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gojover · 1 month ago

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the accidental one-night stand.

the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

— pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader — contains: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers!au, college!au, idiots in love, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! — word count: 10.0k

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Iwaizumi Hajime was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Iwaizumi Hajime, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Hajime stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Hajime pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Hajime blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” he finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Hajime looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Hajime clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Hajime snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mattsun was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Iwaizumi Hajime and Matsukawa Issei. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Hajime and Mattsun to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Hajime says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Mattsun doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Mattsun snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Mattsun’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Hajime wants to throttle him too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Matsukawa echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Hajime’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Mattsun. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place.

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Matsukawa points out. “Come on, Iwaizumi. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Hajime cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Mattsun says defensively.

Hajime scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Hajime says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Mattsun.

“I do.” The resignation in Hajime’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Hajime saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Matsukawa says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth.

Hajime remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: you have no idea what to do next.

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Hanamaki Takahiro sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Hanamaki. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Iwaizumi Hajime. Makki’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well.

Yet here you are, because Hanamaki’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Makki’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Iwaizumi.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Hanamaki drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Iwaizumi through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Iwaizumi told Mattsun,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Yahaba, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Sakura, who told her roommate Miwa, who told her boyfriend Sawauchi—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Makki agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Iwaizumi? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Hanamaki’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Makki supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Hanamaki arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Makki shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Hajime had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Makki’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Hajime. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Makki’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Hanamaki says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Hanamaki blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Makki.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Hanamaki Takahiro clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Hajime until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Iwaizumi had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Mattsun said Makki said you’re avoiding Iwaizumi for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Yuda’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Yuda walks in—but he’s not alone.

Iwaizumi Hajime is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Yuda, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Iwaizumi! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Hajime, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Yuda takes the seat across from you, shoving Hajime into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Hajime’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Yuda asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Yuda ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Yuda’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Iwaizumi Hajime.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Hajime shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Hajime doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Hajime raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Matsukawa in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Hajime’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Hajime nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Hajime doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams.

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Hajime had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Yuda and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Hajime, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Hajime would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Miyagi tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Hajime comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Hajime says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Hajime, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Hajime reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Hajime inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Hajime—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Hajime plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Hajime mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Hajime interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Hajime says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Hajime to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Hajime leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Yuda were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes.

“You’re driving me to Miyagi?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Iwaizumi Hajime climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Hajime limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line.

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Hajime says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Hajime fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Hajime doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Hajime says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lift, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Hajime. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut.

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying.

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Hajime stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Hajime’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Hajime limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Hajime!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Iwaizumi begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Hajime’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Hajime shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Hajime. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Hajime says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Hajime nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Hajime’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Hajime’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Hajime sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Hajime nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Hajime so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Hajime, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Hajime finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Hajime hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Hajime, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Hajime’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Hajime tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Hajime asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Hajime, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Hajime, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Hajime in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, startled. “What are you doing here?”

Hajime shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Hajime tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Mattsun.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Hajime doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Hajime,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Hajime shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Hajime,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Hajime’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Hajime counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Hajime,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Iwaizumi Hajime was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache.

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Iwaizumi Hajime had told Matsukawa Issei that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Miyagi, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: you’ve loved Iwaizumi Hajime for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this:

It starts with Matsukawa Issei. Of course it does.

When Mattsun gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Hajime into picking him up, much to Hanamaki’s glee.

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Iwaizumi Hajime’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Hajime’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning.

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Makki posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Hajime,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along.

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Hajime doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Hajime’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Mattsun’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Matsukawa Issei the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Hajime, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Iwaizumi’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Hajime says, “How crass of you, Mattsun.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime fluff #hajime x reader #hajime fluff #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x you #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #hq x you

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fxstpace · 4 months ago

Text

the accidental one-night stand

summary: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

⇢ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption, injuries & hospital visits ⇢ word count: 10.0k ⇢ note: this was written for the lonely hearts café collab hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you so much for letting me be a part; please check out the other authors’ fics as well. i hope you enjoy :)

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Jeon Wonwoo was not one of them.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Jeon Wonwoo, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Wonwoo stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Wonwoo pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

Wonwoo blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” He finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Wonwoo clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Wonwoo snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Soonyoung was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Wonwoo and Soonyoung to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Soonyoung doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

Soonyoung snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo wants to throttle him, too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Soonyoung echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Wonwoo’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Soonyoung. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place.

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Soonyoung points out. “Come on, Wonwoo. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Soonyoung says defensively.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Wonwoo says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Soonyoung.

“I do.” The resignation in Wonwoo’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Wonwoo saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth.

Wonwoo remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: You have no idea what to do next.

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Xu Minghao sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Minghao. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Jeon Wonwoo. Minghao’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well.

Yet here you are, because Minghao’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Minghao’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Minghao drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Wonwoo told Soonyoung,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Jihoon, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Miyeon, who told her roommate Jihyo, who told her boyfriend Seokmin—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Minghao agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Wonwoo? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Minghao’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

“Naked,” Minghao supplies.

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Minghao arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Minghao shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Wonwoo had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Minghao’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Wonwoo. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Minghao’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Minghao says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Minghao blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Minghao.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Xu Minghao clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Wonwoo until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Wonwoo had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Soonyoung said Minghao said you’re avoiding Wonwoo for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Jihoon’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Jihoon walks in—but he’s not alone.

Jeon Wonwoo is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Jihoon, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Wonwoo, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Jihoon takes the seat across from you, shoving Wonwoo into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Wonwoo’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Jihoon asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Jihoon ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Jeon Wonwoo.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Wonwoo shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Soonyoung in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

Wonwoo nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Wonwoo had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Jihoon and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Wonwoo, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Wonwoo would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Changwon tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Wonwoo comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s a cat,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Wonwoo, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Wonwoo reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Wonwoo inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Wonwoo—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Wonwoo plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Wonwoo mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Wonwoo interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

“Worth it,” Wonwoo says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Wonwoo to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Wonwoo leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Jihoon were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes.

“You’re driving me to Changwon?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Jeon Wonwoo climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Wonwoo limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Wonwoo says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Wonwoo fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Wonwoo doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Wonwoo. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Wonwoo stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Wonwoo’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Wonwoo limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Wonwoo!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Wonwoo begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Wonwoo’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Wonwoo. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Wonwoo nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Wonwoo’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Wonwoo’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Wonwoo sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Wonwoo so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Wonwoo, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Wonwoo finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Wonwoo hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Wonwoo, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Wonwoo’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Wonwoo asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Wonwoo, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Wonwoo, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Jeon Wonwoo.

“Oh,” you whisper, pretending to be startled. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Soonyoung.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Wonwoo,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Wonwoo shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Wonwoo,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Wonwoo’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Wonwoo counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Jeon Wonwoo was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache.

Except it does, because Jeon Wonwoo had told Kwon Soonyoung that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Changwon, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: You’ve loved Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this:

It starts with Kwon Soonyoung. Of course it does.

When Soonyoung gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Wonwoo into picking him up, much to Xu Minghao’s glee.

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Jeon Wonwoo’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Wonwoo’s lips are on yours.

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Minghao posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Wonwoo,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along.

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Wonwoo’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Soonyoung’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Kwon Soonyoung the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Wonwoo, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Wonwoo’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Wonwoo says, “How crass of you, Soonyoung.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

⇢ a/n: this entire fic was inspired by two of my favourite kdramas: business proposal, and love next door. thank you to skye, @etherealyoungk, & kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic & leaving sweet comments! thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

#lonelyheartscafecollab #seventeen x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #seventeen angst #jeon wonwoo angst #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt angst #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen #svt #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo

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sexy-monster-fucker · 8 days ago

Text

It’s Easy to Tease

Erik Campbell x Reader NSFW

Summary: Reader is nervous to get her first piercing outside of her ear. Erik knows how to help her calm down.

CW: mentions of cheating and breakup, nipple piercing, perv!Erik, reader has tattoos, nipple play, pinching, biting, fingering, masturbation, oral m!receiving, cumming on chest, idiots in love

a/n: there are literally no gifs of him without words on them 😭😭 [update there’s all kinds now so thank you to the GIF creators of tiktok you have my heart!]

