#maybe there will be another before the weekend

[gothicgaycowboy]

𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 3.1k

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: you make Aemond’s longtime librarian fantasy come to life.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+ no minors, fem dom, sub aemond, a cock ring, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, role play (kinda), unprotected sex, creampie, no use of y/n, edging (m receiving), both reader and aemond are little losers, established relationship, pet names, embarrassing family dinner conversations, a cameo from aemond’s lesbian moms and aegon.

𝙖/𝙣: this was originally going to be the beginning of my kinktober but I didn’t even get a chance to write out any of my other ideas in time. also big thank you to this anon who inspired this fic. hope you enjoy 💋

Up until now you thought you and your boyfriend had no secrets between you, but as it turns out you were wrong.

It started a week ago, you and Aemond drove up the countryside for a weekend to visit his family for Alicent’s birthday. Everyone tried their best to make it up there for big celebrations.

After three years together you feel like a member of the family yourself, Alicent and Rhaenyra even refer to you as their second daughter. You feel more at home with them than you do with your own family — and more importantly you felt like they couldn’t shock you anymore. That lasted until dinner.

Aegon and Aemond had gotten into a tiff about something juvenile that you can’t even remember anymore. Words tossed back and forth at one another from across the table like a tennis match. Rhaenyra was about to interject when Aegon blurted out: “Did you ever tell your sweetheart about what you did with my rag mag?”

Now that caught your attention.

Aemond’s face became beet red. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull in fear. Aegon smiled cockily at his brother’s expression, poking a forkful of their mothers dinner into his mouth.

Alicent and Rhaenyra tried to object to this conversation as soon as the word ‘rag mag’ was tossed out, but were cut short by your boyfriend.

“You wouldn’t.” It was clear Aemond was attempting to sound intimidating when it was obvious to everyone else he was fearing for his life.

“Oh, but I really would.” You vaguely remember overhearing Rhaenyra warn Alicent to cover her ears. Aegon turned his full attention to you, his eyes locked with yours. “When your precious boyfriend was still shorter than me he snuck into my room, snooped through my collection, and ripped out the naughty librarian spread all for himself.”

For the first time since you had met him Aemond became shy. You didn’t quite understand why exactly. Your boyfriend was no saint when it came to sex. He was the one who suggested most of your perverted ventures thus far, so why had he never told you this story himself?

After the table was cleared and conversation changed Aemond popped outside to take a quick smoke break — the perfect opportunity for you to interrogate Aegon a little more. You slid beside him as he washed that night's dishes like the good little son he can be occasionally.

“What was all that about?”

He glanced up at you briefly from the task in front of him. “What was all what about?”

“You know…” you suddenly realised how humiliating it was to talk about sex related topics with your boyfriend's brother. “The magazine drama?”

A knowing smirk crossed the​ Targaryen’s lips. “Ah, you want to know why Aemond threw such a fit about his little secret being outed.” He placed a white salad bowl onto the drying rack before facing you. “Well there are a few theories I have about it — first and most simple of all: maybe he was just embarrassed to have his middle school perversions exposed to our parents. I’m not too convinced by that one though given the simple fact that you two have been fucking at practically every family event you have been invited to thus far.”

It was then your turn for your cheeks to heat up with embarrassment, the memory of being caught half naked by Rhaenyra in the shoe closet still haunts you.

“So that leads me to my second theory: he’s ashamed of you knowing about his librarian fetish.”

Your brows pinched together quizzically. “But that doesn’t make any sense, we’ve done way crazier things together than a little kinky roleplay.”

Aegon closed his eyes and let out a long exhale like he was about to be sick. “I can’t express to you how much I didn’t want to know that.” You smiled at him apologetically letting out a timid ‘sorry’.

The purple eyed boy rubbed at his temples before opening his eyes again. “Okay, I’m probably gonna throw up later and really regret asking you this but: have you ever been in charge? Ya know, taken on the reins while you two are…” He held his hand over his stomach dramatically. “Having sex?”

your gaze remained on the clean kitchen floor as you answered his question. “No…”

“Well there you go, now if you’ll excuse me I need to go drink this conversation from my memory.”

Since that night you have been on a mission: make Aemond’s fantasy come to life.

It started like all good missions did — with a bit of thorough research of course. Aemond is a stickler for details and you needed all of them if you were going to pull this off successfully. The magazine from all the detail you managed to pull out of poor Aegon was a Hustler and based on the years Aemond would have been in middle school you managed to comb through every edition of Hustler during that time until you found it: the librarian spread.

This took you to the next step in your plan: the outfit. There wasn’t really much to it, obviously most of it was pulled off the models body in favour of showing off what was underneath, but you focused on what remained. Petite framed glasses, a white button up (tossed aside on the desk she sat on but you figured she was probably wearing it at some point in time), black pencil skirt, stockings, garter belt, and most importantly no panties.

All of this planning and waiting had finally led up to today. You have a day off to get your shit in order and Aemond’s shift ends early. You are quite proud of yourself honestly. Who knew being a research nerd could come in handy in the bedroom?

Now it was just time to see if Aemond appreciates it as much as you do.

From your spot in the kitchen you hear your boyfriend's keys enter the lock to your apartment – your cue to bolt into the bedroom. Inside the bedroom your heart races, nerves suddenly getting the best of you. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thinks you’re trying to belittle him? What if he thinks you look stupid?

“Baby?” Aemond calls from inside the main hallway.

“In the bedroom!” Well there was no going back now. Fuck it. You press play on the playlist you curated and pose yourself sitting on top of Aemond’s desk, just like the picture.

The door creaks open, revealing the white haired man to you. For a second he doesn’t look up, good eye still locked onto his phone. “What’s with the mu–” His eye meets with yours and stops him in his tracks. The bag he is carrying falls off his shoulder. The way he blushed at the birthday dinner has nothing on the state of his face now.

A few long moments pass by and the two of you remain perfectly still. It makes the knot in your stomach worse. “Please say something.” You beg as Aemond remains gobsmacked.

“You– how did – wh – you look–” He babbles like a small child.

“Please make it intelligible.” you try to lighten the mood as your hands play with each other anxiously.

It seems to shake Aemond out of his idiotict trance. “You look like the librarian from my magazine.”

“I do.” You change your tone to sound calm and collected while feeling like you’re about to explode inside.

“Why?”

“I thought you might appreciate it if I initiated something for once.”

Aemond soaks in the vision before him giving you a swift up and down glance. The pit continues growing in you but you refuse to let it show. “Do you?” You ask, impersonating all those sexually confident people you’ve seen in movies.

“I do.” Thank fuck.

Aemond rips the jacket from off his shoulders, practically running across the bedroom to reach you. He pulls you up off the desk but before he has the chance to kiss you you put a stop to him. Both hands push his face away but remain holding it so he’s forced to look at you. “Not so fast there mister.”

His face is priceless, a perfect mixture of confusion and desperation. “From now on I’m in charge, alright? You are going to lay there like the good boy I know you can be, while the sweet little librarian takes good care of you, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” His pupil dilates so wide you can hardly see the usual violet colour of his iris.

“Yes you understand who?”

A surprise smirk graces your boyfriend's beautiful face. “Yes, I understand…ma’am.”

“Good, now take off your clothes and get on the bed.” In a flash Aemond’s clothes came flying off you like you have never seen before. You knew this would get him worked up but you did not expect him to be this into it.

As the Targaryen’s boxers hit the floor and he hits the plush mattress you pull open a bag holding your secret weapon for the night. With the ‘weapon’ hiding behind your back you move up the bed straddling his muscular thigh, sitting your bare cunt directly on his skin. His already hard cock twitches with excitement. “Fuck me, are you not wearing any–?”

“No.” you say plainly, like you did this everyday. “Now I’ve got a little something special for you before I completely blow your mind.”

“I really don’t see this getting better than it is but if you say so,” He shrugs his shoulders. “I trust you.”

From behind you you reveal it: a black rubber cock ring. “I wanna see you squirm.”

Aemond’s silver-blonde locks splay out onto the pillows as he plops his head back onto the pillows. “You are trying to kill me, woman.” He groans.

“Oh you love it.” With that you wrap your manicured hand around his cock, stretching the black rubber around the base.Your boyfriend jumps slightly at the contact. “How’s it feel?”

“Wonderful, now can we get on with the main event, please?”

“Don’t forget baby, you’re not the one calling the shots tonight. Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”

“Always.” He smiles. You can’t help yourself against his charms, flopping onto him to plant a sweet kiss to his lips. He wastes no time reciprocating it, taking the kiss from zero to a hundred faster than you can snap your fingers. His tongue slithering its way into your mouth. Your moans vibrated against his lips. Aemond was definitely the best kisser out of all the guys you had been with.

You reach your right hand up pushing it between the two of you, separating your lips. Aemond is clearly about to protest as you cut him off. “Spit.” No bullshit, just straight to the point. Based on the focused expression on his face the dots are taking their sweet time to connect in his pretty little head. Then it clicks and Aemond looks like a kid in a candy shop. He leans over your palm, saliva dripping down into your hand.

As the spit sinks across your palm you reach down to rub the wetness around his throbbing cock, stroking him up and down painfully slowly. Your other hand makes its way to his heavy balls, massaging them delicately in between your fingers.

You always loved playing with Aemond’s cock, but you were never allowed to take your time with it. It’s the one thing you despise about your boyfriend constantly being the one in charge. This was your time to truly tease him like he had been teasing you since you got together.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” You eye him over the glasses perched on your nose.

“Fuck yes!” Aemond yelps with pure euphoria.

“You kiss your mothers with that mouth?” You continue your teasing, the sound of the shucking filling the bedroom.

“No but I really wanna kiss you again — ma’am.” You appreciate that even though he was struggling through it he still uses your proper title.

“Come here baby.” Like a man starved Aemond pushes himself up to meet your lips once more. Now was your chance. With Aemond distracted by the kiss you slowly pull away your hand from his sack to grab the remote for the cock ring off the dresser. Time to hope he enjoys this little extra surprise.

Bzzz…

Aemonds hips slam up into your fist in shock. “Jesus- fuck!”

“Now you know how I feel, huh?” You say recalling all the times that the blonde had used your vibrators on you.

The vibrations make his rod jump, shaking so fast your eyes can’t even comprehend its moving at all. God it’s hot. It had become far too normal for Aemond to watch you shake and your eyes roll back into your head with ecstasy but never you with him. It makes you feel powerful.

“F-feels so fucking good—” Aemond struggles to be coherent through the throws of pleasure.

Your hands pick up the pace, tightening your grip around him. His eyes are becoming more and more glassy as the moments pass by. Settling down till your stomach touches your knees, skirt (barely) coved ass poking out to the air. You kiss your way down his chest, leaving lipstick marks as you go until you reach the base of his vibrating cock.

Your mind swarms with ideas of how you can possibly torture him, but you decide against anymore prolonged suffering because of how desperately you need him in your mouth. You lick your way up to his leaking tip, keeping eye contact the entire time.

You run your hands over the sides of his hips as you suck the tip into your mouth. Preparing yourself with a deep breath through your nose, you dive down, deepthroating the rest of him into your throat. The tip of your nose touched the smooth base of his pubic bone. He always filled your holes so perfectly.

The sounds of your throat bobbing over him mixed with muted vibrations and Aemond’s moans make your cunt pulsate. You and Aemond are not new to dirty but something about this type of dirty got you going in a way you have never felt before.

“I’m gonna come—fuck! I’m gonna come down your perfect throat—” That is all you need to hear to pull yourself away from him (as much as you hate to).

Wiping the saliva from the corners of your mouth you press the button on the remote of the cock ring, turning the vibrations off. Aemond whines like a scorned child. A sound you're not familiar with from him, but you could picture yourself getting used to.

“Did you really think that I was going to let you come that fast? I need to make you earn it first, baby.”

He looks up at you, begging. “How? Please just tell me how I’ll do anything, I just need to be inside you. I wanna be your good boy.” His voice cracks like he’s on the brink of tears.

“You have to address me properly.”

“Anything for you ma’am.”

“Now, beg.” You tug the base of his cock into your hands, jerking him off like you were in no rush.

“Please…?” His brows knit together like a kicked puppy.

You halt your movements and grip your boyfriend’s length, not enough to actually hurt him, just enough to make Aemond whine once more. “God do you even want me to fuck you? I said beg.” You say while pulling the almost sheer white top from your body, leaving the skirt and stockings in their place though.

“Please fuck ma’am? I promise I’ll be good for you, I need to be inside of you so bad. I love your cunt so much, I need it around me. I need to feel you come on me, please?”

“Aw, look at that, you are my good boy after all.” With that you are fully on top of him. Hands planted onto his firm chest while you lean forward to tug your skirt up, revealing the lack of underwear beneath them. With his eyes thoroughly distracted by your bare cunt you pull his aching tip inside of your soaking wet entrance.

You had sex not two days before now but somehow the stretch of Aemond inside was still a shock to your system. Maybe it’s because you had never had him like this, crying below you like just being inside you was already the greatest pleasure he could experience.

“Jesus—Christ!”

You take your time adjusting to him, gradually sinking lower towards his abdomen. Your clit grazes the black silicone, alerting you that you’ve reached the bottom. Pushing yourself all the way back up to his tip you slam down as you speak. “Did all that begging make your cock harder, Aem? Do you like begging for me?”

