around to face her.

Her face, etched into your memory, was just the same as you remembered, but now with a few new smile lines around her eyes and some eye bags underneath those midnight eyes of hers. Eyes that you had gotten lost in, once upon a time, now stared back at you in silent shock. 

“Val-?” you all but choke out, incredulously. She greets your own shock with a similar expression of your own, every last bit of her previously confident and jovial manner gone within an instant. “Gatita-?” she questions, the old nickname that she used to call you slipping out just as easily as it had in the past. 

Any and all resolve in your body crumbles, and you take the pen from her hand, blinking back tears. Tears of unresolved grief, anger, joy, and betrayal. They threaten to spill, but you clear your throat and turn your attention back to the notepad in your hand, watching as she sits herself down on one of the stools alongside who you can only assume are her friends or colleagues. The cold military disposition takes over, thinly veiled by a mask of polite professionalism, the smile on your face wavering slightly.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly feeling unwell. I’ll have another server out here to help you in just a moment,” you mumble, rushed and apologetic, but not quite knowing who you were apologizing to before setting the pen and notepad down on the counter and sprinting to the back door of the establishment, all but slamming it open. You didn’t dare look back, knowing full well that Valeria would be staring at you, surprise and guilt etched into her features. 

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 3,8K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Working on his newest and what he believes his biggest project yet, Elvis flies to Amsterdam to shoot most of it. Everything is going well until he's forced to fire his leading actress on the spot and there's a stop being put to his work. But as he wanders into a cafe for a much needed drink in the bustling city, faith seems to be on his side.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, European!reader, set in the year 1970 (so some details may be a little off?), obvious mentions of sex/porn etc, mentions of prostitution, Elvis giving reader a lowkey foot rub in public (honestly, he's going to be into feet in this series bc i'm feral), mentions of soft drugs, alcohol consumption.

A/N: hi! this idea was born from an ai but mostly from The Deuce (definitely watch it!), where i took most inspiration from. i'm super excited about this series, and honestly it's giving me a lot of inspiration to write in general again! this is going to be a short series- i'm thinking around 5 parts, but we shall see, hm? no smut in this part, but obvi there will be in future parts, as well as some darker topics. hope y'all enjoy! ❤

masterlist | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

Who ever said Hollywood was a jungle has obviously never set foot in New York City.

They’ve obviously never experienced what a real concrete jungle is like and they definitely don’t know that the Golden Age of Hollywood has seen its best days. Directors were feeling pressures from the outside – from the public that wanted something different, something more than those cringy movie kisses. The smaller movie theaters were starting to ID their customers because their movies weren’t so family friendly anymore. Establishments that specialized in peep shows were popping out of the ground like weeds. Burlesque clubs were turning into proper stripclubs and people would rather spend their money on naked girls dancing in their faces than on overpriced cocktails at supper clubs.

They didn’t know that the world was changing.

They didn’t know that even though adult entertainment was far from legal, it was one of the most produced and exported and imported products in the country.

They didn’t know. But Elvis Presley did.

Having made his start as a director ten years ago when he was in his early twenties and was nothing but a naive Southern boy from Memphis, he crawled and clawed his way through shitty jobs in New York. From parking cars, to serving drinks in sketchy bars to being a bodyguard at a massage parlor and driving around hookers to their appointments… He’s seen it all, and he’s done it all.

He worked hard to get where he currently was – being one of the most famous porn directors in New York. Everyone knew who he was and everyone respected him. Times Square was home to countless of peep shows, stripclubs and whatnot and you’ll bump into a prostitute every five steps. Elvis never used their services but he was friendly with them, greeting them as if he had known them forever. Which in some girls’ cases, was true.

Most of those girls were looking for a way out, wanting to get off the streets and into the safety of a movie studio, but Elvis has learned from a previous mistake where he hired a girl who had a pimp and the leech tried to get him to pay them more than the other actors. Since then, Elvis stuck to actors and actors only.

The director was doing good for himself, owning his own studio and brand under the name of “Presley Productions”, and living in a spacious apartment in the city, yet he still wanted more.

