#guess who finally wrote a new fic

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Loki (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Mobius M. Mobius Characters: Loki (Marvel), Mobius M. Mobius Additional Tags: PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Bondage, Light Bondage, Established Relationship, Bottom Loki (Marvel), Top Mobius M. Mobius, Sub Loki (Marvel), Dom/sub, Dom Mobius M. Mobius, Christmas fic, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Loki is a brat, Loki BITES, Genderqueer Loki (Marvel), but author uses he/him pronouns for him because that's what the MCU uses, Praise Kink, Loki doesn't have a gag reflex, Author Is Sleep Deprived, this fic was written at 1AM, no beta we die like loki in the main timeline, ribbon used as bondage, "good girl", "Pretty boy" Summary:

Loki is bored. And unfortunately, knives aren't really an option. So he's left to sit on the floor of the living room, watch Mobius wrap presents, and complain. Eventually enough is enough, and the presents aren't the only things bound in ribbon.

[scalingsvt8thusiast]

Wait for your love (angst)

summary: you wait in silence, waiting for wonwoo to finally love you

inspired by Ariana Grande's We Can't be Friends (AKA Wait for your love)

a/n: I wrote this in a fever dream, some suggestive themes but nothing much apart from that. It's a 2 part fic. so look out for part 2 I guess :D

I didn’t think you’d understand me

You remembered the first interaction you had with Wonwoo. You had asked him for help with some maths question back in high school. 

“I don’t think that’s the right answer…” You whispered, watching him flush red as he rummaged through his pencil case clumsily looking for his eraser. 

“My maths isn’t very good!” He cried, erasing the answer that was so far off. 

“Oh! How about we try this!” You stuck your tongue out as you worked on the question using another method. 

The both of you flipped to the back of the book to check the answer. You remembered the look of awe Wonwoo gave you when your answer was right. 

Wonwoo was the quiet kid, the one who sat at the last row of class, always looking out the window, not paying attention in class. He wasn’t a star student or an athlete so on the popularity scale he was basically non-existent. You weren’t far off either. Pigtails and braces meant you weren’t much higher than him on that god-forsaken scale. But that’s what brought the two of you together. 

After that first interaction, you started warming up to your quiet seatmate. You joined him in the cafeteria, asked him out on study dates, even dragging him to his first hangout. You liked to think that he just accepted his fate, the two of you were destined to be friends. 

Somewhere along the line of your friendship, you started developing feelings for the scrawny boy. You couldn’t pin point exactly when or what caused your infatuation. You just remembered realising his facial features were so sharp, his shoulders were so broad and his hands were so large and warm. Was it when your hands met in the popcorn tub during the Star Wars reruns at your local cinema? Was it when you stared too deeply into his eyes during a round of cards? Was it when he picked you up and ran a whole lap around the park to prove a point?

You couldn’t remember. But it felt like you had been liking him for the longest time.

I’ll wait for your love

Everything changed after graduation. 

The break before university was due to start, you had gone off to stay with relatives in Paris while Wonwoo had gone off to stay with his brother in Seoul. The two of you were scheduled to attend the same universities, even scheduled to live together. It was only natural considering how long you two had been friends. He would arrive from Seoul first and you were due to arrive 2 weeks after, just in time for the first day of school. 

You were thoroughly surprised by the boy man who greeted you at the front door. 

“Wonwoo?” You said, blinking rapidly. 

Where was the scrawny, skinny boy you were familiar with? Who replaced him with this tall, handsome and extremely well built man?

“Y/n!” Wonwoo beamed at you, immediately helping you with your bags. 

You were momentarily taken aback by his voice. His high pitched, nasally voice had developed into a deep baritone. 

“How was Seoul?” You had managed to croak out, still dumb struck by the massive change your best friend went through.

“Great. I actually met quite a few friends in the same uni.” Wonwoo’s eyes held an excited glint.

You hummed, wondering how your anti-social and shy friend had managed to become a social butterfly. 

You should have known that was the first sign of the inevitable downfall of your friendship. 

Throughout the next few weeks, you were busy trying to get settled into your new life while Wonwoo was busy partying his life away. He would leave each night and return at wee hours of morning.

You remembered the first time you went to pick him up. 

“Y/n,” He drawled over the phone. 

You turned to check the clock, it was 4AM. “Wonwoo?”

“Can you come-,” A loud cheer erupted in the background. “Can you come get me?” 

“Oh, ok!” You said, pushing your blanket aside. “Text me the add-,”

He hung up. 

DING

You received the location from him.

Trying to look as presentable as possible, you hopped into your car. Driving to your best friend with Google Maps as guidance. 

You arrived at the party, expecting Wonwoo to be waiting for you by the road, ready to leave. But he was nowhere to be found. Wonwoo wasn’t waiting for you in front of the house, he wasn’t even standing with the groups of people near the front door. 

You tried his phone again but you were sent straight to voicemail. You jumped out of the car and went into the house. You tried your best to push through the multitudes of drunk people, looking for your best friend. Finally you found him, playing beer pong and boy, did he suck. 

“Won?” You said, coming up next to him. 

“Y/N!” He shouted, throwing his arms around you, dragging you into his chest for a hug. 

“Won, let’s go.” You coaxed, your nose crinkled from the strong stench of alcohol. 

“Everybody!” Wonwoo bellowed, “This is my friend! Y/N!”

You were horrified as everybody turned to look at you. You gave an awkward smile and squeezed his arm.

“Wonwoo, let’s go, please.” You begged, you had a class in 2 hours and you wanted to get home in time for at least 1 more hour of sleep. 

“But y/n, you just got here!” Wonwoo whined, he pouted. 

“Oh God, Woo, please.” You implored, biting your lip. You weren’t comfortable, you didn’t know anybody here and you had an overgrown child hanging onto you. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo quipped. “But only because you asked nicely.”

That was how you managed to get your housemate home. 

Wonwoo never apologised. He didn’t speak to you the whole week, he kept himself shut in his room while you went about your day. You tried knocking on his door, offering some food you had made but he never responded. 

After that incident, you noticed that he would do it more often. He would call you at odd hours of the morning, asking you to come pick him up, flirt with you then subsequently pass out on the couch. 

You found yourself getting hopeful. You deluded yourself into thinking that Wonwoo was doing this because you were the only person he trusted. You just had to wait a little longer for him to realise his feelings for you. You just had to wait.  

“Y/n, I love you soooo much,” Wonwoo slurred, you had slung one of his arms around your shoulder, walking him to your car. 

“Won, please.” You said, trying your best not to be effected by his empty words. You pushed him against the car while you fumbled for your car keys. 

Suddenly you felt your world spin, when it stopped you were face to face with your best friend. Wonwoo had flipped you over, your back now pressed against the car, his arms to your sides, caging you. His face was a whole ten centimetres away from yours. You could feel his breath on your face, your heart beat rapidly rising, one of your hands gripping his bicep to keep yourself steady. 

“Y/n, you’re so pretty.” He muttered, he placed a hand on your cheek. His eyes were on your lips. His tongue licking his own. 

“You’re drunk.” You whispered, you used all your strength to push against his chest. 

He didn’t move. Next thing you know, his lips were on yours. 

That was how you lost your first kiss to your best friend.

You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again

After that kiss (wherein he subsequently passed out on you), Wonwoo seemed to avoid you even more. 

He no longer called you when he needed a ride home, instead his friends would send him home. You had met 3 of his friends: Mingyu, Vernon and Seungcheol. They each seemed to take turns dragging Wonwoo’s drunk ass into the house. Surprisingly they would all be sober each time. Which made you wonder if Wonwoo just had a habit of calling random people to send him home. 

“Y/n?” Wonwoo’s voice came.

You shot up from the dining table, you had just been busy revising for your upcoming tutorial. Wonwoo never spoke to you, so this was a shock. 

“I was wondering,” He cleared his throat, “could you help me with this?” 

You blinked, he was holding a few pieces of paper. 

“Sure!” You chirped, a little too cheerily. 

Of course you would help your best friend. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t spoke to you in months. It didn’t matter that he had ignored you when you tried to wave at him on campus. It didn’t matter that he pretended not to know you among his new friends.

Wonwoo was your best friend, so you were going to bury your feelings and help him. 

“Thanks.” He smiled. 

That smile that made your stomach do a summersault. That smile that threw you back to your teenage years, when he would smile at you and only you. 

It became a routine. He only spoke to you when he needed help with work. Even though you weren’t in the same course as him, you found yourself studying up on what he needed, just so you could help him. 

You found yourself staying up late, studying for both your finals as well as his finals. Just so when he came home the next day from some party, you could help him. 

You helped him because that was the only chance you had to speak to him. 

You helped him because that was the only time he showed you any attention. 

You helped him because you loved him. 

Just wanna let this story die

Wonwoo brought a girl home. 

It was 4AM in the morning, you were cramming for your exams the next day after looking through Wonwoo’s materials for his tutorial the day after. You could literally feel your head overheating with all the knowledge you were shoving into your brain. You stood up, deciding to stretch out your unused muscles when you heard the front door open. It was opened with so much force that the door banged onto the wall, causing you to jump. 

“Wony!!!” You heard a voice, it wasn’t that low voice you so loved from your house mate. It was a high pitched squeal which you were sure your house mate could not have produced. 

A yelp could be heard followed by loud shushes. 

You pushed your door open a smidge, peeking out into the hallway.

You blood ran cold.

Right by the front door was Wonwoo, making out with a girl.

You could feel a lump growing in your throat as you shut your door. You closed your eyes, trying your best to erase the sight. The image of your best friend’s lust-ladened eyes, arms encircled around another girl, lips on hers was burnt forever your memory. 

You felt yourself crumple against the floor. Your stared blankly into space for what felt like hours. The pit in your stomach grew with every second that passed. When you finally found the energy, you crawled over to your bed. Tears seeped from the corner of your eyes as you buried your face into your pillow. Trying to muffle the loud moans and groans coming from the other room. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying not to make a sound as you cried yourself to sleep.

So for now it’s only me, and maybe that’s all I need

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Chan cursed. 

You smiled weakly at your friend. The two of you sat in a booth at Chan’s favourite bar. You didn’t drink but he did. Chan had forced you out after you refused to leave your room for weeks.

“He knows you have feelings for him.” Chan hissed. “There’s no fucking way he doesn’t.”

You shrugged. After much pestering, you had finally relayed everything to Chan. Everything. From when you first met Wonwoo to when he brought a girl home. 

“I thought I would wai-,” You voice came out as a whisper, ashamed.

“Please don’t tell me. Wait?” Chan finished for you, tilting his glass of beer towards you. 

“Yup.” You said with a sigh. 

“Why wait for someone like him? Why wait for someone who doesn’t even care about you?” Chan said, sounding angrier and angrier by the second. 

His question stung. Deep down, you didn’t want to admit it, but you knew Wonwoo didn’t care about you. You knew he was just using you, keeping you around only because you made his life convenient. 

“Move out.” Chan demanded. 

“What?” You blurted, “Chan, I can’t just move out!” 

“Yes you can.” Chan pointed to himself. “Move in with me, I have a spare room!” 

“But what about Wonwoo?”

“What about that asshole?” Chan rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t just leave him like that.” You said, exasperated. You weren’t about to leave your best friend alone. 

“Why not?” Chan argued. “You think he won’t do the same to you? He’ll drop you the first chance he gets, y/n.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. You loved Chan but there were times when he was too blunt. 

“Chan, please.” You whispered, tears started rolling down your eyes. 

“Ok, I’m sorry.” Chan immediately panicked. “I’m sorry I said that.”

He moved to sit next to you, rubbing your back as you sobbed into your bowl of fries. 

You moved out the next day, without so much as a goodbye to your childhood friend. 

a/n2: not very good at writing, quality is absolute crap imo considering i wrote this in under an hour. anything you guys think I should improve in lmk!

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

'Fake' Feelings

Zuko x Reader

Summary- In a pinch, you have to pretend to be in a relationship with Zuko. Little do you know it was never pretend for Zuko.

A/N- HAPPY BIRTHDAY @thethreeeyed-raven!!!!! This isn't my typical fandom as y'all know. I wrote this as a birthday gift to my best best best online friend. SHE'S AWESOME. Go check her fics out <3<3! CONTAINS A SINGLE BAD WORD >:)

Word Count- 2,468

"Mai, I already told you. I can't be with you!" Zuko was getting frustrated. While he did love Mai at one point, that was a long time ago. Zuko was now the Fire Lord, their relationship seemed like ages ago.

"And why not Zuko? We've been through this a hundred times. You always come running back, you're so pathetic. May as well cut the middle part and we can act like nothing happened." She stepped closer, pressing herself on his arm. "Like we always do..."

Zuko had finally realized how Mai controlled him. When he was weaker he was naive, now he knew what he wanted. Someone who never put him down, someone who never called him 'Pathetic.'

You.

He immediately thought of you. How you were so strong, but never put others down to feel powerful. How you always spoke your mind, but only out of the kindness you hid deep down.

Your walls were built up so high, but he knew who you were. He knew how beautiful you were.

"I can't be with you because I'm dating someone else." The words left his mouth faster than he could think.

This stopped Mai in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're not the only one I am allowed to go out with. We've been broken up for awhile now." Zuko was no longer on the defense, but the attack.

"You do know that I am the only one who could love you. Who could love a traitor, a banished prince. Who else, huh?" Her arms were crossed, a smirk on her face. She knew she outwitted him.

Releasing his bit lip, Zuko exclaims your name.

Her face dropped. She knew exactly who you were. She was furious.

"We'll see about that..." With that, she left the room.

You were on your way to visit Zuko, one of your closest friends, for a 'friend reunion' Sokka had planned. You were of course excited to see him after so long. Though, the ride on Appa was miserable. About a hundred "are we there yet"s and "I'm hungry"s from Sokka.

The five of you- Sokka, Toph, Katara, and Aang made it safely to The Fire Nation shortly.

Upon landing, a man in red robes greeted everyone.

"The Fire Lord sends his deepest regards, as he could not see to you himself. You are instructed to follow me to your rooms." He had a stoic expression, but you guessed he greeted people all the time.

Oh well, Zuko must be very busy as a Fire Lord. You were sad, but couldn't blame him.

What you didn't know was that Zuko was pacing his room, definitely not busy. In reality, he cleared his schedule as much as possible for the week you were all visiting.

