#my mutuals are probably more amused than concerned

[planete777]

BAD INFLUENCE・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 2!

IN WHICH. getting high was never on oscar's roster. getting high and enjoying it with y/n and lando wasn't either, but that just makes it much more... exciting. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 16+, suggestive content, drug use (as per), high hotness pt 875443, oscar cameo (woop woop 🥳), make outs, first time getting high, oscar being whipped for lando and y/n? wbk, a bit of mxm content between drivers, shotgunning coz it's my most favourite thing ever

NOTE. LANDOSCAR!! this may probably be my favourite fic and is my longest so im looking forward to you guys reading it!!! well overdue in my humblest opinion, but i delivered hehe. enjoy my luvs and a very happy new year in advance mwah mwah mwah 😚😚 i appreciate all of you readers, thank you for all your support 💓💓💓

SIDENOTE. my askbox is now closed for requests 🤍

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu (use askbox above if you'd like to be added!)

frankly speaking, a 'you up?' text from oscar piastri, whose entire persona was an antithesis of what that type of message usually pertained to, isn't something lando was expecting at 1am after a tedious race weekend. knows oscar to be one who sleeps in too early, as if his circadian rhythm was built upon the foundation of a restrictive curfew, and even fathoming the fact that he is awake past 12 is rather peculiar.

yet, with the mutually pre-established sense that lando would be awake (he's probably an insomniac, but it's not too concerning for him to actually check), and that oscar was asking if he was just for the sake of, most likely because he's, unusually, unable to sleep, lando replies with much sluggish vim.

fingers moving as if they played in a dream, he's able to reply with 'yh, why????' and sends it off before throwing his phone on the bed. he thinks, if he's sober, he would care more that this is oscar!!!! who is normally adamant about getting sleep!!! and not looking more sleep deprived than his naturally downturned eyes already make he seem to be!!!! but his mind feels like gooey viscous, and he counts about 3,000 peaks and troughs of the popcorn ceiling above before losing count and seeking solace in the spliff that burns his throat like a madman. he ponders if he's going crazy.

it's not long after that the undulating, monotonous buzz from his phone tickles his skin and with a sigh he goes to reply. and as he does so, his girlfriend, curiosity piqued, perks up from the foot of the bed.

"who's texting you this late?"

she looks ridiculously amusing: head hanging off the edge, loose and completely yielding like a dead body, and the only thing that reassures lando of her consciousness is the occasion movement of her arm to take another drag.

he wedges the joint between his reddened lips, lips curling awkwardly to speak, "piastri. dunno what he wants th- oh shit."

he's never felt such a sinking, crippling feeling of his high escaping him like a broken dam before. it's weirdly chilling, and for a good second, he feels brightly and vividly sober again. the texts just... stare at him and he almost wants to hurl his phone at the wall and watch it rain a litany of debris.

osc: just... forgot to give you back your stuff that i borrowed

osc: found some green leaf stuff in it lol im a bit concerned

lando's read it so many times, he's more than certain he knows just how many letters it consists of. fingers hover above the keyboard but it looks like they're weirdly swimming in air as he debates just what to write, and y/n is suddenly hissing his name, having sat up.

"— lan'! fucking hell, what happened?"

he moves on autpilot, back resting up the headboard, "he's found my weed."

y/n— y/n snorts. she sighs, moves back to her original pose, and lando's brain feels like static.

"love, i thought it would be worse."

lando splutters, "worse? babe, this is already bad! he could tell management for all i know." the mere thought of that makes lando's mind congeal. nevertheless, high out of his wits, he thinks he would somehow find a way to continue even if he was implored to stop.

she's disagreeing and laughing, and lando doesn't know what to make of it.

"nah, you're good. oscar wouldn't tell a soul," it's silent as he sees a burst of smoke ascend from the edge of the mattress, "tell him to bring it over."

lando fights with himself in his head. it's hilarious, really, watching his face morph from one emotion to another, and after 5 minutes with no whooshing affirmative of a message being sent, y/n exhales.

the bed curves in as she crawls up towards lando, before plucking the phone from his grip.

"it's really not that deep, lan'," her voice feels like cotton in his ears, "oscar isn't like that."

her fingers fly across the keyboard, how she does so in her inebriated state, lando has no clue, and just as quickly as she snatched the phone, she's sliding it back between his fingers.

"how— how do you know that?"

all presumptions, really, lando thinks. they may be good friends, him and oscar, but they've still got many, many steps to go before he's reassured that the other wouldn't go running his mouth to management because he found *fucking weed* in his bag.

the little voice at the back of his mind seeths, 'you shouldn't be smoking anyway', but he ignores it. what the hell does it know?

y/n goes to straddle him, crotch digging into his. its a soft wave of pleasure that oozes from the pressure, and lando lets a small moan mix with the puff of smoke he blows out. they would've fucked if only his limbs didn't feel like they've been detached and re-stitched; maybe they'd end the night with a lazy ride.

his girlfriend smirks, all cunning and undeniably hot, sucking in as much smoke as she can before blowing it all on his face. if anybody else had done this, he'd turn feral, but there's something alluring when y/n's exhale tickles his skin like feathers.

"how do i know? well, oscar, he kinda reminds me of you—" lando interrupts with a raised brow and a questioning stare, but y/n proceeds, "both of you are- you were- itching for a release. him not as much as you, but i still see it."

and lando can't really deny that, because he sees it too. in the way oscar's eyes seem to dart with dreaded uncertainty, and the way his shoulders are always up and tense, as if he has been tied like a puppet.

"that's what i call 'destined to get high'," y/n banters. it makes lando snort and roll his eyes (ultimately omitting to dwell on the sliver of seriousness that leaks through).

"dunno why you're rolling your eyes, you were basically begging me to give you a spliff," y/n taunts, and even though he groans at the reminiscence, he doesn't deny it. doing so would be like calling himself michael schumacher.

"yeah, whatever," he takes a lazy drag, a hand sliding up and down y/n's thigh, "at least i'm sexy when getting stoned."

y/n cackles, dissolving into a small giggle as she twirls her fingers through lando's curls; she never wants to let him go.

"damn right, baby."

another ping sounds from lando's phone, and subconsciously, his hands snakes to get it.

when he turns it on, he doesn't think he can be gobsmacked with such intensity twice in a day.

landooo: yh just bring it over

landooo: you can join us if you'd like

landooo: 😉

osc: uhm sure..

"y/n."

-.-.-.-.-

weed.

he'll be fucking damned.

the laugh that is punched out of him is one of disbelief, and, quite frankly, sheer horror.

he'd only wanted to borrow some shaving cream, after all, he's not one to favour the prickly itch of stubble. and in perfect, restless lando fashion, he was given the whole essentials bag and tasked with finding it himself.

which then leads him to now, palm burning with the weight of three spliffs that had somehow tumbled out of a flat metal tin.

he stares at them for so long that he might as well have burned holes into them (ironic), and in a flurry of movement, he's stuffing everything back into the bag, zipping it closed. if he doesn't see it, then he doesn't know it's there. cool.

but he's just standing, in the middle of his hotel room, completely clueless and delirious. he doesn't know how many times he wipes perspiration off his palms and onto his shorts, neither does he know how he's able to text lando about his findings.

originally, he thought that sending the infamous, suggestively connotated 'you up?' would've trimmed a bit of the tension away, yet it seems like lando, without fail, waters the situation with a fuck-ton more.