He wanted to make a movie so good, it would get international attention. He wanted it to be so good that theaters wouldn’t stop showing it and he wanted it to be so damn good that it would get him a shiny, gold award on his shelf.

And whenever Elvis had his mind set on something, he made sure to accomplish whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish.

It would only be a matter of time before Hollywood would get whiff of his work, and who he was, and for him to open up a second studio there. Elvis didn’t believe in “Hollywood first, the world later” though – he was going to knock everyone off their feet, from the housewives in California to the business men in Hong Kong, all at the same time.

 

The script he had written for his newest movie had been done for months now and all there was left to do was the casting. The process went fairly simple and easy – his main actress was Annette Haven and she was a gorgeous brown eyed brunette, but for some reason he couldn’t get used to her.

Granted, he wasn’t the one playing in the movie and her co-star seemed to have no issues with her, so perhaps he figured he was just being too picky because he was so passionate about this project. Annette was friendly during the first few weeks of filming but as they got to Amsterdam, the sex capital of the world, to shoot most of the movie, her behavior started to change.

She was cranky on set, pranced around like she was the Queen and was late for filming almost every single day. To put it mildly, she was getting on Elvis’s nerves and when she showed up high as a kite one afternoon, the director was done with this girl.

He never was a tiran on set and always made sure everyone was doing okay, but right now it was like a bomb exploded and everyone watched and were awkwardly rooted to their places as Elvis had a go at the main actress and fired her on the spot.

“Take the rest of the day off. We’ll figure things out tomorrow,” he announced to the other actors and the crew. He gave them a bitter smile before he turned around and walked out of the studio they rented, angry and annoyed at the fact he lost a full day of filming, his leading actress and money.

He needed a goddamn drink.

 

Amsterdam was a crowded, bustling city and in some ways, it was much like New York but it was different in so many ways too. People were a little more laid back here (and he figured the many coffee shops where one definitely was not drinking coffee but getting high at instead had something to do with that) and instead of running into a lady of the night on a street corner, they were placed behind windows in certain areas. The Red Light District, for example. It was crowded with tourists and while there was a long canal outstretched in the middle of the district, there were shops, bars, coffee shops and sexual tinted business lined up on the sides, drawing people’s attention left and right. The infamous windows were located in the alley ways, the red lights that were on indicating a girl was working at the time. While he was definitely no stranger to sex workers and what the normal citizen would call “wildness of it all”, it was like he had stepped into a different world, yet it felt a little bit like home too.

Spotting a typical Dutch brown cafe on a corner, he stepped inside and was welcomed by the loud rumbles of laughter of men shooting pool and sitting at the tables and the bar and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer. Nobody aside from the waitress even spared him a glance as he sat at a table near the window and the second he looked at the girl that came up to him to take his order, a smirk spread across his face. In the middle of August, it was only natural for the girl to be wearing a pair of shorts and he was glad this place didn’t set any strict dress codes for their employees, because Good Lord, those legs looked like they went on for days. He noticed the red heeled sandals she wore on her feet and her fresh pedicure on her toes, drawing him in even more. The way that black little apron was tied around her waist did things to him and as his eyes shamelessly moved further up and noticed the size of her breasts that were filling up the tight top she was wearing, he could only think two things – first, he needed to get his hands on those things. And second, she would be perfect for the movie he was shooting out here.

Annette Haven who?

“Hallo?!” You spoke again, waving your hand in front of the dark haired man that just sat down by the window when he didn’t respond to you the first time. Instead, he was shamelessly checking you out from head to toe and working in a bar in the Red Light District, you were used to it but it still got you a little annoyed at times. At least some men tried to hide it and most men actually spoke, with actual words. As he excused himself in English and scanned the crowd for a second, you realised he wasn’t Dutch and decided to cut him some slack.

Perhaps he really was a creep, but your boss wouldn’t be too happy if a customer walked out without being served.

Happened before, because while other waitresses accepted the bold and creepy men that came to drink almost every single day, your mother had always taught you to stand up for yourself and to not take any shit from anyone.