“So much…” The words are almost inaudible through his moans.

“You don’t come until I let you, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

It only eggs you on more. The sound of wet skin smacking and whimpering fill your ears. No thoughts pass through either of your heads.

The rocking of your hips became more frantic, desperate. Your soft wet walls hugging your boyfriend like a vice. Aemond’s reach up into the pillows, gripping so hard they change from pink to white instantly.

Your mask begins to fall at the pleasure building in your core. Legs shaking at either side of Aemond’s hips. Just like that you pull the blonde up from his horizontal position, his grip falling from the pillows. Lips crashing together in a blur as sweat pools down both your backs. “I’m so fucking close, can I come, please?” His begging is muffled against your mouth.

“Soon, I promise. Rub my clit for me baby?” He obeyed immediately. His pointer and index finger caressing against your pulsing clit. “Fuck yes! so good Aem.” Your hands wander to his hair, like you are the master and he’s your little puppet.

You can’t hold back anymore, the sensation of his lips against yours mixed with Aemond’s precise movements against your bud send you hurdling towards your orgasm. “M’coming, come for me aem, do it for me baby—” Aemond follows fast behind you, crying out your name as he reaches his peak. His cock painting your insides with his cum.

You come back down to earth together, a jumble of words spilling from both of your lips: I love you, thank you, so good, kiss me.

You collapse into a puddle on your boyfriend’s sweat soaked chest. His fingers travel through your hair as you both catch your breath. As he tucks the lock behind your ears he finally speaks coherently. “So, are you gonna tell me how you managed to replicate the exact outfit from the original photo I used to wank off to or…?”

You smile, lifting your head to face him and his pink flushed cheeks. “A great magician never reveals their secrets.”

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — see you next saturday

a night at the bar turns interesting when a masked stranger crosses your path. he's far from approachable, but something about him draws you in until you're coming to the bar every weekend just to see him. he's enigmatic and exciting—exactly what you needed to interrupt the monotony of life. 11.2k

⟢ pairing: ghost x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; author is american and apologizes in advance—this probably isn't how bars in the UK are, sorry; ghost is unnamed for 95% of the fic but it pays off; alcohol consumption (no one gets drunk, it's just some sipping); awkward first meeting; slow-burn??? idk sex doesn't happen til the very end; implied size difference; biker!ghost; semi-public sex; fingering; table sex; praise; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); oral sex [m receiving]; facial

Another excited cheer from the table behind you tells you that one of the football teams on screen has scored. Though you couldn’t care less about the game, you catch a glance at the television hung on the wall near the bar to watch the score rise. Aside from sipping on the same drink and watching people filter in and out all night, you didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.

A night out at the bar probably wasn’t the most efficient use of your time, or your money, but after a week of grueling work and the ever-increasing stress of life, it felt nice to ignore everything for a while. As long as you didn’t drink enough to hate yourself the next morning, who were you to deny yourself some fun? Well, as fun as watching drunk people mingle could be. A cheap local bar wouldn’t give way for much excitement.

You were almost thankful for that. The wrong kind of excitement only would’ve added to the weight on your shoulders. Yet, a part of you still yearned for something more than the monotony of asking the bartender for another round while your eyes scanned the crowds. Only two drinks in and already you were practically praying for an interesting face to look your way and add something that resembled anticipation to your life.

You set your glass down on the bartop with a sigh. Another cheer comes from your left, drawing your attention towards the table of patrons with their eyes glued to the television wearing their excited smiles. It’s only a momentary glance, but with your head turned in their direction, you notice the first interesting face you’ve seen all night.

Rather, it was the lack of his face that drew you in. Just a few seats down the bar stood a tall man, dressed head to toe in dark clothing, sliding an empty glass toward the bartender. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is how his hood sits on his head and a mask covers the bottom half of his face. Is that skull print on the fabric?

Whoever he was, he didn’t seem too keen on letting other people know. Part of you was surprised he was even allowed to be served. To say he looked suspicious would be putting it mildly. 

But there was something about him that caught your attention and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the air of mystery that clung to him, or maybe it was your desperate need for excitement. At this point, you couldn’t quite tell what the reason was, but his presence was magnetic. 

His head turns slightly to look up at the television mounted near the bar. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you somehow. You don’t know why it affected you enough to make your heart leap into your throat, but it was enough to make you stop staring out of fear you’d come off rude.

Your leg bounces nervously on the barstool, itching to walk you over to him. But, Christ, you’ve been out of the game for a while, and you have to assume his…unique sense of attire was to wade off any unwanted conversation. What would you even say to a guy like that? Compliments aren’t easy when you can’t see any part of the man’s face. 

Your fingertips run over the edge of your glass and you can’t help but bring your eyes back over to him. Still focused on the game. 

“What’s with the mask?” The words leave your mouth before you can give them a second thought. You regret it almost immediately, hoping that maybe between the music and the surrounding conversations that he couldn’t hear you. 

There’s a slow turn of his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours, but instead of curiosity you find nothing but a piercing gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear his gaze moves over you before he turns his attention to the bartender.

Bummer. Well, it was worth a shot…even if you think you’ll have to order another drink to prevent yourself from cringing on the memory later. 

You huff another sigh and swirl your drink, watching the liquid move in the glass. If nothing else, at least you got a good night of people-watching and paid enough attention to the game to know what your coworkers will talk about on Monday. The next sip burns your throat as you swallow. 

“Tactical advantage.” A baritone voice—suddenly very close to you—comes from your left and startles you, making you jump in your seat. 

Your eyes dart to the side, wide in panic, meeting a masked face looking down at you. You curse under your breath, unsure whether it’s appropriate to feel relieved.

“Pardon..?”

“You asked about the mask,” the man gestures vaguely towards his fabric-covered face as he moves to sit on the barstool next to you. The old material groans under his weight. “Tactical advantage.” 

You couldn’t help but continue to stare at him. You could tell he was a bigger guy from far away, but, Jesus, he was even bigger up close. Not just tall, but his shoulders were broad and his hands practically dwarfed the glass he was holding. He was, objectively, terrifying.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile at his simple, concise words. “Yeah? And what advantage is that?”

“To hide my face.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at comedy. “Well, I coulda guessed that.”

“You asked.” He looks over at you and instead of the piercing gaze from before, there’s something much warmer in his eyes. You wish you could see if he had a smug smile to accompany his words. 

“That I did.” You take another sip of your drink, hoping it’ll continue to keep your nerves settled. “So why d’you wanna hide your face?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at the bar as he folds his arms and leans against it. You faintly hear him sigh before he shrugs his shoulders. “No need to show it.”

“Gotta be hard to drink with a mask, no?”

“Not if you lift it up.”

“Or you could just…take it off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“‘Cause then I’d get to see what you look like.”

His eyes—you make a mental note of the deep brown color they are—narrow at that. “Oh, I dunno if you want that.”

“I think I do.”

The stool beneath him creaks with his weight as he sits up, straightening his back and reminding you just how tall he is. His chest expands against his hoodie in another deep breath. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Another smile creeps its way onto your face. “C’mon, I’m curious.” You want to lean in, to tease him with your proximity, but you withhold yourself.

Those blond eyebrows that peek out from the rim of his balaclava raise slightly. His eyes move over you in a movement he doesn’t seem to bother being subtle about. Though the gesture makes your heart skip a beat, his silence is deafening.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, hands up in defeat. “I get it. No face.” He makes an affirmative sound at that.

“Smart girl.” He says it so fast, a one-off comment that told you to not bother pressing him for any more information, but something about it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You have to look down at your drink when you feel your cheeks grow warm. Even though it was nearly gone, you certainly didn’t have enough liquid courage to flirt openly. You wanted to ask his name, to ask where he’s from—what if he lived close by?—but if he wasn’t even willing to show you his face at the bar, you knew the chances were slim. 

From the corner of your eye, you see him shift in his seat again. He digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and barely looks at it before he starts to stand. Was he leaving already? Why?

“Where you goin’?” You ask before you can really think about why you cared so much.

“M’needed elsewhere.” 

Blunt, simple, and vague. That seemed to be how he operated. 

“Oh, a popular guy, are you?”

“You could say that.” Your eyes follow him as he moves, but he doesn’t look your way when he stands. Christ, he was a big lad. 

“You didn’t even touch your drink.”

“It’s not mine.” He moves the full glass down the bar until it clinks against your own. It’s then you notice it’s the same color as your drink. Same glass, same serving. Did he really buy you a drink?

“Have a nice night.” You look back at him to see his eyes meeting yours. Maybe it was the last drink still swimming in your system, but you weren’t able to form the words to respond. “Get home safe, yeah?”

And with a nod of your head, he weaved his way through the room until he was out of your line of sight. Despite his size, he was easy to lose in the crowd. You turn back to the bartop and stare at the two glasses. The one on the left—the one he’d bought for you—was invitingly full.

You reach out, fingertips skimming the rim before you bring the glass to your lips. It was the same drink you always ordered when you went out—your favorite. Only somehow it tastes sweeter on your tongue this time.

You’ve never made it a habit to go out and drink. As stressful as life could get, it just wasn’t an outlet you ever turned towards. It was expensive as hell, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore how much it sucked to be hungover. 

But despite that, you found yourself back in that same barstool when the weekend came around. And for the first time, it wasn’t because of the overpriced liquor.

Only a few sips into your first drink of the night and you were already looking around in hopes that you’d find a skull-patterned mask looking back at you. Desperately you tried to tune out the chatter of people around you, hoping you’d be able to pick out his voice. Maybe it was stupid. It was definitely wishful thinking. 

For all you knew, he wasn’t even in town anymore; you figured he probably wasn’t the type of guy to stick around one place for very long. And, hell, he left so abruptly last time, who’s to say he’d even want to see you again? You hated the tightness that built in your chest at the thought of that. 

Well, you might as well enjoy your drink since you’re here. You tried to pay attention to whatever sport was on the television this time, tried scrolling on your phone, but nothing held your attention. Every sip of your drink tempted you to house the entire bar. But you didn’t figure yourself that pathetic. Still, you were pathetic enough to keep looking over at the entrance, hoping you’d see that tall figure slinking through groups of people.

But you never do.

Fuck. It was stupid to hope anyway. You curse yourself under your breath, rubbing at your temples like it’ll help clear your head. With a huff and a sigh, you finish the last of your drink. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it did last time. You’re more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be.

You decided rather quickly that you’d rather mope and feel sorry for yourself in the comfort of your own home. It wasn’t worth wasting money on another lonely drink.

There’s a chill breeze outside that cuts through you, making you shiver as soon as you walk out the door. You cross your arms, trying to preserve some body heat, as you make your way down the pavement. A still-lingering part of you doesn’t want to leave but your legs don’t stop carrying you further away.

You eventually come to a stop, leaning against a light post as you dig out your phone. Even though you’re supposed to be looking up the rideshare to get you back home, you can’t help but look around last time. You think yourself too desperate for your own good until you see a tall figure just a few steps away.

Standing next to a motorcycle that you can only assume is his, the hooded figure drops a cigarette to the ground, his boot grinding against the pavement to stomp it out. You thought it might be too good to be true, but then he turns just enough for you to see him pull that skull-patterned balaclava back over his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice you—a fact you quickly want to remedy.

“Hey, big guy,” you call out to him, the nickname a subconscious one you immediately cringe at yourself for. Fucking ‘big guy’? Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.

But it certainly gets his attention. His head turns in your direction, if only barely. He does a double-take before stopping in his tracks and staring back at you. You have to hope and pray that he doesn’t think you’re crazy as you walk over to him. Luckily, he didn’t move away from your advances. Instead, he turns towards you as if to welcome your approach, dark eyes raking over you in that same conspicuous motion.

It’s when you’re face-to-face with him—well, more like mask-to-face—that you realize you didn’t quite know what to say. You were too sober to be making a fool of yourself like this. After an awkward beat of silence of you taking in once more just how tall he was compared to you, you finally manage to conjure up something.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for buying me a drink the other night. I…I appreciated that.”

“Course.” You’d almost forgotten the gruff sound of his baritone voice. “You leavin’ already?”

You hesitate for a moment, a lie stewing on the tip of your tongue. No, no, I was just hanging out in the cold, what a coincidence, right? How much you wanted to spend time with a man you barely knew was almost pathetic. You resign the thought with a sigh. “Sorry, you’re too late. I already had all my fun.”

“What, waitin’ f’me?” 

You didn’t know if he was just confident or if he somehow truly knew that was what you were doing. Either way, it made you feel like he could see right through you, like he knew you found him interesting. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d come by.” You bite your lip, gaze hitting the ground before looking back up at him. “You were the most entertaining thing at that bar.”

He takes in a deep breath at that. “M’sorry I missed it.” Yeah, me too. “Can you get yourself home?”

“Yeah. Well, a rideshare can.”

“How ‘bout I take you home?”

The suggestion makes your heart skip a beat, staring up at him, frozen and probably looking half-crazed. The rational part of your brain was sounding every possible alarm. Why would you ever trust a man you met in a bar who never takes off his mask to take you home unless you had a death wish? And yet the winning part of your brain was the one that was extremely curious about his implication.

“Ah, take a bloke I barely know back home? How drunk d’you think I am?”