"'join us'? fucking hell."

oscar feels absolutely scorched from the wisps of his hair to the tips of his toes, and a spark of something curls in his gut.

no, absolutely not.

it's- he flips his watch to check the time- one am for fuck's sake, and lando's— getting high. smoking weed. [most likely] with his girlfriend.

whatever it is that makes his gut its abode curls even more as he shoves his feet into the nearest shoes he can find, and tames his hair in the mirror by the doorway. finding the night already too hard to bare, he doesn't dwell on what he'd done, and heads off to lando's room with sickening anticipation swirling within the grooves of his skin.

the walk is only a few seconds long, and oscar curses the fact that they weren't roomed further apart (impractical in usual circumstances, but the current predicament is anything but usual). he guesses he stands there, navy blue wash bag clutched in a vice grip, for many minutes (his concept of time tonight is royally fucked— how has he stayed up this late?) before he musters up some courage to knock on the door. in the quietude of the night, the sound is magnified to the point where he winces and hopes that no one else on their floor wakes up.

he hears a quiet rustle from behind the door, sighs for the umpteenth time that day (honestly, he could have a smoke for himself to- no.) before it's swiftly open.

y/n stands there, no sign of a spliff in sight, but her heavy lidded red eyes (that must hurt, right?) and the pungent smell of weed is enough to tell.

"ah, golden boy is here," y/n's grinning, as much as she can do without it looking robotic, and oscar blushes.

"g-golden boy?"

"i said what i said," she opens the door wider, and oscar's vision catches a limp leg hanging off the side of the bed, "you coming in or what?"

he's never been in such a mind-tearing crossroad before. wants to be reasonable and say no, afterall his job is on the line here (just because lando hasn't been caught, doesn't mean he won't, too). but then he's thinking that he's played angel's advocate for too long, and, as if the universe wants to commit a double homicide, lando is walking over, countenance lackadaisical and bends down as he wraps his arms around her waist.

he asks for forgiveness, because such a temptation before him is completely unforgiving , and oscar finds his vascillations come to an end the second he makes eye contact with his teammate.

it's then he realises that the something that had been driving his intestines mad was sheer want, and, having a mind of their own, his feet shuffle into the room, decision finalised by the click of the door shutting behind him.

he just hopes he doesn't regret this is in the morning.

the couple, with eased familiarity, move back to the bed, leaving oscar standing there, lost and expecting. lando regains possession of the spliff, back flat against the bed and arm bent behind his head.

he's turning to oscar, several beats later, with a heated look that just pulls the australian right in.

"put the bag down, osc," he's demanding— oh fuck, "and come over here."

oscar feels rather mortified at the effect lando's assertiveness has on him. his heart curdles, drips away like goo, and he can't think straight.

toes off his shoes, sliding them out of the way with his foot, before dumping the bag on lando's luggage and tentatively making his way to the bed.

it's excruciatingly daunting, must he say, and he's sure it's blatant because y/n is grinning softly and beckoning him closer with the wave of a hand.

"you're good, oscar."

then he's fully on the bed, a thin sheen of gray blurring his vision and the stench of smoke so thick, he could get high off it alone.

lando's splayed in front of him, watching intensely as his fingers accomodate a joint between them, and y/n's at his side, right at the foot of the bed, fiddling with a metal tin of her own.

he wonders just how long they've been doing this for.

"for me, since i was 18/19 maybe. lando started about a year ago."

oscar's brain fucking spasms.

his head whips to y/n, then back to lando, who just smiles and takes another drag, "a year?!"

the girl beside him giggles, turning back to him with a freshly rolled spliff of his own, "yeah. practically drooling to take a hit."

his teammate groans, dragging a hand down his face before sitting up, they seem to go through this ordeal once or twice before.

before he can question any more, y/n points the joint at him, "you sure you want to do this?"

funny, he's asking himself this. has been ever since he read the proposition that lando (y/n) had sent, and he had replied with a seemingly confused 'sure'. heat feels like a thousands ants crawling up his body, and the silence is even worse because he's certain his ears are filled with cement.

"am i— am i gonna get addicted to... this?"

lando shakes his head just as y/n shrugs, "depends, love. if you've got good enough self control and don't rely on it too much, you'll be fine."

oscar gives a sigh of relief, but turns tense again as he looks at lando. almost telepathically, he knows what oscar is thinking.

"no osc, i'm not hooked on this. i only do it every couple of weeks or so."

his hands raise up in defense, "just asking, mate."

"and you have every right to, baby," y/n says, then scoops his hand into her grip and puts the spliff in his hand, "now take this and let lando teach you."

oscar doesn't know what to do with it. he just stares at the green stick in his hand and wills up some courage to look back up at lando. for the first time in 22 years, he's going to experience what it's like to get high, and the excitement that crawls up his spine is chilling.

"take this," lando pushes a bottle of water into his hands, and oscar looks at it in confusion.

"it's your first time, so it'll probably make you cough a ton. drinking water helps."

oscar nods, gently taking and unscrewing it open. he gulps it down like a starved animal, and almost chokes when he notices his teammates girlfriend staring bullets into his face. his heart jumps and he stops drinking.

"now put the spliff in your mouth and let me light it for you."

oscar does so, feeling the weight of the rolled joint between his lips is completely maddening.

his teammate fishes a black lighter from the bedside table, then scooches closer to oscar's crossed legs. lando's body is like a furnace of drunken heat, and it only gets worse when his hand lands right on oscar's bare thigh.

it feels perfect and oscar thinks he's surfing on the waves of euphoria already.

"this good?" lando questions his touch, and oscar doesn't waste time to nod, "alright— when i light it, you're gonna try and inhale as much as you can. don't let it stay in your throat or you're gonna cough."

oscar bobs his head affirmatively.

"if you can't, just take it in small amounts, not too much that it hits your throat."

then lando's leaning in, flame swaying from the lighter, and oscar's eyebrows scrunch as he follows it closer and closer to the spliff.

it's instaneous, the heat that fills his mouth, and in a hurried succession, oscar is inhaling and spluttering like a madman. his eyes are burning, they may already be red at this point, and his nose feels ripped off.

"take it easy, love," a hand- y/n's- rests upon his back and he finds himself needing composure, and not only from his failed attempt to smoke.

"wow uh that was— uhm..."

lando rubs his thigh, with the intention to comfort, but oscar finds himself more pent up than before. the weed is already kicking in and his mind feels chopped into pieces and mixed with cake batter, and every touch feels like a punch.

"you good to go again?" lando queries. oscar nods, his throat feeling too rough to speak up, "okay then, take your time and calm yourself down. small intakes, yeah?"

the spliff goes back between his lips, and with lando watching him like he's the best movie he's ever seen, he's sucking in the smoke cautiously and— fuck, it feels so so good. he's unravelled everywhere, not a kink left in his joint nor a knot remaining in his muscles, and when he breathes the smoke out, he lets his head fall back with a smile on his face.

"there you go," lando's voice sounds loose and airy in his mind, and oscar finds himself loving it.

"look at him, babe," y/n chimes from beside him, and his head rolls to give her an inebriated grin, "told you he was meant for it."

lando hums, agreeing, from in front of him, "gonna shotgun with him."

whatever that is, y/n is eager to see it happen, and oscar gives lando a confused look. it only evokes a cute grin from the other, who plucks the spliff from oscar's fingers.