title track 🎶🩸

~~~

Your palms sweated.

Rhythmically smacking your hands against the old steering wheel in an attempt to calm yourself down. The tattoo shop to your right was illuminated in neon reds. Obscuring your ability to make out the interior. Only adding to your anxiety.

It’s not like you had never had something pierced. Your ears had more than one hole in them. Even having some tattoos in places easy to hide with clothing. Corporate America not being a fan of inked employees. But for some reason this made you a nervous wreck.

You were new to the area. Having moved far away from where you had resided with your ex partner. Finding them in bed with another woman when they were supposed to be at work. Ridiculous. And you would not stick around for it.

You suppose that’s what made you want to get the piercings. Always being fond of body altering, even when your ex had shot down the idea as fast as you mentioned it. It did not change your want, just the reality of doing it.

So yeah, fuck them. You were getting your nipples pierced.

Getting out and locking your car. Breathing deeply as you walked into the parlor. Obscenely high ceilings with possible the biggest ceiling fan you had ever seen. Skulls and skeleton memorabilia decorating the interior. Bathed in the bloodlike glow of lights on every wall. It was pretty sick.

“Can I help you?” A monotonous voice asked closer to you than you realized. Causing you to jump clean out of your skin. Black hair and a scruffy beard. Tattoos on every bit of skin, including his exposed chest. Leather jacket unzipped without a shirt underneath. Piercings in both ears, septum, and his nipples. His head was tilted slightly to the side as he waited for your response.

“Oh, um— yeah, I have an appointment,” you rubbed your hand up and down your arm. A little intimidated by the rather rugged and handsome young man before you. Blue eyes scanned down your body, making you blush. He nodded as he flipped through the pages of the book.

Faking like he did not know what you were here for. You were his only call ahead of the evening. Possibly the last client he would have for the day. Since his boss had up and abandoned him to run down to the bar. Classic. And you were cute. No denying the way his heartbeat escalated when he saw you. Only seeing the studs in your ears, no other piercings notable. Practically a piercing virgin. It made his cock throb a little.

“Y/N?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Yep,” you faked a smile.

“Sick,” he said slamming the book closed and extending his hand out to you, “ ‘m Erik.”

You shook it. His grip was strong. Long fingers wrapping around your hand. Cool to the touch rings decorating his fingers. He hopped down off the stool and rounded the podium. Hands on his hips. Examining your body once again.

“Assuming you haven’t ever had anything like this done,” Erik said more as a statement then a question.

“I’ve got a few tattoos, but no piercings. Just my ears,” you gestured to the side of your face. Awkwardly grinning as you returned to holding your arms over your chest.

“Well you filled out all the paperwork online, but I’ll still give you the crash coarse,” he wiggled his fingers at you. Waving for you to follow him back to an empty room. Smelling similar to a dentist office from the strong sterile cleaner they used. Burning your nostrils a little.

“So I’ll have you lay back on this chair. I’ll have gloves and everything on. Make sure all the instruments are clean. All that good stuff. Just gonna need you to take that shirt off,” he spun around on his heel and pointed.

You felt awkward suddenly. Embarrassment flushing down your entire body. This guy you just met was going to see your bare chest. As if there was any other way to do this. It was different when you found him this attractive. Lips forced shut as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“If that’s a problem, you’ve come to the wrong place,” he smiled at you. Trying to joke with you, resulting in your head hanging a little lower. He rolled his eyes, “I’m just kidding. Will it make it better if I turn around and cover my eyes?”

Another joke. Flirtatious even. His hands going to cover his eyes as he turned his back to you. Catching a glimpse of his toothy grin before his back faced you.

You squinted at him. Corner of your mouth curving into an amused smirk. You scoffed, pulling the shirt over your head. Bare breasts on display. You knew you would be leaving here without a bra so what was even the purpose of wearing one. Arms hugging tightly against your lower stomach. Breasts resting against them. Trying your hardest to hide your body from him.

Erik looked over his shoulder, peaking through his fingers. Smiling widely at the sight of you. ‘Pretty tits’ he thought, almost allowing it to slip before he saw how nervous you really were. Hands and knees shaking. Eyes doed wide and eyebrows upturned. It was so sweet, yet heartbreaking.

“Go ahead and get comfy,” Erik gestured toward the chair that was barely angled up.

Hesitantly, you took your seat. Cold leather making you jump. Chills danced down your body at the contact. Nipples hardening along with it. Teeth grinding together for a moment as your eyes forced shut. Eyebrows furrowing, but trying to stay quiet. Trying to focus on anything else. Watching Erik rummage through supply drawers, placing individually wrapped things on the metal tray beside you.

Sweat began to glisten along your hairline. Furthering your dive into embarrassment. You were a grown woman, there was no reason for you to be this scared about a little piercing.

Erik returned with a sharpie in hand. Wiggling it between his fingers, “Gonna go ahead and mark where I’m gonna stick ya. Okay?”

You coyly nodded.

Pop of the cap had your heart pounding. His hand scooped under your breast. Pulling back and jumping at the contact. Like a startled wild animal. Erik rose back to his full height. Arms going limp at his sides. Head falling to the side as his eyes hooded. Blowing his breath out and shrugging.

“Okay. You are very clearly nervous,” he deadpanned. Pulling up the rolling chair he usually used for tattooing. Sitting on it backwards, his arms folded over the headrest. Chin resting against tattooed limbs, “Tell me what’s got you so high strung.”

Surprised by the empathy he showed you. Genuinely caring about your well being, something you would never expect from his crude exterior. Soft blue eyes scanned yours. Trying to calm your panicked state.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s… the not knowing? How bad it’s gonna hurt?” Words coming out more uncertain than you intended.

Erik chuckled. Head swiveling as he drummed the back of the chair. Nodding while racking his brain. A devious idea coming across it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re in the hands of an expert,” he hooked his fingers around his jacket, pulling it apart so you could see his own pierced nipples better. Taking the time to check him out. Since he was offering and all.

“I’ll tell you what. I can show you about how bad it will hurt, but I need you to be okay with me touching you,” Erik grinned, “No more of that gasping and jumping shit.”

Truthfully, you wanted him to touch you. That was the problem. His hands invoked some high school level hormone within you. Causing your mouth to run dry and hands to shake. And of course it was a little inappropriate to be lusting after your piercer. But you did not care. He would probably end up jerking it to the thought of your tits later. The way his eyes kept raking over them, it’s not like he was hiding his attraction to you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Quivering breath blowing out of your lungs. You met his eyes, “So you can show me without piercing me?”

“Whatever I need to do to help you relax,” gaze softening. Hiding the mischief that swirled around his mind. Barely able to keep his eyes on you with how badly he wanted to massage your tits.

“Let’s do it,” you said with a stern nod.

“Hell yeah,” he held up a fist to you. Bumping knuckles with a smile. Pushing your back flush against the cold seat, eyes falling shut in preparation. Trying to allow your mind to go completely blank.

The sound of him kicking away the stool clued you in that he was standing above you. Looming with shallow breaths. Anticipation practically holding a blade against your throat. Threatening to end you right here.

Your body jerked when he ran his fingers up your bare belly. Softly analyzing your skin with his digits. Smiling to himself at the way your eyebrows contorted and your lips parted. Taking in a deeper breath.

“Real easy,” his voice was low, “Just want to make you comfortable.”

Voice soothing your nerves. Fanning over your body with a blanket of calm and collection. It felt good. Tingling along your nerve endings.

His hand began traveling up. Finding the mound of your breast. Running his fingers along it, finding your hardened nipple. His tongue came out to wet his bottom lip. Having to force some kind of restraint. Thumb swiping over the bulb.

The whine that escaped you would have been unnoticeable to anyone else. But not Erik. Not when he was this close to you. Not when you sounded that pretty just from barely touching you. Not when the head of his cock was pressing against his zipper and growing more uncomfortable by the minute with you.

“Feels good?” a hint of tease laced his question.

“Mmhmp,” you nodded unable to form a cognitive sentence.

A soft blow of his breath resembled an endearing laugh. Deciding now was a good time to test your endurance. Finding your sensitive bulb between his pointer and thumb. Pinching it with a heft of force. Your mouth morphed into an ‘O’ shape, brows pinching together at the feeling. Electricity shot through you from where his fingers touched you. Unable to stop the moan that erupted from your chest.

Erik’s eyes widened. Realizing he had found his holy grail. Twisting your nipple experimentally. Watching the way you arched your head back, throat on display for him. Pressing your chest further into his touch. He smiled. Cock beginning to throb from the symphony you performed for him.

“So, that’s what it’ll feel like?” you were breathless. Turned on beyond belief. Wanting your newly met grunge friend to rip your clothes off and fuck you on the chair.

“Not quite, just a little test to make sure you weren’t gonna freak on me,” Erik grinned once more. Barely able to hide his excitement. Air not filling his lungs the way they needed. Body too busy thinking about the blood rushing to his crotch.

His hand tucked your hair behind your ear, “You did good.” Praising you with a low tone. Smile clear from how he sounded. You barely opened your eyes to look at him, embarrassment taking over. Groaning as they fell closed once more, head resting strongly against the leather. Your face the brightest shade it had been all night.

Erik framed your breast in his hand. Fingertips pressing into the soft flesh. He swallowed, leaning forward slowly. Like he was trying to sneak up on you. Parting his lips to wrap around your nipple. Meeting it with a soft kiss, tongue swirling around the pebble. Scruff slightly scratching your tender tit.

You struggled to moan his name. Gasping like a fish out of water. Tingling all the way down to your core. Skillful mouth working your sensitive tit. Sucking against it, unable to stop himself from leaving a little purple mark right next to it. Raking his tongue around the mound, ending with your nipple caught between his teeth. Cold septum ring tickling the top of your breast. His mouth completely flush with your chest.

Your hand tangled in his black locks. Holding him firm to you. Nails scratching his scalp as you whined and moaned with each swipe of tongue. Stimulating you perfectly.

Suddenly biting down on your nipple harder than before.

Your body bucked in response. Calling out to him at the pain you felt. Minimal. But a vast difference from the pleasure he had previously been inflicting.

“Shhh. Shhh, you’re okay. Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Erik’s hand traveled down your body. Single handily undoing your button and zipper. Sliding his hand past your panties. Easily gliding along your slick folds. Smiling against your skin at the feeling of your arousal, “I just wanna help you relax.”

His voice was drunk. Slurring with his own arousal. Completely thinking with his dick. Fingers circling your wet clit for a moment. Earning him a broken moan. Dipping his fingers in afterward. Welcomed by your needy walls. Curling perfectly inside you.

You nodded, relaxing all your forcibly flexed muscles. Staring up at the ceiling through hooded eyes. Heart ramming itself into your ribcage. Struggling to regulate normal breathing. He was good. Already having you seeing stars with his fingers.

Erik sucked off your boob with a pop. Movement catching your attention. Leaning your head forward to meet his eyes. His own pupils blown out. Eclipsing the beautiful blue iris. Catching his own breath, scanning your facial expression. You were beautiful. Cheeks flushed and eyes bloodshot. He was enamored by the way you looked at him. Wanting nothing more than to continue to please you. To have you all to himself.