Besides, this was 1970. What did men expect? For you to drape yourself over their laps and beg them to take you? Absolutely not.

“A beer’s just fine, honey,”

You bit your tongue to ignore the pet name and flashed the American a smile, looking him in the eye. “Anything else? Something to eat maybe?”

Elvis grinned and shook his head, watching you walk away to get his drink. You were a very pretty girl with a very pretty body and he realised he was going to amp up his charm if he wanted to see what was underneath.

And he definitely wanted to see what was underneath.

 

“There you go,” you said as you came back over to his table and put his beer down in front of him. Before you could make your escape once more, Elvis spoke up.

“You know, your English is pretty good,”

At this, you almost scoffed as you stood up straight and looked at him with a hand on your hip. These Americans were always so full of themselves.

“Thanks. It’s only a language spoken in countries all over the world,” you smiled sarcastically and Elvis grinned in amusement as he leaned his arms on the edge of the table, quirking an eyebrow.

Feisty. He was intrigued.

“I been to Germany back in the day and believe me, they definitely didn’t sound as pretty as you,”

You raised your eyebrows a little at the odd compliment. Didn’t sound as pretty? That was the first time you ever heard something like that. This guy looked exactly what you imagined a pimp to look like – gold rings adorning his fingers, dressed up nicely in a velvet crushed jacket despite the heat outside – yet he used the word “pretty”, instead of something vulgar like most customers did when they’d try to flirt with you.

You knew you had probably judged him too quickly and although you were intrigued by him the same way he was by you, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you whispered as you leaned down and closer to him a little, looking straight into his eyes, which you noticed were very blue and very pretty. “You’re not in Germany anymore, sir,”

Elvis let out a laugh as you gave his shoulder a playful pat and raised his glass, a sly smirk settling on his features.

“You got that right, honey,”

As you walked away, he didn’t fail to notice the playful smile you threw his way as you looked over your shoulder.

 

Elvis wasn’t planning on spending half the day in this particular cafe, but for some reason, he was already on his third beer and he just couldn’t leave.

He could say it was because he needed to clear his mind and think of a solution to fix the problem about not having a lead actress anymore, but the little voice in his head told him he was looking right at that exact solution.

You.

He knew it would be risky – you were just a waitress and you probably had never set foot on a movie set in your entire life, let alone an adult movie set, but he couldn’t stop imagining you in front of the camera, in all kinds of positions.

As he watched you move around the place, serving customers, it was almost like he was watching a movie right now. The way you moved so effortlessly on those little heels, the way you avoided customers that were a little too handsy and the way you were laughing with local customers who you’d probably served many times before.

The sound of your laugh was like music to his ears and he wondered how you’d sound while you were being fucked with those gorgeous long legs dangling in the air. Just imagining you moaning in pleasure had a shiver run down his spine.

And while you had pretended you didn’t like Elvis at all and he was just another annoying American tourist, you couldn’t help yourself from glancing into his direction every so often and making your way to his table to ask if he needed anything else.

When you did just that after talking to some locals at the bar, he looked at you and smiled.

“Sit down,” he told you as he nodded to the empty seat across from him as he leaned back in his seat. “Doesn’t the old man give you a break?”

You chuckled softly as he nodded to an older looking, grumpy man in the corner behind the bar. Your boss. He barely did any of the work and just sipped on his beer, watching his waitresses work their asses off.

For a shitty pay, too.

“Hardly,” you admitted honestly with a soft chuckle, noticing that your boss wasn’t paying any attention to you so you sat down opposite the dark haired man that had his eye on you the entire time. “So, what brought you to Amsterdam?”

Elvis was pleasantly surprised as you asked him that. Not only would it give him the chance to keep you at his table longer, but now was also the moment where he would have to tell you what he did. And find out your reaction to it.

So, he just came clean right away. In one way, it was a good test to see how open-minded the Europeans really were.

And if you were a full blown, crazed feminist.

God… please don’t be a fullblown crazed feminist, he prayed mentally.