"i'll take a hit and blow it in your mouth, if that's cool with you."

and— oscar moans involuntarily. he doesn't know where it comes from but it's practically punched out of him with how loud it is, and lando smirks widely. all oscar can do is watch as he fills his mouth with smoke and shuffles closer to him. his heart palpitates, beating like a drum piece, and his skin is damp and flushed from the intensity of it all.

lando assesses oscar's decision, confirming his consent as he nods, and slowly, lando snakes an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. oscar is compliant, body wanting and downright desperate, mouth opening on autopilot.

the second lando's lips attach to his and the smoke is pushed into his mouth, oscar fucking loses it. his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he's grabbing lando's hair and pushing his mouth deeper.

he's kissing his teammate with all he has to give, and lando— he's reciprocating it, lips hungry on oscar's, biting and licking everywhere. for a second, oscar can't think about anything, mind filled with just lando, as his tongue slips in and turns the kiss filthy.

oscar hasn't made out with anyone with such ferocity. he's encompassed in scorching heat, and the euphoria just gets better as lando trails his lips down his neck. the bites and licks are inclement, and oscar's sure there'd be marks tomorrow, angry and purple, but right now, he doesn't care. not when lando's hands creep up his shirt, and run up his torso, resting upon his nipples and twirling them around his fingers.

"oh fuck, lando," his moan is so high pitched it sounds foreign and it's almost hard for him to believe that it comes from him. but he's sure it does, because another is forced out as soft hand turns his head to the side and there's another set of lips on his in an instant.

he thinks he could hooked on y/n's kisses, warm, wet and so fucking sensual, he feels worshipped. not an inch of skin is missed by her tongue, and with every drag of her lips against his, he's concluding that this would be the perfect way to die.

oscar's so hard in his jeans from lando's stimulation, y/n's kisses, and the heightened sensation of everything from the weed, that he almost cums in his shorts. he can only imagine how plump it could be, and how a mouth on it would have him sobbing for days.

but he doesn't have to, because lando creeps a hand to his crotch and squeezes. the whine that leaves oscars mouth and into his teammate's girlfriend's is criminal.

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

[odinsonslut]

Young

⊹ genre: Fluff mostly, minimal angst

⊹ pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin female reader

⊹ themes: Friends to lovers

⊹ summary: Fred rejected your advances, claiming you’re too young. You set out to seduce him, which backfires. Unwarranted comments were made in your presence, and George attempted to comfort you, finally explaining his fears and feelings in the process.

⊹ warnings: Swearing, third-party slut-shaming of the reader, mentions of an emotionally toxic relationship, very brief mention of drugs.

⊹ word count: 1.7k

⊹ a/n:  I don’t know why I’ve chosen to base this whole fic off of rejection yet again, but It’s completely different to the last, trust. A cute Fred one today because I’ve had a recent fixation on the twins and can’t seem to write for anyone else atm. 

Confidence has come naturally to you since the first day you walked through the castle doors. Many would wager that’s why you ended up in Slytherin over Hufflepuff. You’d never had issues letting people know how you felt about them; rejection had never been a concern or a fear simply because your self-assurance wasn’t so easily deteriorated. 

This wasn’t ever in question until two weeks ago. You hadn’t thought twice about approaching Fred after months of mutual teasing, or so you thought it was. You went to his spot on Gryffindor’s table in the morning, greeting him with a single pumpkin pasty. You waited till he took a bite out of it before making some quip that you couldn’t seem to, or rather didn’t want to remember, about owing you a kiss and maybe something more in return for it, to which he painfully, tragically mustered a chuckle past his lips, probably the most awkward position I’ve seen him in, before finally finding the words to let you down easily.

“You know I love you endlessly, but we’re friends” He could’ve just as easily stopped there, but he continued. 

“You’re just a little too young for me.”

Young

He briefly dated Amelia Farrow last spring, and she’s four months younger than you, so obviously, it wasn’t an age issue. He saw you as immature, a kid. He couldn’t even begin to picture you as attractive in any form. Actually, feeling affected as a result of rejection was unfamiliar; it was scary. How had you allowed yourself to feel enough for a man that your own stability suffered? As a result, you didn’t just feel hurt, you felt inferior, and that was harrowing enough in itself. 

You were just beginning to fall into another rant directing every expressional detail from the twitch of his bottom lip to the scrunch in his left brow when you were interrupted by a loud sigh.

“Babe, I couldn’t live a day without you, but swooning over a blood-traitor Weasley is way more than I can handle for the 7th time this morning”, Pansy quipped after a supportive kiss on my cheek.

“Give me a solution then”, you pleaded, faux pouting while hugging her thighs desperately.

“Seduce him, love; you’ve got the best ass on anyone in this entire school. Malfoy tells me he’s got a preference for it, says he lets a lot slip when they’re off smoking muggle grass.”

“Teach me how. You’re probably the only girl in our year every Slytherin male wants to shag a second time.”

-

It was the first quidditch match of the year, so naturally, you put on your uniform from 3rd year to cheer the team on. Malfoy found your overreaction to rejection amusing, like a fish out of water, to use his words, so he didn’t mind playing the role of the pawn in your game. You spent all game cheering Draco on, making sure you were just enthusiastic enough to attract Fred’s attention. 

The game finally came to an end. Gryffindor just barely scraped by, with Harry catching the snitch. I could already see Oliver Wood pushing Fred about, demanding a valid reason for his poor performance during the game. He pushed Wood off of him and stormed off with an exasperated look on his face.

I caught up to him a few feet away, deciding to skip past the jokes, figuring he wasn’t quite in the mood.

“Hey, you okay?” I timidly asked, reaching out to stroke his hand

“You sure move on quick, don’t you?” He spoke harshly, ignoring my question completely

“Are you serious? You reject me, then get mad at my attempts to move past that?” I shoved his shoulder, feigning annoyance. I knew exactly what I was doing, trying to prompt a reaction out of him.

“And what the hell are you wearing? Damn near sent Adrian Pucey spiralling into the benches with your ass out like that.”

“So I had both team’s beaters distracted, huh?”

“I wasn’t distracted so much as horrified.” He immediately followed

You shoved him playfully. “Shut up, weasel. You’re literally still staring at my tits.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t put that outfit on for me to stare at?” He whispered as we came to a halt just outside the quidditch changing rooms 

To my dismay, I couldn’t think of anything to do or say but scoff at him, to which his grin grew even bigger.

He turned to leave, my brain regaining activity without the pressure of his eyes in contact with mine.

“I put it on so you’d have a clearer image to jack off to tonight.”

I headed back to my dorm before he could get another word in.

-

I approached the great hall hand in hand with Daphne Greengrass, completely satisfied with the way I left things with Fred yesterday, convinced I’d won. The smile on my face immediately dropped as I heard the conversation taking place at the Gryffindor table.

“- he’s even got a Slytherin girl in his pocket, dressing up like a little slut just for him.”

“Tell me, Weasley, does she like it rough?”

“Seems like the kind of girl that’d take it in the back.”

Your heart dropped as you heard comments from miscellaneous men in the house, jeering over each other, collectively patting an angry-looking Fred on his back and shoulders in a congratulatory manner.  

We made eye contact. Before the men at his table sensed my presence, too, I broke away from Daphne and sprinted out of the Hall. I sank by a tree in front of the lake as I took shallow breaths.

What hurts is that every assumption they made about my character felt deserving. When did I become the girl so desperate for one man’s attention that I so pathetically made myself more sexually desirable in his eyes? So that his lust would cloud his judgement and throw me lay at the very least? I hadn’t even realised how delirious I was acting and how painfully obvious it was to everyone but me just how much more I clung to the idea of him. It was like a montage of clarity was playing in my brain, of the way I continued running up to the Gryffindor common room every morning, taking every opportunity to make what I thought was subtle physical contact with him. God.

I let out a little yelp when I finally opened my eyes. Fred sat right next to me, leaning his head against the tree the same way I was.