How was he going to tell you? He was deeply embarrassed, not to mention Mai might try and pull something with you. He knew not to underestimate her.

The thought of her trying to hurt you was enough to rack up the nerve to confess. He just needed a moment alone with you.

A grand dinner was prepared for the Avatars arrival, the rest of you reaped the rewards of being his friends.

"This is SOO good!" Sokka exclaimed, "Zuko sure has a way with food....." He slammed a fist on the table, before quickly lifting more food to his mouth,

"Sokka, you know he has chefs who make the food, right? Please tell me you know that..." You deadpanned, looking at him.

"Uh... Yeah! Yeah, definitely...." He looked down, that was until a new voice appeared.

"Sokka, did you really think I cooked all this?" Zuko walked to the seat at the head of the table. You noticed you were sat to his right.

It was a Fire Nation tradition that the Lady of the house would sit to the right of the Lord... You brushed the thought off quickly, writing it all off as a coincidence.

"W-well I don't know! You've been working ALL DAY!" Sokka squawked.

The dinner went on smoothly, well as smoothly a dinner can go with this group. You could feel the servants and servers rolling their eyes at all the unprofessional comments, jokes, and laughter.

You didn't care, you were just happy Zuko was able to be himself.

Hours later, when everyone was worn out and had their stomachs filled, they started to head to bed.

You were one of the last to leave, having been helping tidy up as much as you could.

You thanked and farewelled the servers, trying your best to remember where your room was.

The Palace was much bigger than you remembered. The halls upon halls blurred together. You were soon lost.

Every direction you turned looked the same, you started to breathe heavy.

You could already see it, 'cause of death, starvation in the Fire Nation Palace.' Or maybe dehydration would take you quicker?

A man passed by, you were saved! Though, the closer you got the bigger his scowl grew.

"Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Can you help me?" You were nervous asking, it was so 'common' for someone to get lost in a palace. You were sure your cheeks were red.

His face was dark, his eyes covered by his demeanor. For some reason he seemed annoyed at you.

"Sir?"

A hand rested on your shoulder from behind. It started you, putting you into a 'fight mode.'

Turning around swiftly calmed your nerves as quickly as they came. It was Zuko.

"Can I help you?" Zuko was talking to the strange man, who was no longer so 'big and bad.'

"No Fire Lord Zuko, my apologies." He barred his head in a bow and left.

You had a small smile on your lips, "Thanks, he was starting to scare me." While you were positive you could have taken the man, you were tired and didn't really feel like fighting.

"Of course, I can show you to your room." He held his arm out, you took it.

The gesture was friendly, you told yourself. Nothing more.

You must have been lost for awhile, as it took a few minutes to get to your room. The small talk exchanged was nice, but something told you Zuko was hiding something.

At your door, he stopped. "Zuko, do you want to come in? You seem restless."

"Actually, I do have something to tell you..." The tone of his voice scared you.

"Oh, then please sit." He joined you on the edge of your end. The door shut behind you two.

You pushed a strand of hair back, nervously sitting. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not really sure how to tell you this... I really am ashamed to have to ask you for a really big favor..." You had seen him on edge a lot, he was quite the stressor. Nothing like this, though.

"Zuko, anything. What do you need me to do?" You questioned.

He looked down at his hands, "You can tell me. I'm in no position to judge you, you know that."

"I uh," He rubbed the back of his neck, "I told Mai that we were dating so she would stop trying to get with me." He spit out so fast you almost missed what he said.

"Oh."

Well that's not what you thought he would say...

"That's not the worst part." He lowered his face to his hands, "The ball in four days, well I told her you were going with me... She's got Ty Lee lining up suitor for her. Trying to make me mad. Also she uh, she's probably told everyone now..."

"Oh." You were at a loss for words.

"I... I don't know... I'm sorry. This is stupid, at the ball I'll tell everyone what happened. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen! It just slipped out an-"

"Zuko."

"Yes?"

"What if you don't have to tell everyone?"

You hadn't looked at him since he started talking. Honestly, a night with Zuko at a ball? It sounded like a dream. Zuko was handsome, kind, generous, and you'd had a crush on him for months. You knew he wouldn't ever really date you... So you might as well seize the opportunity, right? What could go wrong!

The two of you decided it would be wise to not tell anyone else it was fake, as Sokka, Toph, and Aang had big mouths. They'd slip up sooner or later. As for Katara, she wouldn't have kept that big of a secret from Aang.

So, for the next few days you and Zuko spent every second together. At first, it was coming up with plans for the ball. It turned into getting more physically comfortable with each other. That eventually escalated to spilling each other's deepest secrets, ya know... just in case...

Even in four days, you found yourself going from a crush to madly in love. You found out his quirks, what made him tick, his hidden likes and dislikes. Not a second was spent apart.

The afternoon before the ball you were stressed. It had been easy up until the ball. You just had to be yourself around Zuko, now you had to pretend in front of hundreds...

Katara helped you pick out a beautiful red and black dress. To match Zuko's of course.

A big scene was planned out between the two of you, Zuko would introduce you to everyone in an announcement and you'd walk don't the grand starts arm in arm with him.

It was fun to imagine and talk about, but now the 'what ifs' were running wild.

You somehow made your way to Zuko's room, knocking hesitantly. He begrudgingly opened, but became excited when he saw you.

"Zuko, I'm terrified." He quickly guided you into his room.

"What happened?"

"What if I fall? What if no one likes me? It's a lot of steps it-" He cut you off.

"Hey, it's okay... We can throw everything out the window. Just saw the words."

You swallowed thick. "No, no just... Just promise you'll be there? For me?"

Your name was a whisper on his lips, "Ill always be here for you... Just imagines its only us up there... Just normal day."

You nodded, more relaxed knowing he'd be by your side through I tall. It also gave you a wicked feeling of comfort to know he was still willing to do whatever you preferred. He would have ended the lie immediately if you asked, but you wanted to be there for him as well. To make sure Mai would leave him alone.

The Palace was bustling with people, waiters, food, activities, and entertainment. It all came to an abrupt stop when Lord Zuko appeared.

It was comical, trumpets blared and all head turned.

"Fire Lord Zuko, accompanied by-" Your name seemed unreal on his lips. To be announced with a Fire Lord? You felt you didn't deserve it.

You slowly walked into view of everyone, whispers erupting. To be 'accompanied by' was essentially dating for Lords and Ladys.

All eyes were on you as you took Zuko's arm, walking down the steps. You felt light, your grip tightening on Zukos.

"Almost there, I'm right here." His words were all the comfort you needed.

Music resumed and the party goers continued their fun.

That was expect for one person. Mai. She marched up to you, her questioning eyes on guard. Watching her march over sparked a fury in you, the fire started and didn't stop until you spoke.

"Hello Mai. How can I help you? Is your father well, since he lost his job as Governor and all..." You passively aggressively asked, a mock frown on your face.

"What would you know about Governor dad's and all? You grew up poor." Damn, she got you there.

"I guess the difference in poor and rich is personality. Cause you don't have one..." You shrugged your shoulders at her, biting back a laugh.

"At least Zuko loved me for who I am, not who I was pretending to be." She remarked, not really knowing why Zuko loved her or you.

"Damn Mai, you must know a lot about pretending. Seeing as you're a two faced bitch. Should I go and tell Ty Lee you called her an 'easy bed'." A gasp left her lips in shock, how did you know she said that? Well, you wouldn't tell her, but a gossiping Fire Sage spilled the beans.

Zuko, who had been temporarily called away to exchange pleasantries with a Navy Captain, had returned.

"Mai, I see you've met my girlfriend." He said, snaking a hand around your waist. Chills were sent up your spine.

She gave a scoff, "It'll never last. You're only in it because he's the Fire Lord." She pointed to you, then him, "And you, you just seemed to pick up the next girl you saw laying around. Talk about a downgrade. When you get tired of her, i'll be waiting." She walked away.

"What is her problem!" You exclaimed, face hot with anger.

"Jealousy, I think." He said.

You turned to face him completely. "What for, she doesn't even seem to like you anymore?"

"Maybe cause you're prettier than her?" He said, not realizing his own words.

Your cheeks were now flushed for a different reason. You swiped your lips with your tongue before speaking, "Thank you..."

Hours of dancing, partying, and eating went by. Everyone bought the act easily, you and Zuko were naturals at dating. The fun died down, and many were starting to go back home.

Zuko walked you back to your room, hand in hand.

"Thank you. I really cannot thank you enough, just ask. Whatever you want is yours." Zuko said, still grasping your hands at your bedroom door.

"I don't need anything. This was really fun actually, I know you were just pretending... but i've had the best time the past five days."

"Pretend?" His face screwed up, like he was in denial.

You blinked a few times, own lip curling. "Well, I mean... You made it pretty clear this was all just an act. I-I am not hurt." You were, but wouldn't let him know.

"Words cannot express how genuine these days have been... Oh gosh, I haven't felt this free since I was a child." He pressed on, serious.

"Y-you mean, none of this has been fake to you?"

"Well, I know you signed up for 'fake'." He looked over you, face uncertain.

With a step forward you spoke, "This hasn't been fake for me either..."

"Really?" He pressed his chest to your slightly, hand wavering around your waist. "Because I don't think I could live if you're lying right now."

"Will this answer your questions?" You leaned up, closing the gap and kissing him.

A/N- Thank you for reading, I haven't fully watched ATLA In a little bit sorry if Zuko is OOC!! When it's not midnight and I'm not super tired, I will edit any mistakes!

[luvyeni]

❛LITTLE PINK BOOK❜ ( p. jongsong )

p. schoolmate!jay x fem!reader w. 2.7k

warnings? — 𖦹 ( jay finding your book, your little secret pink book ) !

authors note. first full fic in a minute finally back after week, also thank you for 14k , i appreciate it🫶🏾 🤙🏾🤍

You were the spitting image of girl next door — your dad a business man; your mother a stay at home wife, your family went to church every single sunday, greeted all the older church ladies, smiling when the pinched your cheeks, telling you you’d make a honest wife.

You upheld the same image; getting good grades, having no friends — you kept to yourself , never getting in trouble; boring goody-two shoes if you’d asked other students in your class. So when you dropped your little pink book in front of park jongsong— not noticing as you kept walking, he wasn’t even gonna bother picking it up, but he decided to do something good and return it. “hey!” you didn’t hear him, continuing on down the hall.

he hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day, so he ended up taking the book home with him, tossing it on the table, it opened wide. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he was still curious— what did a girl like you; a little church mouse write about?

Sitting on the edge of the desk, opening the book; reading off a random page — he was so shocked by the contents that he had to read the name over, making sure it was actually yours, he flipped through the pages in awe. Pages upon pages of straight porn is what jay would call it — your every dirty fantasy written down, things you did to yourself, things you want to do to other people, it was a lot — even a confession of the lost of the virginity; god he wished it was him who was the to defile you first.

“fuck.” He curse, getting hard at the words, it was so dirty — then he turned the page, and the first thing he saw just made him harder, his name, he adjusted himself , but it didn’t help as he read the page — ‘I do anything he asked me to’. You were saying that about him , you wrote about what you wanted him to do.

His hands traveled down to his pants, just has his door opened — he quickly tossed the book leaning over to cover up his hard on, his mother walking in; just in time. “you’re home?” he nodded , trying to catch his breath. “yes.”

“why do you look so nice?” he questioned. “get dressed for dinner, we’re meeting your dads new business partner for dinner at their home.” He sighed, he hated these things. “really? do I have to come?” his mom nodded. “yes you do, the y/ln’s are good people, we need to get in their good graces.” He froze at the last name. “y/ln?”

“yeah.” His mom hummed. “they have a daughter, sweet girl she does to your school, do you know her?” he shrugged, trying to keep his cool; yeah he knew you — well he thought he did. “big school probably passed her a couple times.” He said. “well she’s gonna be there tonight so dress nice.” He nodded, she walked out , closing the door leaving him alone.

He picked the book up, sitting it down on the table — finding a outfit for the night. “jay be quick we leave 5!” his mom yelled from the steps. “okay!” he stuffed the book in his pocket with a smirk on his face. “you look nice baby.” He thanked his mom. “be on your best behavior son, your father needs this deal.” He couldn’t promise anything, he definitely had other things in mind. “I promise.”

You sat on your bed, going through your homework; your door opening making you look up. “you wearing that?” your mother said, making you look down at your outfit. “well it’s just dinner with daddy’s co worker.” you said, your mother nodding opting to not fight with you. “I guess so, did you finish your homework? They should be here soon?”

“yes, im just finishing up now.” You said. “good, I’ll call you when you they get here.” She left you, closing the door. You began to put your stuff in your bag — noticing something; your little pink book, it was missing. “oh no.” you said, searching through your bag, dumping everything out — gone, it was gone. “shit.” You couldn’t even remember where you last saw it, you always kept it tight with you.

You began pacing, if anyone found out what you wrote in that book you’d be in trouble — who could even have it? Did anyone have is? If so who? All these thoughts raced through your mind, just as your mother called out for you. “dinner!” you sighed, smoothing out your skirt, you couldn’t let your parents see you shaken up, blowing out a breathe before leaving out your room.

You made your way down the steps — your mother and waiting at the bottom. “there she is, come here baby.” Your mom pulled you to her side, kissing your forehead. “mom.” You whined, the couple in front of you laughing. “these are the parks.” You held your hand out shaking both of them. “nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you as well young lady.” The older man said. “such a pretty daughter, much prettier than you described her.” You smiled, nodding your head. “thank you ma’am.” She smiled. “our son jay is in the car, getting the gift he’ll be in soon.”

Jay? As in park jongsong? You knew him all too well, he was the subject of just about everything recently you wrote about in your journal — if he was the one to find it, you’d die.

“ah! There he is.” Mr.park called for the boy as he walked in the room, holding the bottle of wine. “sorry it took so long.” He bowed to your parents, his eyes honing in on you. “I do know you.” Your breath caught in your throat, how did he know you? He hardly paid attention to anybody else but his friends. “h-how?”

“you’re in my history class, you sit in the back quite as little mouse.” He smiled, you didn’t even notice the look in his eyes — full of hunger. “head always in a book.” Your mom slapped your arm. “I told you about that.” You hissed. “im sorry.”