“I’m here to make a porno.”

A silence lingered between you two, but it only lasted for about three seconds. You nodded your head and chuckled in an amused but friendly manner.

“Are you an actor?”

Thank God.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head a little as he took a sip of his beer, licking his lips. “I’m the director of the movie,”

You leaned your arms on the table and sat on the edge of your seat, crossing your legs under the table as you swung your foot back and forth a little. Elvis looked at the way your breasts were pressed against your arms for a second before looking back at your face, an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“And why are you not directing your movie right now?” You wondered aloud, tilting your head a little.

“Well,” he let out a laugh as he tapped one of his rings against his glass for a second, looking at you. “My leading actress wasn’t as fit for the role as I thought.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as good as a director as you think you are,” you teased with a grin on your face.

At that, Elvis just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. He could tell you were pulling his tail, but perhaps far in the back of his mind… he wondered if that could be the truth. He decided not to let his insecurities get to him though, not right now, and when he felt your swaying foot hit his leg under the table, he reached a hand down and grabbed your ankle. You widened your eyes a little and stared at him as he gave you a cocky grin and removed your shoe, dropping the red heel to the floor before he put your foot in his lap.

You looked around nervously to see if your boss caught onto you slacking yet, but he was still busy with the locals at the bar. Elvis ran his hand down from your ankle to your foot and pressed his thumb against your sole, making you turn back to him and bite your tongue to hold back a small gasp.

While you certainly never let customers touch you, right now you weren’t trying to get away. Nor could you muster up a smart remark to throw at his head. You’d been on your feet all day, wearing those heels, and the little massage he suddenly decided to give you wasn’t entirely unwelcomed.

“I am a great director, sweetheart, trust me..” he grinned as he looked you in the eye, a kind but mischievous gleam in his blue orbs. This man definitely was bold and for the first time in your waitressing “career”, you were enjoying the attention of a customer. And a tourist, at that. “Some people just can’t resist the many coffee shops in the city,”

You chuckled, nodding your head as you tried to focus on the conversation and not his large hand rubbing your foot under the table.

“Ha! Bet she was A-American,” you mentally slapped yourself for the stutter (and the lame reply) but if he noticed it, he didn’t mention it. Instead he just grinned and caressed his short nails across the arch of your foot a little.

“Who said she was American?”

“Well, if she was Dutch, she could’ve.. resisted the tempting clouds of weed,” you countered back with a small, playful grin on your face.

He laughed as he cocked his eyebrow, his eyes staring intently into yours as he found your pressure point and pushed his thumb into it, making you nearly moan out loud right there in the middle of your work place.

You managed to save yourself with a small groan.

“Think you can do better?”

At this point, your face was flushed and he realised he was slowly breaking through that sarcastic façade of yours. Then again, he wasn’t exactly playing fair with the way he was shamelessly giving you a foot rub and while you had genuinely peaked his interest, he was a little desperate too.

He wanted to finish his movie and make sure it was good. It had to be perfect. And he didn’t want to get a professional actress now that he had laid eyes on you.

Porn wasn’t a strange concept to you despite never having been in a porno yourself. You lived in a city where sex was out in the open for everyone to see and consume and while porn was illegal here as much as it was in the States, it was tolerated. Perhaps it wasn’t such a strange idea for you to dip your toes into the world of adult entertainment.

“I know I can do better,” you said confidently, looking over at your boss who looked your way and you quickly pulled your foot out of Elvis’ grip, slipping it back into your heel. “Just tell me when and where,”

Elvis let out a hearty laugh as he widened his eyes at you a little. This had been easier than he expected – you were offering yourself for the job and while that was certainly surprising, he wasn’t complaining at all. You were perfect for this movie and the fact that you were inexperienced in the industry might even be better for the storyline.

After all, the lead girl was supposed to be a little naive and a whole lot of innocent.

You quickly urged him for a phone number and address when you noticed the sour face of your boss staring at you from behind the bar and Elvis quickly scribbled his contact information down on the back of a paper coaster as he realised he didn’t have any business cards on him at the moment. You grasped it from the table and shoved it in your pocket, getting up from your seat.