His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing along it. Capturing your lips in a kiss. Hungry. Needy. Tongue prying your lips apart. Needing to taste you. Kissing you like you would be the last thing he ever had. Heads leaned to the sides to deepen the kiss.

Thumb finding its place on your aching nub. Circling it with a firm pressure. Shooting mind numbing ecstasy through you with each round. Rolling your hips against his fingers. Chasing your high.

Erik smiled as he continued kissing you. Hand leaving your face and traveling down to the ignored breast. Groping the plump skin.

You could feel your worries slipping away. Losing yourself to pleasure. Not even caring if you got the piercing now. Just wanting his hands on your body. Your hands cupped his cheeks. Scruff tickling your palms.

His cock was throbbing. Twitching at each moan and soft spasm of your walls around his fingers. Craving friction.

You softly bit your teeth into his lip. Tugging at it slowly. Erik sighed with half breaths in response. Cascading his lips down the side of your face, your jaw, and ending on your pulse. Sucking into your throat. You whined at the feeling. Feeling the knot in your lower abdomen tighten.

“Erik—“

“Yeah, baby?” the petname coming off so casual. Barely knowing each other’s first names.

“I’m gonna… fuck I’m gonna—“

It excited him. Heart racing in his chest. Swallowing hard before pulling back to watch your face. Icy eyes blinking repetitively. Trying to focus his vision. Hardly able to think straight. Adding some pressure against your clit, wanting to force you over the edge. His brows contorted in anticipation.

You came unraveled. Hips arching upward as you gripped the leather and his bicep. Moaning louder than you ever had. All inhibitions washing away with your orgasm. Pulsing tightly around his digits. White hot bliss taking over your body.

“That’s it,” Erik cooed breathlessly.

His jaw flexed at the feeling of you. Knowing more than anything he wanted to feel how you would grasp his cock. Bury it so deep inside you that his dick ring grazed your cervix. He could not take it anymore. Slowly pulling his fingers from you. Wincing at the loss. Eyes admiring how they were coated in your release. Standing fully before you, clothed erection at eye level with you. Other hand undoing his belt and zipper.

Halting.

“Do you mind?” coming out as a run-on sentence. Desperate and airy. His want clear. Gesturing toward his groin before continuing.

“Please,” you sighed.

Erik groaned. Releasing his member. Flopping over his fly. Light reflecting the silver ring at his tip. Handful of veins running along his length. Swollen with how he had been holding back. It was hot. Making your pussy clench once more.

Long digits wrapped around himself. Making sure to use the hand that had your own orgasm on it. Pumping up and down his length with a twist of his wrist. Tip beading with pre-cum. Pretty little moans fell from him. Hooded eyes staring at your face as he jacked himself. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat. Taking quick breaths.

You were unable to resist. Throwing caution to the wind and stopping his wrist. Doeing your eyes up at him to ask permission. He smiled as his chest heaved. Nodding without a word. Readjusting your body so that he was easier to reach. Licking along his length and sticking your tongue between the ring in his tip. Erik’s shoulders shuttered. Leaning his head back displaying his throat.

You took the head between your lips. Cold metal resting on your tongue. Swirling your tongue around it. Erik’s fingers threaded through your hair, beginning to guide you up and down his length. Groaning when you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking harder on him. Piercing scratching the back of your throat when your nose met his base. Soft curly hairs decorating it.

He was close. Not having had someone go down on him in a while. Especially someone who was practically throwing herself at him. Or ever at his job. It made this all so much more scandalous. Rebellious. Almost wishing his boss would return and find you like this. Mouth full of cock. Just to disgust him. The fucker deserved it.

“Can I cum on your tits?”

You nodded. Continuing up and down his length until you felt him start to twitch. His hand tugging at your hair to pull you off. Sucking off with a loud pop. Taking position so that he could jerk off onto your chest. Erik quickly wrapped his hand around himself. Quickly stroking, “They’re— you’ve got— pretty fucking tits… goddammit, they’ll be even prettier when I— ugh—“

Hot ropes of thick cum shot across your chest. Moaning with a tight throat as he painted your bare breasts. Some of his cum frothing around the tip, gliding down the ring in his tip. It felt good on your chest. Dripping along your nipples. You scooped some up with a finger, pushing it between your lips. Tasting his salty aftermath. It made Erik shoot out one last time. Hard. Strained.

Erik ran a hand through his hair. Smiling from ear to ear. His hand pinching your chin so that he could kiss you again. Unable to stop giggling with glee. Having had so much fun with you. His hand grabbing your breast again, smearing his release all over your skin. Filling his lungs as he rested his forehead against yours. Kissing you again.

“Better?”

“Definitely,” you giggled. Still a little hazy from what had just transpired. Not expecting something like this to happen tonight. Happy it did.

“Good. I’ll get you cleaned up,” Erik walked away to get some disinfectant wipes. Sweetly getting his jizz off your chest. Making sure to be gentle on the spots where he had left marks. Throwing the towelette away.

“Does this count as my tip?” Erik joked. Cocky grin painting his face. Eyes squinted upward with how wide he was smiling.

You scoffed. Rolling your eyes at the statement. He was funny. Definitely the older brother type. You liked him. Wanted to know more about him. As if you had not just had his dick in your mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you admitted. Face flushing as the words left your mouth. Watching the gears turn in his head with your words. Cocking a hand on his hip, head double taking.

“You think I’m cute?” Erik questioned. Almost as if he did not believe the words. Faming cockiness to hide his insecurity.

“Well… yeah,” you shrugged. Scrunching your face, slightly cringing at the way you said it.

“Yeah? You’re cuter,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Burning along your already heated skin. Biting your lip to try and hide how hard you were smiling uncontrollably.

“So,” Erik popped a black elastic glove on his hand, “We gonna pierce these perfect tits or what?”

You chuckled. Leaning back with your arms at your sides. Calm. Collected. Prepared for the pinch of the needle. Going through the motions with your new sweetheart. Honestly, you were scared for nothing. Yes, it hurt, but about as bad as your ears had.

Erik was gentle with you. Making sure it was all explained and done properly. Sometimes he did not care if a customer was an asshole. Allowing himself to be more lax. But with you, he wanted it done right. And he was right, your breasts looked fucking spectacular with the piercings in them.

You hopped off the chair and put your shirt back on. Loving the way the piercings looked through your shirt. Walking up front with Erik. He explained how long the healing process would take and things to avoid. You got your debit card out of your pocket preparing to pay when he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik shrugged.

“Oh, come on. I’ve gotta pay you,” you insisted.

“Just let me take you on a real date and we can consider it even,” he smiled.

Your cheeks blushed. Really, that sounded like he doing you a double service. But who were you to complain? You’d make sure to repay him in a way you knew he would like.

Erik decided to lock up. If his boss was allowed to call it quits, he was too. Especially when the promise of spending the entire night with you was at hand.

You waited outside as he turned everything off. Watching each light click off until he was out front locking the door. Swirling the keys around his finger as he winked at you. Joining you right outside the door.

“Well, did it hurt?” sing song voice questioned you. Smiling at you on the poorly lit sidewalk.

“Honestly? I can’t remember,” you laughed. You were too caught up looking at him. And remembering how good he made you feel.

“Good,” Erik wrapped an arm around you, “Guess that means you don’t want to kill me.”

“Of course not,” you giggled.

“Wanna go grab a drink?”

“I’d love to.”

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m shocked by the lack of fanfiction for Erik on tumblr. My TikTok fead has been eating him alive! As always, my inbox is always open! Comments and Reblogs are appreciated //

{tags}

@zroberts13 ~ @anniebeemine ~ @beanzwritez ~ @chirioleos ~ @chaoticluminaryperfection ~ @allyssoon ~ @gee72sstuff ~ @ekavamonfort ~ @starrthemushroom ~ @chugjugg ~ @anxi-tea-please ~ @megangovier ~ @kai-komaeda ~ @mythicalcowboyatheart ~ @heyimalex1513 ~ @devilslittlehelper ~ @p00kiepants ~

#erik campbell final destination #erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #richard harmon #richard harmon x reader #final destination #final destination bloodlines #bloodlines #final destination franchise #fanfic #writing #sexymonsterfics

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nellasbookplanet · 1 year ago

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Book recs: black science fiction

As february and black history month nears its end, if you're a reader let's not forget to read and appreciate books by black authors the rest of the year as well! If you're a sci-fi fan like me, perhaps this list can help find some good books to sink your teeth into.

Bleak dystopias, high tech space adventures, alien monsters, alternate dimensions, mash-ups of sci-fi and fantasy - this list features a little bit of everything for genre fiction fans!

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor

Something massive and alien crashes into the ocean off the coast of Nigeria. Three people, a marine biologist, a rapper, and a soldier, find themselves at the center of this presence, attempting to shepherd an alien ambassador as chaos spreads in the city. A strange novel that mixes the supernatural with the alien, shifts between many different POVs, and gives a one of a kind look at a possible first contact.

Nubia: The Awakening (Nubia series) by Omar Epps & Clarence A. Hayes

Young adult. Three teens living in the slums of an enviromentally ravaged New York find that something powerful is awakening within them. They’re all children of refugees of Nubia, a utopian African island nation that sank as the climate worsened, and realize now that their parents have been hiding aspects of their heritage from them. But as they come into their own, someone seeks to use their abilities to his own ends, against their own people.

The Scourge Between Stars by Ness Brown

Novella. After having failed at establishing a new colony, starship Calypso fights to make it back to Earth. Acting captain Jacklyn Albright is already struggling against the threats of interstellar space and impending starvation when the ship throws her a new danger: something is hiding on the ship, picking off her crew one by one in bloody, gruesome ways. A quick, excellent read if you want some good Alien vibes.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Includes darker examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson*

Utterly unique in world-building, story, and prose, Midnight Robber follows young Tan-Tan and her father, inhabitants of the Carribean-colonized planet of Toussaint. When her father commits a terrible crime, he’s exiled to a parallel version of the same planet, home to strange aliens and other human exiles. Tan-Tan, not wanting to lose her father, follows with him. Trapped on this new planet, he becomes her worst nightmare. Enter this book with caution, as it contains graphic child sexual abuse.

Rosewater (The Wormwood trilogy) by Tade Thompson

In Nigeria lies Rosewater, a city bordering on a strange, alien biodome. Its motives are unknown, but it’s having an undeniable effect on the surrounding life. Kaaro, former criminal and current psychic agent for the government, is one of the people changed by it. When other psychics like him begin getting killed, Kaaro must take it upon himself to find out the truth about the biodome and its intentions.

Do You Dream of Terra-Two? by Temi Oh

Young adult. A century ago, an astronomer discovered a possibly Earth-like planet. Now, a team of veteran astronauts and carefully chosen teenagers are preparing to embark on a twenty-three year trip to get there. But space is dangerous, and the team has no one to rely on but each other if - or when - something goes wrong. An introspective slowburn of a story, this focuses more on character work than action.