“lets take a seat.” Your father guided everyone to the eating area; jay took a seat across from you— you can feel his eyes on you. You looked up, eyes locking on you— did he know? You squinted your eyes in confusion and he smiled, before turning to your father. “may i use the restroom?”

“sure son, yn could you show him?” you looked up from the empty plate. “m-me?” you said. “yes you.” You dad laughed along with the parks. “oh ye-yeah sure.” You stood up, jay mimicking you. “fo-follow me.” You walked up the steps, he followed behind you, book in his pocket — like a predator stalking his prey.

You walked to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, pushing the door open. “here you go.” You went to walk away, until he spoke up. “you really don’t know who I am?” you stopped , heart racing. “we-well we do go to the same school.” You said. “that’s it?” he said, reaching in his pocket — revealing the pink book, your heart dropping. “really?”

“h-how do you have that?” you stuttered. “oh this, you dropped it.” He said. “see I was gonna leave it, then i decided to give it back.” He said, stepping closer to you, making you take a step back. “but you didn’t answer, so I took it home — and then I got a little curious.” He said; so he did read it. “for such a cute and innocent face, you surely write about a lot of dirty thing in this notebook.”

He was now pressing you against the wall. “I also no, daddys little girl has been lying about being a virgin, seems like somebody already popped that little cherry of yours.” He smirked. “jay— princess and the things you said about me, damn.” He dry laughed. “for someone who’s never said a word to me, you surely want me to do a lot of things to you.” His hand came up to your face, caressing it. “what was it?” he teased. “let me do whatever I want to you.”

He was pressing against you, you could feel his hard on your stomach. “seems like our little church mouse is hiding many secrets.” You couldn’t get a word out, but the way his hands traveled down your body, his hand burning your exposed skin made your body tingle. “we-we have to go back down stairs.”

He smiled, stepping to the side, letting you walk past. “yeah we do, don’t want daddy to think im doing anything to his precious little girl right.?” You tried to gather yourself, panties sticking uncomfortable to your cunt as— he walked past you, whispering in your ear. “this isn’t over baby.”

You made it back to your seat before jay did, sitting down. “he’ll be down soon.” You sat down, your mom finally bringing the food from the kitchen — jay finally returning, sitting down in his seat, his eyes on you, you looked down at your plate, secretly fanning your warm face.

He didn’t make dinner easier either , using his foot to toy with you, starring at you so intensely that you would stumble over your words every time his parents would ask you a question.

“dinner was lovely, Mrs. yln.” Jay said. “thank you jay such a sweet boy.” If only she knew the thoughts he was having about her sweet daughter. “it was lovely dear, but I believe there is business to disgust.” Your dad said. “mr.park?” your dad stood. “my office?”

“Mrs. park while the men discuss business would you like some wine?” your mother asked. “sure why not, you kids can go play amongst yourselves right.” Jay laughed. “we aren’t 5.” His mom glared at him. “but im sure we can find something to do.” He turned to you, you could see his eyes full of lust. “right?”

They dismissed you both, sending you both upstairs, putting enough trust in both of you— they were wrong; the moment the door closed to your bedroom, he was grabbing your arm, pulling you close to him, pressing his forehead against yours. “j-jay.”

“so pretty.” He whispered, holding his hands in your hand. “what do you want?” your mind went blank. “an-anything.” You whimpered. “yeah, let me do whatever I want?” his other hand coming up to his collar, undoing the tie. “yes, please ” He could see the look in your blown out eyes— you wanted this just as bad as he did. “okay little mouse.”

Taking the tie — you looked so confused. “give me your hands.” you held your hand out. “I believe this was in that little fuck book of yours.” Your ears were hot from embarrassment. “what was it? Ah I believe it said you wanted me to tie your hands behind your back and have my way with you.” He smirked, turned you around, tying your hands. “what else did you write?”

“yo-you read it didn’t you?” you whimpered, just wanting him to touch you. “yeah, but I want to hear you say it.” He said. “so, tell me baby, what did you write.” He pressed his cock against your ass. You whimpered, he left little kisses down your neck. “i-i sa-said i wanted you to fuck my face.” He smirked. “yeah you did.”

“get on your knees.” He commanded, you compiled immediately. “oh baby , it's like you’re used to this.” He tease. “almost like you’ve done this before.” Truth be told, you haven’t — you weren’t a virgin anymore, losing your virginity to you secret boyfriend months prior, but that’s it.

“i-i haven’t.” hearing that made his cock twitch. “so you were writing all those dirty things without having done any of them.” He laughed furthering your embarrassment. “don’t worry, baby I got you.” He undid his belt, letting his pants fall to his ankles, along with his underwear, his cock slapping against his stomach, it was much bigger than the ones you seen, wanting to touch but you couldn’t due to the restrictions. “give it a kiss pretty girl.”

He hissed as he felt the shortness of your lips. “fuck, now open up.” You slowly opened your mouth, letting him slide his cock into your wet cavern. “fuck, there we go.” He sighed, slowly pushing himself inside. “just be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth.”

He started off slow, just to ease you into it — speeding up his movements gradually, his tip kissing the back of your throat. “fuck your little throat is sucking me like crazy.” You began to gag around him, unable to grab his thighs, he grabbed your head to steady you. “go-gonna fuck your face.”

Using your throat, throwing his head back. “fuck , gonna cum.” groaned, pushing himself fully down your throat, groaning in pleasure as he came, filling your throat with his warm seed. “oh fuck.” He let your hair go , releasing your head — you coughed, lips swollen and wet. “so nasty.” He tapped his cock on your lips. “looked so fuck out just from sucking cock.”

Thing’s escalated from there, he pulled you up. “what else was is?” you felt him reach under your skirt. “what else did you want me to baby?” your voice was sore, legs wobbly as he pushed you on to the bed, arms still behind your back. “i-i wanted you to fuck me.”

“good girl.” he maneuvered your body into his desired position, your ass up in the air — pulling your panties down, the air hitting your cunt, you whined. “look how wet you are.” He tease your cunt with his fingers. “such a slutty pussy baby, little church mouse wants me to use her.” He slapped your ass, you yelped. “be quite unless you want mommy and daddy to hear how much of a slut you are.”

You felt him shuffling behind you, wiggling your hips. “stay still.” You felt another slap on your ass, you bit down on your plushie, moaning as you felt the warmth of his cock. “daddy would be so disappointed.” He slapped his cock on your cunt, teasing the tip of his cock into your hole. “seeing his daughter tied up — fuck!” he groaned as he fully seethed himself inside you. “j-jay.”

He was much thicker than the guy before, filling you up; moving his hips. “fuck this cunt is so fucking tight.” He squeezed your ass. “fuck!” you squealed, “jay please.” He began to move faster, grabbing your arms as he fucked into you, your shoulders were going to hurt in the morning, but you couldn’t care less with the way he was fucking you. “I should’ve known this innocent church girl was disguise.” He groaned. “that you really were a slut.”

He lifted you up by your wrist, roughly fucking into faster. “something else I read in that book.” He moaned. “you want me to make you squirt.” He cursed, his hand coming around to your clit, rubbing it. “if that’s what you want, then I want you to squirt for me.” He slapped at your cunt. “cum for me.” He whispered into your ear, your eyes rolled to the back of the head, as you came, he released your arms, letting you face plant into your pillows as he continued to plow into you.

“fuck, fuck im gonna cum, where do you want it?” he groaned. “i-inside.” Your voice muffled in the pillow. “please.” He grunted, thrusting a few more times, feeling the warmth of his cum filling you up. “fuck.” He stopped moving, his cock twitching.

He finally undid his tie from your hands, gently laying your lower body down. “good girl.” He said softly. “let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

“jay!” you heard his mom yelling down the steps. “time to go.” He pulled the covers over your body , still holding the book in his hands. “gonna keep this pretty girl.” He smirked. “got a lot of reading to do.” He said , walking out, forgetting his tie — knowing you’d have to walk up and give it back to him, he could see your shy red face as you approach him, nervously giving him the tie back, almost made him horny again. he was determined to do everything you wanted him to do in the book.

He was gonna turn you into his perfect little slut.

©️LUVYENI

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[ikeuverse]

SLOW DOWN — s.jaeyun

PAIRING: illegal!jake x fem!reader GENRES: angst, smut, fluff WC: 2.8k+

WARNINGS: swearing, weapons, knives, blood, illegal things in general (drugs, racing, alcohol). smut will be added in the next chapters, physical and verbal fights.

NOTES: i was listening to the song by chase atlantic, which is the title of this fic, and this scenario with jake just popped into my head. i wrote this part as a taste of what's probably to come. i hope to continue writing it, but first, i want to know what you, my readers, think of it since it's something i like to write about (mafia and all) and with jake being my utt i honestly felt my mind expand. tell me if i should continue or just delete it, please. i hope you like it!

CHAPTERS: prologue | chapter one | [...]

TAGLIST: i've never done this, but lmk if you want to be tagged — mentions in the first chapter (already in the link above)

masterlist

a synopsis (too long to be a synopsis) below the cut. read it and tell me what you think, please. or just an idea, idk if i'll go through with it

The smooth taste of the cherry liqueur you were drinking was enough to relax your whole body. Smiling slightly at your best friend Chloe, chatting about trivial things in life. She was the one person in your cycle who made everything seem a little more normal.

Chloe was responsible for making you forget that you were part of a mafia family and that everything around you was linked to guns, blood, illegal things, and dirty money. She disconnected you from that world where you were there out of obligation.

"We need to go out sometime" Chloe finished off the liquor in her glass, lifting her body to pick up the bottle and refill it "How about the new nightclub that opened in the next town?"

You thanked your friend when she also wanted to refill her glass, letting the liquor run halfway down and then drinking a little more.

"I guess we could do that" you replied, thinking of ways to try to convince your father not to send a bouncer for you and her. It was unnecessary, but it was also a wasted conversation knowing that he would only let the two of you go out on that condition.

Luckily, your best friend had already gotten used to it, not least because living with you since elementary school had brought her all this knowledge little by little. You were immensely grateful that she didn't abandon you once she knew the whole truth, which is why Chloe has remained your best friend to this day.

"Then we can go to a convenience store and get some ice cream to try while we're still drunk."

The genuine laughter you two shared was the fuel you needed whenever something was heavy in the house. You had to call Chloe if only to stay in your room, in the office assigned to you, or anywhere in the house after hearing men walking around, your father fighting with someone or running around which – unfortunately – you witnessed every time.

It was exhausting. You also knew that there was no point in trying to run away or asking your father to disown you. He wouldn't be able to do you any harm, but he would probably keep you isolated, trapped in some lake house he had as a hiding place, and get you out when you thought better of it. If you could think about living a normal life or continuing your family's mafia.

"Knock, knock" the sound of the door knocking combined with the voice that imitated it brought you out of your thoughts and straight to where you needed to be.

Heeseung's smile was infectious, you always smiled when you saw your best friend. But not when he walked in with his head down wherever you were, his clothes covered in blood and his hands behind his back.

"What the fuck happened now?" you sighed loudly enough, dropping your glass of liquor on the coffee table between you and Chloe.

"Hi to you too, y/n" he finally raised his head, smiling at you again after looking away to his best friend "Hi, babe."

"Heeseung" Chloe raised her glass as a silent toast, ignoring the fact that the nickname she knew was only meant to annoy her. You'd make fun of the two of them if it weren't for your best friend's current situation.

"Where does all this blood come from?" you stood up from your chair "What the fuck have you all done now?"

Hesseung wiped the remnants of blood from his hands on his T-shirt, sighing in the process as he thought about what to say to you.

He was nervous. Lee Heeseung was visibly nervous and you knew that was almost impossible to happen. Come on, the guy in front of you who you called your best friend was one of your father's best illegal racing drivers, he'd been through so much shit on the track, how could talking to you be so bad? That only happened when...

"We need your help" he said at last, biting his lower lip to stop himself from shaking in the process. The boy's eyes searched for yours and, as soon as they were found, he let out "Jake's hurt..."

You froze at that moment, completely shutting out Heeseung's voice as he passed on the information. Chloe noticed, so she listened carefully in case you asked her later what had happened.

Jake's name together with the hurt, adding the blood that was on Heeseung... It all came together in one way and made you follow him wherever your best friend was going.

It was these moments that pulled you back into the life you had, reminding you that your family was part of the mafia and that you, consequently, were part of it too. The most obvious condition your father found to keep you in the business was that you did something that could link you to the surname for the rest of your life. Not as a bastard, because he wouldn't let you walk away easily.

So the only way was to get a degree in nursing, study medicine, and anything else that involved taking care of the wounds of the men who worked for your father. If you were constantly injured, shot, stabbed, or anything too suspicious, the hospital would surely call the police, and a big interrogation would begin. Your father wanted to avoid all this, so getting you involved at least on the good side made you feel less bad about it.

"Finally" Sunoo almost shouted with happiness as you turned the corner of the corridor behind Heeseung, along with Chloe by your side who kept an eye out in case you fainted from being so nervous.

They all looked the same as Heeseung, which made you wonder if Jake had lost a lot of blood or if it had gotten really bad.

"What happened?" you asked again.

"We went to accompany some of your father's men" Jay was the only one sitting down, his elbows resting on his knees. Taking his head between his hands, which were the same as Heeseung's, he looked at you "They set up an ambush, we had to defend ourselves."

You hung up again while Jay continued talking, relaying events to Chloe, who seemed almost like your private secretary.

Your eyes searched for Heeseung and he just nodded at you, then nodded towards the door opposite where Jay was sitting. That's where Jake was. And that's where your father kept a private infirmary, which you affectionately called his workroom.

Opening the door, two of your father's men were standing next to the gurney where Jake's body lay. You didn't look too far in his direction and just approached the sink to tie up your hair and sanitize your hands. Without realizing how much you were shaking at the thought of the worst, especially with Jake.

Why did you feel that way just hearing his name?

Get over it. Forget it.

The voice screamed in your mind as you turned to walk to the stretcher and join the men.

"Jake, dude" Heeseung called "She's here."

A brief moment of silence before Jake's eyes opened, looking at each of the men until they stopped on you. A faint smile on his dry, opaque lips, his eyes squinted.

"My private doctor" he forced a laugh, groaning in pain and placing his hand on his abdomen.