“God, you scared me half to death! fucking cunt” I muttered the last part, allowing my anger to peak through 

“I had Malfoy help me make sure those guys’ mouths stay shut. I’m sorry you had to hear that, and I’m sorry they were able to say more than two words without me hexing them and their mothers, to begin with. None of what any of them said is worth your care. They heard us talking outside the changing rooms yesterday. They’re all jealous little virgins that have-

“They were things I needed to hear” I cut him off before he fell into a rant that honestly wouldn’t have made a difference to the way I felt.

He looked at me incredulously, struggling to find the words to respond. 

“I was seeking your attention so incredibly desperately. It embarrasses me to think about it. You said no; I should’ve respected that and left it as it was. I took your reasoning personally, and for the way I’ve acted since that day, I apologise, truly,” I continued.

He sighed. “I only said what I said out of fear. I’m sure you remember I briefly dated a Hufflepuff girl in your year, Amelia. I made a mistake getting involved with her. She didn’t know how to separate love from attachment, and it got to a point her dependence on me started affecting her mental well-being, along with mine. Nobody saw much of me during the time we were dating because I was just so caught up with making sure she was okay since she relied on me completely. I didn’t realise  I was even allowed to have boundaries at all in a relationship. She constantly made me feel selfish and uncaring for wanting space or even just time with my family. When you told me how you felt about me, I had recovered from the relationship, but I hadn’t yet allowed myself to consider a future relationship with another person. I said what I thought I needed to say to avoid our relationship turning into the one I had with Amelia. But ever since you told me how you felt about me, it made me realise nothing about us has ever been platonic to me. I have never thought of you that way, and even when I tried to, I didn’t know how to look at you in any other way than lovingly. I feel so much for you. I could see myself loving you so easily. I’m just really afraid. I don’t know if I’m ready to navigate that all over again.”

It took me a while to respond, taking in everything he said in a state of such vulnerability. I noticed a stray tear on my skirt; it was his. I immediately reached out to hold his hands in comfort. I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off yet again.

“I will never allow anyone to say a word against you ever again, love.” He added

“I care a lot about you, Fred. I reacted the way I did, with such force and conviction, because it’s unfamiliar to me too, feeling so deeply for someone. Whatever you want to come from this, we can do. I want to learn to keep my independence through my feelings for you. I don’t think declaring something more than friendship will change things between us overnight, and I think all we need to do is keep being us.” 

“Okay”, he responded timidly but surely.

He could’ve just stopped there, but I’d come to learn that’s never something to expect from him.

“I absolutely did jack off to you last night, though.”

I kicked him in the shin as we walked back to the castle, hand in hand. 

End

✩ I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE ANY OF MY WRITING POSTED ON ANY EXTERNAL WEBSITES ✩

[wh0re43van]

Yes, sir (Professor!Evan Peters x Reader)

Summary: You’re three credits away from earning your bachelors degree. This is your second attempt at the same math course and you’re once again struggling. Thankfully, you have a very helpful professor.

Warnings: smut, teacher X adult student, not proofread

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: Another long one, but I prefer to develop a plot rather than just writing smut. I am working on some requests atm, this semester is almost over so I’ll soon have some free time to get caught up! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

I trudge my winter boots into class and take my regular seat next to the window. Snow is dusting the brown grass and white sidewalks of the courtyard. I shift my gaze to the board to see whatever stupid formulas we’ll be learning in this chapter. I groan to myself before taking a sip from my coffee, wishing I had spiked it before I left. This is the last chapter we’re learning before end of semester exams and I’m teetering right on the passing line with a 70%. I swear if I have to repeat this class again, I’m dropping out.

“Alright,” Mr. Peters stern but kind voice bounces off the concrete walls and into my ears as he enters the room. The dapper man takes off his scarf and sets his leather satchel onto his wooden desk. He sheds himself of his long coat and shakes the melting snowflakes out of his brown curls. He catches me admiring him. I look away quickly, but not before I see the wink he sends my way, making my heart skip a beat.

“You all should look more excited,” he grins, scanning the unenthused faces of his students. “You only have a few more classes with me,” Mr. Peters takes a seat in the worn leather chair. “At least most of you. Some of you may see me yet again next semester if you don’t buckle down these last few weeks,” he sends another look in my direction, this one more stern than flirty. Again, I look away from his gaze.

•

•

Class went by painstakingly slow as usual. I did my best to pay attention but ultimately resorted to making mental notes of what I need to pick up from the store and inevitably admiring how good my professor looks in his suit.

With Mr. Peters dismissal, I pack my belongings into my bag and make my way to the door.

“Miss y/l/n, would you come speak with me please,” Mr. Peters voice stops me in my tracks. I sigh and turn around, attempting to ignore the butterflies in my stomach that erupted when he spoke my name.

“Yes, sir?” I ask as I stop in front of his desk.

“I’m concerned with your grade in my course, y/n. You seem to be struggling this semester as well,” he expresses his concern folding his hands on top of the cool wood. “I notice that you seem to be a bit distracted in my class. May I ask why that may be,” he grins a bit with the statement. His voice low and serious, but laced with a playful knowing.

“I… well,” I blush at the eye contact that he refuses to break with me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I find my professor extremely attractive, and if I’m not mistaken, he hasn’t been too admit on hiding his amorous advances towards me. I often catch his eyes lingering on me and finding any excuse to come to my seat or speak with me privately. Of course, we’ve never discussed these events or feelings, but I do believe that there is a mutual understanding that makes me nervous, in turn amusing Mr. Peters.

“I think I need some help prepping for the exam. A private lesson would probably do me a lot of good. Do you think it’s too late to apply for a tutor?” I ask before bringing my finger up to my mouth to chew on my nails nervously.

“Oh y/n, I’d be more than happy to tutor you.” Mr. peters smiles, showing his darling dimples. “Could you stick around after our next class?” he asks, finally breaking eye contact with me to pack up his belongings. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Uhm yes, sir, but I don’t want to trouble you. I’m sure you’re a busy man,”

“Oh, I am,” he grins standing up and walking towards the door. I follow behind him. He places a now gloved hand on the handle then leans in closer to me, as if he’s telling a secret. “But I always have time for my favorite student,” he opens the door for me and I scurry out into the empty hall.

“Th-thank you professor.” is all I can stutter, staring at my boots in an effort to hide my pink cheeks, before I run off to my car.

•

•

It’s been two days since my last class with Mr. Peters. Our conversation hasn’t left my mind once. In fact, it’s led to some rather inappropriate thoughts. I think of him constantly. When making dinner I’m thinking of his low voice whispering in my ear, sending chills down my spine. While driving to work the thought of his bare skin against mine leaves my knees weak. Walking my dog, I can’t help but wonder how exactly he would have his way with me. What would he have me do if I told him I was his for the taking? And most shameful of all; I wonder if he’s having similar thoughts about me.

Pathetic, I know, but I just can’t help it.

Now, I find myself standing in front of my mirror, the entire contents of my closet scattered across my floor as I attempt to pick an outfit. I’ve settled on a dark ankle length wool skirt and knit stockings that come up to my mid-thigh to keep me warm. I’ve tucked a low cut burnt orange sweater into my skirt and behind a thick leather belt. I smile at my reflection. Mr. Peters is a man of class and poise; I believe he’ll find my outfit choice rather charming. I throw on my coat and gloves after lacing my boots and head off to class.

•

•

I anxiously find my seat in the chilly classroom as I dust the snowflakes out of my hair. Before sitting, I hang my damp coat on the back of the cold chair after tucking my gloves into the coat pocket.