The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord

After the planet Sadira is left uninhabitable, its few survivors are forced to move to a new world. On Cygnus Beta, they work to rebuild their society alongside their distant relatives of the planet, while trying to preserve what remains of their culture. Focused less on hard science or action, The Best of All Possible Worlds is more about culture, romance and the ethics and practicalities of telepathy.

Mirage (Mirage duology) by Somaiya Daud

Young adult. Eighteen-year-old Amani lives on an isolated moon under the oppressive occupation of the Valthek empire. When Amani is abducted, she finds herself someplace wholly unexpected: the royal palace. As it turns out, she's nearly identical to the half-Valthek, and widely hated, princess Maram, who is in need of a body double. If Amani ever wants to make it back home or see her people freed from oppression, she will have to play her role as princess perfectly. While sci-fi, this one more has the vibe of a fantasy.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship’s leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship’s sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Where It Rains in Color by Denise Crittendon

The planet Swazembi is a utopia of color and beauty, the most beautiful of all its citizens being the Rare Indigo. Lileala was just named Rare Indigo, but her strict yet pampered life gets upended when her beautiful skin is struck by a mysterious sickness, leaving it covered in scars and scabs. Meanwhile, voices start to whisper in Lileala's mind, bringing to the surface a past long forgotten involving her entire society.

Eacaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus duology) by Nicky Drayden

Seske is the heir to the leader of a clan living inside a gigantic, spacefaring beast, of which they frequently need to catch a new one to reside in as their presence slowly kills the beast from the inside. While I found the ending rushed with regards to plot and character, the worldbuilding is very fresh and the overall plot of survival and class struggle an interesting one. It’s also sapphic!

Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah*

In a near future America, inmates on death row or with life sentences in private prisons can choose to participate in death matches for entertainment. If they survive long enough - a rare case indeed - they regain their freedom. Among these prisoners are Loretta Thurwar and Hamara "Hurricane Staxxx" Stacker, partners behind the scenes and close to the deadline of a possible release - if only they can survive for long enough. As the game continues to be stacked against them and protests mount outside, two women fight for love, freedom, and their own humanity. Chain-Gang All-Stars is bleak and unflinching as well as genuinely hopeful in its portrayal of a dark but all to real possible future.

Parable of the Sower (Earthseed duology) by Octavia E. Butler*

In a bleak future, Lauren Olamina lives with her family in a gated community, one of few still safe places in a time of chaos. When her community falls, Lauren is forced on the run. As she makes her way toward possible safety, she picks up a following of other refugees, and sows the seeds of a new ideology which may one day be the saviour of mankind. Very bleak and scarily realistic, Parable of the Sower will make you both fear for mankind and regain your hope for humanity.

Binti (Binti trilogy) by Nnedi Okorafor

Young adult novella. Binti is the first of the Himba people to be accepted into the prestigious Oomza University, the finest place of higher learning in all the galaxy. But as she embarks on her interstellar journey, the unthinkable happens: her ship is attacked by the terrifying Meduse, an alien race at war with Oomza University.

War Girls (War Girls duology) by Tochi Onyebuchi

In an enviromentally fraught future, the Nigerian civil war has flared back up, utilizing cybernetics and mechs to enhance its soldiers. Two sisters, by bond if not by blood, are separated and end up on differing sides of the struggle. Brutal and dark, with themes of dehumanization of soldiers through cybernetics that turn them into weapons, and the effect and trauma this has on them.

The Space Between Worlds (The Space Between Worlds duology) by Micaiah Johnson

Multiverse travel is finally possible, but there’s a catch: No one can visit a world where their counterpart is still alive. Enter Cara, whose parallel selves happen to be exceptionally good at dying. As such she has a very special job in traveling to these worlds, hoping to keep her position long enough to gain citizenship in the walled-off Wiley City, away from the wastes where she grew up. But her job is dangerous, especially when she gets on the tracks of a secret that threatens the entire multiverse. Really cool worldbuilding and characters, also featuring a sapphic lead!

The Fifth Season (The Broken Eart trilogy) by N.K. Jemisin*

In a world regularly torn apart by natural disasters, a big one finally strikes and society as we know it falls, leaving people floundering to survive in a post apocalyptic world, its secrets and past to be slowly revealed. We get to follow a mother as she races through this world to find and save her missing daughter. While mostly fantasy in genre, this series does have some sci-fi flavor, and is genuinely some of the best books I've ever read, please read them.

The Women Could Fly by Megan Giddings*

In an alternate version of our present, the witch hunt never ended. Women are constantly watched and expected to marry young so their husbands can keep an eye on them. When she was fourteen, Josephine's mother disappeared, leveling suspicions at both mother and daughter of possible witchcraft. Now, nearly a decade and a half later, Jo, in trying to finally accept her missing mother as dead, decides to follow up on a set of seemingly nonsensical instructions left in her will. Features a bisexual lead!

The Prey of Gods by Nicky Drayden

South African-set scifi featuring gods ancient and new, robots finding sentience, dik-diks, and a gay teen with mind control abilities. An ancient goddess seeks to return to her true power no matter how many humans she has to sacrifice to get there. A little bit all over the place but very creative and fresh.

The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson*

Young adult. Young artist June Costa lives in Palmares Tres, a beautiful, matriarchal city relying heavily on tradition, one of which is the Summer King. The most recent Summer King is Enki, a bold boy and fellow artist. With him at her side, June seeks to finally find fame and recognition through her art, breaking through the generational divide of her home. But growing close to Enki is dangerous, because he, like all Summer Kings, is destined to die.

The Blood Trials (The Blood Gifted duology) by N.E. Davenport

After Ikenna's grandfather is assasinated, she is convinced that only a member of the Praetorian guard, elite soldiers, could’ve killed him. Seeking to uncover his killer, Ikenna enrolls in a dangerous trial to join the Praetorians which only a quarter of applicants survive. For Ikenna, the stakes are even higher, as she's hiding forbidden blood magic which could cost her her life. Mix of fantasy and sci-fi. While I didn’t super vibe with this one, I suspect fans of action packed romantasy will enjoy it.

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany

1960s classic. Rydra Wong is a space captain, linguist and poet who is set on learning to understand Babel-17, a language which is humanity's only clue at the enemy in an interstaller war. But Babel-17 is more than just a language, and studying it may change Rydra forever.

Pet (Pet duology) by Akwaeke Emezi

Young adult novella. Jam lives in a utopian future that has been freed of monsters and the systems which created and upheld them. But then she meets Pet, a dangerous creature claiming to be hunting a monster still among them, prepared to stop at nothing to find them. While I personally found the word-building in Pet lacking, it deftly handles dark subjects of what makes a human a monster.

Bonus AKA I haven’t read these yet but they seem really cool

Lion's Blood by Steven Barnes

Alternate history in which Africans colonized South America while vikings colonized the North. The vikings sell abducted Celts and Franks as slaves to the South, one of which is eleven-years-old Irish boy Aidan O'Dere, who was just bought by a Southern plantation owner.

The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow

Young adult dystopia. Ellie lives in a future where humanity is under the control of the alien Ilori. All art is forbidden, but Ellie keeps a secret library; when one of her books disappears, she fears discovery and execution. M0Rr1S, born in a lab and raised to be emotionless, finds her library, and though he should deliver her for execution, he finds himself obsessed with human music. Together the two embark on a roadtrip which may save humanity.

Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

Lelah lives in future Botswana, but despite money and fame she finds herself in an unhappy marriage, her body controlled via microchip by her husband. After burying the body of an accidental hit and run, Lelah's life gets worse when the ghost of her victim returns to enact bloody vengeance.

Orleans by Sherri L. Smith

Young adult. Fen de la Guerre, living in a quarantined Gulf Coast left devestated by storms and sickness, is forced on the run with a newborn after her tribe is attacked. Hoping to get the child to safety, Fen seeks to get to the other side of the wall, she teams up with a scientist from the outside the quarantine zone.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

The Splinter in the Sky by Kemi Ashing-Giwa

Space opera. Enitan just wants to live a quiet life in the aftermath of a failed war of conquest, but when her lover is killed and her sister kidnapped, she's forced to leave her plans behind to save her sister.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: The City We Became (Great Cities duology) by N.K. Jemisin, The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull, The A.I. Who Loved Me by Alyssa Cole

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sweetstrawberryys · 20 days ago

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“Double Trouble, Double Love”

—tf 141 + Alejandro as Twin Dads.

Continuation of "Double the Love"

Rating: fluff.

Warnings: tf141 being amazing dads and lots of cuddles obviously.

Masterlist

---

Captain John Price

Dad Style: The Responsible Softie

Nickname: “Dad Boss” (unofficial, courtesy of Soap)

Price reads all the parenting books. He’s the guy who alphabetizes baby medicine, preps tiny go-bags for every outing, and somehow always has a warm bottle ready the second one twin even thinks about crying.

But when one of the babies falls asleep on his chest? He doesn’t move. For hours. Just sits there, remote in one hand, baby in the other, beard scratchily pressed to soft little heads.

You once walked in to see both twins asleep on him while he whispered, “Tactical snuggle time complete. Targets subdued by cuddles.”

His favorite thing? Walking them around the house in matching footie pajamas while humming old military cadences like lullabies.

---

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Dad Style: Protective, Awkward, Deeply Obsessed

Nickname: “Scary Teddy Bear”

Ghost was terrified at first. Babies? Crying? Emotions? But the second he held both twins—tiny fists grabbing his shirt—he was hooked.

He never lets anyone hold them without washing their hands. He says he doesn’t do “baby talk,” but you’ve caught him whispering in a soft voice:

“Who's Daddy’s little shadow ops, huh? You are. You’re my little operators.”

He wears a skull bib when feeding them because “they respect the brand.” And God help anyone who jokes about how gentle he is now. He’ll glare them into silence while burping a baby with perfect rhythm.

Favorite thing? Midnights with one twin in each arm, rocking them slowly while muttering stories from his past like bedtime legends.

---

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Dad Style: Chaos Gremlin with a Heart of Gold

Nickname: “Da Da BOOM” (one of the twins said it once. He cried.)

Soap is the fun parent. He makes baby food into shapes. He gives the twins matching faux-hawks. He made up a song called “Poo Patrol” for diaper duty (it slaps, unfortunately).

Every day is a mission: Operation Bedtime, Operation Synchronized Naps, Operation Get the Spoon Out of the Dog’s Mouth.

But then come the moments when he lays on the floor, twin in each arm, whispering, “Did you know I never thought I’d be this happy?”

Favorite thing? Making them laugh with ridiculous sound effects. And carrying them around in a double-baby carrier like he’s got the world’s tiniest backpack squad.

---

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Dad Style: Chill but Always on Alert

Nickname: “Baby Whisperer”