That's when you realized, the blood was coming from there. A cut that tore through Jake's T-shirt, piercing the skin. You couldn't tell how serious the problem was because it all looked like a big mess.

"Let's leave you two alone" Heeseung rested one hand on the side of Jake's head "Don't scare us anymore, your motherfucker" he slapped his friend on the back, turning to you "We'll be at the end of the corridor if you need anything."

You couldn't answer, only nod as Heeseung took the other two with him, leaving you and Jake alone in your room.

"I..." you sighed, closing your eyes and pushing away any thoughts as you went back to looking at the wound in front of you "I need you to take off your shirt, I have to clean it."

Without looking Jake in the eye, you grabbed his hands to help him sit up enough to take off his shirt. Turning to get the products you needed to use and clean it, would give Jake time to remove the shirt that was getting in the way of the whole process.

He, for his part, felt every discomfort and pain coursing through his body as he moved his arm to take off the shirt that had already been lost the moment they tore the material with that knife. That damn knife that had left him like that.

Throwing the shirt anywhere on the floor, Jake sat waiting for you to turn towards him and, as soon as you did, he could see your shocked expression.

"What?" he looked at his own body, then looked in your direction "It's nothing you haven't already seen, touched, kissed..."

"Shut up, Jaeyun!" you wanted to convince yourself that all the burning in your face was from anger at the words you were hearing, and not because you felt embarrassed about it. Why did he have to talk such nonsense?

You didn't have to ask him to lie down, Jake got the message as soon as you got near the stretcher with the absorbent cotton and saline solution. He inhaled a good amount of air and held his breath while you cleaned his wound. It didn't sting like the other times, but he could feel his skin burning with the touch of your fingers on it.

Jake could have sworn he'd burn up if you continued with all that delicacy on him.

"It wasn't deep" your voice caused him to let out a breath, groaning in pain as a little pressure was applied to a spot on the wound "I'd venture to say you moved away quickly enough before plunged the knife into your abdomen."

"You know I'm fast, don't you?" Jake was a fucking idiot with his double entendres, you knew it was pure provocation "Why did I bleed so much?"

Thank God he changed the subject, or you'd have opened that cut yourself.

"Because it cut through the epidermis, it just missed the dermis. That would have been a bit worse and I don't think I'd have brought you here."

"I'm glad they did" for the first time since Jake and you were alone in that room, you could hear the sincerity in his voice. Something that rarely happened.

Your eyes went up from the cut to Jake's face, seeing that he was already staring at you. Without saying much, you concentrated on making the dressing as comfortable as possible so that he could feel more comfortable as he left the room.

As you wrapped the bandages around his torso, his voice echoed in your mind like a relentless demon. It wasn't anything you hadn't seen, touched, kissed... Enjoyed every time he found himself in your room. In your bed.

The thought of a time when you and Jake were together was the last thing you wanted to think about. It had been a long time and that couldn't be part of your thoughts, even if it was sabotage because every day, all the time you looked at him, your mind wandered to the exact moment you two kissed for the first time.

Or how he held you for the first time and every touch on your skin made you boil.

"Thinking of me?" his voice was so vivid that you had forgotten you were still in his presence, with your hands resting on Jake's chest and the bandage already finished.

Sniffling, you straightened up and turned away from him, gathering up the remnants of the things you'd used so you could throw them in the garbage can.

He said nothing, getting up from the stretcher with some difficulty while still looking at you.

It was a lose-lose situation to do that, but Jake simply couldn't let the opportunity he was having slip away. So he walked towards you slowly, as best he could because he could still feel the wound pulling at his abdomen. He got close enough as soon as you turned to face him, a thin scream bursting from your lips from the fright, but soon calming down when you found his eyes resting fixedly on yours.

"Y/n" he whispered.

"Jaeyun, don't..."

"Listen to me, please" the request sounded more like a plea, and you lost count of how many times Jake did it, but he could never finish because you always ran away.

And you wanted to run away again.

"What do you want?" you asked, almost regretting it when he answered, unashamedly.

"You back to me."

He had to be a talker. Jake needed to have that idiotic power over you with anything he said. It was extremely unfair that someone had been born and put into your life just to leave you speechless and steal your heart.

Your sigh was a silent answer that he could come a little closer, and with slow steps, Jake did. Just enough so that he could lean his body against yours only as far as his bruise didn't make contact.

Jake's hand quickly reached for your cheek, forming a shell between it and your face to hold close enough to his.

"Please, I need you back" Jake leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath beating against your cheek.

Your hands were trembling as one of them touched his arm, while the other went carefully to the opposite side where Jake was hurt. The touches kept his balance and kept him close too.

"Then answer me" your voice was at the same pitch as his, avoiding any louder sounds that might scatter the two of you.

Jake knew what you meant, he was fully aware of it. He'd been asked that question so many times, that's why he knew he wasn't in your life as your boyfriend.

"Y/n, you know I can't..." he began.

"Me or these dangerously idiotic missions of my father's?"

Jake closed his eyes, pressing his forehead a little closer to yours.

"Y/n..."

"You can choose to race with Heeseung, stay in tech with Niki" your voice began to choke and Jake felt that it was hurting more than the cut on his abdomen. He knew it was all his fault.

"But it gives me a lot more money, and..." he sighed, looking straight into your eyes "You know what I'm putting any money towards. Please..."

"Is it money? For God's sake, Jaeyun, I can help you..."

"No!" Jake said sternly, but not rude enough to scare you. He'd never managed to be rude to you since he first met you "I can't accept it. That's my problem and—"

"I thought your problems were mine too."

That phrase was strangely familiar. Jake knew he'd heard it somewhere before, he just couldn't think where when you turned away from him at the same second as the knocks on the living room door were heard. Making you both step back.

"Mr. Jaeyun? Miss y/n?" one of your father's security guards had his head between the doors, looking in your direction. You waved so that he could enter "The rest of the guys are waiting for news, if you could…"

"Of course" you smiled at him, thanking him not only for the information but for the interruption because you knew that another argument was probably on the way "Come on, we need to go."

"Y/n, I—"

"The guys need an update from you" without going any further, you turned away from Jake and waited for him to get ready to leave the room.

You knew it was bad to do this anyway, but there was no escaping it. Being tied up with your family's affairs meant moments like this, but they weren't all bad. Taking care of the people who worked for your family was just a way of saying thank you for them – unfortunately – risking their lives.

But when it came to Sim Jaeyun, you knew that everything was intense. Even more so as the whole story of the two of you played through your mind like a movie on repeat.

All the times you and he had been together, all the moments the two of you had shared until the final fight.

Which Jake was trying, at all costs, to reverse. Because it was as he had told you a few minutes ago, he wanted you back. You just didn't know what Jake was capable of.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[slxtmeri]

imagine going to a bar with schlatt, purposely flirting with other people in an attempt to make him jealous which results in him teaching you a lesson when you get home. or in the toilets.

THANK YOU FOR THIS CHARLIE I LOVE YOU.

a/n: meri wrote a fic? wtf wtf wtf wtf

thank you for 200 followers!!

cw: smut, choking, pet names, oral + fingering (fem receiving), afab!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, etc.

jealous? ~ schlatt

it had taken you a while to finally convince your boyfriend, but the two of you were finally on your way. sitting in the backseat of the uber you had ordered for the two of you, schlatt was finally starting to warm up to the idea.

in your words, you and schlatt didn't "let loose" enough. so now, here you are, on your way to the new, invite-only bar that had recently opened in the town the two of you lived in.

"c'mon, jay, it'll be fun!" you say, leaning on his shoulder.

"yeah, maybe. as long as the booze is good." he says reluctantly. you smile up at him, used to his antics.

"ted didn't get us invites just for you to be ungrateful! just try to enjoy yourself." you plant a kiss on his cheek and a small smile adorns his face.

"of course, doll."

the uber arrives at your location and you go through security fairly easily. you both walk in and greet your friends charlie and ted, then head off to explore the rest of the bar.

it was crowded, with people dancing and swaying along to the beat of the music. you and schlatt make yourselves comfortable in one of the secluded corners of the bar.

"i'm gonna go and grab us some drinks, okay?" he says, turning towards you and pointing towards the bar.

you hum, acknowledging his words and he walks away in the direction of the bar. suddenly, you see a man who looked to be in his early twenties walking up to you.

"hey, gorgeous, you alone tonight?" he says with a wink, not waiting for your answer as he slides into the spot that schlatt was previously standing in. you were ready to get up and walk away, but you see schlatt at the bar, watching the two of you as he waits for your drinks.

this could be a lot of fun, you think, turning towards the man.

"what's your name, sweet cheeks?" he says, facing you.

you inwardly cringe at the man's choice of words as you study his features. he seemed to be much shorter than jonathan, with blond hair that swept down over his eyes.

"what's yours?" you ask, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes purposefully so that schlatt would see your mock attempts at flirting.

"jake, now it's your turn to tell me yours, little miss." he states, reaching over and playing with a loose strand of your hair. you step back, away from him and turn your attention to your boyfriend. at this point, you see schlatt in your peripheral vision, visibly fuming. he walks away from the bar, your drinks forgotten.

"uh, well you see-" you begin, but were cut off as schlatt reaches the area and begins to talk.

"who is this guy, babe? some college dropout trying to catch your attention?" he says with a scowl, displeasure evident on his face.

oh shit, you thought, maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

you plaster a nervous smile onto your face and begin to speak, but once again you were cut off.

"i'm jake. who are you? i thought this pretty lady was alone tonight." he says with a cocky smirk.

schlatt steps towards you and slides an arm around your waist. your heart is beating fast, knowing that he's upset.

"listen here, punk. this girl is mine, and she's not interested in puny guys like you." he seethes as he towers over the smaller man.

"w-well, she doesn't seem to mind my company. we were just talking is all, man. can't blame a guy for talking to a pretty girl." he stammers, putting his hands up and backing away.

"yeah, well she's even prettier with her legs open and eyes rolled back, but i guess you'll never get to see that, huh?" schlatt scowls and drags you towards the opposite end of the bar.

"jay, i didn't mean to-" you begin, shocked at the exchange of words between the two men.

"shut up, dollface. let's teach you a lesson, hmm?" he says, finally finding the bathroom and pulling you inside.

he locks the door and walks towards you until your back is hitting the wall, with nowhere else to walk.

"what were you trying to do out there? flirting with another guy so i'll get jealous? guess what, sweetheart. it worked." he seethes, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing, eliciting a strangled moan from you.

"pl-please, jay. was only playing." you stutter out, jolts of pleasure running through your core.

he only laughs and leans down to kiss you on the lips. the kiss is full of passion and lust, and his tongue explores your mouth with heat.

his free hand travels to the straps of your mini dress, easily pulling it down, leaving you in your underwear.

he breaks the kiss to lift you up by your thighs and push you against the wall, dropping to his knees.

"be a good girl and stay quiet, ok? don't want the fancy members of this bar hearing your slutty noises." he hums, pulling your panties down and settling your legs over his shoulders.

you stifle a moan that threatens to spill from your lips as he slips in two digits, pumping them into your tight cunt with no prep.

"fuck, jay. s-slow down." your back arches as he stretches you out on his thick fingers, your eyes shutting out of instinct.

"look at me, slut." he harshly squeezes your thigh with his free hand and your eyes snap back open, eyes on his face.

"you're so fucking wet, baby. you getting off of the idea of me getting jealous, huh?"

he lowers his head and flicks his tongue around your swollen clit, drawing out an almost pornagraphic moan from you.

he continues to finger you and suck on your bundle of nerves until you slowly begin feel that ball of pleasure in your core tighten.

you try to buck your hips but he stops you, holding you down.

"please! p-please, m'gonna come, jay." you cry, throwing your head back onto the wall.

as soon as you tell him this, though, he stops. he pulls out his fingers and stands up, lifting you up with him.

you immediately whine at him, but he just wraps his hand around your throat again, shutting you up.

"this is a punishment, not a reward. be a good girl and maybe i'll let you come, yeah?" he says, placing you on the bathroom sink and kissing you once more.

you moan into the kiss and reach up to grab a fistful of his hair, making him groan and pull away, quickly unbuckling his belt and pulling out his cock.

you turn around and face the mirror, ass on display for him.

he strokes himself before lining himself up and pushing into you, making you both moan out.

soon enough, you've both forgotten about staying quiet, and he's pounding into you while you're moaning and squealing out his name.

"th-that asshole could never fuck you like this, baby. only me." he groans into your ear as he pistons into you at a brutal pace.

"m'only yours daddy. fuck, only yours." you're moaning out, back arching as one of his hands toys with your nipple.

once again, you feel yourself teetering at the edge, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut out of pleasure.

"jay, please. please, need to come. only for you daddy, please." you sob out, your eyes filling with tears.

"go ahead and come, doll. such a good girl." his hips continue their brutal pace as pleasure overtakes your senses.

you're moaning out his name as you clench around him, and his hips stutter moments after. he fills you with his come and slowly pulls out, breathing heavily.

after you both recover, he's turning you around to face him.

you look up at him with fucked out eyes and he caves, pulling you in for a sweet kiss.

"what was that guy's name again?" he asks you with a smirk on his face.

"uhm, i don't remember... blake, maybe?" you say sheepishly, looking up at the love of your life with a smile.

[astronomoney]

bookends, bestfriends, deadends

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x reader, 1.6k Warnings: slow burn, once again and as always with my love Jason this is NOT canon-compliant, Jason may be a tiny bit ooc but I tired Summary: In the months between saving Hera and setting sail for New Rome, Jason finds himself making a friend Authors note: ok, y’all, here’s the deal; I took a nap and woke up with an idea, so I started writing; then I realized I needed set up, so I wrote this. Now I have a full fic that doesn’t include my original idea, so I will have to make pt: 2, but at least it’s already almost all the way written

Camp was far too busy this year; even for the off-season, it felt like there were campers everywhere. With all the bustle, it was hard to find a moment of peace. That’s why you’d taken to the woods that day. Following the path you’d walked a million times to a little outcrop of ruins not far from the beach, deep enough to not be disturbed. You’d taken a thick blanket and draped it over a vaguely couch-shaped block of stone ages ago to use as a reading nook. It was calm and peaceful and empty, usually.