He looks over you again in a beat of silence. “You aren’t. That’s why I’m askin’.” Knowing he didn’t want to take advantage of you eased some of the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind. But, as if he could sense that anxiety, he continued, “You don’t gotta let me in, I jus’ wanna make sure you’re safe. I’m cheaper than a rideshare, anyway.”

“Well, can’t beat that, I suppose.” You move around him to approach his parked motorcycle. You didn’t have to know much about bikes to realize it was a nice one. Sleek, but not flashy. Your fingers glide over the leather of the seat as you eye the streetlights reflecting off of the shiny black body. “I’ve never been on a bike. People say they’re dangerous.”

“They can be, if you don’t know what you’re doin’.” You hadn’t noticed how close he was—moving as silent as ever—hovering just behind you as he grabs the helmet strapped securely to the bike. Holding it out towards you, he gives you a nudge. “Here.”

You take the helmet, holding it carefully like you’re afraid to leave your fingerprints all over it. You could already tell it’d be too big, but the consideration was nice. “I trust you know what you’re doin’, then?”

“Most of the time.”

Well, wasn’t he quite the comedian.

You slot the helmet over your head with a roll of your eyes. As you guessed, it was certainly too big, tilting forward over your brow and obscuring your view. A bitterly sweet smell floods your senses as you clasp it in place; you can only assume it’s his sweat, mixed with a faint air of tobacco, embedded into the foam lining.

A heavy hand rests on the side of the helmet, holding it steady while he slides the visor up. His head tilts as those dark eyes of his greet you. “Bit big on you, innit?”

“Yeah, just a li’l.”

“How far we goin’?” You should have been a little hesitant before telling him your address, but you don’t even stutter. He spoke like he had to know, like ordering people around was what he did for a living. An affirmative hum comes from behind his mask as he slides the visor back down. “You’ll be alright.”

You struggle to balance both yourself and the helmet long enough to swing your leg over the seat. You were thankful that the helmet obscured your face to shield some of the embarrassment, at least. Then you feel that same heavy palm on the small of your back, trying to keep you steady, only to make your body tense up. The helmet swings lazily on your head as you finally straddle the seat.

Once you’re situated, after asking if you’re comfortable, he slides his hand off of you. He has no problem getting himself sat, taking up the front half of the seat as he slots in the space before you. He turns his head and, though you have to lift your head awkwardly to see him through the visor, you hear his voice say, “Hold on tight. Can’t have you fallin’ off.”

What, did he plan on speeding out of here? Hesitantly, your hands find purchase on his waist. It was gentle, barely enough pressure to feel his hoodie under your fingertips, let alone his body underneath.

You think you hear him scoff. “I’m sure you’re stronger than that.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands forward until they rest on his chest. The movement shortens the gap of space between your bodies as your arms hover awkwardly around him. “I promise you won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. C’mon, tighter than that.” You strengthen your hold, closing the distance between your chest and his back, practically hugging him. “Atta girl.”

Your face heats up at that, and you were thankful the helmet obscured the sheepish smile that had painted itself on your face. 

The engine suddenly roars to life, loud enough to surprise you. The power behind it vibrates through the leather seat and seeps easily through the padding of the helmet. Though his takeoff was as smooth as it could’ve been, it didn’t stop you from tightening your hold around his body. 

The cityscape passes by in a blur of vibrant lights and towering buildings. The hum of the motorcycle’s engine overpowers the surrounding cars, echoing off of the asphalt and thrumming a rhythmic hum during the ride. The already-cool night air bites at your skin as it whips past. 

Though you have no reason to, you find yourself gripping him tighter on every take-off after a stop. And despite the chill on your skin, you felt the heat rise to your face as you realized you could feel how rigid and tough he was under that hoodie. 

There was a thrill, you realized, that ran through you and made your heart race. Not only because you were on a bike for the first time, but because of how close you were to the man in front of you. Holding on tight to a stranger whose name you didn’t know so he could bring you home safely sounded like something out of a novel. The smell of him embedded in his helmet and filling your senses, your body close to absorb some of his heat, the pure generosity of even offering to drive you home: everything made you want to abandon all self-respect and invite him in when you arrived.

The internal battle you fought over that distracted you for the rest of the ride.

You could barely see out of the helmet without cocking your head awkwardly, but you could tell when the trip was nearing its end. A pit formed in your stomach—a part of you unwilling to let the ride end just yet. It wasn’t until he slowed down enough to pick out your building that you realized how difficult it was to see over his broad shoulders. With a point and a nudge in the right direction, you guided him to your stop.

He pulls the bike up to the pavement before parking it. The sounds of the neighborhood replace the monotonous hum of the engine as he turns it off. Your movements are hesitant as your hands slide off his body, something you quickly regret and hope he hadn’t noticed. He helps you off the bike just as he had helped you on, reminding you of his gentle touch, thankful yet again for the helmet obscuring your shy smile.

You don’t ignore the sense of disappointment you feel knowing that he has to leave. Just taking off the helmet was enough to make you miss him and ache for something more, even when he stood right by you on the pavement. You knew it was strange to feel close to a man you barely knew, but he gave you more comfort than most. He made you feel intrigued in a way no one else did. 

“So,” you start, dreading the awkward silence, “do I get to know the name of my chauffeur?”

He pauses for a moment of consideration. Your heart beats faster, something akin to excitement making you hope for an answer. Finally, he looks up from the pavement. “Maybe next time.”

Initially, you felt more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be. Surely his name was the one thing he could give up? But then you find yourself clinging on to that phrase. Maybe next time…Did he expect a ‘next time’? Should you expect a ‘next time’?

As you walked up to your door, he didn’t follow, staying true to his words from earlier. He kept a respectable distance to not crowd you, as if he didn’t want to make you nervous. If only he knew everything about him made you overthink your every move.

There’s a beat of silence when you grab your keys. An invite inside sits on the tip of your tongue, fighting with the rational part of your brain, consequences be damned. But his voice beats you to the punch as he breaks another long and empty silence.

“So d’you go and drink every Saturday?”

Your fingers toy with the keys in your hand as you debate your answer. “No, I don’t,” you admit after a beat of silence.

He hums a deep sound that you can’t quite identify the emotion behind. “So just a coincidence, then?”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, while fighting your sheepish smile, you look back at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ me home.”

“‘Course.”

“Maybe next time you should drink with me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest when the words leave your mouth. Eagerness didn’t seem like such a shameful thing anymore. Not when you were sharing body heat with him just a few minutes ago. Not when he knew where you lived because he cared enough to make sure you were safe. Maybe it was too hopeful to expect him to want to see you again, but when your eyes meet his under the streetlight, you’re confident the hope isn’t unfounded.

His eyes rake over you in a slow one-over as he nods. His voice is low in that same charming gruff timbre when he responds, “I’ll see you next Saturday, then?”

Fighting off an over-excited smile proves to be the most difficult thing you’ve done in a while. You sigh, calming your racing heart. “If you’re on time.”

“It’s a date.”

It wasn’t actually a date.

Surely he couldn’t have meant it literally. Still, it was enough to have you barely managing a flustered goodbye before fumbling with your keys at the door. Even after you were in the comfort of your home your face felt hot, your body practically vibrating from adrenaline. All from a stranger. The faint sound of the revving engine of his motorcycle moments later only served to remind you of his voice, the warmth of his body, and—hopefully—the promise in his words. 

You had to remind yourself constantly, every time your mind wandered throughout the week, that you were hoping for too much. You were daydreaming about a face you hadn’t seen yet from a man whose name you didn’t even know. And, God, that made you feel more pathetic than ever.

It was just a night out, spending time together over a drink, nothing more. Maybe you could learn his name if he was feeling generous enough. But to hope for anything more—a follow-up or anything deeper than friendliness—was foolish. Still, your mind kept wandering back to his words. It’s a date. 

No, this wasn’t a date, you scold yourself in the mirror, shaking your head as if it’ll dismiss the thought faster. That was just a throwaway line, something to draw you in to make sure he’d see you tonight. Nothing more, nothing implied, nothing to hope for. You knew that by now, practically drilled it into your own head. 

So why did you spend way too long looking at yourself in the mirror, obsessing over every little detail you could nitpick? Why did you drudge through your entire closet to make sure you picked the “right outfit”? Why did you stress about what perfume to wear and what drink to order? It wasn’t a date after all. 

Right?

It was too late to fight yourself on it once your rideshare pulled up. The implication of his words was irrelevant at this point; your heart seems to beat quicker with every turn of the wheels that brings you closer to the bar. Despite the cool air making you regret choosing to wear a skirt, you felt hot and stuffy—just downright nervous. Christ, you nearly felt like you could throw up when you saw a familiar tall silhouette outside the bar. 

He was on time. And he was waiting for you.

Every insecurity you nitpicked before comes to the front of your mind the moment you step onto the pavement. You force the thoughts away with a sigh and, for the first time in your life, your steps towards the bar are hesitant. His eyes meet yours as you approach and you almost wish you could see his reaction under that mask. But the more you thought about it, maybe you were better off not knowing.

He straightens up, pushing himself off of the wall, looking down at you with a face obscured by shadows and fabric. “I was startin’ to think I came too early.”

It was a huge relief to see him here, waiting and willing to see you again. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. “Well, lucky for you, I like an eager man.”

His steps are confident as he makes his way towards the entrance. “That’s definitely one way to describe me.” You barely hear the sentence when he utters it, which only makes your heart beat faster. He pulls the door open, holding it for you to make your way in. 

The bar is as crowded as it is every Saturday. Plenty of people scattered around, watching whatever team was on the television this weekend, drunkenly shouting overtop of the music. It never fails to overwhelm you when you walk through the entrance. A hand rests on your back, grounding you and making you all too aware of your posture, slipping to your waist before guiding you through the bustle of people.

Your date—it still felt weird to call him that—guides you towards the bar, towards the backend where fewer people crowded the space. His presence was comforting despite his silence. Not to mention how perfectly his hand slotted against your waist, a thought that had you too nervous to bring attention to his sudden touchiness.

The stools squeak and groan as the two of you settle into your seats. The bar is anything but quiet, yet an awkward silence hangs in the air between you. Something told you he wasn’t the type to care about the awkwardness, but you were far too sober to not overthink every thought that popped into your head.

You clear your throat, hoping it’ll boost your confidence to speak. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d show,” you admit. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. He raised a good point, one that spit in the face of your insecurities and anxiety. “I dunno…guess I worried I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

“Well, you’re no mask-wearin’ bike rider.” He leans in your direction and nudges you with his elbow. “But I think you’re plenty excitin’.” You look up at his eyes just fast enough to catch his wink.

Flustered, you avert your eyes to the bartop as you laugh. “You don’t know me well enough, clearly.”

“I’d like to. That’s why I’m here.”

That brings your eyes back to his. You may not have been able to see his face, but those eyes told you everything about his sincerity. There shouldn’t have been any doubt left in your mind after that. The man admitted to having an interest in you—in getting to know you—and it surely set your heart on fire. 

“Well, that and to drink, I’m sure.” Your smile is an attempt to distract from the way you stare at him. It was like you had yourself convinced you could make out his features if you just studied him long enough. 

“Ah, that’s just a bonus.” He gestures for the bartender with a simple wave of his hand before fishing in his pocket for his wallet. 

“So what’s the drink of choice for a bloke like you?”

“Bourbon.”

You aren’t sure why that admission surprises you; of course a big guy like him would drink whiskey. Something about that fact makes you feel warm inside. You request one for yourself, an excuse to have something in common with him. 

Your eyes follow the bartender as they move, but your mind is far from the alcohol. Everything was going well—probably the best it could’ve gone meeting someone who could still classify as a stranger for the third time. But there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind, festering insecurity and uncertainty.

“Can I ask you something?” You almost surprise yourself with the lack of hesitance with which the question leaves your mouth.

“Shoot.”

“That night we met, when we spoke for the first time, you left awfully quick.” Your fingers tap against the bartop in an anxious rhythm. “What was that about?”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was work. It asks a lot of me sometimes.” Work calling at such a late hour was hard to believe, but the way he said it—a layer of exhaustion sullying his words—had you convinced. “Trust me, I would’ve preferred staying to talk to you.”

You believed that, too. 

“What do you do for work?”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath, like he’s thinking about how to phrase his response. You’ve started to learn how deliberate he was with his words. “A lot of dangerous shit.”

That definitely piques your attention. You hear the two glasses clink against the bartop, but you were more concerned with him than the alcohol. “Yeah? What kind of shit is that?” You didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d open up any more than that, but the curiosity ate at you. 

He reaches for one of the glasses, sighing as he moves. “The kind of shit that makes you want to drink to forget it.” He lifts the glass in your direction. “So let’s drink, yeah?”

Even if he didn’t completely open up, it was a sentiment you could sympathize with. You may not know exactly what he spent his time doing but you knew enough to hope he saw your company as comforting. You reach for the other glass and lift it until it clinks against his own. “Just don’t drink enough to forget me.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ you anytime soon.”

You smile at his sentiment, taking a sip of whiskey to wash away the anxiety-borne tension in your throat.