Gaz is the smoothest dad alive. He can burp one twin while rocking the other to sleep with his foot. He’s got lullaby playlists, bottle timings memorized, and somehow never gets spit-up on him.

He wears them in a double wrap and does grocery runs like it’s nothing. “What? You mean everyone doesn’t grab diapers with two adorable sidekicks strapped to their chest?”

You once woke up to find him laying on the floor, babies on either side of him, all three of them staring at the ceiling and having a deep conversation about ceiling fans.

Favorite thing? Singing to them in a soft voice — sometimes lullabies, sometimes R&B classics with lyrics changed to include pacifiers and burp cloths.

---

Alejandro Vargas

Dad Style: Passionate, Loud, and Full of Love

Nickname: “Papi Supreme”

Alejandro throws fiestas for every baby milestone. First giggle? Piñata. First word? Cake. First steps? Confetti cannons (you had to ban those).

He teaches them Spanish lullabies, dances around the kitchen with one baby in each arm, and insists on giving them matching little hats “like proper niños.”

He once held a dramatic speech at 3 a.m. because one twin wouldn’t sleep: “Mi hija, please, your papi is exhausted. Let’s negotiate.”

Favorite thing? Morning cuddles, both twins tucked under his arms, and whispering, “You two are the greatest mission I’ve ever accepted.”

---

Do you wanna see more of the pregnant!reader x tf!141 ?

#simon ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #ghost cod #john soap mactavish x reader #cod fanfic #cod x you #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #call of duty x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #soap cod #john soap mactavish #john price #cod x reader #cod x y/n

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

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This is off topic but the switch direct featured a game called Disney villains cursed café, and it got me thinking, what if Yuu ran a café in twst

I saw the trailer myself and instantly thought of Twst! 😭

Maybe Yuu wouldn’t be able to have their own café (lack of capital for startup), but they could be the Mostro Lounge’s barista or something? They have what appears to be a bar-like area:

It could be considered a part-time job to supplement the monthly allowance Crowley gives Yuu! It’d also be a good way for them to spread the Magic of Friendship and interact with the student body way more than what is shown in the main story.

If that part-time job goes well and Yuu enjoys it, maybe it could be a viable career path for them once they graduate NRC (assuming they don't find a way back to their world)? With a degree from a prestigious arcane academy + connections built by then, Yuu could surely net some financial backers and set up shop in Foothill Town (or even on NRC campus!). They could even have drinks and sweets themed after the dorms of inspired by their classmates. Since a lot of the expendable items in Twst gameplay are edible, it would also be so cool if Yuu recreated them for their business. Friendship Popcorn, Leaping Macarons, Rich Card Cookies, Limelight Waffles, Lucky Cupcakes, Starshards, Friendship Tea, Secret Snacks, breads drizzled with Blooming Honey, etc. It sounds like the beginning of a cozy fantasy novel www

In Disney Villains Cursed Café because I want to talk about how silly it is, you play the part of a "potionista" and serve magical brews to various Disney villains in a modern setting. Your choices will influence the villains' ambitions and result in different things happening in their storylines! Some stories teased include:

Gaston attempting to impress his golfing buddies

Hook wanting to be the star of a community theater production

Maleficent seeking to dominate on social media

Ursula becoming a reality TV sensation

The art style is very stylish, and I'm always a sucker for games involving food and fairy tale motifs 🤡

Some customers you'll meet include Ursula, Gaston, Jafar, Captain Hook. Cruelle De Vil, and Maleficent (in casual wear!). asdbasoydasd The Mistress of Evil using her staff as a selfie stick in the promo art makes me laugh a little 😅 Gaston looking preppy and athletic is also super fitting, but Jafar looks so different in a hat and suit that I had to do a double-take when I first saw him.

If you pay close attention, you'll also find Easter eggs in the decor and background! For example, Flotsam and Jetsam are in a glass container on the left of your counter, and the Magic Mirror seems to be mounted on the right. You'll find customers seated at tables and enjoying their drinks (JAFAR WHY ARE YOU HUNCHED OVER LIKE THAT... I also spot what seems to be the Evil Queen in one screenshot?)

Yzma also makes an appearance; apparently, she helps you with ingredients upgrades to make even more powerful potions.

THIS IS SO SILLY... My brain is just superimposing the NRC boys in these scenarios and that magnifies the silliness 😭

Ursula's "I went to the beach today and NO ONE wanted to make a deal with me" gives Azul being dramatic on an NRC school beach trip energy OTL Maleficent wanting to be a social media influencer is so ironic given that Malleus doesn't know how tf to use technology and regularly breaks phones... Vargas going on a golfing trip... Crewel wanting a hot brew to take the edge off of dealing with unruly pups all day... TWEELS CRAMMED INTO A JAR FOR THE AESTHETIC... Paparazzi trying to sneak a photo of Vil at a café... Jamil being a chuuni by declaring his drink teleports him to a powerful lamp, only to reappear a yard away under a ceiling fixture lamp... This just SCREAMS of the NRC students/staff terrorizing a local business/j Not me hoping that fan artists do crossover art/art inspired by interactions in this game...

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starkeymeow · 2 months ago

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rafe with siblingpack!pogue!reader . . .

he would hear you say “my brother” a lot.

you’d toss it into conversations like it meant nothing, like “my brother borrowed my charger again” or “my brother said that movie was mid.”

but it was always a different brother. rafe started noticing that.

one night, while driving back from a late-night gas station run, he finally asked, “how many siblings do you actually have?”

you shrugged like it was no big deal. “six. well, technically seven, including me.” and he almost drove off the road.

he didn’t say anything right away. he just filed it away.

six siblings. six people who share your childhood, your last name, your house. six people who have stories he doesn’t know. six chances to screw this up.

later, he joked about it. said stuff like, “you hiding me from your family?”

and you told him straight-faced, “no. i’m hiding them from you.” and he laughed, but deep down he knew you’re not totally kidding.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet them. it’s just, he didn’t want to lose before he even got the chance to prove himself.

the first time he dropped you off at your house, he saw the shadows through the window.

someone was pacing the hallway. someone else was on the porch barefoot, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl. the porch light flickered. music was playing. someone was shouting from upstairs.

you leaned against his truck door, thumb tracing a chip in the paint, and said, “you don’t have to come in.”

and he knew what you mean. not just tonight. but in general.

you don’t have to see all this. you don’t have to see the unfiltered version of me. but he wanted to. it’s just, he wanted to deserve it first.

you thought about bringing him home, yeah. more than once. usually late at night, when he’s driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of your neck like it's instinct. when the roads are empty and he’s looking at you like he’s still trying to figure you out.

he’ll ask little things: what your house is like, why you never bring anyone around, and you always dodge it, joke your way through.

truth is, you didn’t think he’d want to see it.

even if he asked.

but then today happens. you were supposed to run to the gas station and grab milk. you were hungry. he was already with you. cole had texted some passive-aggressive version of ‘get here before someone eats the rest of the pasta’ and the sun was already going down.

so you said, screw it.

and now, here you are.

you don't even need to knock. the door's unlocked, like always. probably wide open all day. you walk in first, and rafe follows, just a step behind, slow, cautious in the way you never really see from him. like he’s entering a space he shouldn’t be allowed in.

the house smells like cheap candles, burnt toast, and whatever jude poured down the sink last night. the tv’s on so loud the floor vibrates. somewhere in the distance, a door slams and someone yells ‘get the hell out of my room’ in a voice you can’t place yet. might be cole, might be a feral animal.

rafe pauses just past the threshold.

“this a bad idea?” he murmurs, voice quiet but right in your ear.

you glance at him, try not to wince. “kind of.”

he huffs a small laugh, but doesn’t press.

you kick your shoes off automatically, sidestepping a pair of muddy cleats that definitely weren’t there this morning. a small blur zips past your legs, barefoot, wearing a black hoodie and something strapped to his head with duct tape. he’s muttering something about ‘operational recon’ as he disappears around the corner.

“rowan’s in mission mode again,” you mutter.

“jesus,” rafe says under his breath, eyebrows raised. “how many are here again?”

you just wave him in further. the living room is barely holding itself together. a pile of laundry sits half-folded on the armchair, and someone’s hoodie is draped over the ceiling fan cord like a noose. jude is sprawled on the floor like a corpse, watching the tv upside down, arms flung wide, one sock on. next to him, kit’s curled into the couch, hoodie zipped all the way up, knees tucked under her chin.

neither of them looks up.

you clear your throat as you step over an open bag of chips someone clearly gave up on.

“kit. jude. maybe try pretending we have manners.”

kit looks up first. her eyes land on rafe and immediately narrow like she’s scanning him for weak points. she’s got that look she always gets when you bring someone new around. mostly bored, mildly suspicious, like this is all taking time away from her personal agenda of doing nothing.

“you brought someone?” she says, raising a brow. “thought you were still in your antisocial era.”

“she is,” jude mutters, not taking his eyes off the screen. “she just wants someone to suffer with her.”

“true love,” kit says flatly. “so romantic.”

rafe glances between the two of them, then back at you. you catch the faint twitch of a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

“kit, jude,” you start, tilting your head toward him, “this is rafe.”

“cameron?” jude pipes up, finally looking over. “like . . . that cameron?”

“no,” you say. “a different one with the same face, voice, and trust fund.”

rafe gives him a polite nod. “hey.”

kit stares for another beat before her mouth lifts slightly. “ballsy move, bringing tannyhill into this dump.”

“it’s not that bad,” you argue, but even as you say it, a dog barks in the distance and something clatters in the kitchen.

jude shrugs. “i give him ten minutes before he bails.”

“you want a timer?” rafe asks, tone dry.

“ohhh,” jude grins. “he’s got jokes.”

before you can even roll your eyes, another crash comes from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable voice of cole yelling “i said don’t fucking touch that!” and nadia snapping something right back, sharper, quieter, way more terrifying.

you walk toward the noise and gesture for rafe to follow. he does, weaving past the wreckage of backpacks and tangled shoes by the hall.

in the kitchen, cole’s leaned against the counter in a faded white tee, sipping a beer like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground. nadia’s across from him, arms crossed tight, face set like stone. there’s a pot boiling on the stove and something singed on the burner beside it.

cole eyes rafe as soon as you walk in. no hello. no smile. just a squint.

“we picking up strays now?”

“do not,” you warn, pointing a finger. “do not start.”

rafe just lifts a hand. “not a stray. came voluntarily.”

“worse,” cole mutters. “means you’re either stupid or into her.”

“definitely stupid,” nadia adds, dryly, without turning around.

you rub a hand over your face. “rafe, meet cole and nadia. the kitchen trolls.”

“i’m not a troll,” cole says. “i’m the cook.”

nadia turns to rafe with a sigh and a faint smile. “sorry in advance. he’s only here because he ran out of beer at his place.”

“false,” cole says, gesturing with the bottle. “i brought this.”

“that’s expired,” she fires back.

“so’s my patience.”

“anyway,” you cut in before they start again. “we’re just here for a second.”

“sure,” nadia says, though her eyes flick back to rafe. not judgmental. just reading him.