This time, when you got close enough to see your little piece of peace, there was already someone there. A blonde boy with a scar on his lip sitting on your faux couch and squinting at the book in his hand. Jason Grace. Of course, you knew who he was, everyone knew of him and Piper and Leo, all working to get ready for the next great prophecy. 

Sneaking up on a former Roman soldier didn’t seem like the best plan, so you’d spoken out. “Guess this place isn’t so secret after all,” geez, what an opener.

Jason looked up with a start and got to his feet before you could say anything else. “Hi, hey, sorry, is this your spot? I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I stayed to read some. I can go.” 

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to,” you were quick to put up your hands and stop him from leaving. You two hadn’t necessarily talked before, but he had always seemed nice at meals and campfires, if not a little awkward. “You were here first. I can leave if you want to be alone.”

Jason paused, it seemed he was actually taking you in now, noticing the book in your hand, Don Quixote as opposed to the copy of War and Peace he held. “I don’t mind company,” he offered you a small nervous smile, it was so pure you had to just stare at it for a second before responding. 

“Neither would I,” you finally said, returning the smile. You walked over and sat down tucking your legs under you and leaving plenty of room for Jason to sit on the other side. 

He joined and read next to you for what felt like both hours and minutes. Two days later, you had beaten him there, so when he arrived, you smiled and scooted to the left, giving him room again on your right. Over the next month, you crossed paths at the ruins what must have been a dozen times. There was never much conversation; it was more of a silent agreement to enjoy each other’s company, and each day, the distance between your shoulders seemed to get ever so slightly smaller. 

After a while, you got comfortable being directly next to him. Your shoulders would brush each time Jason moved to turn the page, and you couldn't help but notice how warm and strong he was. Silent meetings became small discussions about your current read, which turned into talks about other books you’d recommend to each other, which eventually morphed into a solid friendship. You would invite him to eat with your cabin since he had no one else at his. He would update you on the progress of the ship and the quest, you even got to know the other campers involved. 

Over the next few months, your lives became completely intertwined. You spent most of your day with each other. You watched him train for the quest, pushing his limits in sparring sessions until he was too exhausted to do much of anything. You would drag him out to your spot in the woods on days when he’d gotten so focused he had to be forced to take a break. You’d even tried to help him get some memories back. He would eat with you, read with you, help you with whatever chores you had around camp, anything to spend more time with together. 

He was the first person you turned to when you had something to say. He was the only one who remembered which campfire songs were your favorites or which books you’d reread depending on your mood. You cared about him so deeply, and you weren’t even sure how you’d come to feel so much in so little time. You truly hadn’t realized how much you needed him around you until you thought about just how soon he’d be leaving.

Of course, he would go back to Camp Jupiter; you knew that. This was never meant to be permanent; you were sure he missed his old life, his old friends, his old home. But part of you, somewhere in the deepest, most selfish part of your heart, wanted him to stay. You wanted him to forget about Rome, and Jupiter, and the quest. You wanted him to stay here with the strawberry fields and the books and the beach and with you. You wanted him to forget his sense of duty to a place that never cared and stay with someone who would give their whole heart away just to see him be happy for a moment longer. It was a feeling that filled you with guilt every time it crossed your mind.

It had occupied your thoughts nearly the entire day when Jason came to your cabin that evening. He knocked on the door until one of your siblings answered, and they called you over, muttering something about stupid and lovesick and so annoying that you hadn’t totally caught. 

You stepped onto the porch and closed the cabin door, leaving Jason and you alone in the dim light of the setting son. He was handsome as ever, a fact that you had resolved not to dwell on; plenty of people found their closest friends to be stunningly beautiful, it wasn’t a big deal. 

In fact, it was totally normal for someone to notice exactly when their best friend had skipped their usual haircut and started letting the military style grow or how their eyes exploded with color when the sun hit them just right. And, of course, there was no deeper reason for why you would pick up on every scrape or bruise he’d gotten from training. You were just hyper-observant, never mind that it only applied to one person.

As you took him in, scanning for the weariness you so often saw and he so often dismissed, you noticed more than anything how nervous he was. “What’s up?”

“Hey, um, I just wanted to, well.” He took a deep breath and let his words spill out a mile a minute. He told you that the Argo II would be ready to fly any day now. He told you how they were going to find Percy and how the first place they were going to check was New Rome. He brought up his old life, a life he wanted to remember, a life he thought he would remember when he got back there. These were all things you’d know and that filled you with dread, but you let him talk without interrupting. His rambling soon turned to a topic you haven’t expected, it turned to you. He told you how important you were to him, how much you’d helped him adjust to life at camp, and how much he appreciated everything you’d done for him. 

As he went on and on, you felt your heart begin to pound. The way he was talking lit a spark inside your gut, and the borderline desperation in his voice made you dare to hope. The emotion in his eyes made you think maybe, just maybe, he felt the same kind of connection that you felt with him. You could tell it was going somewhere important, somewhere that made him nervous and hopefully at the exact same time.

“I guess I just realized while we were planning in the bunker,” he began to close in on his point. “How important you are to me, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like without you. You can say no of course, it’s a lot to ask of anyone but,” he took another breath. “Do you want to come with me to New Rome?”

That wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. The funny feeling in your gut shifted and morphed, flashing through disappointment for a brief moment. As Jason waited for an answer, you had to process exactly what he’d asked. Going back to New Rome meant he was going back to his old life, a fact you were all too aware of, but now, maybe you didn’t have to lose him to it. He still wanted you by his side. He still wanted you to be a part of his life.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “Yes, of course, I’ll go,” you watch the relief wash over him, his nerves visibly dispersing as one of the widest smiles you’d ever seen etched itself across his face. 

In the next moment, he wrapped his arms around you. It was a bone-crushing hug that squeezed the air from your lungs, and you wrapped your own arms around him as tightly as you could. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered to you as you tried to stop your heart from exploding. This wasn’t how you wanted it, but at least for now, this would be enough.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

There's pt1 :) part two is almost done already because I wrote most of it before I even started all this, but what I can say, the keyboard got away from me. let me know if any of y'all want to be tagged in pt2 or in my general Jason taglist.

[dysaren]

the best patient ✮ | e.jaeger

MDNI-> warnings: afab reader, nurse!y/n, erenbrokehiswrist, cheater!eren, stoner!eren, dealer!eren, (pretend hes also a metalhead bc i love metalheads. and toxic eren oh my god its unhealthy), mentions of weed, blowjobs, hairpulling, missionary, cowboy, multiple creampies, dirty talk, eyerolling, tit sucking, hickies, pussy eating, cum swapping/sharing/consuming, squirting (cuz it wouldnt be a dysaren fic without squirting!), erens gf visits.

a/n: sorry im so inactive im actually so busy like all the time :( (save me.) anyway, enjoy this quick fic i wrote instead of doing my assignments!! i am a sucker for toxic,cheater,stoner,dealer,metalhead,has piercings eren. based on a scenario that i created with a character.ai bot ( i am ashamed.. it was a xiao bot.)

"hello. im nurse y/n and ill be taking care of you for the duration of your stay here." you say, walking into the ER patient room as you scan my clipboard for the details of the person staying here.

Name: Eren Yeager

DOB: March 30 XXXX

Height: 6'0 ft

"weight, ethnicity blah blah... reason of hospitlization: distal radius fracture..." you read to yourself, glancing up from the clipboard to meet eyes with the man in the hospital bed. his long brown hair was up in a messy bun, he had tattos running from his neck all the way down to his arms, and from what you can tell, he was built, rather... nicely. (he was buff asf.)

the man looked miserable. he had swollen undereyes, and his skin looked dry, but still, for some reason you found him incredibly attractive.

"hello nurse." he mutters, clearly tired.

"hello." you repeat again. "im just here just to check up on you." you explain to him, sauntering closer to his bed.

you flip the page on your clipboard to a new, blank sheet. "i will just be running some tests, checking your vital signs and see how you are healing."

eren nods compliantly.

you take that as a sign of consent and start writing some things down on paper. "he seems to be doing fine...even his arms are nice fuck." you get distracted, looking at his arms, the way the veins pop out. mentally youre drooling. his fingers are long and thick, and there are indentations of multiple rings on them which only gets you more excited.

you flip your page back to the information sheet from before, checking the notes: "frequent smoker and sexually active."

"so it says here you are a frequent smoker?" you ask him, just wanting some sort of confirmation from him.

eren nods again. "yes" he whispers. "some nicotine but mostly weed."

"oh i see." you say, writing that information down.

"i can get you some. once im out of here at least." he looks up at you.

"im sorry?" you mustive heard wrong...right?

"ive seen you around before." eren explains. "at parties...you know mostly smoking. like that last one...you were with jean and connie."

oh. you didnt hear wrong.

three days ago, on your day off, you had went to a party with your friends jean and connie. they said it would be a good idea since it would be a chance for you to finally relax from your stressful job, so you relunctantly went. that was your first time smoking weed. it was wonderful and you guess eren saw the whole thing.

"you must have it wrong... i dont typically smoke." you explain to the brown haired man.

"i know, jean and connie told me it was your first. looked like you had a good time though." he smiles tiredly up at you.

you were taken a back a bit. you didnt know that the two of them knew eren. do they know that he's in the hospital right now? are they the reason he broke his wrist? where were they?

"i see..." you ponder a bit. "are they here with you tonight? somewhere in the hospital i mean."

"yeah. theyre here with my girlfriend too since she's the only sober one who can drive at the moment... they just went back to my place to grab some things for me before you came in. they wont be back for a while." eren clarifies.

"goddamnit he has a girlfriend." you sob internally.

"thats good to know." you fake smile, looking back at your clipboard. "it says here youre also sexually active... are you taking any sort of pills perchance?" you continue with your questions, trying to get back to professionalism.

"nope its all just me." he giggles with a coy grin on his face. youd hate to admit that his laugh turned you on a bit.

you finish up your report of eren, rechecking his vitals once more to confirm things. "okay it seems as though youre on the right track... it can take up to 6-12 weeks for your wrist to comepletely heal. otherwise, you might want to lay off the weed consumption till then." you finish up.

before you can leave, he call out. "wait.."

you turn around. "what is it? are you alright?"

"i have a problem with something and i just cant seem to be able to do it myself." eren tries saying shyly, but the look in is eyes seemed to be more sinsiter than you thought. "after all... i did just break my wrist..."

he looks down at his jeans, putting the spotlight on the constrained buldge in his jeans.

youre flushed. "oh..." what were you supposed to do in this situation?? didnt he have a girlfriend?

right he had a girlfriend.

"im sure your girlfriend can help you out with that."

eren's eyebrows crease. he did have a girlfriend and she was amazing. she did basically everything for him. so why now was he so damn attracted to his nurse to want to take a risk and cheat on everything he had???

he presses his lips together before speaking, "i lied. i just didnt want to seem like a pussy to ya." sentences were forming right as he was speaking them. hopefully it was enough to fool you. "please. its so uncomfortable..."

his throbbing cock was being compressed by not only his boxers but also by his black rocker jeans. it was true. it was extremely uncomfortable so why not relieve it with the cute nurse who also happened to be the cute girl who had been sitting with his friends not too long ago, taking a drag from a joint he sold to jean and connie.

you were relunctant, but then again, you could feel your panties getting damper. you walk up to him slowly, keeping your eyes locked with his. you sit down on the bed beside him.

he feels your soft hands on his buldge and from that he lets out a restrained sigh. "fuck." he huffs.

god, there was no way this wasnt turning you on too. eren knew that. he saw the way you bit your lip as you started to unbutton his jeans.

"how long will they be gone?" you ask, hinting at the group of friends eren had mentioned previously. "for a while.. my place is pretty from from the hospital." he watches you slowly pull down his zipper. "fuck baby youre making me go crazy."

you smile, finally releasing his cock from his boxers. he was hung. youre eyes widened and he lauged.

"too much for you baby?" he questions.

"no..." you whisper, slowly kitten licking the tip, tasting his precum before fully sheathing his cock in your mouth.

eren moaned. loudly.

"holy shit!" he huffs. "oh my god..." he leans his head back, grabbing your neat ponytail to guide you while sucking him off.

"ugghhfff!" you choke on his length, tears coming to your eyes. but you like it. it felt too good. at this point, your panties were soaking wet at this point.

"fuck baby you gotta stop or else im gonna cum." eren gasps, pulling you off from his dick. "cmon take it all off... show me."

you look behind you to make sure that the door to the room was closed. you look back at him with a playful look, pulling off your uniform and undershirt to reveal your cleavage.

eren smirked, watching as your skin reacted from the cold air, goosebumps forming. he reaches behind you and releases the hooks of your bra.

he sighed at the sight of your tits. they were beautiful. you were beautiful. he kneads at your chest as you remove the rest of your garments, underwear included.

you were fully exposed to him. internally, eren was freaking out. externally, he was entranced by your body, drooling a bit.

"eren?" you ask, waving your hand infront of him. he snaps out of his trance. "are you ok?" you look at him with a worried look.

"im ok baby. sorry. lets keep going." he says, rubbing his tip on your clit. he can feel your wetness and he smirks once again,

"you are dripping baby..." he whispers in your ear. "i dont even need to prep you..." eren slowly shoves his cock into you.

you were in heaven. both of you were. to him, you felt so fucking tight. he doesnt even know if youre a virgin or not. how couldnt you be? "youre so tight..." he groans, restraining himself from prematurely giving you a creampie.

you have never felt so full in your life. in your life, you've only fucked one guy and the rest had been occupied by your plethora of sex toys. but eren... eren was different. you were filled to the brim. eren could see the buldge of his dick lightly poking through your pudgy tummy. that made him go feral.

he started thrusting into you faster, sucking on your sensitive nipples, licking around the skin as well. he left mulitple hickies in the places where only he could see them. you still were on your shift of course, he wanted to be courteous.

"mmm..." he heard you sigh, smiling as he kissed your body.

eren lifts you up so now youre straddling him. he keeps his pace constant but you wanted to take control. so you start bouncing on his cock. he watches as your tits move with you, again trying not to prematurely cum.

"mmmhf!!!!" you try to conceal your moans, but it was so hard. "fuck daddy please!! i need more!!" you were being greedy, but it felt too good.

"youre bossy baby." eren laughs. he thrusts up, faster than before. "fuck im gonna fucking cum." you watched him gasp, bringing your face closer to his, kissing him with so much passion. he kissed back.

sure he had a girlfriend, but maybe now he's finally gonna break it with her. just for you.