“Good afternoon class,” Mr. Peters voice silences the few mumbles scattered around the room. I hear his footsteps making their way to his desk. I don’t dare turn my head to look at him. “I hope everyone is doing well.” The professor sets his bags down and organizes his plans for the day, taking a sip of coffee from his ceramic travel mug as he sits down in the leather chair. “We’re going to be continuing with our review of chapter 12 today,” his eyes scour the room, finally landing on me, scanning my body up and down before a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. I can’t help but grin back before he turns his body to begin writing notes on the board, starting the lesson. I bounce my leg with anticipation just waiting for my private session with Mr. peters. I long for his proximity, the feeling of his breath on my skin, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. I’m determined to have my way with him after class, if he’ll have me of course. God the next three hours of this class is going to be torture.

•

•

At last, I’m the only student left in the class. The silence is unbearably loud as Mr. Peters walks to the back of the room to latch the heavy wooden door. My heart pounds with each footstep as he approaches my seat, resting a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Why don’t you pull a chair up to my desk Miss y/l/n.” he suggests. I simply nod standing to pick up the chair. Mr. Peters tisks. “What am I thinking? Allow me y/n,” he steps in front of me to pick up the seat. “You’re wearing such a lovely outfit, I wouldn’t want you to risk ripping that beautiful skirt,” he carries the chair to his desk as I follow behind him. He bends over to set it down. “What’s the occasion?” he asks with a smirk as he straightens back up to meet my eyes. With a surge of confidence,

“I believe you know just the occasion, Mr. Peters.” I smirk back, not allowing myself to break away from his gaze.

“Hm,” he glances over my outfit once more, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “So I do, Miss y/l/n.” with that he makes his way to his own seat.

“So, y/n,” Mr. Peters begins before sliding me a packet of papers. “I’ve ran off a more in-depth study guide for you. I suppose the best use of our time, given that the final exam is in just a few weeks, will be to make sure that you understand the core concepts that you will be tested on,” he speaks softly leaning on his elbows rested on the dark wood of the tabletop. I mimic his stance, positioning my elbows on the table, being sure to lean over enough so that some cleavage is exposed. Mr. Peters immediately picks up on my game, glancing down to look at my chest.

“I’ll agree to anything at this point sir. I trust you know best after all, professor,” I coo, looking at the handsome man through my lashes.

“Now, you don’t mean anything Miss y/l/n. I’m sure there’s a lot of things off the table for a lovely young lady such as yourself,” Mr. Peters says lowly. His dark eyes gaze into mine, just mere inches in between us. The proximity of his body to mine and the gruffness of his voice sends a surge of warmth between my legs. I cross and squeeze them in an attempt to get some friction on my core.

“Mr. Peters,” I lean further over the table, my face now so close to his that I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. “There’s nothing ladylike about the things I would do for you,” I whisper looking into his lust filled eyes. Instantly, Mr. Peters leans forward, closing the space between us. His soft lips move in rhythm with mine. The kiss is polite and gentle. I pull back to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry y/n,” he looks almost guilty as he stands from his seat then walks over to face me on the other side of his desk.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask, curious about his suddenly bashful demeaner.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I didn’t even ask permission,” he runs his hand through his hair, seeming almost stressed.

“Mr. peters,” I look up at him from my seat as he towers above me. “You have my permission to do whatever you like,” I smile innocently, gazing into his dark eyes as my hands slip into his waist band, pulling him closer to me. He bends down to envelop me in another kiss. This one is much more ruff; I can feel his desperation as he wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me up into his arms. Without taking his lips off mine, he sets me on the edge of his desk. I giggle as he slides a hand under my wool skirt, running his hand up to find my bare skin where my stocking stop. He smiles into the kiss as I reach for his dark leather belt to pop the buckle undone. He pulls his head away.

“Are you sure you want to do this y/n,” Mr. peters asks, breathless.

“More than anything, Professor,” I answer honestly, my legs still wrapped around his waist.

“I just feel I should take you on a proper date first,” he smiles, brushing some loose hair out of my face.

“Damnit Mr. Peters. If I let you buy me a coffee after this, will you please just fuck me,” I tease, but growing impatient.

“I suppose I can settle for that, since you asked so nicely.” He laughs, shrugging off his blazer and loosening his burgundy tie. He rests his hand on the back of my head, dipping down to meet his lips against mine. His kisses a trail up my jawline and to my ear as I palm him though his slacks. He monas quietly, sending shivers down my spine. My body is burning with lust, I’ve waited so long for this moment. He’s barely touched me and I’m already putty in his strong, warm hands. I slowly move my legs from his waist and stand, spinning us around so that his back is against the desk before dropping to my knees.

“Y/n, you don’t have to do this,” he looks down at me as my fingers work to unbutton his freshly pressed pants.

“Oh, please professor, I’d love to if you’d let me.” My fingers pause as I look up at him, waiting for permission. He just licks and bites his lips, then nods his head. I smile, biting my lip back at him, happily unzipping his pants and sliding them down along with his boxers. With no hesitation, I take his hardened length into my hand rubbing the precum around his tip with my thumb, earning a low groan from him.

“You look so handsome like this, Mr. Peters.” I praise, collecting spit in my mouth then licking from base to tip to before taking him as far in my mouth as I can.

“Holy- fuck,” he gasps. Wide eyes staring down at me, watching as I bob my head up and down on his cock. He moans as his strong hand pulls my hair into a ponytail, using it guide me. The way he’s looking into my eyes as I gag on him makes my core ache. His dark eyes focused on mine with his pink lips pulled into a tight line, his neck strained in pleasure. A single brown curl falls from his slicked back hairdo, flopping against his sweaty forehead with every thrust he makes into my mouth. My moment of admiration is cut short when he pulls away from me, allowing me to gasp for breath.

“Get on the desk,” he commands, pushing some papers onto the floor. I smile and quickly hop onto the now empty table.

“How do you want me?” I ask, still catching breath as I wipe the slobber off the side of my mouth.

“First, lets get you out of this,” he undoes my waist belt, then pulls my orange sweater over my head, tossing it onto his chair. I shiver, but not from the cold air hitting my skin. “Much better,” he smiles as he lays a gentle kiss on my lips. “Now lay down and put your legs up,” he orders as he slips off my snow boots.

“Yes sir,” I oblige laying on the cool wood, bending my knees and resting my feet on the edge of the desk, allowing my long skirt to fall and gather around my waist, exposing my stockings and my bare thighs.

“Miss y/l/n, you are truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he swoons, laying wet kisses on my thighs. Each peck feels as though it’s charged, sending electric course through my veins. “May I?” he asks permission as his fingers loop into the waist band of my cotton underwear.

“I insist,” I smile. He gets to his knees before pulling the thin fabric off, then grabs my hips, pulling me swiftly to the edge of the table. I gasp the sudden movement as he positions my legs on his shoulders. I hear my professor chuckle lowly.

“Look at you,” he takes his thumb and spreads my slick up to my clit, earning a small moan from me. “So ready for me already?”

“Mr. Peters, I’ve been ready for you since our first class togeth-“ I interrupt myself with a gasp, shooting my hand down to grip his hair as he licks my clit and a single digit slips past my entrance.

“Mm,” he hums, moving his head to look up at me but still pumping into me with his finger, making my toes curl. “I guess the feeling is mutual then. I can’t say I was anything but thrilled to see your name on my roster again this year,” he finishes then goes back to working his expert tongue on my bundle of nerves sending pleasure to every part of my body. My stocking clad thighs tighten around his head and my back arches off the table. No one I’ve ever been with has made me feel this good. His finger hits the perfect spot with every pump, his tongue moves in every way I need it to. My body feels like its on fire in the best way possible.

“I’m so close Mr. Peters,” I encourage him with a moan, feeling the familiar tightness in my stomach as my legs begin to tremble around his head. He responds by slipping another finger inside, curling them into the most sensitive part of my body while he laps at my clit. I feel my walls pulse around his fingers as I come undone, moaning a mix of profanities and his name. Pure bliss surges through my body as he slows down his fingers, allowing me to ride out my orgasm.