then rowan reappears, making a dramatic dive-roll across the linoleum, blanket cape flapping. he skids into the cabinets, hops up, and shouts, “agent deployed!” before vanishing again.

rafe blinks.

“what the hell?”

“that’s rowan,” you sigh. “he thinks he’s in a war movie.”

“he’s eight,” cole adds helpfully. “don’t feed him. don’t look him in the eye. he’s fine.”

you glance at rafe again, just to check. he doesn’t look freaked out. he looks . . . kind of amused, actually. like he’s genuinely curious about how this turned into your life.

you lean a little closer.

“still wanna be here?”

he shrugs, small smile playing at his lips.

“figured it’d be worse.”

“worse?” you echo.

“yeah,” he says. “like, knives flying. yelling. exorcisms. this is just . . . messy.”

you snort. “give it time.”

but when you look back at him, standing in the middle of the chaos, arms relaxed, not checking the door, you think maybe he can handle it after all. maybe he already is.

a/n: me when i rewatch shameless LOL but yea this wont be a series but maybe ill write headcanons or blurbs here n there with rafe & reader who just has a bunch of siblings in the cut. also yes ik i said 6 siblings and only introduced 5, the 6th is away from home rn !! we’ll get to her another time idk, lmk if u want a brief rundown on ur new fictional siblings maybe

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @adribarbie @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms

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personapeters · 2 months ago

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✰ 𝐛𝐟!𝐣𝐣 𝐱 𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤!𝐠𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— sweet boyfriend jj and his ‘full kook’ girlfriend

rating: sfw — cw: none

— boyfriend jj who… was absolutely amazed when he first entered your house, gawking at the high ceilings and shiny decor that sat on the shelves, once reaching out to touch your father’s most prized pieces that sat atop a marble pedistal, to which you quickly said, “oh no, babe, don’t touch that — he’d kill us both,” softly grabbing his curious hands and redirecting them elsewhere.

— boyfriend jj who… wasn't your parent's favorite at first, his reputation on the island proceeding him. they felt you could do much better than a pogue, let alone that pogue, but that didn't stop him from trying to make the best impression possible. he fixed himself up as best as he could when he first met them, even turning his typically backwards cap forwards, saying it made him ‘look more professional’ — professional at what? you don’t know.

— boyfriend jj who… hates when you spend money on him. he appreciates the sentiment, but hates how it makes him feel like he’s using you, even though he knows he isn’t. sure, he’s stolen plenty of cash and random valuables before, but never would he ever want that from you. plus, he wants to provide for you.

— boyfriend jj who… lets you pamper him whenever you’re doing a self care day — plucking his eyebrows as you straddle his lap with his hands on your hips, applying matching face masks which he always says are too cold, fully manicuring his nails with a clear coat of polish; any and everything you did to yourself. at first, he pretended to hate it, but it soon became his favorite thing to do.

— boyfriend jj who… defended you like it was his job to his friends when they first heard about you, though he didn’t understand why he had to. his friends said you’re simply too much of a kook for him, and the hypocrisy pissed him off: “yeah, like sarah ‘n kie weren’t raised on figure eight, too — what’s the difference?”

— boyfriend jj who… introduced you to sarah and kiara with high hopes that you would get along well — an assumption he made based off the fact that you’re all kook girls who were somehow 'slumming it' with pogues like him and his friends. despite their preconceived idea of you at first, you became pretty cool with all the girls once they got to know you, cleo included.

— boyfriend jj who… never involves you in any of his criminal activities, saying he doesn’t want to be the reason ‘y/n, the golden girl’ earns a criminal record. though he almost came around once when you pointed out how your pristine image could probably exempt you as a suspect in just about anything: “that’s not… okay, that’s not not true, but… no, no, stop — s’not happening.”

— boyfriend jj who… managed to unintentionally change your style alot. you're usually dressed up in designer bandeaus and expensive sandals, but after the two of you started dating, you've traded alot of your attire for his (which he loves); his caps, old t-shirts — he even saved up to buy you a smaller version of his boots to wear whenever the two of you get into something messy outdoors; he's converted you into his own 'mini-me'.

— boyfriend jj who… often second guesses if he's good enough for you — he's heard the snide comments other kooks have made about your relationship, saying there's no way a guy like him got a girl like you. he doesn’t know how he landed you either, and deep down is dreading the day you ‘come to your senses’ and leave him.

— boyfriend jj who… had his first taste of what a normal family felt like with you — every dinner, movie night, outing; jj was invited and he always showed up with a smile. at first, he was hesitant because he felt like he was intruding or as though he didn't fit in, but after a while, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

— boyfriend jj who… isn't the biggest fan of dressing up, but does what he must whenever he goes out to dinner with your family or even just visits your home. you assured him he could wear whatever he wants, what makes him comfortable, but he feels so out of place whenever he does so he chooses not to.

— boyfriend jj who… turned a-lot of his life around for you, though it took some time. his friends weren’t big fans of him spending most nights with you instead of running all across the island, getting into whatever it was they got into. they missed him always being around, but also understood that he was doing what was ultimately best for him and were honestly grateful he had you.

— boyfriend jj who… got a second job and picked up every possible shift just to save up to get you a gift for your birthday: a dainty gold necklace. he beamed with so much pride when he gave it to you, watching nervously as you opened it; “i—i bought it, it’s not, like, stolen or nothin’,” he said with a bashful grin, causing you to laugh at the sentiment of a legally obtained present.

— boyfriend jj who… every once in a while, has a breakdown — one where he tells you that he fears one day you’ll realize he’s not good enough for you, that you’ll leave him for someone of your own status who can do more for you than he ever could. you reassure him that there’s no one you would want to be with other than him, though he still has his worries.

— boyfriend jj who… takes you on little dates across the cut, showing you all his favorite spots and things to do like cliff jumping, riding a dirt-bike or exploring abandoned houses. he always apologizes for them not being as ‘nice as you’re used to’, but you always shut him up immediately, telling him there’s nothing you want more than to just be with him.

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kestrelteens · 11 months ago

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Whew! I really really loved this set so much that I had to convert, well, almost everything?

The Nostalgia Living by @awingedllama has been my fave ever since it came out and I was just waiting for an ounce of my converting motivation to come back to get down to business. And it finally happened!

Because there are 50+ items in this set and it would take me 2 hours to list all of them, I will link this handy dandy catalog the original creator made so you can see what you're getting: RIGHT HERE. All of the objects are fairly low poly so you don't need to worry about that.

Some important information + previews can be found under the cut!

Enjoy & have fun! ♥

download (sfs) // alt download (mediafire)

grab the collection file here

There is a gaming console override included! Well, the console is buyable in the catalog and the override is for the controller so you need that package. It will conflict with any other overrides you have!

ALSO, 'cause there are some adorable vintage frames included in the set, I thought I could make them into changeable sim portraits! Now your sim family's portraits can match the fireplace (which is functional, also).

A lot of the items are repositoried to eachother! The shelving system, the couch, I did make note of that in the folders so you know what to download. Also, all the shelves have 10+ slots, the 'Dad's library' books function as bookshelves (and have slots on top of them).

The items I haven't converted and why (BUT I will look into them in the upcoming days I was just way too tired now lol sorry): draperies (the mesh appeared broken in the game); drink coaster (I forgot about this little guy); grand mirror (I still have to learn how to convert them lol); triangular shelf (I'm sorry but I really wasn't feeling this shelf, I remember it from my childhood and I always hated it in other ppl's houses lmao);

I also wanted to make the ceiling fan animated so it can spin and function as a light at the same time, but unfortunately right now that is above my converting capabilities! But I will look into that as well.

Right now I'm working on converting the build mode items! Precisely the doors, but the wallpapers + the carpets are included now. I will also convert the Nostalgia kitchen but it might take me a while 'cause I'm learning stuff about animating objects so I can also fix the CHALK kitchen I know it's ass, bear with me pls lmao ♥

AND this set is huge so I just know that I have forgotten about something or I have misplaced something in the folders, my adhd is having a field day SO please let me know if anything is missing or might not be working as intended! ♥

AND I mustn't forget to thank @tvickiesims for helping me out with the shelves and solved the issue of them not being recolorable, thank you Vickie! ♥

#the sims 2 #ts2 #sims 2 #s2 #4t2 #4t2 conversion #4t2cc #sims 4t2 #4t2 objects #sims 2 custom content #ts2 cc #4t2kestrelobjects

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sunarryn · 2 months ago

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DP X Marvel #19

Pepper Potts prided herself on her ability to adapt. She’d survived Tony Stark’s post-cave existentialism, Stark Expo 2010, the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, and several global cataclysms. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared her for the day she received a glowing scroll via flaming raven at 3 a.m. It exploded into glitter and legal jargon the second she touched it.

The Temporal Child Reassignment Authority—TCRA for short, like an IRS from hell with better penmanship—had declared her the legal guardian of four de-aged minors, all results of an “interdimensional ghost war and subsequent reality collapse.” The document even included a family tree, pointing out her half-sister Maddie Fenton as their maternal parent. The kicker? Three of the children were meta-class ecto-beings. And the fourth was an “anomalous prodigy with cognitive potential exceeding known human thresholds.”

Pepper blinked at the words, reread them, and poured herself the strongest wine she owned.

By the time she finished the bottle, her living room shimmered with unnatural frost, and a swirling green portal opened with the subtlety of a chainsaw. Out stumbled four children—if one could use such a soft word for what appeared to be three weapons of mass destruction and a tiny, furious psychologist in the making.

Jazz was nine years old, with blazing red hair in a ponytail so tight it looked like a weapon. Her eyes scanned the room with military precision. She was holding a notebook, already scribbling down assessments.

Dan, aged seven, had black-and-white hair that flickered between forms, red eyes glowing faintly, and a permanent scowl that screamed war criminal in a booster seat. His tiny boot crushed a Stark Industries coaster underfoot.

Danny, five, looked like an overcaffeinated sugar cube in a “Ghostbusters are Bigots” shirt. He levitated six inches off the ground, phasing through the coffee table like it offended him personally.

And Dani—dear sweet baby Dani—was three, wore a tutu over her jumpsuit, and was gnawing on a Stark tech screwdriver like a teething raptor. It sparked. She giggled.

Pepper stared.

Tony wandered in wearing Iron Man pajama pants and blinked at the chaos.

“Huh. Why do I suddenly feel like a dad?”

Pepper stood up and handed him the scroll.

Ten minutes later, Tony was grinning like a proud, chaotic uncle who just realized he’d inherited a feral army. “Oh, I love them.”

“I want to kill Maddie,” Pepper muttered. “I want to re-kill her if she’s already dead. I don’t care. I will unearth her soul and yell.”

Jazz looked up from her notes. “Statistically, yelling is ineffective when dealing with narcissistic sociopaths with academic degrees. But I can write up an interrogation protocol if you give me twenty minutes and a war room.”