"ah ah..." you gasp, feeling his thrusts slow down. you whine.

"shush baby, let me cum inside before i fuck it back into you." he moans into your neck, creampie-ing your cunt. you try not to scream as you feel the heat in your stomach release as you cum as well.

your eyes roll back into your head and oh how he loves the sight. yeah hes all yours now.

eren picks up his pace once again, like he said, fucking his cum deeper into you.

you scream before he slaps a hand over your mouth. "shut it baby... dont want everyone hearing how much of a slut you are."

"mmfgf!" you groan in protest.

eren doesnt stop his pace until he's shooting his thick load into you once again.

he's catching his breath as he pulls out, plugging your pussy with his fingers so the essence wouldnt leak from your cute slit.

youre all fucked out by the way. he watches as your face contorts into pure pleasure, feeling the band in your stomach snap as you twitch on his fingers.

eren shoves his mouth onto your pussy, licking up the mess in between your legs, tasting both him and you. he licks up your slit to your clit, flicking it with his tongue. youre overstimulated and tired. your couldnt take it anymore. you gush once more on his face, the liquid dripping down his chin and onto the sheets of the hospital bed.

"aahh..." you breathe heavily, recovering from your third orgasm.

"that feel good baby?" he says, bring his head up to meet your eyes. he could see hearts in them.

"mm... i think we're going to have to change the sheets." you giggle.

"well it was worth it." he watches as you sit up, making sure youre not in any discomfort. he rubs your back and fixes your hair. "you look beautiful like this."

"do i?" you say, questioning his taste.

he nods before leaning in for a comforting kiss. "let me take you out." he whispers.

you nod-

KNOCK KNOCK!

you glance behind you to look at the door.

"eren! its mikasa!" you both hear from the other side of the door.

you look back at him in confusion. "mikasa?"

he rolls his eyes.

"my girlfriend."

[theangelcatalogue]

WHAT'S WRONG? || YANDERE FRANCIS X READER! || ★!

★ - Romantic or Platonic(?)!

★ - Gender Neutral reader!

★ - One shot!

★ - Before we start: Idk why i did this, but i saw fics of him, and people going crazy over him, so why not?? I don't even write for that's not my neighbour, but i love the game! So let' go! Also sorry if is confusing! My mind is kinda tired and idk why i wrote this at 1AM(Is i wrote this at 1AM, remade some parts and posted it at 2AM) (Pls check Tw before reading it! <3)

★ - TW: YANDERE, DOPPELGANGER, BLOOD, BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR AND MADE BY A MINOR!!! PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING!!!

   ˚๑ ✦ Y/N!!! ✦ ๑°

・・・ ★ ・・・

︶ ꒷ ︶ ꒷ ꒦

Just a normal day in work!

This work is not that bad, i mean, i have to focus in every single neighbor, check some papers and be careful because some of than can be actually doppelgangers that will kill me and the persons that live here? Yeah-

But is guess i am getting used to it! And some neighbors are really nice! And others are just weird and rude! But what i can do? People are like that!

It's kinda weird that no one is showing up now, but i can have some time to rest now! Just me, a good coffee and my jornal/book(it can be a jornal or a book!)

Now i am just reading, waiting for anyone, i mean the today's list is short today! Lucky me i guess? I get kinda focused in the reading, the content is kinda depressing and boring, but is what i have for now

" Hello Y/n. "

I heard someone saying, Oh! I can't forget this voice!

" Francis! Tired as always? Well, let's see if you are in todays list! "

I said not taking the eyes of my jornal/book, i am lucky that Francis is the one who showed up! He is kinda nice! Just a tired guy but hey! He is a hardworker!

" Sounds good for me. Here is my entry request and ID "

I could notice him giving the papers, now i notice his hand is kinda dirty and his voice is kinda off, more tired than usual...

" Oh! Thanks- "

I respond him finally taking my eyes of the book, now i can see Francis better let's say, he is covered in a red liquid with a weird smell

It is what i am thinking? Oh yeah! A doppelganger! But i never thought a doppelganger would commit a error like that, why blood...? Some are a missing eye, others just say peach and others are a long neck and etc, what if is not a doppelganger...?

" What's wrong Y/n? Something wrong about the papers? "

He says noticing that i am kinda nervous, i just pick the papers and the clickboard as usual, first thing to question?

His looks.

" Francis! What happend? You are corvered in...what is that? Can you explain? "

Francis just looks at his outifit and then back at me, the same tired look, but something about the way he looks at me is different, i can't tell what is

" Oh this? It's a new milk! Scarlett Milk! It's a Milk with Red coloring, and Yes, it's food coloring! Not used in clothes... "

" Really Francis? So tell me! How did you got corvered in...Scarlett Milk...? "

He was getting tired of me questioning i guess, okay, i have three options!

1. It's really a milk with food coloring

2. It's a doppelganger

3. Francis is a killer or just got crazy

Please let it be 1-

" Accident at work. Just that, can i go in? "

He asks me looking at me deep at the eyes, i feel like he is judging all my sins, i break the eye contact and look at the Red button and then at the phone

Should i call the police or my boss?

" Look Y/N, i am really tired, just let me in, so i can go take a shower and rest. Maybe after you are done, you can go to my room, drink some coffee together! I heard is your favorite drink, what about a coffee with milk uh? "

He says to me, i think he is getting impatient

OH REALLT Y/N L/N!? DON'T TELL ME

" I- "

" Come on darling. "

He gets closer to the window, supporting his one of his arms in the glass

" Let. Me. In "

✦ - NOTES!!!

✮ " Sky wtf was that? " I DON'T KNOW LOL ✮

✮ The fandom go crazy about him gosh ✮

✮ Okay should i write for TNMN??? ✮

✮ Anyways have a good day my loves! <33 ✮

[pixiesfz]

Is that Jessie fic getting a 3rd part? I want to see them reunite 🥺

I wrote this in my study I:

ALSO: I changed the club that y/n moved to because I was told Gotham wasn't near Portland and then I felt stupid but I'm not that familiar with NWSL

the set up j.f

plot: Your teammate is giving you a hard time about Jessie

warnings: angst part 3 of hey there

You had finally settled into your new home and had made your debut for Seattle Reign FC.

You had made some new friends and even kept in contact with almost all of the girls from Chelsea, Christine had come over every now and then to make sure you were okay but in reality there was only ever one girl that you wanted to see.

Jessie.

You hated yourself for it.

You were the one who broke her heart, you were the one to tear your relationship apart.

She has every right to ignore you.

But it still hurts when you would see each other in public and she wouldn’t even say hi.

But today was different. Today Seattle Reign would vs Portland Thorns and as both you and Jessie were midfielders you knew there would have to be some sort of altercation between you two.

Lauren Barnes, a friend you had made since your move was waving her hand in front of your face, trying to gain attention as you sipped on your hot chocolate. “Earth to y/n” she sang out and you looked up at her “Sorry?” you asked

“I said are you worried about the game but I think I already got my answer” she smirked “Oh” you shrugged “I guess”.

“So it’s true then,” Lauren said, leaning closer to you “What is?” you asked

“That you and Jessie dated before she moved to Portland”

You rolled your eyes at her eagerness “Yes we did Lozza, now go off and pester someone else” you whined, and the girl shook her head “Why’d you break up?” she asked “Because she was going to Portland and I thought my forever home was London” you told her “but you’re back here” she pointed out “I am” you nodded “So…” she trailed off “So?” you asked.

“So get back together!” she whisper yelled and you flinched away “Jesus Lauren” you whisper yelled back and she backed away sheepishly “Sorry”.

The girl didn’t stop making comments about the Canadian to you on the bus and in the changing room as you all got ready.

“You are not helping me,” you told the girl as you laced up your boots.

“I’m being honest I saw her looking at you when we were all checking out the pitch” she excitedly told you “No she wasn’t” you denied “She was! It was like you guys were playing tennis, every time you looked away she was looking at you and every time you looked at her she was looking away!”

“Do you mind focussing on the game?”

“Nope”.

You rolled your eyes in defeat and shrugged off your jacket “let’s go games about to start” you huffed and walked away.

Christine saw you walk out with a scowl as she was also planning to get an early start on the line-up.

“Kiddo what’s up?” she exclaimed and grabbed your shoulders, you turned your head towards her “Just a bad day,” you told her “Was it Lauren teasing you?” she asked and you shot your head up “How Did you-“ “I may have asked her to ask about Jessie to you” she admitted and you stepped back “why?”

“Because I have been pestering Jessie”

“Well stop,” you told her “Me and Jessie broke up a year ago” you started, not hearing the boots that were walking behind you “It’s been a year and I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants” you ranted.

Jessie has always been an early bird, to everything. It usually gave her peace and quiet but when she decided to join Christine at the line-up she definitely wasn’t expecting to see you waving your hands around whilst complaining.

“I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants?”

Your words were clean off your tongue and Jessie stepped away and hid behind the corner.

Ask her out again.

But you didn’t love her.

At least that’s what you told her.

“I’m sorry” you apologized to Christine and hugged her, sighing in relief when she smoothed her hands over your back “Freshen up kid, I’ll see you on the field”.

You walked away, thankfully to the front so Jessie didn’t have to worry about you but as soon as you were out of sight Jessie stepped to Christine.

“Why are you meddling?” she asked the older Canadian who was shocked to see her “Jessie-“ “She told me she didn’t love me and I moved states, I thought I was over her” she gritted her teeth “god” she cursed “you guys can at least talk about it,” Christine said and Jessie scoffed “she might have something that you’ll want to hear,” the older woman said softly “like what, how much she didn’t love for those two years of us dating”

“Jessie” Christine tried to reason but the girl back away “I’ll come when Janine does” she said and walked back to the room, opposite of where you had gone.

Christine watched her walk away and lifted her arms in surrender.

“Fucking kids”.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :) 

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod. 

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 

“Yes.” 

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another. 

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

[ao3commentoftheday]

This is my reluctant fandom rivalry story. It’s long. Please bear with me. 

A couple years ago I got into a major (read: very active) fandom. I wrote a few fics, then began what would become my longest WIP to date. That WIP generated a lot of interest, and as the smut escalated, I started getting more engagement with a fic than ever before – especially after posting a scene in which the characters finally hook up, in a very kinky and unexpected way. While working on this story I was following the work of other writers, and at one point a certain author who is pretty prolific and well-established in the fandom posted a finale to a work that they hadn’t updated in a long time. 

Seeing as how this work featured an uncommon ship dynamic for the pairing I write for – which my WIP also featured – I was interested to read this particular work. Then, when I got to their newly-added finale, I was astonished: it featured a scene that very closely paralleled the hook-up smut scene that I had just posted about a week or so prior, to a startling degree of similarity. So here were two characters in a very specific relationship dynamic—ages differing from canon—who were hooking up in the exact same way as my characters (also of this age/dynamic), down to the very same environment and scene context – the same uncommon blocking; same uncommon smut scenario – in a way that I’d thought was highly original when I wrote it (I haven’t seen anything like it before or since), and posted very close behind when mine was posted! The author even went out of their way to say that they’d actually written that scene “months ago,” and were only just getting around to finally posting it… /: *suspicious eyes*

You can see where I’m going with this. 

While not exactly plagiarism per se, that author received a tremendous amount of positive feedback from their many followers, while my chapter received a comparably modest response (though still very positive by my own standards, being so new to the fandom). I also worry that a good number of shared readers had encountered the other [popular] story, first, then caught up with mine after, only to wonder if I had copied the other author (unless they bothered to go into “chapter index” -> “full page index” to confirm publication dates, it would’ve looked like mine came after once I posted the next chapter). 

I decided not to confront them about it, though. There was no way I could prove that it wasn’t “parallel thinking,” even if it would make for a very odd coincidence. The wording was not the same, but it was structured very closely to what I’d written, including certain spicy details. I didn’t want to stir up drama in a new fandom, especially with such a popular author, lest I inadvertently alienate myself. 

But here’s the thing: I decided to just be flattered that my work had "inspired" theirs, and I tried to get past any lingering resentment by befriending them. Left kudos and the occasional nice comment on their work. Followed them on tumblr. Liked/RB’d their posts. But they steadfastly ignored me completely, for reasons I can only guess at. We have many common mutuals and they never like/reblog even my most popular posts (though these must cross their dash), though they will promote similar posts by anyone else. 

Over a year later, I’ve continued to follow this author’s work, keeping an eye out for other “coincidences” (though it’d be very ballsy of them to "borrow" from me again, since my work is more widely read now). Meanwhile, I have risen in popularity, myself, and while still not as popular as that author, I’m very proud of my own contributions to the fandom, and feel that my writing is a lot stronger than theirs. So I really shouldn’t let it get to me, but seeing them around all the time, being praised for their mid-level works and interacting with so many of my mutuals (while giving me the cold shoulder) still rankles me. Recently they even posted something about showing common courtesy by not stealing others' work in fandom, etc. that really rubbed me the wrong way. I stewed over it for way longer than is healthy. 

Any advice on how to navigate this one?

I want to enjoy my time in this fandom, but their ubiquitous, icy presence and my own lingering paranoia casts a pall over my experience.

This is one of those situations where you either need to confront them directly and let the chips fall where they may or you need to block them on every platform you share and pretend they don't exist.

You can't seem to get past what happened in the past, but you're also not talking it out with them. That means that you're stuck where you are until something changes. That thing is either messaging them directly or removing them from view.

Do not write a callout post. From what you've outlined here, you have a suspicion with no solid facts one way or the other. Writing a public post will just create fandom drama and having been tangentially involved in that before, do. not. recommend.

Personally, I think you need to evict them from your mind because they've been living there rent free for too long. But that's just my opinion. What do the rest of you think?

You can also find this ask mirrored over on Dreamwidth.

[suskz]

Guess who’s back~

hello my lovely angel <3

I was gonna recommend anonymously again but we need the pic.

so. Remember when chan broke us with this:

I was thinking about what if chan, like, handcuffed you to the bed? Being all rough and shit. Yep. I’m ill lol. So I was just wondering if you weren’t too busy if a fic/drabbles on the table? have a good day/night

remember to eat and drink water💕💕💕

Hi sweetie ♡

Need to say that rough sex with Chan has me on my knees 🛐

I’m sorry that it took so long for it to be finished. I rewrote ur ask like 3 times cuz I didn’t like the way it was coming out lol.