“Hold up,” he said after he paid for his drinks and you were about to walk off to the bar to get back to work. You felt him grabbing your wrist and you turned around, looking at him as your heartbeat sped up a little. “I didn’t get your name..”

“It’s Y/N,” You told him, gently pulling your arm out of his grip. You wouldn’t mind holding onto him a little longer but you felt your boss’ eyes burning in the back of your head.

“I’m Elvis. Elvis Presley.”

You nodded and flashed him a smile, tapping the back pocket of your shorts where you had put the coaster in. He grinned and nodded, slowly leaving the cafe, hoping you’d call him and go through with this.

A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to work in a shitty place like this.

 

You watched him go and the entire time your boss was giving you an earful about work ethics as you stood behind the bar, you barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. Quite frankly, you just weren’t paid enough to deal with this. You liked your co-workers but that’s all they were – co-workers. They didn’t pay your bills and neither did your shitty monthly pay that your boss gave you.

You wanted a change. No, you needed a change.

And maybe it was a naive and stupid thing to do, but for some reason, you had trusted that stupid American tourist.

Maybe he wasn’t even a director at all, but the longer your boss went on and on about your behavior, you decided it was worth the risk.

“You know what,” you interrupted him loudly, pulling your apron off and throwing it at his face. “I quit!”

Your boss threw a string of profanities to your head as you opened the cash register and grasped the amount of money he still owed you. He was too slow, and too fat, to stop you and before he could get to you, you were already halfway out the door. Though ofcourse, you didn’t leave without theatrically flipping him off.

 

You ran down the street, squirming your way through the crowd, and into a phone booth. Closing the door behind you, you fished the coaster out of your pocket and rang the number. You were connected to Elvis’ hotel and then put through to his room after several minutes. As soon as you heard his voice on the other side of the line, you inhaled a sharp breath of air and clenched the phone against your ear.

How bad could the porn industry really be?

The fact that you were a virgin didn’t strike you as a problem. Nobody had to know, did they? You were sure you’d be able to mask it.

Even from the director.

You stared at the people walking by the phone booth and leaned against the glass wall, your next words rolling off your tongue determinedly.

“When do I start?”

taglist: @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates

[merbear25]

Twisted desires (Caesar)

A budding flower of newfound interest quickly grew into full bloom the longer she spent with the man who hired her. Two damned souls with different purposes in life, and yet their paths couldn’t have entwined more perfectly, intersecting at just the right moment. Getting close to a man like Caesar Clown would require a bit of persuasion as Lucille came to realize. However, that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

a/n: This is a trade for @luci0elle. I was so excited to do this trade with you! I had a blast writing it. Thank you so, so much for suggesting it. I hope it lives up to your expectations!

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!OC/self-insert (name used for reader), dubcon, drug use, alcohol, vaginal penetration, pegging, cumshot

Wandering behind the buildings of the labs she couldn’t justify calling home, the alleyways paved her road to a future where she’d be offered a blank slate. No ties to the government and none to Vegapunk, instead it would be left up to her full discretion. 

The sun had long since set and the dark clouds casted over any possible navigation by starlight, meaning the pipes that ran above were her only chance of finding a way out of this maze. With residue oozing from the pipes, the dripping substances only further engrained the life she saw for herself.

Ducking out of sight, evading others, eyes set on the target as the sound of rushing water filled the air: Lucille made a break for it just as a security guard spotted her. A leap of faith sent her hurtling into the waters below where her title of government property washed away with the tides.

Since then, she stuck to the shadows and offered the lethal skills infused in her DNA as a service. Although a couple of customers made the mistake of double crossing her, the result was more or less the same—a clear message of what would happen if others tried the same.

Even with operating behind the scenes, word spread among those who were in search of such expertise. Spoiled with choice of who she deemed worthy of her time, someone only familiar by name caught her eye—Caesar Clown. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Be it led by morbid curiosity of genuine interest, the deal was made and their fates were merged if only by their signatures.