Tony looked at her like she was a gift from God. “Pepper. She’s a baby you.”

“She’s a terrifying baby me.”

“I love her.”

Dan crossed his arms, floating ominously. “I’m only here because they said I can’t go back to the timeline where I killed everyone.”

Dani beamed. “I like juice!”

Danny phased up to the ceiling fan. “Does this house have ghost-repellent death lasers like the last one? I hate those.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You got hit by ghost-repellent death lasers?”

Pepper was already dialing every Avenger in existence. “Tony. Tony, their parents worked with the GIW.”

“The what?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “The Ghost Investigation Ward. They are basically interdimensional fascists who want to wipe out all ghosts and hybrid anomalies. Also, they tried to vivisect us.”

Tony blinked. “Vivisect?”

“Scalpels, restraints, anti-ecto shackles, and a man named Agent O who smells like ham and crime,” Jazz said flatly.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Pepper muttered, pacing. “I’m going to launch an HR-approved war.”

Dani blinked. “Are we allowed to bite?”

“No,” Pepper said.

“Yes,” Tony said at the same time.

Dani cheered.

By the time Natasha arrived, Dani was in the air vents, Danny had short-circuited the AI, Dan was brooding in the fireplace like a Dickensian ghost of vengeance, and Jazz was lecturing FRIDAY on ethical protocol failure.

Natasha stood in the entryway, staring, her eyes wide with either horror or admiration.

“Pepper. Did you birth little Widows?”

“No,” Pepper said tightly. “They’re Maddie’s kids. Maddie’s. As in, I share DNA with them and now legally own them. Apparently.”

Jazz tilted her head. “Ms. Romanoff. I’ve analyzed your fight patterns from Battle of New York and determined you have unresolved trauma related to institutional betrayal. Would you like to unpack that?”

Tony leaned over. “She’s nine.”

“She scares me,” Natasha whispered.

Bucky showed up next and read the full report Jazz had printed out for him, complete with footnotes, photos, and color-coded trauma timelines.

The super soldier sat down, dead-eyed. “I just had a Hydra flashback from a PowerPoint.”

Jazz gave him a lollipop. “That’s a common symptom. I recommend candy and validation.”

Dan muttered something about weak mortals and floated upside down through a wall.

“I like him,” Bucky said faintly.

Steve walked in, saw Dan breathing ectoplasmic fire at the neighbor’s cat, and noped back out.

Wanda arrived and blinked at Jazz, whose psychic aura flared like a dying star every time she got emotional.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“I sense wrath,” Wanda said.

Jazz nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

Pepper was halfway through arranging a legal drone strike on the GIW when Rhodey FaceTimed her. “Hey, uh, why is CNN reporting that four tiny gods have occupied New York and turned the Stark Tower into a haunted war bunker?”

“They’re children,” Pepper said.

Tony poked his head into frame. “Children who can melt tanks.”

Danny flew by holding the Iron Man helmet upside down like a bowl of cereal.

“Dani just set the couch on fire,” Pepper added, dead-eyed.

Rhodey blinked. “I’ll bring extinguishers.”

The thing about children, Pepper had learned, is that they operate entirely on vibes, sugar, and trauma. And these four had plenty of all three. Jazz was terrifyingly competent, and within a week had formed an inter-Avengers child committee, wrote a new AI ethics guideline, and had Bruce Banner signing waivers just to talk to her.

Dan blew up a parking meter because it “looked at him wrong.”

Danny asked Tony if they could build an ecto-bazooka together and promised not to use it on Steve “unless Steve said ghosts weren’t real again.”

Dani tried to use her powers to possess a Roomba and ride it into battle.

Pepper walked in on all four of them forming a pact to “annihilate GIW headquarters” with something called Operation Ghost Buster Buster.

Tony approved instantly.

Pepper did not.

“Pepper,” Tony said. “We have kids now.”

“We have war orphans now.”

“They’re adorable!”

“They’re armed.”

“They’re basically Avengers Junior.”

Dani crashed through the ceiling riding a ghost dragon she “found in the laundry room.”

“I changed my mind,” Pepper muttered. “They’re perfect.”

Pepper flew to Amity Park a week later, dressed in corporate armor and rage. She walked into the Fenton household with Natasha, Bucky, and a glowing legal team of literal demons (Tony’s idea) and found Maddie and Jack cheerfully explaining how ecto-dissection worked on “halflings.”

When Maddie smiled and said, “It’s science, dear,” Pepper threw her coffee in Maddie’s face.

Tony had to hold her back while Bucky dismantled the Fenton portal and Natasha found enough surveillance footage to convict them of several counts of attempted child murder.

Jazz watched the entire thing from the jet via livestream, calmly taking notes.

“Pepper’s my favorite aunt,” she said.

Dan nodded. “She has potential.”

Danny was asleep on Tony’s shoulder, clutching a ghost plushie.

Dani was drawing herself riding a unicorn with a flame thrower.

The Avengers voted unanimously to make the kids honorary members. Jazz requested clearance access to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trauma archives and got it. Dan received therapy. Danny built a ghost-safe treehouse. Dani declared herself queen of the Stark kitchen and banned kale.

Pepper watched them play in the yard one day and finally exhaled.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she whispered.

Tony grinned. “You’re doing fine.”

Jazz ran by wielding a dagger made of solidified ghost energy.

Danny chased her screaming something about shared custody of the Lunchables.

Dan floated overhead like a sullen storm cloud.

Dani cackled, flying past them on her Roomba dragon.

“I need wine,” Pepper muttered.

Tony kissed her cheek. “I’ll buy you a vineyard.”

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georgeclarkesgf · 11 months ago

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shush, it's a secret | george clarke

it's not unusual for you to be over at george's flat considering you and him met at university and both moved to london around the same time. but about four months ago, your relationship changed from close friends to just that, a relationship.

you'd both decided to not tell anyone, despite how difficult it was proving to be to not be all over each other 24/7. the fans knew of you, to an extent. you'd appear in the backgrounds of videos or tiktoks posted by the boys. your social media was public, however, none of your accounts included your name, making it less likely for fans to find you.

tonight, you're over at the flat again, legs strewn over george's lap and eating some of the dominoes he'd ordered. a movie chris had picked out plays on the tv, but was now long forgotten about since a debate has broken out amongst the boys. over what? you don't know. you're too focused on the way george's hand is subconsciously trailing up your thigh, dangerously high for a 'close friend'. he honestly hasn't noticed that he's doing it, too engaged in the ongoing debate. so, you pick your phone up from your chest and message him.

too high x

his phone dings and he leans forward, grabbing it off the table before noticing it was from you. you watch as his brows furrow in confusion, before sending him another message.

your hand x

realisation hits george and he squeezes your thigh gently as an apology, moving his hand back down to rest above your knees. he mouths 'sorry' at you, to which you can't help but giggle and shake your head. arthur (hill) looks between you two in slight confusion, going to say something but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

it wasn't that you didn't want to tell people, you'd both just agreed it would be easier figuring things out and adjusting to this shift in dynamic without other people prying their noses in. it didn't make the thrill of getting caught any less exciting though. even the simple things such as him wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder made you get an adrenaline rush.

you can feel your eyes growing heavy, despite it still being relatively early, and decide to call it a night.

"sorry guys but i'm gonna head to bed," an echo of boos fill the room while you shrug, laughing, "i'm tired guys leave me alone. mind if i crash in your bed george?"

it feels weird having to ask your boyfriend if you can sleep in his bed, but it seems to be doing the trick of keeping the relationship a secret. there are only three bedrooms and you've known george the longest, so it makes sense you'd stay in his room.

"no go for it, i probably won't be long." you give him a smile and climb off the sofa, heading to his room.

george's eyes widen when he next checks the time, not realising it was so late.

"shit." he mumbles to himself, gaining a weird look from the boys.

"you alright george?" arthur (hill) questions.

"yea i'm fine. just didn't realise it was so late that's all, got stuff to do tomorrow. i'm gonna go to bed though, night guys." he was lying right through his teeth, he had nothing to do tomorrow.

what george had meant to be ten minutes or so had turned into an hour and a half. arthur (tv) ended up coming over and they'd gotten so caught up in conversation that time seemed to fly by. he knows that you hate falling asleep without him and feels guilt seep into his skin. especially since he knows you won't ask for him to come to bed, not wanting it to come off weird since to the others, you're 'just friends'.

you're staring at the ceiling when he shuts his bedroom door, having fallen asleep for all of twenty minutes before you woke up to an empty bed over an hour ago.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't realise it had been that long," you turn to look at him, enjoying the way he starts stroking your cheek with his thumb, "have you been waiting for me?"

"mhm, fell asleep for about twenty minutes and been awake since. it's okay though, kept myself busy," george's jaw drops slightly, clearly misunderstanding your words, "oh my god george, no! i meant by reading some more of my book you perv. get your mind out the gutter."

he laughs and goes in to kiss you but you push his forehead away before he can. you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"ow, what was that for?" he's rubbing his forehead like you just hit him with a bat, making it much more dramatic than necessary.

"brush your teeth, you have pizza breath." he tries to do it again and catch you off guard but fails, "i mean it george."

"yes ma'am."

he disappears into the bathroom and returns a few minutes later. his teeth are brushed and he's wearing a pair of grey joggers. your arms open wide, inviting him to lay on top of you so you can run your nails through his hair and up and down his back. a feeling both of you love.

"can i kiss you now?" he teases, grin widening when you nod your head.

several kisses are planted on your face and you know he's purposefully missing your lips. you frown, wanting him to kiss you properly, not having felt his lips on yours in what felt like years. realistically, it's been a few hours.

"george, kiss me properly." you whine.

and he does just that. one hand holding himself up to hover over you, the other stroking your cheek and bringing you in closer until your lips finally meet. the kiss starts off slow and loving, until he presses you further into the mattress, his hands beginning to roam your body. every ounce of sleep you were feeling disappears, suddenly becoming hyper aware of what's happening.

pulling away, you mumble, "we can't, everyone's here. they'll hear us."

"never stopped us before." george whispers against your mouth, connecting your lips once again.

well touché.

a/n don't ask where the inspiration for this came from at 2 in the morning cause i don't have an answer. not proofread either sorryyy. shall i make a part two? i feel like i'll end up doing it anyway but what do you guys think??

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undreaming-fanfiction · 4 months ago

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Just My Type

This one is for @henderdads with her prompt - accidental first kiss. Happy Valentine's Day, Cass! I hope this will bring you some joy!

Steve Harrington wasn't known for sharing his problems with others. He was the one who resolved all your issues, not brought more to the already very overcrowded table. The kids needed some stability, and as much as he loved Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, they weren't exactly fit for that role. The girls would soon leave Hawkins for college (Steve was so proud his heart could burst), and Eddie had his hands full with the whole finishing high school thing while still recovering from being nearly eaten by demobats.