Then I found the right idea, but I’m not totally satisfied with how I wrote it in some parts. Still hope you like it!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!Reader

w/c: 2,5k

tw: smut ; rough sex ; dirty talk ; degradation kink ; praising kink ; choking ; handcuffing ; established relationship ; clit play ; it’s not specified, but there are safe-words between them, anyway reader doesn’t use any of them ; bruises.

When you see them, your eyes cling to the shiny pink metal you just found at the bottom of your boyfriend’s closet.

You take them and you turn them over in your hands, observing them carefully. It’s part of the toys he’s used in the past, just not with you.

Your relationship is quite new, and you haven't really discussed your sexual preferences yet. In fact, you're still discovering them, being new to your first romantic relationship. But the way your heart beats faster, your cheeks flush, and you feel a certain tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach at the images that come to mind at the thought of what he might do with those handcuffs, it leaves you with some questions.

But when you hear his voice calling you, you realize you've paused too long. You place them back in their spot and pick up the light white blanket he asked you to retrieve, which had been covering the heart-shaped handcuffs you've just discovered.

When you return to the living room, he’s putting the movie on TV. After cuddling up on the couch, with him half-lying down and you on top of him, covering yourselves with the blanket, he makes it start.

But you can't focus on it because of your previous discovery. Your desire to try it is so high. You think it's time to try introducing something new into sex, and that could be a good start. The only thing left to do is to ask. If only it were that simple.

"Channie…" his name escapes from your lips before you can rethink.

"Mh?" he directs his attention to you without taking his eyes off the TV.

Only when you raise your head to look at him does he do the same, locking eyes with yours.

"Well..." you say, unsure, "I found a c-couple of handcuffs under this blanket, in your closet," your voice comes out more stuttering than you want it to.

"Oh," he says surprised; he doesn't remember leaving them there, "I must have left them there by mistake, I'll put them back in place another time; thanks for telling me, I guess," he observes you closely, "Is there something wrong?".

"Uh... well," there's a small moment of silence, and finally you find the courage to tell him, "I thought we could try them." you take your eyes away from his, looking down, and you're thankful that there's no light in the room other than the one emitted by the TV because you feel your cheeks and ears start to burn.

The movie is long forgotten, and you expect questions from him, but he simply nods. He places two fingers under your chin and lifts your head so you can look him in the eyes, "Do you want to try now?".

"I mean, if you want to...".

"I want it," he replies immediately, "Now, be a good girl and go to the bedroom to undress while I tidy up here, okay?"

You nod quickly and head to the bedroom. You hear some noise in the living room and figure Chan is rearranging things while waiting for you to be ready for him.

You get rid of your pants and shirt, remaining only in your underwear, since you're not wearing a bra. You wonder if you should also take off your panties, but then you remember how much he enjoys touching you over them and seeing them get wet for him, so you keep them on.

You take the handcuffs from the closet and place them on the bed next to where you sit cross-legged, waiting for him.

And a few minutes later, you hear the door of the room open and you raise your head in his direction.

He pauses for a moment at the door, gazing at you, and his lips curl into a smirk. You feel your cheeks warm slightly as you watch him approach you.

He reaches you on the bed and positions himself over you, making you slide back until you're lying beneath him.

"I told you to undress completely, didn’t I?" he looks into your eyes, and before you can respond, one of his hands firmly grabs your inner thigh and you gasp slightly at the sudden touch, "But I won’t complain." He leans in over you and captures your lips with his.

He kisses you deeply and slowly, exploring your mouth with his tongue and intertwining it with yours. The room would be completely enveloped in silence if not for the subtle slurp of your tongues intertwining and the soft sighs escaping from your lips.

His hand that was on your tigh now begins to go up your body, brushing your core with his thumb in the process, continuing up your stomach and stopping at your breast, which he grasps, making sure to have your nipple between two of his fingers. He brings his two fingers together slightly to pinch it lightly, and the slight moan he elicits from you makes him repeat the action.

He breaks away from the kiss only for a moment; while his thumb teases your nipple, his other hand grips your inner thigh to open your legs further and lower his hips onto yours, pressing gently, which becomes rougher as you resume kissing, making both of you moan and making you feel how hard he is in his pants.

Before pulling away, he bites your lip, and then you look into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Your lips are red and swollen from the kiss, and he smiles, looking at you.

Finally, one of his hands reaches your most intimate part, sliding his thumb along it, feeling how wet you’ve made your panties, “Did I get you all worked up without even touching you properly?” he teases you.

You give him a fiery look, “The situation here tells me the same about you.” You reach for the crotch of his pants, grabbing and squeezing it, making him gasp. He returns your gaze and lightly slaps your pussy before lifting his body from yours, still remaining between your legs.

His gaze falls on the handcuffs next to you, and he takes them in his hands, observing them. “You’re just waiting for the moment when I fuck you with these, aren’t you?” he huffs a little chuckle through his nose. “First choking, now these; you like being submissive, huh? Leaving me in control of everything.” there’s a slight edge in his voice that shows how truly turned up he is. Just the fact that you’re trusting him so much, letting him have total control of your body, makes his mind slightly dizzy.

He looks at you and sees the desperation now colouring your features. “Now, face down, ass up”.

You do as you’re told, turning over and raising your ass, and putting your forearms on the bed to keep yourself slightly up so that your face isn’t pressed into the pillow. But without warning, his hands grab your arms and put them behind your back. You feel his hand just above your wrist, and then cold metal touching your skin, and you feel a shiver run through your entire body at the sensation.

His hand tightens its grip on your hip while the thumb of the other presses against your entrance, making your panties even wetter, then he pulls them down to your ankles. He would like to play with you a bit more, but he doesn’t feel that patient right now.

He lowers his pants and boxers just enough to pull out his cock, and you feel arousal coursing through your entire body at the thought of him fucking you with his clothes still on while you’re completely naked underneath him at his mercy.

He grabs the underside of your asscheeks —and beginning of your thighs—, spreading them apart and taking a good look at your hole clenching around nothing; then, one of his hands breaks away from your skin to slide two of his fingers inside, making you whimper.

You move your hips back and forth to the rhythm of his fingers, which is fucking slow, but his other hand tightens harder where it grips your skin, as a warning. And you hope it bruises.

He pulls them out and wipes them on one of your cheeks, and without any warning, he enters you in one swift motion, immediately starting to move without giving you time to settle properly.

“S-slow down—“ you ask him breathlessly, but he doesn’t.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” his breath is heavy, “To be tied up and used the way I like, huh?”. At his words, you clench around his cock, making him moan and grip your hips tightly.

He lowers himself onto you and rests his hands on the bed. Your face is pressed into the pillows as you try to stifle your moans. But it’s difficult with the way his cock moves so skilfully inside you, hitting your weak spots, making it so hard to hold back that you’re breathless and think about asking him to stop for a moment. You’re not usually so shy and never try to hold back your moans, but this time is different, maybe because of the handcuffs? You don’t even know.

But he notices. He stops, slides an arm under your breast, and lifts your body. His other hand grabs the headboard of the bed for balance.

His tongue licks that patch of skin behind your ear where you’re sensitive, “Why aren’t you making yourself heard?” he whispers and starts moving again, “I want to hear how good I make you feel, so don’t you dare hold back again.” it sounds like a threat, but you ignore that as his movements become faster than before, and soon he makes you fall back onto the bed, with half of your face on the pillows but your nose and mouth free, and this time you make yourself heard loud and clear.

“Good girl.” if the nickname didn’t make you moan loudly enough, his hand gripping your nape to choke you and push your head down definitely did.

With every thrust, you feel yourself on the verge of coming and you fucking love this so much.

Suddenly, you feel him stop, and your wrists are freed; but you don’t have time to understand what’s happening or to complain before he pulls his cock out of you and you’re turned onto your back.

He takes your arms and brings them to the headboard of the bed, where he puts the handcuffs back on you, securing them to it.

And then, he looks at you.

He observes your entire body, from your tear-streaked face with saliva-coated lips, to your wet, stretched out pussy, begging to be filled again.

Finally, your brain starts to reason again, and if possible, your cheeks flush an even deeper red. You feel exposed. You want to cover yourself with your arms, and you try, but the metallic noise that comes out reminds you of the situation you’re in. You try to close your legs —as much as you can with him in between them— but his hands roughly grasp your inner thighs, spreading them apart again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hives you a disapproving look, “Why should you hide from me, huh?” He seems annoyed, mad, and you shrink under his judgmental gaze. “I don’t think you deserve my dick inside you again. Maybe I should leave you like this: handcuffed to the bed, naked and needy for the rest of the night. What do you think about that?”.

You feel like crying at his words. He couldn’t really do that, could he?

You shake your head quickly.

“Obviously, a slut like you just wants to be filled with dick all the time,” he takes his cock in hand and slaps the tip against your clit, and as you moan freely, he suppresses the groan that tries to escape his lips. “isn’t that right?”.

“Please.”

“Please what?” he responds coldly, looking down on you.

“Put it in, please.” you beg him, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“What if I don’t?”.

You feel tears of frustration forming at the corners of your eyes, “Channie…”

He slaps his tip against your clit again, drags it to your hole, “You’ll cry if I don’t put it in, won’t you? What a crybaby.”, and then he finally pushes it in.

He starts thrusting into you again, a little slower this time, but deeper than before.

Again, you feel the need to grab onto something, anything, but you can’t, and this makes you frustrated.

He places his hand on your stomach and presses, “Feel it” he moans, “feel my cock pushing inside you”. When your mind registers his words and you glance down at his hand, he removes it, and you can clearly see the outline of his cock bulging from your belly.

This is what makes you both feel close to the edge.

Chan feels he can’t hold out much longer. His hand reaches down where your bodies meet and takes your clit between two fingers, lightly pinching it.

"Are you about to come? Huh? You want to come, don’t you?".

"Please, daddy please." Your eyes are closed and your head thrown back into the pillows, so you don't see the way his face tightens at your words. A loud groan leaves his lips and your walls are painted with white spurts of hot cum. You follow right after him.

You don't realize you've blacked out for a while until you open your eyes and see Chan filling your chest and shoulders with sweet kisses.

He looks at you, and finally his gaze is soft and relaxed, “How was it?” he asks you attentively.

You smile, “Amazing, as always”.

“Good.” He kisses you sweetly on the lips.

Afterward, he takes a warm cloth and cleans you, puts another pair of underwear on you, and one of his shirts simply because he likes to see you wearing his stuff, while he puts on his boxers.

He applies a soothing lotion on your wrists as you talk about how you felt, and finally, he lies down in bed with you, covering both of you with the blanket.

You rest your head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat relaxes you as he strokes your hair.

“Was I too rough?” he asks, needing to make sure you don’t feel any pain.

“A bit, but I also liked it because of that”.

"I wasn’t too mean, right? Everything was good?" he's sure you would have told him if it was too much for you, but he still feels the need to hear confirmation from you that everything is okay.

“No, everything was perfect, baby, don't worry," you stroke his side.

“Good," he says, feeling more relaxed, "sleep now." he caresses your shoulder.

You already feel your eyes can't stay open any longer, but you still lift your head to give him a goodnight kiss.

And you fall asleep like that, in each other's arms, in the relaxing silence of the night and the sound of your hearts beating for each other.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MORE — HANMA SHUJI.

based on this shit post i made on my side that has not left my brain since i took my final so here is a painfully cheesy scene i took out of a fic i wrote a while ago that i’ll never post bc it’s embarrassingly self indulgent

“these are bad for you, did you know that?” you mutter.

“that so?” hanma hums, leaning closer as your fingers work his lighter. his forehead practically bumps against yours as you light the end of his cigarette—even despite your lecture. he watches you as you do it, glances over the bridge of your nose and the curve of your lips as you frown.

“yeah,” you huff. “if you used that head of yours, you’d know these are death sticks.”

his lips are crooked in that smile of his—one that tells you he won’t stop. it’s a silent truth you’re both aware of, but it doesn’t keep you from scolding him. he needs to know, you think—that someone cares what happens to him. someone will miss him, even if no one else else will.

“good thing i have you to tell me,” he grins.

you think you could paint it from memory, the wide curve of his lips. you could remember exactly where that dimple on his left cheek is, where every crinkle of his eyes are under his glasses, how the slant of his jaw angles as he leans his head up. you’re too busy staring at him to fight it when his hand rubs over the small or your back, curling his arm around you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“it’s not like you ever listen to me,” you grumble against his shirt. it smells like him—like smoke and cologne that must be comically expensive. and it’s bad for you, perhaps—the secondhand smoke that creeps up your lungs and kills you slowly. but it’s blissful, comforting even. “but you should listen to me more.”

“i should,” he agrees.

“you won’t,” you pout.

he chuckles at that, takes a drag from the cigarette in his hand as he holds you tighter, sways you gently as the sun sets and coats your skin, leaving it sweet and honeyed just for him.

hanma shuji is not known for gentleness. he’s a hushed whisper, as if speaking the reapers name welcomes him to your doorstep, the blood dripping from the scythe as a fresh reminder that death is only around the corner. he should be anything but gentle in your eyes—yet when his fingertips find your skin under your shirt, gliding over the dip of your back and the slants of your hips, you think he’s nothing but gentle.

gentle enough to love you. gentle enough to let you love him too. gentle enough to pretend his listens when you scold him. gentle enough to let you know he knows you’ll miss him—even if you’re the only one.

“old habits die hard, baby.”

it’s your turn to huff out a small laugh at that. you want to tell him you know. that old habits do die hard—it’s why you let him walk through your door at ungodly hours, why you clean the caked blood on his fists, why you leave room for him on the other half of the mattress.

old habits die hard. it’s why you love him, even if maybe you shouldn’t.

“if you loved me, you’d quit,” you murmur.

“yeah? you think i don’t fuckin’ love you?” his voice is smooth against your ear, it drowns out the honking cars and the bustling of the city below you. it’s warm and familiar and a tad bit dangerous, but it’s enough to make you relax against his body, arms wrapping around his torso.

it’s silent for a moment. he holds you as you think, and when you make out the beating of his heart under your cheek, you have your answer.

“you know what i think?”

“what, baby?”