“Fuck,” I pant as he stands up, licking my juices off his fingers before grabbing my back, helping me sit up to face him. Mr. peters opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak I grab his tie, pulling him in to crash his lips into mine, wrapping my legs around him causing his length to rub against my soaked core, earning a groan against my lips. My shaky hands reaches down to his hard cock to pump him.

“You’re sure this is what you want y/n?” he pants against my lips.

“Of course,” I whisper. Mr. Peters reaches down to line himself up with me, slowly sliding in with ease from how slick he’s made me. I wrap my hands around his neck, throwing my head back as a sigh of pleasure escapes my lips.

“Is this okay?” Mr. Peters groans. I nod my head

“Faster,” I pant. His hands snake around my back grabbing my ass through my skirt as he begins to pound into me. I scream in pleasure. Mr. Peters hand clasps over my mouth.

“Not so loud sweetie,” he chuckles, reminding me that there are classes in session down the hall. He uses his hand on my back to pull me impossibly closer, mercilessly thrusting deeper inside me than anything’s ever been before. My eyes roll back as I grab onto the arm muffling my screams. I dig my nails into the sleeve of the white button up as pure euphoria and sweat drips out of my every pore.

“Fuck, you feel so good, y/n.” My professor grunts, watching my breasts bounce with every thrust of his hips. I can do nothing but mumble into his hand, because if he removes it, the whole campus will hear what we’re doing. I feel my second orgasm building as my hole body begins to tremble. I look into Mr. Peters lust filled eyes, as he bites his lip in concentration and pleasure. Now, a few loose curls are stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sleeves of his once neatly pressed buttonup is pulled tight against his toned arm as he flexes his bicep in order to keep the death grip on my on my mouth that’s keeping me quiet. I feel my core pulse as I tip over the edge of my second orgasm. Mr. Peters groans loudly, pulling my lips to his in a sloppy kiss to muffle both our screams of pleasure. I release around him, digging my nails into his neck. He reaches down to rub circles on my bundle of nerves, encouraging my orgasm. I bury my head in the the crook of his neck, biting the soft skin as overstimulation soon overtakes the pleasure. Mr. Peters pulls out, pumping himself to his own orgasm as he spills his seed all over my thighs and the knit fabric of my socks, biting his lip and letting out strangled moans.

He lays his foread against mine, placing a kiss to my nose.

“You’re so beautiful.” He pants out in a whisper, then reaches down to tuck himself back into his pants.

“Thank you.” I blush, feeling a bit exposed now. Sitting on his desk topless, pantiless, and covered in my professors semen.

“Allow me to clean you up miss y/l/n,” he walks over to grab some tissues out of his drawer, wiping up the mess he made as best he could.

He grabs my hand and helps me to my trembling feet. I grab my sweater off his chair and slip it onto my sweaty skin.

“uhm,” I look around. “Mr. Peters what have you done with my underwear?” I ask with a giggle.

“Hm,” he pauses his hands that were fixing his tie, looking around as well. “oh, here they are,” he chuckles, grabbing them off the a students chair a few feet away. I take the fabric out of his hand slide them on under my warm skirt. “Allow me to help you with your boots, Miss y/l/n.” he grabs the heavy shoes and sets me down in his desk chair, slipping them on.

“How kind,” I giggle, reaching to bush his loose curls back to where theyre supposed to be. He smiles, laying a kiss on my hand before standing to grab his blazer.

“Now, I believe I owe you a coffee.” He takes my arm in his, leading me to my seat so I can bundle up and collect my belongings.

“Mr. Peters, I was only kidding.” I smile, putting my gloves on before following him to the door.

“Well I most certainly wasn’t, y/n.” He grins, showing his precious dimples. I cant stop smiling no matter how hard I try as he opens the door for me.

I think I’m finally going to pass this class.

[overwatchables]

Junkrat/Reader General/Relationship HCS (SFW + NSFW)

'He fills up a big space in your life. All 6’5 of him. Leaves soot on your couch. Dirty underwear in your room. Boba in your fridge. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.'

I've been having major Junker brainrot recently and had to get this one out of my system. Will probably eventually work my way through the hero roster doing similar HC'S.

you might notice I've wrote talon/overwatch in these hc's - that's because I'd like to leave it up to you guys' whichever organisation you think he's affiliated with. I'm not too sure which route they'll take with the Junkers in canon concerning that - so I'll just leave it open ended.

WARNING for some spicy HCS near the end!

Jamie is off-putting. There's no other way to frame it.

He's got sharp features, very intense eyes and takes up a significant presence in every social situation he enters. He talks quick, directly, and brazenly; and if you're a naturally introverted person he's probably going to make you feel uncomfortable at first because he’s not shy at all. He’s just… a lot.

Once you get past the initial bombshell that is getting to know Jamison, you’ll quickly come to realise he’s actually a very friendly guy. Sure – at times he can be wild, unruly, abrasive. A tad stinky. Loudmouthed and raucous. With a significant klepto/pyro-manic streak that always keeps you just a little bit on guard. Not to mention guilty of many crimes and apparently proud of it.

By most people's standards… repugnant. And yet somehow totally magnetic at the same time.

He fills up a big space in your life. All 6’5 of him. Leaves soot on your couch. Dirty underwear in your room. Boba in your fridge. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

GENERAL HC'S

There’s no filter to Jamie’s speech. He says whatever pops into his head which is both a blessing and a curse. And by God, when this guy sees someone that tickles his fancy, he’s inevitably going to try his hand at chatting them up. This has… very varying levels of success. Good thing it seemed to work on you, though.

When Jamie likes someone a lot, it tends to consume him. Makes him irritable and over-excited, brimming with even more pent-up energy than usual. Roadhog always knows when Jamie has taken a fancy to someone because of this.

There's a ton of little idiosyncrasies Jamie displays that Mako picks up on. Mumbling to himself – having full blown, imaginary conversations in which your name will be peppered throughout.

Talking about you, period. How great he thinks you are. Things you’ve done that he's reading into a little too much in an attempt to justify that the feeling might be mutual. Jamie’s not shy to consult his larger counterpart about his interest in you.

Though he finds it amusing at first, the incessant yammering will most definitely begin to grate on Mako’s nerves and eventually culminates in the Hog physically depositing Jamie at your door. (award for world’s greatest wingman goes to Roadhog) :

“Say it to them, not to me.”

 “B-but… but Roadie –”

“You’re all talk,” Mako rumbles, “You want em’ so bad, then do something about it.”

RELATIONSHIP HCS

He's got a real animalistic sort of quality to him. His boundaries are almost non-existent at times. He's raw in a relationship, very unafraid to be physical. Expect a lot of touching; hovering over you in his odd, slouchy way, draping his too-long limbs over your shoulders, nibbling on your earlobes, squeezing your flesh wherever he finds it most enticing (usually your hips or your ass).

Don’t wear white clothes around him. He’s very prone to leaving sooty handprints on your clothing which can be incredibly embarrassing when you're oblivious to it.

The excess of physical contact can sometimes be a little jarring/unpleasant, especially if he’s been out on a job and just got back. He's not always the most hygienic; carries a smell of gunpowder and sweat with him wherever he goes - and sometimes he's got a real case of bad breath.

He'll make a bit more of an effort to scrub himself up when he's in a relationship, however. Partly from your nagging and partly because he's got a performative/self-conscious streak. If he likes somebody, he wants to impress them, to appeal to them. That results in him preening a bit more. You know this man is down bad if you smell deodorant off of him. (and no, the deodorant definitely doesn't belong to him. he stole it from some unsuspecting talon/overwatch member in the communal showers...)