Neither of them were what the other had expected; the dashes of personality that contradicted word of mouth were both refreshing and worrisome. Finding out who they really were while being in such close proximity wasn't something to be taken lightly.

His suspicious sideways glances, countered with her playful energy sent his reservations towards her for a loop. The evident want she expressed to be around him when she wasn’t off on a mission was…unnerving. 

What did she have up her sleeve? was the question that wracked his brain more often than he cared to admit. But still, the bubbly and apparently genuine interest she took in him was received well. After all, how could he resist being fawned over by a deadly force such as herself?

“Come on! I want you to test out one of the cocktails I made!” Luci tugged at Caesar’s coat relentlessly.

His eye twitched in irritation. “I’ve already told you I’m very busy and—”

“You’re always ‘very busy’!” She grumbled.

“And what? I suppose you’re going to say ‘it won’t kill you to take a break’?” He mocked her typically playful tone.

“Is that a challenge?” Luci’s face showed a glimmer of mischief as a coy smile spread on her lips.

A hue of pink dusted his face at his own slip of the tongue. He huffed at her persistent nature, reluctantly surrendering to the silver-eyed woman cocking an eyebrow at him. “Fine. Show me what attempt you’ve made.”

As she led him to the kitchen, his amusement in the confident strut she had made it difficult to suppress even the faintest grin. 

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.

“You’re going to serve me too? Seems I’m getting the royal treatment,” Caesar chuckled. She gave the concoction in the drink mixer a few more good shakes, while sticking her tongue out at him, earning herself a couple more laughs.

Gently, she placed the fuchsia alcoholic beverage in front of him. The swirls of edible glitter danced even under the fluorescent lights.

“Adding something as gaudy as glitter to the drink? Must have looked atrocious beforehand.” He teased, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“I just know how much you can’t stomach a real drink, is all,” Luci whispered. She leaned in, showing the bit of cleavage spilling out of her top.

His cheeks reddened, so he turned away from her and threw half of the drink back in one gulp. There was lust peeking behind her sultry stare, making him chug the remainder of her experimental talents.

She shifted closer to him, her leg now pressed up against his without letting up on the rising want in her demeanor. “Well?” Her voice trailed into his ear. “What's the verdict?”

The assassin's cool tone as she awaited his critiques was faintly nerve-racking. She gently brushed her chest against his arm, when he began stumbling over a response. “It was deceivingly strong…just a tad though.” He added so as not to give Lucille the satisfaction of being right about his intolerance to hard liquor. 

Clearing his throat, the feeling of her rubbing up against him was causing his mind to go fuzzy. He couldn't think straight, only being grounded by the redheaded beauty's touch. He rubbed his temple, trying to regain focus.

“Did…did you put something in that drink?” He tugged at his clothes, which were beginning to feel like they were uncomfortably snug.

Luci gave him a helping hand by unzipping the front on his body suit. Revealing his chest and slender stomach, she ran her hand over him greedily. The dampened skin heightened her longing to see more of him, to feel more. The shaky pants that passed his lips grew more and more needy as her touch became more assertive.

With no say in the matter, the drug forced his body to release pheromones laced in a nearly sickeningly intoxicating aroma. A deep sigh escaped her as the desired effect took its course on her, as well.

“You drive me wild. You know that, don't you?” Her fingers aggressively tugged down his boxers, revealing one of the side-effects. 

The sharp inhale of his throbbing cock meeting her firm grip only made him more irresistible. Her pupils dilated as she watched the subtle shifts in his facial muscles: reluctance, embarrassment, and finally surrender. The hands of a killer could do more than stomp out the light in her victims’ eyes—capable of bestowing unimaginable waves of ravishment throughout them just as skillfully.

“You want more, don't you?” Lucille nodded, coaxing the same out of him. With a dark smile, she swiftly derobed.

Standing in front of him with smug confidence, the slick arousal between her legs made his heart race. As much as he knew he shouldn’t want her, there were other forces at play, which made his better judgment take a backseat.