It’s done in a split second before you notice it, but he lifts the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, resting the hem on his nose. It gives you a view of the blond scruff that dusts the sharp angle of his jaw, of those peach lips that look surprisingly soft as he raises his glass to take a drink. The way his mask sits makes you aware of the crook in the bridge of his nose—a sign of cartilage broken multiple times over. He’s rugged and rough underneath the soft cloth, far more attractive than anything you could’ve conjured up in your own mind. And that was without seeing his entire face. They were features that any other man could have, but he hid those features from the world for reasons you couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was what made him so alluring.

“You’re starin’.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. You only realized he was speaking because you could actually see his mouth move. You scoff, brows furrowing as you finally blink for the first time in a while. “I wasn’t starin’.”

He grunts in response. You didn’t have to hear him speak to know he doesn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. You roll your eyes at the sound, taking a sip of your drink and averting his intense gaze by catching a glimpse of the television behind the bar. You didn’t care one bit about the scores on the screen.

Especially when you suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on your thigh. There was no way he didn’t notice the way your muscles tense, flinching at the sudden contact. It’s indescribable the way it makes you feel. His rough and calloused touch barely underneath the hem of your skirt to feel the smooth and tender flesh of your thigh sends a jolt down your spine, a heat coursing through you that you haven’t felt in a while.

“You’re a terrible liar.” It isn’t lost on you the way his voice deepens when he whispers to you, leaning in close and quiet so he can make sure you hear him.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, your face hot and your heart racing. “Piss off. The…bourbon’s just strong.” You force the words out in a half-hearted tumble as you bring the glass to your lips. 

His grip tightens ever-so-slightly, gently squeezing your thigh. Something about it tells you he doesn’t buy that lie either. “Ah, s’that what it is?” 

The sarcasm in his voice makes the whiskey burn as it slides down your throat. You take in a breath to try and combat the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Squirming in the stool, you press your thighs together to quell some of the heat pulsing through your veins. Nerves and excitement battle for control over your body. 

“I didn’t take you for a touchy lad.” Your own voice quietens to a whisper, almost too nervous to acknowledge his bold move.

“Usually m’not.”

Setting your glass down, you’re almost disappointed to find the mask is settled back over his face when you finally make eye contact again. “Mm. You must like me, then?”

The question wasn’t really meant to have an answer, but he didn’t hesitate to give you one. “Was that not obvious before?”

“The confirmation is nice.” You force the words out before you can think too hard about his reply. 

He liked you. One of the most enigmatic, confusing, intriguing people you’ve ever met—who should’ve made you feel scared—actually liked you. It was relieving and exciting and terrifying all at once.

You look down to see his hand on your thigh. The sight is enough to turn excitement into something much stronger that pools in your core. You run your fingertips over his knuckles, the discolored skin telling you they’ve been wounded multiple times over. You didn’t have the guts to ask. The contact makes his grip tighten slightly, his thumb slowly brushing gentle strokes against your skin.

The whole thing had your mind running wild. You certainly didn’t have enough to drink to excuse the images that flashed in your mind. But seeing his hand on you—feeling his touch—in a way you could only describe as intimate had desire pumping through you. You don’t know how good a job you’re doing at hiding it, either, but you’re certain he can feel when you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat as if to excuse the rampant thoughts in your head, “do I get to know your name yet?”

You look over to see his eyes lingering absentmindedly on the television. “Depends on how this night goes.”

Well, it wasn’t a ‘no’.

You scoff, feigning annoyance. “What, y’gonna wait until I’m too drunk to remember it?” Your hand moves to your glass, raising it in his direction before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’m not gonna let you get drunk.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you couldn’t argue if you wanted to. Then, his hand moves carefully, readjusting his grip until the plush fat on the inside of your thigh is squished between his fingers. “Can’t have any fun if you get yourself plastered.”

At least now you knew you had no chance of embarrassing yourself in a drunken stupor. But your mind was far more preoccupied with that word—fun. Sure, he could have meant it literally; maybe he planned on taking you somewhere more exciting than a cheap bar after this. You silently scolded yourself for being disappointed with that reality. 

“I suppose you’re right…” The words came out breathlessly into your glass. You didn’t know if he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. He seemed like the type of man to be dead set on whatever he was determined to do. You just hoped the ‘fun’ he had in mind was the same type that had your heart pounding whenever you thought about it.

His hand slides off you and—God help you—you almost whimper at the loss of contact. Your eyes follow his movement, watching him slide his mask up enough to take another drink. You didn’t think you could ever forget what he looked like. It was a sight you swore you could spend the whole night staring at, but you looked away before he had the chance to tease you about it.

“Y’know,” he says with a voice quiet enough that only you could hear, “if you need somethin’, you can just ask.”

Your eyes dart over to him with an unconscious, wide-eyed look of guilt and confusion. There was no doubt in your mind that you needed something from him, but you hadn’t intended that to be obvious. A bewildered “what?” is all you manage to force out while you try to convince your rapid heart to slow.

“If you need somethin’ from me, you can just ask me for it.” He speaks slowly this time, looking in your direction with brown eyes so dark it was like his pupils had blown wide. Fuck, did you look like that too? He sets his glass down with a sigh when you don’t respond with anything more than a confused scoff. He leans in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear and a whiff of tobacco and musk in your nostrils. “You were practically humpin’ my hand.” You swear he growls the words. “That makes me think you need somethin’.”

That immediately shot down any hope you had that you were doing great at hiding your wandering thoughts. Excuse after excuse ran through your mind, trying to justify why his touch made you squirm. But…was there really any point in denying something he so clearly had picked up on? He read you like a goddamn book—not that you were difficult to read—and something about that only made the desire heavier. And, most importantly in your mind, there was no sign that he disliked it.

Your lips quiver as they part, hesitation making your mouth run dry. “Maybe…maybe I do need somethin’...” It feels like your heart has jumped in your throat. But it wasn’t nerves that made your skin run hot. “Are you…offerin’ me somethin’?”

He straightens in his seat and pulls the balaclava back over the lower half of his face. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tap his fingers against his glass. Just before you think he’s going to end the conversation there, you hear the rumble of his voice from behind the skull-patterned fabric. “There’s a storage room in the back hall, last door on the right. Hardly anyone goes back there.” His tone is almost conspiratorial. “If we go one at a time, less chance of being noticed. We could have some privacy there.” There’s a pause before he looks in your direction, not bothering to be subtle when his eyes move over you. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Holy shit.

There was no reason to think he was joking, but you still couldn’t believe it. You also couldn’t believe that you were so desperate that turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. “You’re serious? Here? In the bar?”

He shrugs like the thought is obvious. “Well, you said it yourself: can’t take a bloke you barely know back home.” He leans in again, eyes boring through you. “I promise I’m worth all the hassle.”

Somehow, you didn’t doubt him one bit. You play off the disbelief and hesitation with a scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, you better be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment. You wish you could hear his thoughts or see his face, get some inkling of an idea of what was running through his mind. 

Then he sits up straight, cocking his head in the direction of the back hallway. “Go on, then.”

Truthfully, his impatience had you relieved; at least now you wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the first to get caught sneaking around the back of the building. “Why am I goin’ first?”

“So I can make sure no one follows.”

“Is that your specialty?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that confession. Just how much sneaking around was a guy like him doing? “Go on.”

You’d marinate the thought later. With a sigh, you slide off of the barstool. Looking at him you find his eyes on the television screen once more. With no reassuring glance or even a flirtatious wink, you set your sights on the hallway in the back of the bar.

You’re relieved to find that no one was waiting in a line outside the bathrooms. At least that would make the sneaking around part a lot easier. You felt ridiculous, like a teenager trying to avoid their parents when they snuck out. But the promise of what could’ve been awaiting you was enough to will you to walk down the dim hallway.

There was a door towards the end of the hall, on the right side, just past the bathrooms. Just like he had said. You didn’t have time to wonder how he knew it was here, or how he knew it was a storage room. But sure enough, after slinking past the bathrooms and quickly pushing the door open, you were greeted with a room full of boxes, cleaning supplies, and old furniture. The smell of mildew made your nose crinkle as you stepped further inside.

It was then you realized he didn’t tell you how long to wait. Your thoughts spiraled from there; What if he flakes? What if an employee comes back here? Each second felt like an hour, your anxiety mounting with every moment you were alone in the stuffy room. You move to an old table shoved in the back corner. A thin layer of dust coats your finger when you run it along the trim.

Your heart jumps when you hear the door click. You were prepared to play the part of a drunken fool looking for the bathroom in case it was an employee, but you’re relieved to see the large figure you’d come to recognize slink through.

“Hey,” you call out to him, casually greeting him like you hadn’t snuck in here under the implications of sex.

His steps are slow as he moves towards you. “Hey.” That gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. The room feels smaller with every step he takes in your direction.

“So,” you sigh, “do you take all your dates to storage rooms?”

“Only the lucky ones.”

He stops just in front of you, closer than he’s ever stood before, making your breath catch in your throat as you look up at him. “Suppose I should feel lucky, then.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you weren’t too concerned with appearing composed.

“I’d hope so.”

“I will if you take off that mask.”

You think you hear something resembling a laugh from beneath that skull-patterned fabric. He tugs at the mask and, for a moment, you think he’s actually going to remove it. But the hem only moves to the bridge of his nose, taunting you by not revealing any part of himself he hadn’t already. You must look expectant, or disappointed, because he gives you an incredulous look in return. 

“What? You seemed plenty happy with this earlier,” he gestures towards the lower half of his face, earning an eye roll from you. He scoffs, leaning in and tilting his head to follow your gaze. “If I remember, you couldn’t stop starin’ at me.”

“Fuck off. I liked what I saw.” His teasing made your cheeks feel hot. That same heat thumps in your veins when your eyes meet his again. “...Still do.”

You barely feel the warmth of his fingertips as they graze your skin, tracing your jaw. He was gentle, exploratory, like he was waiting for your approval. When all he got from you was a sharp intake of breath, his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. 

“So do I.”

You’d chastise yourself for leaning in if you were any more self-conscious. You’d blame the eagerness on the alcohol, or the way he seemed to pull you closer with his hand, but there was no denying the want stirring in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered except making your lips meet. And when they do, all you find is gentle hesitance and the taste of whiskey. 

It was soft and careful, yet completely consuming. His lips were as soft as they looked and moved perfectly against your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from sighing into his mouth and inching your body closer, bringing your hand to his chest and feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie go taut as you curl your fingers into a fist. Afraid he’d move away if you didn’t, you kept your grasp firm and pulled him closer. 

He was the one to close the gap between your bodies. It was like he was waiting for that confirmation that you wanted this. His hands move to your waist as his groan vibrates against your lips. Gentle kisses slowly turn more desperate as both of you breathe heavily. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol is sickeningly sweet on your tongue.

Strong hands move down your body and over your hips. You half expected him to grope you and leave it at that. And while you would’ve been fine with it, you’re surprised when you feel his hands move down to your thighs to lift you off the ground. The sudden movement makes you yelp and gasp into his mouth, fingers clawing at his hoodie to keep you balanced while he haphazardly sets you on the edge of the dusty, wobbling table. 

It’s brash and hurried but it’s exciting. The type of exciting that makes you forget about the dust on the tabletop and the possibility someone could walk in. Nothing else mattered when his mouth was on you, trailing over your jaw with hot and wet kisses that took your breath away. 

“You’ll tell me if I’m too much, yeah?” The rough sound of his voice surprises you, grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations. 

You nod, running your hands over his shoulders to try and feel the rigidity under his clothes. “Y-yeah, course.”

“Good girl.”

A small kiss is planted on your neck before he pulls back enough to look you over. As your hands fall from his shoulders, he hastily rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. Not only does the sight of sinewy muscle hidden underneath make your blood pound in your veins, but the intricate sleeve of tattoos on his left arm catches your attention. In any other scenario you’d ask him question after question about each line and symbol. But right now his hands are running up your thighs and under your skirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kneads the fat between his fingers. 

The way he groans at your softness makes you throb. He nudges your legs further apart—a movement you would have done on your own volition—and pushes your skirt up as he moves to hold your hips. You lean back on your hands and watch mesmerized as his eyes lock onto the sight between your legs. 

“Pretty pair,” he mutters as his thumbs rub circles against your hips. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your panties. “Makes me think you were hopin’ I’d see ‘em.”

Seems like it paid off to overthink every part of your outfit. “Maybe I was.”

“Yeah? Hopin’ I’d see how soppin’ wet they are?” His thumb moves inwards, running over your slit through the wet fabric. The fabric clings to your sensitive skin, proving his point, as does the way you whimper and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that too.”

His fingers hook into the strip of fabric covering your cunt, pulling the garment to the side with a forceful tug. And you swear, even in the dim light, his pupils dilate at the sight. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Two fingers drag through your slit, through that slick that told him just how much you wanted him. His fingertips are rough but his touch is gentle. You gasp when he finds your clit and toys with the swollen bud by circling it teasingly. His lips find yours again with bruising kisses that swallow your sounds as you pant into his mouth. His fingers spread you open, gliding over your cunt and teasing every inch, gathering your slick as he circles your entrance.

Even though he moves slowly, the stretch of his thick fingers is certainly more than you were expecting. You whine as they curl and pump in and out in a rhythm that makes your cunt flutter and squelch with each push. Your head falls back with a moan when he hits something deep inside that sends shockwaves through you. 

His mouth moves down to your now-exposed neck, marking your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” his voice vibrates against you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You hum a broken “mm-hmm”, unable to focus long enough to form a proper response. But it’s that confirmation that has him moving faster and harder until your hips are jerking forward to meet his movements. 