“i think you should love me more,” you insist, poking his shoulder accusingly.

“so greedy,” he giggles—and then he pulls you closer, holds you tighter, takes in every part of you like he can’t get enough. it’s him who’s greedy, you think, with the way he wants you enough to make you want him too.

“if you die from lung disease, i’ll have to find a new boyfriend,” you point out.

“you won’t miss me?”

“nope,” you lie. “i’ll be rid of my biggest headache.”

“too bad. guess i won’t die then,” he grins, eyeing down at the top of your head.

somehow, you trust him—he’s never given you a reason not to. you’re sure the fingers on your hips and the warm chest under your cheek and the smell of smoke lingering in the air won’t leave you any time soon. and you hope it won’t, that the sins on his hands aren’t enough to outweigh the prayers on your tongue.

but just to be sure, you look up, propping your chin up on his chest as you whisper, “promise?”

he nods, throwing on that easy grin on his face again. your thumb finds the dimple of his cheek as you cup his face. “of course.”

i am unwell over him and it’s all because of mich 😒

[the-power-of-a-pen]

Oh, How I Love Thee

Fandom: Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Summary: A series of cute moments between Harry Osborn and reader based on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem How Do I Love Thee?

Word Count: 3061

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic)

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, 3rd to last scene is reader panicking

A/n: I don't remember the last time I wrote a fic, but I loved the new Spiderman 2 on ps5 and I'm obsessed with/gay for Harry Osborn. Also apologies: English isn't my first language. Also please give feedback -- I have quite a few more of these in my drafts that I'll only publish if these are well-received!

How do I love thee?

Planks, nails, screws, and metal bars were strewn haphazardly across the floor of the apartment you shared with Harry. His eyebrows were furrowed the way they always do when he's determined to solve something. You'd long ago surrendered the instructions to him after his persistent insistence that he could figure it out. Instead, you simply leaned against him as you began organized the mess of a dresser you had attempted to assemble.

"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to know with one of these screws is the 40 millimeter one?" he complained.

You adjusted yourself so that you were lounging more comfortably next to him with your chin on his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “If I had to guess,” you started, “I’d probably read what’s on the top of each screw.”

He scoffed playfully. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

You gestured for him to give you the instructions, which he reluctantly did. "It says we need to put the x12 screws into the L2 bar first. Then we- oh for fuck's sake, why does this manual have pictures only? We're trying to build a coffee table, not a fucking time machine."

"Let's just try using the power drill on these," Harry suggested. "There's probably tons of extra parts in here that we can use if we mess up."

"Okay, Brunel. I thought you were a biochem major."

"Hey," he laughed. "Let a man dream. Can you hold this piece up?"

You obliged, and Harry picked up the nearest 40 mm-looking screw and drove it into the wooden bar at an angle to connect it to the bottom of the coffee table. You gave each other a look. It didn't seem right, but it did what it was supposed to.

"Trust the process?" you suggested. "I'm not going to try and read that chicken scratch again."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as it stands up, right?"

The two of you repeated the process for the other four legs and the rack under the table. Finally, you propped it up to stand. It was a horrible mess, slanted and barely standing up. Truly, it looked more like a modern sculpture than a piece of furniture.

After a moment of silence, Harry said, "I'm gonna order something pre-made and get us takeout."

"Yeah," you sighed. "That's probably for the best."

Let me count the ways.

"I claim Yoshi," Harry declared as he selected the character for the round.

"Basic," you jabbed back. "My main's Toad, anyway. Rainbow Road?"

"Obviously."

The rain pattered against the windows outside. It was a perfect night to stay in.

As soon as the countdown finished, Harry sent a green shell your way and curved around you.

"Cheater," you jabbed as you spammed your controller to get back up.

"Hate the game, not the player," he bantered. "Oh, fuck you, Peach."

"How funny would it be if the bots won over us?"

"Not gonna happen," Harry replied. He threw a banana at your mini-kart and, by pure luck, managed not to crash into you.

On Harry's side of the split screen, it showed that he was on his final lap, with you a decent distance behind him. With the finish line in sight, you pulled the last trick in your sleeve. You grabbed Harry's chin and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, making him entirely lose focus. By the time you two pulled away, you were out of breath, and your side of the TV read 1st Place.

"Now who's cheating?" Although he was trying to scold you, the way he was catching his breath took away from it.

"Oh, please," you remarked. "You didn't mind."

Harry dropped his controller and, cupping your face with one hand and pulling your waist towards him with the other, he mumbled before kissing you, "Damn right I didn't.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Your phone buzzed, stirring you from your sleep. Rubbing some sleep from your eyes, you fumbled around for it, barely reading 7:23AM off of it. You tossed it over your shoulder and rolled over, hardly getting anywhere before Harry pulled you back into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzled into you. "G'morning, babe."

"Morning," you yawned. Your eyes adjusted to the morning light and you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. A flock of pigeons brushed by your window, tracking in a breeze that brought shivers to your spine. You stirred again, trying to get up this time.

Harry tried and failed to grab for your hand. "Where are you going?"

You smiled to yourself. Harry's morning voice never got old. "I'm just closing the window. It's freezing in here."

He propped himself up on his elbow and commented, "Well, word around town is that I make a pretty good personal heater."

You hummed. "I'll take that into consideration." You sat down on his side of the bed and brushed some wild stray hairs out of his face. "But seriously, just because we have the day off, that doesn't mean we should spend all day in bed. I can make us hot chocolate the way you like it, and we can sit out in the park, maybe try to find something good in Midtown?"

"That sounds great, baby." Harry leaned into your touch. "After a quick nap."

You scoffed as he grabbed your waist to pull you on top of him. "Nothing's quick with you," you remarked.

Your boyfriend just smirked at you. "Part of why you love me." You settled down onto him, resting your head on his chest and intertwining your legs. "Just... five more minutes, babe," he implored you.

"Five more minutes," you agreed, already drifting back off to sleep.

When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.

The movie you had been watching had run its course, and you were beyond tired. You resigned yourself to quickly run through your skincare routine and find Harry so that the two of you could go to sleep.

You finished rinsing the cleanser off of your face and stretched with such force that you got dizzy. Shaking this feeling off, you called for your boyfriend.

"In the kitchen!" he called back. And he was there, but sheltered behind the kitchen island on the floor with his laptop and countless papers strewn around him. The fans in his computer sounded like a helicopter about to take off. "I'm just finishing these last few emails," he yawned. "Then I've got to review the results of bee drones, verify the statistics Dr. Loughran gathered on the organ reproduction project, and then I gotta check if they repaired the particle accelerator yet and-"

You sat yourself down next to him and gently shut his laptop, kissing his temple. "Why don't we deal with this tomorrow?"

Harry sighed and leaned on your shoulder. "I've been putting this off for a while. I'm so close to finishing, just like 30 more minutes."

You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him fighting to stay conscious. "You and I both know that's a lie, babe. The weight of the world doesn't rest on your shoulders. Take a break. The work will be there tomorrow."

"But-"

"What did May always say?"

Harry sighed again, but relented and put his head in your lap. "You help someone, you help everyone."

You arranged the papers around you into a pile and grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen island's stools to put behind your back. "Let the person you help today be you, okay?"

But Harry was already fast asleep.

I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if you used conditioner before shampoo?"

"Not really," you conceded as you took another bite of your ice cream from your place on top of the dryer.

Harry sat on the floor organizing the dark, white, and delicate clothes into piles. "I mean, it's probably better for your hair, no? Like, the whole purpose of conditioner is to break down unwanted particles and moisturize your hair. If anything, it's probably better to do it that way."

"Maybe," you agreed as you hopped down and put the first load in the wash. "But wouldn't that be the same as using fabric softener before detergent?"

"Nope. Fabric softener just coats your clothes in microplastics. It's a long-term way of damaging the bonds between the atoms for temporary comfort. Technically, we should be using something like vinegar instead."

"I'm not putting vinegar on my clothes," you objected.

"Maybe you need to be more open-minded," he teased.

"Maybe you need to keep your head in the game," you teased back, throwing his dirty T-shirt at him. You yelped when he threw a sock your way. "Oh, I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry challenged.

By sun and candle-light.

Harry raced past you in the hallway, tugging on a shoe while awkwardly hopping. You sipped your tea from the kitchen island as you stared down the morning crossword.

"Running late?" you asked as he grabbed an apple and tossed it into his bag.

"Yeah," he replied, out of breath as he roughly kissed your cheek and gave you a squeeze before rushing towards the door. "Pete's gonna have to deal with the donors on his own if I don't get there on time. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." You filled out the five boxes for 23-across whose clue read 'Oscar-winner Streep.' "I love you."

"I love you, too," he called as he shut the door. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "Forgot my keys!"

"They're on top of your nightstand," you called as you heard him tearing your room apart. The jingle of the keys confirmed that he got them, and he bounded over to you again.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing your cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," you chuckled. You leaned around the corner to watch him leave for the second time before returning to your morning routine. You had just finished eating your breakfast when Harry came running in again.

"Missed me already?" you joked.

"Forgot my phone," he explained, grabbing it from beside you. He kissed your cheek again. "But that, too."

"Love you!" you called as he fumbled with the doorknob and you walked to the living room. "Kick ass today."

He gave you a charming wink then slipped out the door.

You turned on the TV and let a talk show play in the background as you cursed at your crossword. This time, it took Harry about 6 more minutes to realize he had yet again forgotten something important. He barged in for the third and last time, profusely apologizing.

"You wouldn't happen to know a five-letter port city of Japan, would you?" you asked without looking up.

"Try Osaka?" Harry filtered through the pockets of his coats in the laundry room until he finally found his wallet.

"That fits."

Harry returned from the laundry room and leaned down, pressing three kisses to your lips. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe. Show 'em how it's done."

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

"Oh my God, you should've seen the look on Hasan's face when Vijay showed up. Like, I get it, you dated way back in the day, but showing up in all white? So then MJ went to go pull the wine trick on him while I tried to distract Hasan so that he wouldn't notice anything was going on, but of course the universe wasn't satisfied." You huffed and caught your breath in the middle of pacing back and forth in the living room. "You know what happened after that?"

Harry, from his comfortable corner in the couch covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Jess said something?" he guessed.

"Jess opened her fucking mouth," you continued. "And she was drunk off her ass because she always is, and she comes up to Hasan on his fucking wedding day and starts shouting about Vijay coming over. So at this point, Song is already asking Hasan 'Have you been cheating on me? Is that what this is?' And obviously Hasan would never do that but now Song's upset so the two of them go to argue in the backroom while Keith escorts Vijay out and MJ and I have to babysit Jess for the rest of the evening." You paused and took a sip of your mocktail. "It was literal hell."

At this point, you realize the smile taking over Harry's face. "What?"

He shook his head as he surveyed you in admiration. "You're hot when you're angry."

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

"Do I look good?" Harry asked nervously as he adjusted his tie.

You brushed his mess of curls away from his forehead. "You look perfect. You are perfect."

"I really need this interview to go well," he said, biting his lips. "Whatever this guy publishes is gonna be severely edited by Jonah, and if even half of what MJ said was warning enough, we're screwed."

"You're going to be fine," you assured him. When that didn't seem to work, you grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "Your mom would be so proud of you. Don't worry about what you can't control."

Harry took in a deep breath, and, hugging you before going into the meeting room, whispered, "Let's heal the world."

I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

"Good morning," chirped the barista as you walked in to the small café. "What can I get started for you?"

"Just a small pumpkin latte, please," you replied. You shivered and wrapped your scarf tighter around you.

"Anything else I can get for you? Maybe my number?"

"No, thanks -- that'll be all," you assured her, glancing behind you to look for Harry.

You jumped when he touched your arm. "I've got this one, baby," he winked and offered his card. The barista's eyes widened in realization, and she silently finished the transaction. One of her coworkers finished off the order and handed it to you on the other end of the kiosk.

You unlocked your car with your keys and laughed when Harry rushed to open the door for you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're jealous, aren't you," you jested.

Harry mocked offense as he got into the car on the other side. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, your majesty."

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.

Harry crossed your arms on your chest and hugged you from behind to give you that comfort of pressure. "Breathe, babe. It's gonna be okay. This feeling will go away."

Your breathing was erratic, your face tingled, and you felt so dizzy you might pass out. "I could've lost you," you managed to get out between gasps. "So much could've gone wrong."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I know. But everything's alright. Pete and Miles have a handle on things, they always do. That thing's gone. I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

You rested your forehead on your knees, but Harry didn't let go of you. "I tried to get through to you but that thing just kept on speaking to me, and Dr. Connors said you were too far gone and then MJ told me what happened at the Foundation- fuck's sake you were in a coma for three weeks and you just show up-"

Harry crawled in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. "It was scary for me too, love. I thought it was going to hurt you and-" He took in a deep breath. "The worst is behind us, okay? Let's focus on that."

You nodded and tried to slow your breathing. After a moment: "None of that was your fault, you know? It wasn't you doing it."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "I know."

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;

"Okay, what do you think of this option?" You came out from the hallway with a new outfit and gave him a spin.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. "You look like an angel."

You sat down next to him on your bed. "Babe, I love you, but if all you do is flatter me, I'm not going to know what to wear to the gala."

Harry traced his fingers over the folds of your sides as you fiddled with the invitation in your hands. "Not my fault that my partner's hot."

"But it will be your fault if we're late," you retorted. "This one, the dark blue one, or the black one?"

He hummed. "This one," he replied with a wink. "It'll be easier to take off later."

He got up to leave the room, but you grabbed him by the tie, saying an inch away from his lips, "We'll see about that, handsome." And with that, you strutted away.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

You moved the needle onto the vinyl, letting the smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk fill the room. You waltzed over to Harry, and, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing his other hand, you swayed to the beat.

"C'mon, loverboy," you taunted him. "Show me some rhythm."

"I'm trying," he laughed, shuffling his feet.

"Baby, a little less Electric Slide, a little more moving those hips."

"Why don't you lead me instead?"

You spun in his arms and put your dominant leg between his legs and hummed as you swayed in a circle. Harry put an arm over your shoulder and started singing along.

"Glee Club paying off," you joked.

He bumped your nose. "Very funny."

You spun Harry as the music signalled that it was near its end.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" Harry asked as he caught his balance.

You dipped him with the flourish of the music. "More than I can count."