His cock twitched as she traced his jaw with her delicate fingers. “I’m going to let you feel every ounce of pleasure you’re burning for, don’t you worry.” A temptress in her own right, he didn’t stand a chance against her dark charm.

She guided him to her bedroom, a domain where she had home field advantage. As she climbed onto her bed, the arch in her back put her wet pussy lips on full display. A suppressed whimper could be heard behind her as she bent over in front of him. His long, lanky limbs caged her small form in. The tip of his cock pressed against her aching core. The close proximity caused the emitting side-effects of the drug to waft over her, causing her patience to wane at an alarming rate.

Unable to wait any longer, she eased herself back on him as far as she was physically able. Tingling sensations of overbearing fervor pushed her into a frenzy. Bouncing up and down his length, the leverage of her on all fours gave each of them rush after rush of pure bliss. Stretching herself out from his girth had her clawing at the bedsheets in a desperate attempt at seeking stability as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her.

Choked sobs from above gave her more than enough encouragement to keep the fast pace. A large shaky hand gripped at her hip. “F-fuck…” Caesar moaned.

A growl rose from her throat as she slammed her dripping core roughly against him, causing his balls to slap against her clit. With the overpowering erotica flooding his senses, the room began to shift and spin. His body trembled and grew heavy, causing him to slump over on his forearms suddenly. He could barely keep his weight above her.

Cupping his tired face, an unfamiliar warmth emanated from her hand. “You shouldn’t have downed your drink so quickly,” she teased. He groaned from the way her body was still wrapped around him. “Shh, don’t worry. I’ll make things much easier on you.”

When she crawled out from under him, he collapsed on the inviting comfort of her bed. Breathing heavily, the drug's effects were making it impossible for him to ease his swarming thoughts. He watched Lucille carefully, craving more of her but unable to decipher whether it was solely due to the drug or not.

She snuck around him, letting both her hands caress the sides of his hips and waist. His body responded instantly: quaking from the unexpected tenderness in her touch and yearning for sweet release.

“You want it so badly, yeah?” She cooed at him.

He buried his face into her pillow, the scent of her driving him further into madness. A deep gravelly groan was forced into the pillow as he nodded slightly in response.

She chuckled softly. Grabbing a spare pillow, she wedged it under his hips, leaving him in the perfect position for what was soon to come.

While focusing on inhaling the faint scent of Lucille’s shampoo in the fabric of her pillow, the chilled lube caused his body to tense. Her calming voice rocked him back into a trance, and as her slender fingers pressed inside him, his eyes rolled back.

The tip of her strapon buried into him. His hands tightened their grip on the sheets, and he bit her pillow as his body was being forced to accept it at a much faster rate. Strained huffs and cries of euphoria were music to Luci’s ears.

“I didn’t think the potion would have worked this well,” she grunted, wasting no time pounding into him.

The curses dripping from his quivering lips were laced with remaining toxins of the elixir. Caesar cried out for her that further fueled her motions, making each thrust more and more intense. He was close, teetering on the edge.

She reached down to stroke him, rendering him helpless to the paradise she’d bestowed upon him. Each jolt of pleasure raptured his body. The skilled tugs of his painfully carnal urge to give into the temptress who’d successfully had her way with him ate away at every fiber of his self-control.

A wanton soaked shriek was muffled into her pillow as he spilled every last drop of fervor into her hand. The overflow of the pent-up sin cascaded onto her bed and splashed on the other pillow. Choked whimpers were soothed by the tender hand of his hired assassin. Soft hushes and light kisses along his shoulder eased him down from his high.

“If things continue this well, you’ll be ready for more soon enough.” There was a sadistic pleasure she took seeing him completely spent and knowing that she’d get her fix in due time.

He groaned and nodded. Having just experienced an explosive orgasm, there was a part of him that just couldn’t be satiated. Damn her for having made such a lascivious test subject out of him. His eyes rolled back as he began hardening again. He thrusted against the dampened pillow, groaning from the overstimulation. Damn her and the spell she casted on him.