No, Steve had this handled. He was the least fun of the four, but reliable. As far as the kids knew, the only issue Steve had was his inconsistent and ever dramatic love life, nothing else.

When Steve's eyesight started getting worse, likely from all those concussions, he handled it on his own. No need to worry anyone. A secret pair of glasses for home, prescription sunglasses for driving (and yeah, he looked cool in them, despite the kids' grumbling), and that was it. They didn't need to know. Everything was working out just fine. He was great at faking things.

At least until that fateful day. But we’ll get there. First, something about Steve’s love life.

See, Steve was dating around. He had been feeling anxious, unfulfilled, and the more he thought about it, the reason wasn’t Nancy for once. Even stranger, he knew he was over her, but the feeling of needing something and not being able to get it wouldn’t leave. So he got out there, used his charm, and prayed he’d finally find the one.

So far, it wasn’t working out. Most of the girls he went out with were lovely, kind, and gorgeous, but there was always something missing that made him break things off before anyone could get hurt. He had a type - curly or wavy dark hair and even darker eyes, but hey. It wasn’t his fault that Nancy had been the closest to an ideal relationship he’d ever had! That had to be the reason, he thought. Maybe his concussed brain decided that curly hair meant a good girlfriend.

“It’s not like I can help it,” he lamented, pretending not to see Eddie’s amused smirk. They had become good friends after their Upside Down near death experience, and as Dustin never failed to mention with a truckload of disgust, they were now practically inseparable. “Who doesn’t like curly hair? They’re making it this whole thing. I’m over Nancy.”

Eddie snorted and tossed his chemistry textbook somewhere towards the pile of stuff that might have included his desk. “Uh-huh. Sure thing. So this new one-”

“Jenny.”

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Yes. This Jenny. It’s just a coincidence that she’s a dead ringer for Wheeler.” He nudged Steve’s side with his bare foot. “Come on, Harrington. Be honest with your only adult friend.”

Steve kicked him in retaliation. “Wow, rude. I’ll let you know, I have Robin!”

“Buckley is so much more than a mere human, Steven. She doesn’t count, she surpasses our species. Whereas I,” he announced to the broken ceiling fan, “am very human, non-judgmental, and I have seen you go through half a dozen ladies of the same type since the spring break. So?”

Laughing, Steve kicked him again. “So nothing. She doesn’t look like Nancy. Hell, she looks more like you - her hair is darker, more wavy, and she has those really pretty dark eyes. And she’s tall. Are you saying you’re my type too?”

Eddie rolled over and batted his eyelashes. “I don’t know, Steve, am I?”

Steve hit him with a pillow in the face. If he hadn’t been so busy laughing, he might have just noticed the tinge of longing in Eddie’s voice.

To recap: the two things that led to the most important day of Steve’s life were a) his tendency to date a certain visual type of girl; b) his unwillingness to admit to anyone that he needed glasses.

Here’s what happened.

Steve, being both a good friend and a good boyfriend, took Jenny to see Eddie perform with the Corroded Coffin. Was metal his favorite music genre? Not really, but he wanted to support Eddie, and Jenny didn’t seem to mind, she even agreed to wear a Corroded Coffin t-shirt from Steve’s wardrobe.

Steve found himself enjoying the concert way more than he’d expected. The alcohol helped, sure, but it was so heartwarming to see Eddie in his element, scarred, but still the same. Steve had even learned to recognize the lyrics within all the noise, and even if he wasn’t ready to discuss that with Eddie yet, Steve considered them surprisingly deep. He really hoped Eddie would make it big, he was a wonderful guy, and life owed him big time.

After the concert, Jenny excused herself to the bathroom, and Steve went to grab some beers. His head was pleasantly buzzing, and even though his eyesight was more blurry than usual, he found his way through the crowd with ease.

He put down both beers and wrapped his arm around Jenny’s waist. He’d lost track of time at the bar, she must have come back in the meantime. And so, as they tended to do, he touched her cheek and turned her face into a quick kiss.

Steve noticed several things at once.

First, stunned gasps from the Corroded Coffin members, along with Robin’s snickering.

Second, Jenny’s cheek felt different. Almost stubbly?

Third, it was the best damn kiss he’d ever had.

And fourth, before the kiss could end, he felt something wet - the beer he’d just brought - hit his head and back, along with an angry shriek.

What happened next was a blur, and not just because he had trouble seeing it. He was vaguely aware of a second Jenny hitting him with her purse and storming off, Robin trying to control her laughter, and the person next to him, also drenched in beer? That was Eddie.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry!” Steve instinctively grabbed napkins and started drying off the beer in Eddie’s hair, on his jacket. “I...OK, not the best time to tell you, but I’ve noticed I can’t see shit, and normally I wear glasses, but I couldn’t take them with me because I look like a baby accountant or something, and I didn’t want you guys to worry. And uh, you probably know, but your hair looks kinda like Jenny’s, and I’m really sorry I did that without asking.”

Eddie was motionless, letting Steve fret over him. He was just staring into the distance, cogs turning in his brain.

Robin, bless her heart, re-directed the Corroded Coffin guys to grab a mop and a dry t-shirt from Eddie’s van for both Steve and Eddie. After that, she started ushering the unlucky pair towards men’s bathrooms, to “wash off that smell before it’s too late.” She snapped her fingers in front of Eddie’s eyes, getting him to move.

As she shoved both of them towards the sink, she grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him close. “Since you are freshly broken up, I would strongly suggest you think hard and fast about why you made that mistake, Steve. I can’t spell it out for you, even if it would be easier for everyone involved.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah, uh...I think I might know.”

“Might?”

“I definitely know.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m so dumb. That...even if I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t fair to Jenny. Or the ones before.”

Robin smiled at him and, not unkindly, patted his shoulder. “They’ll get over it. In the meantime, your man looks like he’s about to faint. Don’t mess this up, OK? I couldn’t stand to see you brooding again and going through another set of Eddie substitutes.”

After she closed the door behind Steve, she grabbed the mop and started cleaning the mess. She could say it would cost Steve a lifetime of driving her around, but she knew he’d do that anyway.

In the bathroom, Eddie was slowly finding his words. “You...you kissed me.”

Steve took a step towards Eddie, trying not to spook him. “Yeah. I know it sounds like bullshit,” he said, pushing down the bitter memories of that word, “but I really mistook you for Jenny. I can’t see much, especially when it’s dark. I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

He couldn’t see Eddie’s face, but his voice didn’t sound fine. The music from the club drowned out most of the quieter sounds, but Steve could swear he heard a sniffle. “Of course,” whispered Eddie and he seemed so sad. Steve wanted to punch his own face. “Of course it was a mistake.”

Eddie straightened his back and wiped at his eyes before turning towards Steve. “Don’t worry, Steve. It happens. I mean, you should feel more sorry for yourself, you’re single again, and if Jenny or anyone from the club talks, they’ll think you’re a-”

“I don’t care.”

With a bitter chuckle, Eddie shook his head. “You don’t get it, Steve. You have a reputation to protect. Our lovely and pious citizens of Hawkins expect something like that from me, they know I’m...wrong. But you? You’re the golden boy. Steve, you should think about what this will do to you.” He wasn’t looking at Steve, his eyes were glued to the floor. Steve didn’t need a hint to know why Eddie was blinking so rapidly, why he sounded so strained.

He reached out and grasped Eddie’s hands. “Eddie. I really don’t care. I won’t feel sorry for what someone might think. The only reason I’m sorry is that I kissed you without you agreeing to it, in front of people, because...” He took a deep breath and squeezed Eddie’s hands. “...because I wanted our first kiss to be something special. Not a case of a mistaken identity caused by my shitty eyesight. And I wish I could have done it differently, that we wouldn’t be in this dirty bathroom, and sticky and disgusting from that beer. But even if I’m sorry for not asking you, I’m also glad. Because it made me realize something really important.”

Eddie was staring at him with wide eyes, still wet with tears, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. A hint of hope. “And what is that?” he asked.

Steve moved several wet strands of Eddie’s hair from his face. He looked just a little bit like a wet rat, but to Steve, he was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And he couldn’t wait to bury his hands in Eddie’s hair properly, when it was freshly washed. Maybe smelling of Steve’s shampoo. That was a thought.

He stroked Eddie’s cheek and for the first time in so long, he felt puzzle pieces falling in place. This was right.

“I realized that I didn’t answer you when you asked me,” he smiled and pulled Eddie closer. “You, Eddie Munson, are exactly my type.”

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie fanfiction #valentine's day exchange

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httpsserene · 2 years ago

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httpsserene's F1 Kinktober '23 | 1K Special — Track Limits

summary: innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. the strength i had to summon to post this is something crazy. it's my first smut fic if you can believe it or not, but the way i feel exposed to the world is wild. i almost forgot to include the actual kink because i got carried away, but it's there i promise you, don't get disappointed too early in! can confirm that while i was writing this i had to take several breaks and stare at the ceiling. the black!reader is vague i think, it's not noticeable until the end, but i had written it with all shades of my poc girlies in mind < 3. n e ways: hope you guys like it!

huge thanks to my beta readers @lorarri and @sweetpiccolo-blog ! i appreciate y'all so much :)

read the rest of the f1 kinktober uploads here. read the rest of the track limits series here.

corruption kink — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 & 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 charles leclerc x max verstappen x fem!black!reader 8k words. smut. corruption kink. orgasm delay/denial. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. hair-pulling. possessiveness. slight choking (glimpse and you miss it?). brief reference to previous dub-con (very minuscule, not charles or max). no penetrative sex.

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left.

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.”

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like.

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing.

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss.

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control.

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall.

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can.

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing.

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath.

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other.

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face.

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises.

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come.

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it.

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath.

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide.

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom.

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly.

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago.

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy! i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone.

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them.

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.”

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes.

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste.

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.”

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep.

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner.

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

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