“Yeah, y’couldn’t sit still ‘cause you were achin’ for it.” His free hand cups your face, gently squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire and something desperate that bores into you. “Just needed your pretty pussy fucked, huh?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers at the praise, heat building in the pit of the stomach. Your pants turn into a moan as your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

His hand picks up speed as he coos a soft “I know, baby,” against your lips. His fingers curl and push just right, hitting every soft spot that makes your toes curl and your cunt tighten. One of your hands flies to his chest to claw at his hoodie as your body begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, barely able to get the words out, “d-don’t stop…”

“I won’t, love. Not ‘til you cum for me.”

For him. He wanted to see you fall apart under his touch and cling to him like he was the only thing in the world. You’ll care more about the sweetness of the thought when you aren’t stuffed full and moaning in the back of a bar. 

Whether it’s that thought or his touch or the heady mix of both, it’s not long before the muscles in your thighs go taut. Your breathing turns heavier as your moans and whines grow louder on each exhale. If it wasn’t for your subconscious fear of being caught and his need to feel your lips against his own you’re sure you would’ve screamed until the sound echoed off the walls. 

But even if your sounds were restrained, the sensations surely weren’t. That heat stirring in your core spilled over and your cunt clenched around his fingers until all you could hear was soft squelching as he pushed your slick cum back inside. Your thighs trembled and your chest heaved with the effort to catch your breath. It wasn’t until you could see straight against that you noticed the sweat along your brow and the ache in your back.

His fingers slid out, their girth just enough to leave you feeling loose. Before he could even take his hand off of you, his mouth was latching onto your neck for another set of rough and wet kisses.

“Turn around,” you barely hear his gruff instruction over the sound of your own breaths, “bend over.”

Still, you aren’t one to disappoint. You land on shaky legs after sliding off the table, using his sturdy form to balance yourself as you turn around. Your forearms rest against the table as you bend over the wobbling piece of furniture. 

You feel your skirt flip up, the fabric resting along your waist, before his large palms run over the swell of your ass. They’re warm and heavy and you can feel each callous as he kneads the fat in his grasp. He’s not rough, but it’s like he wants to savor the softness he finds.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” That was enough to make you twitch, but then he runs a finger over the cum-slick fabric of your panties. “Think you can do it again for me?”

You barely muster a nod and an “mm-hmm” before his fingers hook into your panties and pull them down to your knees. His impatience was only riling you up, especially when you felt him spread you apart and groan at the sight. 

“Christ, look at you…” you hear him mutter, the sound accompanied by the jangle of a belt buckle coming undone. 

You could practically feel his stare boring into you, branding your skin with his gaze. You think you hear him spit before a hand rests on your ass to knead your skin again. That hand moves to your hip, holding you firmly in place while the head of his cock glides along your slit and stops at your entrance. He isn’t even attempting to push in and it already has you whimpering. You can feel it—thick and warm and heavy—waiting to split you open. 

“Breathe for me, baby. Just relax.” His voice is soothing, deep and soaked in desire, and it makes your body obey without thought. 

A few deep breaths later and your mouth is falling open in a loud gasp as he pushes in. He moves slow, pausing every time you whine to mutter soft encouragement through clenched teeth. And while his voice was soothing, it didn’t exactly ease the stretch that had your cunt pulsing around him. Nothing had made you feel so full before.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he groans when he’s fully seated inside you. Both of his hands hold your hips tight as he mutters a curse under his breath. Slowly, he starts to move, pulling back only to push in deep. You swear he hits deeper every time, every push forcing the air out of your lungs in a desperate moan. 

“That’s it, you can take it.” His voice was somewhere between gruff and breathless, tense beneath clenched teeth and restrained moans. Your back arches and your hips push back to meet his movements halfway to encourage him to speed up his steady rhythm. “Oh, good fucking girl.”

All you can manage is broken strings of curses and moans. Between his constant praise and the fullness of his cock, you couldn’t think straight long enough to focus on anything except the pleasure shooting through your veins. If your nails were any sharper, you might’ve left claw marks on the table beneath you as you held on.

“Fuck me. H-Harder.” You knew you were being greedy, aching for more every time you accustomed to his pace. But you were still so sensitive from your recent climax; you knew it wouldn’t take much more to hit that high again, especially when his cock kissed that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, you need it harder, baby?” He put up no argument as he moved his hands to your waist for a better grip. He pounded into you with a force that made your legs shake, his hips meeting your ass with an obnoxiously loud sound that you couldn’t care less if anyone heard. “Goddamn, this cunt’s perfect.”

Underneath your squeals and whines are his own moans and growls, each one making you clench around him just to draw another one out of him. Knowing he was as lost in pleasure as you were filled you with pride. 

His hands move up your body, snaking under your shirt, feeling you tense and tremble underneath him. Strong palms find and grope your chest, kneading you eagerly while he bends over you. His thrusts don’t cease even as his lips find your neck.

Soft bites and hot kisses only add to the sensations wracking pleasure on your body. You almost don’t hear him when he mutters against your skin, “Simon.”

“...Huh?”

“Simon.” He repeats, moving his mouth to your ear so there’s no doubt you’ll hear him. “Say it.”

“Si—fuck…Simon…” The name comes out in a moan, something he seems to enjoy judging by the receiving growl in your ear. 

“Atta girl. Now you know what to scream when you cum for me again.”

Your panting lips curl into something resembling a smile. Simon. You were too far gone to recognize the implication of trust behind his sudden openness, but you did know how sweet his name felt in your mouth. And, evidently, it wouldn’t take long for you to mutter it incoherently as your body begins to tense.

Heat and pleasure and everything warm builds in your core with each hit of his cock. He—Simon—mirrors your heavy breaths with his own. He must feel the way you tighten; his fingers dig into your skin so tight it’d probably hurt if your mind was less hazy.

“M’gonna cum—shit, you’re gonna make me cum, Simon.” Your eyes flutter shut, all your focus narrowed to the pleasure between your legs. 

“I know, love. Cum for me, let me feel you.”

His rough and steady pace makes the build-up all the more sweet. When your climax hits, it hits hard. White-hot pleasure shoots through you, making your hips twitch and your legs shake, a breathless cry that you try (and fail) to hold back ripping through the room. Your cunt pulses around his cock, sucking him deeper while he fucks you through the high with much gentler strokes. The obscenely wet sound is accompanied by his groans on every push. 

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum squeezin’ me like that…”

That was enough to snap you out of your haze. Perhaps a much less restrained version of yourself would’ve let him finish inside you right then and there, but you’ll entertain the thought another time. Still trembling and panting, you force yourself to sit up. “Wait, wait. Pull out, hold on,” you urge, pushing him back with your hand.

He follows your movements, his hands sliding off of your body as he leans back. The emptiness that follows as his cock slips out of you leaves you feeling gaped in the best way possible. Your body aches, sore from the rough treatment and the wobbling table underneath you, as you stumble to your knees in front of Simon. Your eyes immediately land on his cock, a dumbfounded grin you’re sure looks ridiculous painting itself on your lips.

Fuckin’ hell…that was inside you?

It was every bit as impressive as it felt. Thick and heavy and so damn hard you could practically feel it throbbing with the need to cum. No wonder he needed to prep you, and no wonder you felt so stretched regardless. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Simon’s voice startles you, bringing your mind back to reality.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth as you lean in. Licking a slow, wet stripe along the underside makes him hiss and twitch against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, your cum mixed with his musk, and the heady combination made your head spin.

Your eyes flicker up at him, at that mask still obscuring half of his face. “Dunno if I can take all of you,” you admit as your hand glides up and down his cock. “You’re a big lad.”

Simon curses and you watch his jaw tighten as his cock twitches in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. After the way you felt around me, I’m not gonna last long anyway.”

You flash him a smile—a cheeky one that, no doubt, showed how proud that made you feel—before closing your lips around the head of his cock. His musk hits your tongue and fills your nostrils and you can’t help but groan at the taste. The rest of his cock fits in your hand, throbbing under your palm while you stroke. 

“Christ, that’s good, sweetheart.” One of his hands lands on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you down or force more into your mouth, he just rests it there, watching you through heavy eyes. “Real fuckin’ nice…”

You swallow around him, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips buck involuntarily in a movement that makes you gag when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. He mutters an apology that you ignore, groaning around him as your head bobs and your tongue swirls.

“Fuck, I can’t…” Simon’s other hand flies down to his cock, replacing your grip as he wraps it around the base. “M’gonna cum, baby.”

The way he growls the words makes you hum, the sound vibrating through him. You give one last firm suck as your mouth slides off of him. “Cum on my face,” you utter before you can even catch your breath.

“Y-you sure? Your makeup—”

“M’not askin’, Simon.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He can barely get the words out as he strokes himself, fisting his cock with a lewdly wet sound thanks to your spit and cum coating his sensitive flesh.

You can hear his breath grow heavy, slowly turning to moans as his body tenses. All you can focus on is his face—what parts you can see—watching his mouth as he pants and seeing his brows furrow in pleasure. You think you’d give just about anything to see him like this without that mask on.

His hand stills on his cock just before he mutters a curse and spills onto your face. His cum lands in thick, warm globs across your skin, and you’re thankful he seems to have enough awareness to avoid your eyes. He taps his cock against your lips, spreading his cum just to revel in the sight. 

Simon’s growling breaths steady out as he comes down from the high. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he sighs, peach lips curling into a smile.

Your tongue darts out to clean your lips, tasting the unique saltiness that painted them. “You’re not too bad yourself. Simon.”

He offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet. His thumb brushes against your cheek, collecting some of his spend before bringing it to your mouth. You gladly accept his digit into your mouth, moaning around it as you suck it clean. With a growl and a curse, he pulls you into a rough kiss.

“Next time,” he starts, still panting as his breathing steadies, “how about we go to your place? Then we can have a proper go at it.”

Your heart skips a beat. ‘Next time’…he wanted a ‘next time’... 

“As long as you’re a gentleman and drive me there.” You pat his chest before pulling back enough to readjust your clothing. There wasn’t much you could do about the smeared makeup and tousled hair, but you weren’t the only person in the bar who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Deal.” You can hear the shuffle as he refits his own clothes. Thankfully, the mask doesn’t come back down. “You fancy another drink?”

“Uh…m’not sure, why?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, I can take you home right now if you’d like.” You meet his eyes and he matches your smile with one of his own.

“Deal.”

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au 2

authors: well....this is happening. don't ask. we're just going with it. gotta read part one before consuming this.

don't know who's interested, so only tagging the people i know have read and would be okay with a tag!

taglist: @sayyestoheav3nn @fearlesschimera @annfg8 @zoeyybellex3 @cyberdejos2

Solana never expected to see Roman Reigns again. Not in person, at least. That up close, especially.

It was a one off. A fluke. An anomaly. Her happenstance literal run-in with quite literally the most dangerous man in their world was just one of those things she'd never forget but nothing beyond that.

She could never forget his intense gaze on her, the heat that shot through her body when he touched her, his arm holding her, protecting her almost from a man who clearly doesn't understand boundaries.

But, while she tried her best to put the weekend's unexpected happening behind her, life, or maybe fate, had another plan in motion. One she could have never expected or seen coming.

She's sorting through one of the few remaining boxes that still needs to be tagged and put out for sale when a throat clears behind her.

Putting down the iPad, Solana stands up, wiping her hands on her shorts and loads up her typical, usual smile. Turning around, she readies to greet the probable customer but falters a bit, taken back by his appearance.

Wild, red hair that's surely seen better days. Tall with an almost lanky build, he wears one of the friendliest grins she's ever seen on a person, let alone a man.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "How can I help you?"

Again, he clears his throat, pulling out a wrinkled little piece of paper that seems to have writing scribbled on it. "Yes, I'm looking for a Sol---Solana?"

She laughs at his pronunciation but proceeds to confirm her identity. "I'm Solana."

He makes a sound, slapping his hand against his forehead. "Of course, my apologies!" She giggles. His demeanor is so amenable. "Umm, yes, if you could, umm, come with me?"

At that, Solana's smile drops. "I'm sorry?"

He leans over a bit, and she naturally moves back a little. "I'm sorry." His cheeks are heating with redness. "I'm here on behalf of the Tribal Chief."

Solana goes still. "Roman?" He nods. "He's---he's here?"

When Solana mentioned Roman coming to see her, something she still can't figure out where it came from, she wasn't actually expecting him to follow through on that.

And yet....

The man continues to explain, "he would come in, but....you know."

Yes, she does know. Roman Reigns coming into her little, quaint bookstore would certainly attract an audience and attention, the last two things she wants, that she's ever wanted.

Solana nods.

She should reject it. Should try to find some excuse as to why she can't. Why she's busy. But, she's also not dumb enough to say no to this man.

You don't just say no to Roman Reigns. You can, but it's bound to not end up well. And Solana would rather not find herself on his bad side.

Pushing back her anxiety, she finds herself agreeing. "Of course." Hooking her fingers through the hoops of her denim shorts, she asks, "w-where is he?"

The man whose name she realizes she still doesn't know motions with his arm. "Ladies first."

He really does have a gentless about him that doesn't seem to make sense considering who he works for.