Very involved and sometimes clingy. Wants to know where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to. Not in a distrustful way – it’s more of a ‘I like you a lot and I want to feel closer to you in any and every facet of your daily routine’ way.

I get the feeling that he’d appreciate someone nurturing in a relationship. (cough cough his interactions with Ana… god bless that boy and his mommy issues) He loves the feeling of being fussed over, hands on, a really tender sort of loving. It makes him absolutely melt. Secret mommy kink? Maybe.

More of a general one; but Jamie goes through mobile phones like he goes through bombs. First mistake that you and Mako had learned from was getting him an expensive one. It was broken within the first two days of having it. From then on Jamie is the proud owner of the most ass quality cellular devices on the market thanks to his propensity for destruction. It’s a revolving door of phones. You’ve got so many different numbers in your contacts for Jamie that it borders on ridiculous.

When he hasn’t, miraculously, blown up or shattered his phone screen, he makes it a habit to text or call you throughout the day. (In all caps... with a healthy dosage of spelling errors and emojis.) Sometimes sends only poor-quality picture images with no explanation of what it is he's trying to show you. It’s a fun puzzle, trying to figure it out.

SPICY HCS

Doesn’t take much to get his engine going, if you catch my drift. Very active sex drive, especially after he’s out of Australia and gone ‘legit’ – his body has gotten a lot healthier and as a result his virility has increased.

In fact, Jamie is pretty much DTF whenever, wherever, at a moment’s notice. Just say the words and he’s ready and raring to go. Honestly, he’s almost always a little bit turned on when he’s around you.

Pretty well endowed. Long, thin, uncut. A little messy down there. He doesn’t see the point nor care for shaving and body hair doesn’t bother him much. If you want to go au natural, then Jamie’s your guy.

The pictures Jamie sends can often be… explicit.  If he’s whacking one off then you’d better accept that you’re getting a picture of it, possibly without warning, and that’s that. He likes to feel like you’re involved in that kind of stuff even if you’re not physically present.

He’s a total switch in bed – though I do think it would depend a lot on his partners personality. Jamie is nothing if not adaptable. He can definitely do dominant if he’s in the mood or if his partner is submissive. It’s a huge turn on for him when his partner takes control in sex, though.

He especially likes a little bit of rough and tumble in bed. Fighting each other for dominance type beat. His partner being on equal footing with him is just as sexy as it is for him being dominated/doing the dominating. Very playful, very physical. And he definitely bites. A lot.

He’s got so much excessive energy that it can be slightly exhaustive. There’s three main avenues to which he tends to direct this manic energy: tinkering with his scrap and weaponry, talking for the whole of Oz (and then some), and of course, sex/masturbation.

If he’s especially hyper and you want the guy to calm down a bit, sex is a great way to tucker him out. He’s almost always down for a bit of fooling around and sleeps like a log afterwards.

Personally, I don’t think Jamie’s got a ton of sexual nor romantic experience. He might’ve fooled around here and there back in Junkertown when he was younger – but he’s never had a serious relationship. Though what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in overwhelming eagerness.

He’s not afraid to try anything. Really, it’s hard to find something he isn’t down for. As long as you’re game too, then he’ll probably be agreeable to giving it a go.

His oral game is crazy. (have you seen that tongue!?)

Alright, he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing but dude is giving it his all and then some! He’s very unafraid of giving oral and actually finds it pretty fun. He’s messy with it, but so eager and attentive that it doesn’t take long for him to get pretty fucking good at it. After a while he becomes an expert at making you cum with his mouth.

Downright feral when he fucks. When I said he was animalistic I meant it. A lot of stamina, speed, and power behind his thrusts.

Short refractory period. Doesn’t take long for him to get hard again and before you know it, he’s grinding on your ass and trying to mount you like the absolute sex goblin that he is – till he finally exhausts himself and passes out for the night.

His prosthetic leg gives him a bit of trouble when he’s being intimate sometimes, so he appreciates it if you can take the reins and be on top every now and again. Takes him a while to remove the ol’ peg leg in bed with you. He has to be really comfortable in the relationship because it’s sort of an insecurity for him.

[dropout-if]

hiiii! "trying to know little things about them by observing" for Kai/j poly? Thank youuu 💕 and I hope you have a good/day or nighttt ✨

Hi💕💕 Ty!! Hope you have a good day and night too🫂

From this ask game!

You can’t help watching—not just seeing, that wouldn’t be enough—when it comes to J and Kai.

J’s brows furrow as they rummage through the clutter on the coffee table, muttering to themself, “I swear, Kai, you’re such a disaster— How do you even function?”

Kai, leaning lazily against the doorframe, smirks, knowing all the right ways to rile J up.

“‘Functioning?’ You sound like a robot. Maybe… you need to loosen up a bit.”

“This isn’t about loosening up,” J shoots them a withering look, “It’s about having some sense of responsibility. Maybe if you took things more seriously—”

“Responsibility?” Kai interrupts, their voice rising in playful incredulity, “J, we’re talking about keys. Keys. Not a national crisis.”

That’s all it takes for J’s patience to wear thin. They straighten in their seat, piercing gaze locked onto Kai, “You think it’s a joke, don’t you? You think everything is a joke.”

Still smirking, Kai steps further into the room, “Well, it is a little funny how you make a big deal out of the tiniest things.”

As the argument escalates, you can’t help but notice the nuances in their communication. J’s words, as always, are sharp and precise—they carry an undertone of frustration when Kai is concerned.

Almost like J is noticing your eyes on them, they turn in your direction, pointing a petulant finger in Kai’s direction.

“Tell them,” J says.

You innocently lift both hands, “I’m staying out of this.”

Not as disappointed as you would have expected them to feel—J saw your rejection coming, they probably wanted to include you, or so you think—J turns back to the messy table, a product of Kai’s… way of being, and your eyes shift towards the photographer.

Kai, when compared to J, has a much more laid-back disposition. They grin lazily at you and J, they enjoy getting a reaction from them, they love it when you watch.

“Have you found them yet? Do you need any help?”

J sighs, “Have you learned to shut up?”

The debate rages on, both refusing to back down. Through their heated exchange of words, you see the traces of J and Kai’s very strange mutual understanding. They exchange accidental glances often—the product of a glare that turns out softer than one intended.

Eventually, as the argument began to lose its steam, J huffs in exasperation, “Fine, just help me find the keys, Kai.”

Kai grins triumphantly, sauntering over to the coffee table and effortlessly plucking the missing keys from beneath a pile of magazines.

“Here they are, Mr./Ms. Responsible,” they grin.

J accepts the keys with a scowl—that holds a hint of amusement, “Don’t think this changes anything. You still need to be more responsible. And clean this pigsty— please.”

Kai chuckles, twirling a strand of their hair.

“Got it, Mr./Ms. Responsible,” they say. You notice a glimmer of something in their eyes, “I’ll work on my key-keeping skills.”

As they continue to argue—over the same topics, different topics, any topics—you can’t help but smile at the familiarity of their dynamic.

[fang-and-feather]

Chasing Hope

Ikemen Vampire - Jean x OC

This is an alternative version of chapter 10's premium story, with a very old version of Amy, that I just thought fitting for this

Written for the Love Booth Challenge by @queengiuliettafirstlady, for Jean's prompts: Monster and "I am not worthy of love."