Solana silently and wordlessly follows him out the emergency exit in the back of the store, ignoring the fact that that's probably how he got inside in the first place, which makes little to no sense to her. How did he get by without the security system going off? But, for her own sanity, she doesn't push it too much.

This is Roman.

He gets what he wants.

And speaking of, Solana finds her stomach knotting a bit when she's outside in the alleyway behind the strip. There's three black SUV's with tinted windows lined up, but he's standing by the one in the middle. Leaning against the middle door, his arms are crossed over each other, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes she secretly wishes she could see.

Moving closer, Solana has to take in once again the magnanimity of him. Roman is such a big man, his presence alone something that's both overwhelming and strangely satisfying.

But, when she gets her wish, and he lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head, she finds that feeling in her stomach intensifying. He's raking those beautiful eyes over her entire body, from the top of her head to the sole of her feet.

And Solana is suddenly wishing she'd maybe put on a little makeup or done something more sophisticated with her hair. Not that that seems to stop this man from looking like he'd take her in the back of this alley if he could.

Before she can say anything, the man with the wild red hair is speaking again, his voice suddenly riddled with anxiety.

She gets it.

"Ms. Solana, as you requested, sir." He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and just when Solana expects him to walk away, leaving her along with the one man she probably shouldn't be left alone with, he continues to talk, offering an unexpected save. "And might I say, my Tribal Chief, she is absolutely beautiful. I mean, if I wasn't already married—" At the same time Solana looks at this strange man confused, Roman's gaze is borderline murderous. "But I am m-married, happily so, might I add. And I would never betray my Tribal Chief—"

"Sami."

"Yes, My Tribal Chief?"

"Leave." It's spoken to the man, but Roman's intense gaze is back on her. "Now."

Sami.....it fits.

"Of course," Sami clears his throat and scrambles away, getting in the SUV that's farthest from them without bothering as so much as a goodbye.

Once alone, she finds herself admitting in that same small voice, "I-I didn't think you'd actually come."

He chuckles, and it's such a beautiful sound. "I'm a man of my word, Solana." He flicks his eyes to her mouth. "I said I would see you again, didn't I?"

He did. She just wasn't counting on it.

Swallowing, Solana toys with the string of her top, unintentionally dragging Roman's attention to her cleavage that's showing more than usual. Of course. "How did you find—"

"That was easy. If I want something, I get it." She should know this, know that this man could probably have her social security number at this point if he wanted. "What are you doing tonight?"

Oh.

This is escalating. Quickly. So quickly. She should pump the breaks, should find someway to dead this now. But, she instead finds herself answering him, "n-nothing. Why?"

"You are now." Roman kicks off the SUV and instead moves toward her. Instead of backing away like she did with Sami, Solana stands still, only silently and internally panicking when he snakes his arm behind her and jerks her toward him, into him, into his body. Solid as steel. He's so big. Naturally, her hand moves to his chest, something Roman notices and smirks at. This man. "I'm fighting tonight. I want you there."

It takes her a second to think about what he's referring to, and then it hits her. WarGames is tonight. It's one of the few main events he still participates in. She hasn't attended an event in years. It's never been her setting, but instead of finding a way to tell him this, she's still limited to one to two word response.

"O-oh."

His smirk deepens as he brings his hand to her chin, thumb glossing over her skin. "I'll send a car to pick you up."

Picking up on something, she asks, partially concerned, partially flattered almost. "You-you know where I live?"

Roman's eyes continue to study her face, and she's never felt so under pressure. Like this is a test of some sort that she has no idea if she's passing or not. "I know a lot about you, Solana Miller, but there's still more I want to know." Oh my god. "Wear red."

Just how much does he know? Had he looked her up? Done research on her? Why? What would be the reason? What's so interesting about her that not only has he gone out of his way to gather information on her, but beyond that, is now seeking more info.

It just....it doesn't make sense.

Eyes shutting a bit from the overwhelming nature of this all, she finds herself asking in a breathy voice, "w-why?"

And as if she wasn't already an apprehensive mess, Solana's knees nearly give out from under her when he dips his mouth near her ear. "I like seeing you in my color." She exhales shakily and nervously, as he ghosts his lips over the shell of her ear. "Though I'd rather see you in nothing, but we'll work up to that."

That's not exactly what she was asking about, but regardless, it takes the pure will of God for her to not pass out when he finally pulls away, the lack of his touch on her body something she notices almost immediately.

Roman lifts his hand and snaps, not even a full minute later, one of his men emerging from the passenger side of the SUV to open the car door for him. "I'll see you tonight, Solana."

He can clearly see the reaction he's evoking from her and obviously finds great enjoyment in absolutely toying with her sanity. It's something that leads to her asking, "How-how do you know I'll be there?"

She never accepted. Never agreed. Never mind the fact that she's already thinking about what she owns red that could work for the event....

Roman gives her a curious look followed by another chuckle that she finds so much more attractive than she should. He answers so easily and confidently before climbing in the truck, door being shut for him,

"Because you're just as intrigued by me as I am by you."

[yandere-paramour]

Yans During a Hurricane

In honor of a hurricane absolutely ravaging my state, here is some content before my power goes out.

Vivien

Vivien is worried. Like really worried.

He lives in an apartment, so he's not worried about his indoor plants, he's worried about his plot at the community garden. He doesn't care how wet it is outside, he will do whatever he can to try and save those tomatoes.

He's also worried about you and him. Obviously, he wants you to come over, the thought of you weathering the storm alone is physically painful.

He tries to think of everything you both might need from snacks, making sure both your cars are gassed up, and collecting plenty of batteries and flashlights.

It's like he's planning for doomsday, he's really worried. The thought of being unprepared and something happening to you because of his hubris makes his stomach seize up.

He gets stressed and tries to turn that into making things. He does a lot of cooking and baking for the two of you, making enough so you don't have to leave the house for a few days and can just stay inside and wait.

You're going to have to somehow get him to calm down and relax otherwise he will work himself into a state.

His apartment building isn't the best so, of course, you are the first in the city to lose power. You both gasp in unison at the sudden way everything grows quiet.

Vivien nearly cries when the cookies he's baking suddenly stop. The thought of not being able to provide for you is very, very upsetting to him.

You'll have to redirect/cajole him into a new activity that doesn't require electricity like tending to his plants, that always calms him down. Or maybe build a blanket fort, rainy days like this are perfect for blanket forts.

Gently you poke into his side and ask if he wants to build a fort on the rug, and he gives you a quizzical look, wondering if you're making fun of him or something.

When it becomes clear you're serious, his face lights up and he drags every single chair, pillow, and blanket in the apartment.

He is very strategic as he builds, and you just let him do his thing, knowing he needs this to be able to feel secure.

When it's done, your fort is a masterpiece. It is large enough for you both to crawl inside, and Vivien has decorated it with some small battery-operated tealights so there's enough light to see. The many pillows are comfortable to sit on, and you both giggle like excited children as you both do a craft together.

You two spend the night cuddled in each other's arms in, snacking on fresh fruit, talking about nothing, and listening to the melodic rains outside, and finally, Vivien is able to take a breath and know that this storm will pass and you and he will be okay.

Atalanta

Do you really think Atalanta Montclair is going to stick around and have to deal with running out of food and her power cutting out? Get real.

She, her parents, and, by extension, you are getting tf out of there.

Atalanta makes the executive decision to shut down Montclair Industries for a few days. She doesn't want her employees to have to work when they should be with their families, and she definitely doesn't want anyone to get hurt or worse in the process of working.

Whatever happens, she'll deal with it when she comes back.

She even puts Noelle in charge with a promise of a bonus while she's gone (And you know Noelle's taking that shit, there is nothing that could come up that Noelle couldn't handle)

Somewhere where a hurricane is not currently raging, that's where you're going.

Enjoy a nice sunny weekend with your wife and In-Laws!

Lots of normal Montclair activities (beach lounging, fancy dinners, going to the theatre, museum browsing, generally experiencing what it's like to be in another part of the world)

Any worries you have about things back home, Atalanta will soothe and comfort you and generally do everything she can to make you calm down. If it makes you feel better, she can give some employees a quick call to make sure everything is perfectly fine.

She wants you to enjoy the little vacation with her, so just let her send a quick text, and then she'll get you another fruity drink so you have something to sip on while you both walk through the night market.

Noelle

Noelle is mildly concerned, but she is not going to pass up a few days off to spend with her Darling.

Atalanta left Noelle in charge of the company while she's gone with promises of a sizable bonus (and you know if Ata says sizable, she means it), but that's really only for anything big or emergent.

Basically, all she has to do is keep her phone charged and nearby, and check it every once in a while, and that's an extra few thousand on her paycheck.

Noelle is very pleased about that.

You're usually alone during the day, but now Noelle is here with you! You're so happy to spend so much time with her!

To begin your little respite, both of you start with a relaxing bath together, which always turns into a little skincare/spa night. Noelle is so very gentle as she wipes your face with toner, and you get to see her cute puzzled look as she surmises which face mask to give you.

As a little treat, she orders in from whatever restaurant you like best and you both eat on the couch, laughing at a movie you pick. She cradles you in your arms, kissing your arms and hands and hair because she doesn't want to mess up your moisturizer.

After the first movie, Noelle inspects her supplies. Of course, she has everything she needs, but she may need to top off your snack stash if you've been hardcore snacking this week.

Anything you need, she will quickly get delivered so you both can spend the next few days being as comfortable as possible (with a generous tip for the delivery guy for braving the pouring rains).

She lives in a much nicer apartment than Vivien, so her electricity never cuts out so you both stay comfortable and warm the whole weekend.

Noelle spends the entire weekend absolutely doting on you. Anything you like, she is doing with you and making sure to praise you for every breath you take. She will paint with you, bake with you, even game with you (but she's terrible). She knows she's terrible, but she just wants you to have fun.

You catch her watching you with tender eyes many times, and you are just so touched by how much she loves you and how well she takes care you. You in your matching pajamas, clean and moisturized, fed by some chicken and rice Noelle cooked for you, soft and sleepy and ready for her to brush your hair and cuddle you to sleep, humming that little song she always hums for you.

By the time the hurricane has passed, you're severely disappointed that Noelle has to go back to work, but she just kisses and comforts you, saying that if you be a good girl and wait for her, she'll bring you a treat back later.

[ckret2]

Did you update the fic? I can’t see an update in ao3 but you’ve kinda been posting like u did (or maybe I’m just confused lol)

There are tumblr updates too. I updated the fic on tumblr on Friday. I've posted other things on here since then that aren't updates.

I'm currently writing chapter 80-something, posting chapter 60-something on tumblr, and editing everything between ch 9 and ch 60-something for TBOB compatibility to post to AO3; and I do NOT want what I'm posting to catch up with what I'm writing. So this is my current writing/editing schedule for every week, starting over on Saturdays:

edit and queue this week's next tumblr chapter*

write at least one future chapter

edit and post another ao3 chapter

work on editing other chapters

(*if I finished queueing the next tumblr chapter before the end of the weekend, and the prior week I didn't manage to post an ao3 chapter, I can work on editing & posting an ao3 chapter before the end of the weekend)

If I don't finish 1 & 2 before the end of Friday, ao3 isn't getting a chapter that week.

Last week, it took me all week to write an outline for a chapter, so I didn't finish 2. This weekend it took me til right before bed Sunday to queue this week's chapter. So ao3's skipped a week.

[hongcherry]

pretty please (just this once) || c.sc

Seungcheol comes to visit you while you're working on a photo shoot; however, he ends up staying after you ask him for a favor.

🍒 Pairing: businessWorker!Seungcheol x fashionDesigner!Reader (f) 🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Fluff, slice of life; Non-idol au, Pretty Please couple 🍒 Warnings: Suggestive content and allusions to sexual activities 🍒 Word Count: 4.1k 🍒 Timeline: This takes place before "love me," but you don't need to read that prior to this. 🍒 Author’s Note: Happy (almost) weekend! As planned, here's another installment of the Pretty Please universe ♥️ I'm excited to publish the next one! Spoiler: It's a two-parter 😉

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

“He did what?”

Your hands still and eyes narrow at Yumi, irritation quickly growing upon hearing the bad news.

“Apparently, he accidentally double-booked himself,” Yumi explains as calmly as she can.

Your eyes roll before you can stop them, hands dropping from the garnet you were working on.

Prior to booking your model, you had triple-checked both your schedules to ensure they aligned. Now, hearing that he canceled an hour before the shoot, has steam shooting out your ears.

Sure, you can reschedule, but you have already rented the space and have a deadline to meet for the photos. Additionally, you can no longer trust your old model to show up anymore.

“Of course he did,” you scoff and grab your phone. You’re not sure what you are going to do with it, but you grab it on instinct. Maybe subconsciously you think you can call in another model, but you doubt it due to the short time frame.

Sensing your thoughts, Yumi says, “Maybe there’s still someone available.”

Huffing, you throw your hands in the air in exasperation.

“Fine. Let’s try,” you say and unlock your phone to begin trying to get another model.

Not a second later, the door to the dressing room opens.

“Hey, ba—What’s wrong?”

Seungcheol slows his steps when he sees the tell-tale sign of distress on your face.

“What are you doing here?” you wonder, voice gentler but still on edge.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he replies, lifting up a bag of what you suspect are yummy goodies.

Your heart does a little flip despite you wanting it to. You had never considered yourself a hopeless romantic, but the small gesture tugs on your emotions.

“Thanks, it’s just—” You begin to say but a poke on your arm stops you. You glance at Yumi, whose eyes are flicking between you and Seungcheol. You can tell there’s an idea brewing in her head.

“What about him?” she whispers, but there’s no other sound in the room to cover her voice.

“What about him?” you repeat.

“He can be our solution!”

Your eyes widen slightly in realization, then you’re shaking your head.

“He doesn’t have experience,” you explain.

Yumi frowns. “At this point, we just need a good face. And look at him,” she pauses to gesture to Seungcheol. He stands with his head slightly cocked in confusion.

“He’s perfect.”

Your lips purse as you take in your boyfriend. There’s no doubt that he’s handsome, and his build is impressive… But what would your boss say if she sees someone unknown in the fashion world in the photos? She has a policy about not using rookies in her shoots. Though at the same time, what would she say if you didn’t get anyone at all?

You’re at an odds.

“What’s going on, Cherry?” Seungcheol questions.

You sigh for what seems like the tenth time.

“Our model quit on us last minute,” you disclose.

“You don’t have a backup?”

His question brings forth more irritation; however, that stems from self-anger than anger directed at him. You should’ve known better.

“Unfortunately, not, but,” Yumi trails off and she glances at you for approval.

It’s not like Seungcheol doesn’t have the looks, but he’s never done this before and what if he feels uncomfortable? Though, your hands are tied and you’ve already lost time.

You rub your lips together before finishing Yumi’s sentence.

“Since you’re here, would you mind stepping in?”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow up.

“You want me to be your model?” he asks in disbelief.

“You have the looks,” you shrug, trying to hide the smile that wants to form when he averts his gaze shyly.

“I’m not sure,” he fades off.

“Please? Just this once? We’ll guide you,” you offer some reassurance.

Seungcheol glances at the door as if imagining himself at the setup out there. 

PDA isn’t something you favor, but since it’s only you three in the room, you decide to test your luck. You step forward and guide his face back to yours. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently.

“You’d really be helping me out, babe,” you plead.

He still looks unsure. 

You give him a peck on the lips. “Please?”

Seungcheol’s free hand squeezes your waist.

“Fine. What do I need to do?” He sighs.

You grin and give him another kiss. His hand moves to your lower back to pull you closer. Not wanting the kiss to last too long, you pull away after three seconds.

You straighten your clothes as if wiping away your embarrassment.

Yumi watches with a mix of surprise and delight. You’re unsure of their origins, but you get the hint it’s from seeing this new side of you.

You met Yumi on your first day of work a few months ago. She’s interning at the company, learning from fellow fashion designers and event coordinators. You don’t always work with her on projects, but she was assigned to this one with you as the lead.

You weren’t sure what to think of Yumi in the beginning; however, you’ve learned to like her. She is hard-working and passionate—two things you can relate to.

After clearing your throat, you instruct, “Tell the photographer to be ready in thirty.”

Yumi lingers in the room, eyes moving between you and Seungcheol, then she leaves.

You let out a breath when the door closes.

Yumi was aware you had a partner, but she’s never seen or met Seungcheol. You guess she doesn’t need an introduction now.

“I’ll take that,” you say and grab the bag from Seungcheol’s hands. You take a peek inside and see a bowl of noodles and veggies. Your tummy growls.

“When was the last time you ate?” Seungcheol wonders.

You set the bag down and move to the clothes rack.

“It’s been a while,” you answer vaguely. “Take off your clothes.”

“Cherry, you can’t starve yours—”

“I’m not. I’ll eat soon,” you interrupt.

When you see Seungcheol studying you rather than stripping in your peripheral, you turn to him with a frown.

“Seungch—”

“I know, I need to change, but your health is important,” he scolds lightly.

“So is this photoshoot,” you reply. You take off a few pieces from the rack and transfer it to an empty one.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab your arm.

“Baby,” he calls for your attention.

You look at him.

“At least eat a little while I change,” he suggests.

“I need to get hair and makeup—”

Seungcheol leans in and shuts you up with a kiss.

Your body wants to melt into his touch, but you force yourself to stay alert. Now’s not the time.

You gently push his chest to pull away.

“Eat,” he says.

Sighing, you relent with a nod. Just the smell of the dish is making your mouth water. You know he’s right. 

You gesture to the clothes and Seungcheol nods in understanding.

Once he starts changing, you text Yumi to inform her of your outfit choice and for the hair and makeup crew to get ready. Then, you sit on the couch and open the noodle meal Seungcheol brought.

Your boyfriend, now without his shirt, smiles at you—pleased to see you doing as he said.

Your gaze meets his, and your heart skips a beat. He looks too good shirtless. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen it before; it still has an effect on you.

Seungcheol chuckles at your reaction and removes his pants.

“Lucky you, Cherry. You get lunch and a show,” he teases.

You roll your eyes in lieu of showing you flustered.

“Change faster,” you huff after you swallow a bite.

Seungcheol grins bigger, taking the pants on the rack and stepping into one leg.

“Afraid of what’ll happen if I stay naked for too long?” he taunts.

“You’re not naked,” you mumble, eating again.

“Bet you wish I was though.” He smirks.

You send him a not-so-deadly glare. 

Unaffected by your stare, he chuckles and finishes changing. Luckily, the hair and makeup people come in a minute after he fastens the last button on his shirt.

The outfit is a plain, all-black trousers and suit jacket, but Seungcheol fits the outfit perfectly. He suits formal wear extremely well.

The hair stylist gives him a wet-haired look and the makeup artist keeps it simple.

You hurry and finish half your food so you can check on the crew in the main studio. Thankfully, they’ve finished getting ready without any hiccups.

The door to the dressing room opens and Seungcheol comes to stop beside you. He may feel out of place, but he doesn’t look like it. You stare at him a little too long before adjusting the outfit. Though, there’s not much to adjust. You’re just worrying. 

“You sure about this?” you ask.

“Ah, not really,” he answers hesitantly, “but if it helps you, then I’ll be fine.”

Three words sit on your tongue, but you can’t find the courage to say them. It’s not that you don’t believe them, but there are people in hearing range, and saying it has always felt awkward to you.

Seungcheol gives you a reassuring smile. You know he wants to kiss you by the way he keeps glancing at your lips, but you appreciate that he respects your boundaries. Especially while you’re at work.

The photographer guides him to sit on the leather armchair. Seungcheol does so stiffly.

“Try to relax and look into the lens,” they instruct. “Pretend you’re a wealthy, overly confident CEO.”

Seungcheol nods and leans against the armrest. It looks almost unnatural.

Even though there’s music playing, the sounds of the camera feel extra loud. You peer at the monitor and watch as the pictures begin to appear.

The photographer moves to different angles. Seungcheol shifts a bit as he follows the camera.

After a few more shots, the photographer tilts their head.

“Let’s try resting your chin on your hand,” they say.

Seungcheol follows, but there’s still something off. You can tell the photographer thinks so too from their slightly furrowed brows and downturned lips.

Seungcheol’s not oblivious to everyone’s reaction. He becomes more rigid and mimics everyone’s small frown.

You rub your lips together in thought. Maybe Seungcheol really wasn’t the best choice. He has the looks, but the photos are not coming across well.

“Let’s take five,” you call out, walking toward the setup and stopping at the edge of the backdrop.

“Follow me,” you tell Seungcheol and turn on your heel. You hear Seungcheol excuse himself as he stands from his chair.

You guide him back to the dressing room and find it empty.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says as soon as he shuts the door. “I’m trying, but it’s weird having everyone stare at me.”

You lean against the built-in vanity counter with your hands resting on it. You stare long enough without a word for Seungcheol to apologize again.

You know you can’t blame him. It’s uncomfortable to try something new in front of strangers. However, it’s too late to try to get a model. Either you deal with the unsatisfactory photos or you try to knock some confidence in Seungcheol. You go for the latter.

“Don’t apologize,” you sigh and walk to him. “I’ll ask them to leave.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles.

You raise your hands to his shoulders and begin massaging the knots out. His shoulders slowly begin to deflate. 

“Try to focus on something besides the camera,” you suggest.

His frown deepens. “That’s hard to do when I’m supposed to look at it.”

You take a step closer, gaze lingering on the deep v the suit jacket makes.

“Then maybe imagine it’s me,” you reply, a hand trailing down. Your fingertips graze his exposed chest.

“You?” he asks with an airy voice.

“Yeah,” you smile and trace shapes on his skin lightly. Seungcheol’s pupils begin to dilate.

“What about you?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker to his. There’s mischief in them before you speak that causes Seungcheol to hold his breath.

“Use your imagination,” you tease.

As you’re about to pull away, Seungcheol grabs your waist and flushes your body against his. His mouth captures yours, fingers slipping under your shirt to touch your bare skin.

The simple touch makes your heart thump faster against your ribcage and your knees feel weak. 

“Cheol,” you mumble against his lips, grabbing his hands. He hums and stays pressed against you.

You try to tear his hands off you, but he persists. Granted, you didn’t try too hard.

“I miss you,” he says in the kiss.

You know you shouldn’t, but you lax in his arms. Despite seeing him nearly every night, you haven’t spent much time with him. It’s a busy season for you both at work and by the time you get home, both of you want to sleep.

You’ve missed his kisses and attention more than you realize.

A knock at the door jerks you away.

“Just wanted to let you know everyone’s back,” Yumi says from the other side of the door.

You clear your throat and step from Seungcheol who’s tempting you by just standing near.

“Thanks,” you reply. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

“Okay,” Yumi says.

You listen to her steps fade before looking at Seungcheol. He’s already straightened out his clothes.

“You good?” you ask.

“No, I could really use more alone time.”

You sigh. “Seungcheol.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I’m ready.”

You hum, turning to leave but stop with your hand hovering over the handle.

“Something wrong, Cherry?” Seungcheol asks behind you.

You bite your lip and spin around. You quickly lean in and give him another kiss.

“For luck,” you explain, then exit the room before he can do anything and before you cave into his touches. 

Seungcheol follows shortly after, standing a little taller and looking less awkward.

You watch as the photographer guides Seungcheol back into the chair.

“Okay, just think about the CEO thing,” they remind.

Seungcheol nods and rolls his shoulders. He’s a little stiff again at first, but after a few pictures, he loosens up.

At the start, you watch the monitor as the pictures appear, but your eyes end up gravitating toward the live shoot.

Seungcheol catches your gaze. Something stirs in your belly, and you watch as he shifts to sit lower in the chair and spreads his legs. He leans his head back slightly, keeping his eyes on yours. He really could pass as a well-known CEO. He has the looks, the aura, and the work ethic. For the briefest moments, you wonder how successful Seungcheol will be in the future.

“Oh, I love that! Let’s try moving lower, put a leg out,” the photographer instructs.

Seungcheol keeps his expression the same but does as told. He hangs one arm off the side of the chair while the other stays beside him.

“That’s great! Now, eyes on the camera,” they say.

Seungcheol tears his eyes from you to the lens. You release a silent breath you didn't know you were holding.

You can’t help your eyes trailing down his body slouched on the chair.

Seungcheol shifts once more to rest a hand on the top of his thigh. The subtle change makes your mind race with thoughts of being kneeled between his legs. You curse mentally, changing weight to your other hip and looking at the monitor again.

Though that doesn’t help.

Since he’s looking at the camera, his stare bores into yours through the screen. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he’d done this before.

“He looks good,” Yumi whispers beside you.

You turn to her, unable to hide the small pang of jealousy that bursts in your chest.

Yumi laughs and shakes her hands in the air.

“Not like that,” she says, a hint of humor to her tone. “I mean, he looks good enough to make the boss woman happy.”

“Ah. Right,” you mumble.

She smiles and nudges your shoulder, eyes on Seungcheol still posing. You move your gaze to him as well.

He’s sat up now, legs still spread but looking down at the camera. You push away the memories of seeing him in a similar position in private. 

“Though I can’t say you aren’t lucky,” Yumi adds. “He sure is handsome.”

“Yeah. He is,” you murmur. For the first time, you scan the audience, noticing how many of the people watch on with interest. 

“I think we have enough of these,” the photographer announces and turns to you.

Seungcheol stands and follows the photographer toward you.

“Great,” you say, snapping out of your thoughts and reining in your lurking jealousy. “We have enough time for a quick wardrobe change and a few more pictures.”

“Sounds good,” the photographer says.

“Come,” you instruct Seungcheol.

You get him changed and his makeup adjusted quickly. You had a few more outfit options, but with the fiasco earlier, you’ve run out of time to try them all.

You lead Seungcheol back to the set, not having much time to take a break.

You watch from the sidelines again as the photographer guides Seungcheol into different poses and expressions.

Seungcheol has gone into character, following the photographer’s instructions with as much ease as he can for an amateur. Which, to be fair, seems to be above average. You’re surprised to see him doing so well.

By the time they’re done, you only have twenty minutes left of your rented space.

The photographer gives you a flash drive with the photos and let’s you know you have a week to pick your favorite ones so they can edit them. Normally, the photographer would keep the photos and select the best ones themselves, but since this photographer works within the same company, things are a little different.

The hair and makeup team have already cleared out their stuff from the dressing room when you walk in with Seungcheol.

You sit on the couch and grab your laptop, inserting the USB drive into the slot and opening the photos.

“These turned out really good, Cheol,” you praise enthusiastically as you swipe through the photos.

Seungcheol glances up from unbuttoning his shirt. “I guess your advice worked then.”

“What advice?” you ask, distracted with studying the images.

You don’t hear Seungcheol move closer until he grabs the laptop and sets it aside. You look at him confused.

“You said to imagine the camera was you,” he replied.

Your words flood back into your brain. “O-Oh.”

He chuckles.

“I’m glad it worked,” you say, ignoring the pounding of your heart.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t wanna know what I was thinking about?”

“You already said me,” you reply hesitantly.

Seungcheol slowly rests his hands on the back of the couch, caging you in. You stare up at him—excited and nervous for his answer.

“You, in that sheer cherry lingerie… wearing that necklace I gave you on our first month anniversary,” he says lowly, deep voice luring you in.

Your mind races with the memory of showing him that for the first time. Warmth floods your chest and goes south recalling how many times you had cum that night. You hadn’t expected him to get so worked up at the sight, but you didn’t complain.

“You were a great inspiration,” he whispers and leans down closer. His lips hover over yours, a smirk on them.

“Kiss me like you want to,” he says.

You curse at him silently. It’s not that you don’t want to, but knowing he knows how badly you want it, makes you stay still.

“I think you want it more,” you reply.

He chuckles and slowly retracts himself. He shrugs, taking off his shirt and placing it on a hanger.

“Where should this go?” he asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and point to the rack to the left.

He eyes you for a moment longer before setting the hanger on the rack. You know he’s amused by your loss of words.

When he starts unbuttoning his pants, you shoot up from the couch.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s okay out there,” you announce and then swiftly walk toward the door.

“Hey, now,” Seungcheol calls out, grabbing your wrist and gently spinning you into his arms. His hands rest on your hips while yours flatten against his bare, muscular chest.

“You can’t leave me, pretty girl,” he says.

“I—I think you can get dressed without me,” you reply, trying to escape his hold.

“I don’t know,” he hums. He trails his hands up your body and grabs your hands. He pushes them down to the top of his already unbuttoned pants.

“Lend me a hand?” he questions darkly.

“We can’t do anything,” you warn, worried someone will come in.

“I know,” he says with a subtle frown, “but I just… wanna be close to you for a bit.”

Your chest clutches knowing he’s feeling the same about your busy schedules. You’re surprised he’s been here for so long.

“You’re not busy?” you ask, starting to carefully push his pants down his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, making you yearn for more.

“I had some meetings get canceled,” he explains and watches you lean down slightly to get the rest of the pants off. He steps out of them.

You pick them up and start hanging them when Seungcheol wraps his arms around you from behind. You suck in a breath when you feel his growing bulge against you.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your neck.

You place the hanger on the rack and turn in his arms.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, finally giving in to the kiss you wanted earlier.

Seungcheol holds you tighter, making you feel him more and causing arousal to shoot downward. It’s been too long since you’ve felt him fill you. You whimper into the kiss accidentally at the mere thought.

“Fuck, you’re making this hard,” he groans while pulling away.

You giggle, dazed by his kiss. “I know.”

He chuckles and rests his forehead against yours.

“That’s not what I meant,” he mutters.

You lean in to peck his lips again.

“I know,” you repeat. “You’re making this hard too.”

And how could he not when he’s kissing you heavenly and pressing up against you with his near-naked body—one that’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Let’s go on a date this weekend,” he suggests, hands rubbing your sides.

“Really?” you ask. You know people go on dates on the whim—you don’t need a reason—yet the idea of one randomly still surprises you.

“Yeah. Wanna spend time with you,” he says and kisses you shortly. “Wanna see you get all dolled up just for me.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his waist. You press your cheek against his naked chest, basking in his embrace.

“I’d like that,” you reply.

“I knew you would,” he says and hugs you tightly. He gives your head a tender kiss, letting the moment run its course.

Although you’re still weary about being so intimate in a public setting, you can’t help but get lost in the desire to feel Seungcheol. To just have him here with you.

“I guess I better get dressed,” he says after a while.

You linger for just a moment, then slowly release him. You feel cold without his heated body against yours.

“You working late tonight?” he asks while changing back into his work suit.

You begin packing the clothes in garment bags.

“Hopefully not. Just my normal hours,” you answer. “And you?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs.

You hide your frown and zip up the bags.

“How late?” you wonder, hanging the bags from your arms and grabbing your purse.

“Not too late this time. Maybe an hour or two?” he replies.

You nod.

Seungcheol, now dressed, takes the garment bags from your arm despite your protests.

“I’ll help you load your car, then I’ll get back,” he informs.

Nodding once more, you lead him out. There’s only three people lingering around, cleaning the area. You bid them goodbye and guide Seungcheol to your car. After everything is packed, Seungcheol hovers by your side.

“I hope your boss is happy with the photos,” he says.

“She better be,” you reply. “We had a handsome man modeling.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah? You got a crush on ‘em now?”

“A big one,” you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles and kisses your cheek. He seems to want to say something but hesitates.

“I’ll see you at home. Drive safe,” he finally says.

“You too, Cheol.”

Seungcheol opens your car door and makes sure you’re in safely before shutting it. He stays on the sidewalk to watch you depart. In your rearview mirror, you see him turn and head toward his car.

You wish he wasn’t walking in the other direction and hope the day goes by fast. You just want to be in his arms again.

A/N: How could I not take the opportunity to write about Seungcheol modeling with this couple??? Do you guys think this will be the last time PrettyPlease!Seungcheol does this for Cherry? 🫣

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

Taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol, @ellllsia, @gyuguys

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[danthropologie]

Re the previous ask about blake holding camera = he knew

1. He has his camera in every race. I don’t know if Blake holding it meant anything.

2. He had his parents out in AD22. With SG being closer, his parents would have made it even if it was by flying private. His gf wasn’t there in AD22 either, so not making that comparison

3. Compare his pre-race interview (not even the media day one) during the parade. Complete change from the post race interview. Complete change in demeanour

Combining 2 & 3, if he knew earlier, the earliest could be right before the race. Then why would management do sth like that before the race? (Then again why does rbr do anything atp?) That man knew nothing concrete going into the weekend, just like he predicted nothing amiss before the summer break. That hell video wasn’t for nothing - no one can make me believe otherwise

Alternatively, he himself might have given rbr the ultimatum hoping to force their hand and when they didn’t get back, he finally realised he was done playing this game. He was finally disillusioned. ofc helping max was one part (i genuinely believe that played in his mind when he was asked for the FL) and sticking to mcl was another part, but at the end if the record breaking lap was what he could take away in what he believed was his last moment in the lap, he put his entire ricussy into getting it.

As much as I want to remain delulu, i think (with extreme sadness) this is it for him. Not because it’s over, but HOW it’s over. All because they decided to keep a bum like Checo. I’m ambivalent towards Yuki, but heck I am even angry on his behalf too. Genuinely gutted that rb did DR dirtier than mcl and that’s saying sth, considering all he had done for rbr and how CH and rbr paraded him around as their family member. Will never forgive them. Rbr’s downfall is gonna be something else altogether and you best believe that I will be there to witness and bask in it.

so what you're saying is that clip of helmut going over to daniel just before the race, he was actually inflicting psychological torture on him saying "you better fucking beat that guy or you're out of the sport. good luck! 😉"

no but seriously, i was with you right up until the end bit 😭😭😭 even the idea of giving them some sort of 'red bull or nothing' ultimatum that sent him spiraling i could get on board with. but i don't agree that it's over.

the crazy thing to me is that for as far as it ended up spiraling out, to ME it really just feels like a complex series of misunderstandings and miscalculations (not including the media's part in it cause i think they WERE malicious in their handling of it).

the daniel of it all is the worst part to me because obviously by the end of the weekend he HAD been convinced that it may in fact be the end. i don't believe that that was ever actually the case, but between the confidence in the way the media was reporting it, the lack of clarity from red bull, the trauma and insecurities left from 2022 mclaren and maybe even rbr over this past summer break, and the mental and emotional toll the race itself actually took on him, he was clearly worn down and left in a very vulnerable state where he drew the only real conclusions anyone in his position COULD draw.

meanwhile you have vcarb who apparently didn't know a single fucking thing, so they COULDN'T say anything because there's nothing TO say.

and then you have red bull. now clearly they DO hold some responsibility for the whole thing. they knew what the narratives were going into the weekend, and it should have been easy for them to just clarify that all drivers are going to see out the season, 2025 decision to come later. BUT that being said, i truly do not think they had any clue whatsoever just how big this thing was gonna get. i think they miscalculated in thinking a) it wasn't going to be that big and b) daniel would be able to handle it. he's done it so many times before! why wouldn't he be able to do it again! but then obviously by the time daniel's having his little menty b in the middle of the media pen, it's too late, there's not really anything they can do.

like jenna @accio-ricciardo brought up this idea the other day that it's almost like...have you ever been in a situation where someone in your life accidentally made you cry because they didn't realize you were at the end of your rope emotionally and some tiny little thing they didn't think was even a big deal sets you off and sends you sobbing? it kind of feels like perhaps that was red bull/christian/whoever with daniel. they figured he's a trooper, he'll let it wash off his back like he always does, he can handle it, not realize that he very much COULD NOT handle it because all these different factors were boiling up into the perfect shitstorm to make him absolutely lose his mind.

and if this is the case—it really was just a bunch of misunderstandings and miscalculations compounding and multiplying on each other—i've said it once, i'll say it a million times, i DO think there's a way back and way for things to continue on as they were meant to before all this shit happened. it's just a matter of apologies and reassurances and making things right, and hopefully everyone can set aside their pride enough for that to happen.

[imoncloud7]

the one that got away; oikawa x reader drabble

notes: i have been so busy with exams and school lol but i have been lurking on tumblr. i saw a random tiktok this morning with this song and i wrote this pretty quick before class cw: none really, just kind of angsty lol. wc: 432

although you procrastinated a lot of things, your yearly spring cleaning was one of things you didn’t. on the first weekend following the spring solstice, you took the two days off of work to sort through old clothes, clean out the fridge, deep clean your apartment, and look through old photos and trinkets. 

this year however, a dusty box in the back of your closet caught your eye; a box you hadn’t seen in years. to be completely honest, you had forgotten the contents of the box, considering its bland cardboard appearance. as you pulled it out, you gave it a quick dusting before ripping off the packing tape. 

oh.

you suddenly began to remember why this particular box was shoved in the back of the closet, its memories buried along with it. you were met with a sweatshirt neatly folded on top of the rest of the items in the box, a simple teal hoodie with the words “seijoh vbc” displayed across the front. you stared at the hoodie for a moment, memories of your high school boyfriend and childhood friend flooding back. pulling out the hoodie revealed the stacks of printed photos and polaroids, along with countless letters addressed to you dating years back. one thing that stood out in particular was a small velvet box, which you knew contained a simple gold ring, a promise that he would one day return back to japan. return back to you. 

oikawa tooru was a man larger than life, with a long list of achievements and countless awards. before that, however, he was just a boy with dreams and aspirations of greatness. dreams that took him across international borders following your high school graduation. dreams that also didn’t include you. while you would’ve done anything for him, he would’ve done anything for his volleyball career. 

“you seriously won’t come with me?”

“my entire life is here, in japan, tooru. i can’t just up and leave to another country. a country i have no business being in, a culture i don’t belong to, a language i don’t even speak!” 

your final fight with him was the last time you had seen him, or even spoke to him. in the past two years of being gone, he had joined the argentina national men’s volleyball team and renounced his japanese citizenship, his dream finally realized. it was bittersweet really, you were so, so proud of him, and still you were upset with him that you didn’t have a place in his future. 

maybe in another life, you would be his, and he would be yours. 

[ren-lui]

them <3

[ssreeder]

This is about the Pinterest art,

It wasn’t that one, but it was just from liab (presumably these: the first time sokka talks to zuko when he’s on suppressants, prince dishwasher, and zuko saying goodbye to sokka at the last zhao capture)

( https://pin.it/21GXoifJO )

(Idk if that works so I tried to describe it)

it unfortunately is most likely repost tho sorry 😕

Yes! I have seen that Pinterest post before with all the “wallpapers” (aka: stolen art)

that AMAZING ART is by the wonderful @15w11h2o

I love this art so much! If you wanna show the actual artist some love reblog it from them and gush in their tags <3

[corvid-language-library]

I am. slowly. chipping away at the enormous amount of laundry. Slowly. I am catching up on sleep. Slowly. but surely. I am bringing myself back to normal.

It's not easy and I'm not having a good time. But I'm doing it.

[toastsnaffler]

sorry for not posting much on tumblr lately I've been trying this thing called "having a life" have any of u guys heard of it idk it's kind of niche....

[boydykepdf]

was so overjoyed abt having local dykes in my area again that i forgot the epic highs + lows of trying 2 get dykes 2 be normal over text…

[genderqueer-miharu]

I also still have hope that maybe this time for the anniversary they release a clean cover of Undercover sang by the prisoners. Especially since they already did it for the live show.

[twilightarcade]

anyway I got curry yesterday and it fucked

[szczylpierdolony]

tommorow:

go for a run

stretch

shower and wash hair

write the remaining few pages for the seminar

send them

be done before 6