I had plans to write this for a long time but I finally thought these prompts were perfect for it

Words: 1,742

Summary: Jean is sure Amy was to lose all hope she had in him after witnessing he lose control. He didn't expect she had her own secrets to share and her own shadows that even her didn't seem to fully understand, or for him to realize he'd grown more attached to her than he'd though. But how could he? A monster like him didn't deserve her love.

Tags: Probably mutual pining (but they hadn't even fully realized their feelings yet); angsty due to it being during-canon Jean; but also a bit comforting, so maybe a somewhat bittersweet fic; Jean's POV

This was somewhat inspired by this song that I found fitting for them and for this

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Amy was tense and fidgeting.

Jean didn’t blame her, though. Who would be comfortable stuck in a room with a monster like him? After what he almost did? After everything she saw?

He should be used to that. It was just a matter of time before she realized who he truly was.

Then why did it hurt? Was it because Amy had showered him with praise, support, and hope that he almost started believing her? Believing he was not a monster? Believing he deserved salvation? Redemption?

If so, that had been foolish of him. Amy acted like she could love a monster, but a monster didn’t deserve love. He didn’t deserve her unconditional kindness.

“Do you think Saar will be okay?” She asked, voice trembling.

When he didn’t immediately answer, her gaze fell on him, only to be diverted quickly. And of course she did. How could she stand such an ugly visage as he was at the moment?

She had often called him beautiful. This was the proof she was wrong. The sight that would change her mind.

“I’m bothering you, aren’t I?” She looked down at her blood-covered hands and shirt. “Sorry. I’ll see what I can do about the blood right away.”

She turned to leave, but Jean caught himself stopping her.

‘No. It’s… not that. You are not bothering me.”

“Then what is it?” She asked curiously. Worriedly.

She was still concerned about him, and Jean couldn’t stand it anymore. Not without…

“...I’m sorry for exposing you to this ugly face. And I’m sorry… for putting you through something so scary.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and, to Jean’s surprise, Amy burst out into laughter, although she tried to immediately hold it back.

“Oh, Jean.” She took a deep breath, then her eyes focused on him again. “Why are you apologizing?” Her voice and gaze were soft, with a hint of amusement to them still. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed that nobleman, without a doubt.” And she was nervous a moment before. Why was she laughing now, as if it were nothing? “I had no control over my own urges. Not in that moment. I knew you were afraid. I knew I was scaring everyone around me. But… I couldn’t stop myself.” Amy’s gaze dropped again, and she frowned. Was she only now coming to realize what really happened? The monster he was underneath whatever hopeful facade she gazed at him with until now? As she should. As was best for her. “Mademoiselle. You should go home without me.”

“Why?”

“Surely you must hate being in a room with a man like me now…”

But Amy looked up at him again, with determination, and shook her head.

“I’m not going anywhere. I hate being here, but not because of you. I hate being trapped in an unknown place, but you being here brings me comfort. So please… let me stay with you.”

Although he had been conscious of her own gaze, it was the first time Jean fully looked back, astonished. He had misunderstood what had made her so nervous before. And how could she find comfort in someone like him?

She was too radiant, and Jean feared getting caught in her light any further. Into her hopefulness. Then she would go home and take it all away.

But he also feared letting go of that light. Of the only being who looked at him as he truly was and stood her ground. Accepted him.

Jean feared letting her make him forget the monster he was, only for her to get caught in a situation similar to the one they just faced, where she would regret it.

He feared losing her.

A soft, damp, slightly chilly hand touched his cheek, startling him back to reality. Bringing his attention back to this woman, who never ceased to surprise him. She who looked at him with so much care.

“I was surprised there, but there is no way I’d ever be afraid of you, Jean. Besides…” Her gaze dropped again, her expression clouding and her hand still on his cheek trembled, her other hand closing into a tight fist. “...a part of me was tempted to let you.” Her voice came out in a trembling whisper, almost drowned out by the rain outside. “And if the police hadn’t arrived, I would have beaten him up. Maybe I have more control, but I am not always as pure as you think I am. Not as I want to believe. But…” At this, she looked up, gentle determination back to her face. “...it’s not enough to condemn us. It does not make us monsters. And…” Her thumb traced the edge of his scar. The unexpected gesture and her sweet smile making him shudder and tempting him to turn away. To run away. But he stood his ground and held her gaze. “Anyone who thinks to call this ugly is so incredibly stupid. They’re letting this tiny scar come between them and the chance to find out how beautiful you truly are.”

“...What are you saying?” And why?

Instead of answering, she stepped back and removed the glove from her right hand.

Jean had noticed but never thought much about the fact that he’d never seen her without it, even when he’d seen her without the left one. Or why her right glove covered her fingers and the left one didn’t.

But as she turned her palm up, he realized why. A burn scar marked a good part of it. And as he stared, she unbuttoned her cuff and pulled the sleeve a little up, revealing the marks snaked around her arm.

“I was in an accident when I was a child.” Amy explained, shrugging. “It doesn’t look as bad now. But this doesn’t matter. Even without this… I told you how beautiful you are before, and that hasn’t changed. Not because we match, or because we are more similar than we seem, but because I see who you truly are beyond that. And you are still so incredibly beautiful to me. Inside and out.”

This was another impulse he couldn’t control, as, with a hand behind her head, Jean gently pulled her to him.

“Jean? What is it?” Amy asked, but not in a tone of complaint.

He didn’t know. What had gotten over him? Why was his heart beating so fast?

But Jean hesitated to let go, as much as he hesitated to touch her further. But he couldn’t force himself to let go and apologize, as he intended, and instead pushed himself to wrap his arm around her back, afraid of scaring her, of making her feel trapped, of whatever it was that prompted him to initiate such contact in the first place.

He could feel her heart beating as fast as his, and it was oddly comforting that it reflected his own.

Amy started to pull back, but Jean held her tighter but still carefully, twining his fingers in her hair. He felt oddly like she would disappear if he let go, but she would break if he held her too tight.

“What is the matter?” She asked, again with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t help.” She laughed.

“I know...” Even he didn’t understand his actions. His feelings. Everything felt so foreign and still oddly human, for someone who hadn’t been human in a long time.

“Jean?” she called when he stayed silent a little too long.

“... I know, but I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to… let you go yet.” He turned to look better at her, and his lips brushed her ear. He couldn’t see her face properly, but she had relaxed in his embrace, her heart beating even faster. “Can we stay like this just a little longer, Amy?”

Her whole body trembled, but he felt her nod, and that only made him feel warmer. Why was he so satisfied that she agreed? What was this strange feeling?

Amy wrapped her arms around him too, and they stood there, in silence for a moment. Then he heard Amy’s sweet voice again in a comforting whisper. She was singing, which wasn’t weird of her, if it didn’t sound like she was singing straight at him, and if he didn’t understand the song, even when she was clearly singing in a language he knew nothing of.

The song was the same as her words: of light and hope, of letting go of the hurts of the past and looking forward to tomorrow. Or was it what he wanted to believe? His feelings reflected in a melody he truly didn’t understand? But it sounded like she was singing for the both of them, for something she was remembering but didn’t tell him.

“A part of me was tempted to let you.” “I’m not as pure as you think I am. Not as I want to believe.” She had said all that, looking so close to crying and so afraid of something he couldn’t see.

What kind of accident hurt her in such a way? What did she find so similar in them beyond that? What shadows were the reason behind these words? And how could she still be so radiant, then?

Because, to him, she was still so pure and beautiful.

Jean closed his eyes and lost track of how long they stayed there together until her voice started faltering and finally died out, her body going limp in his embrace, exhausted, and Jean gently picked her up, although he had no idea what to do. He couldn’t put her to bed with her clothes in such a state.

All she had done. The words she had spoken. If he didn’t know better, he would say she loved him. And that he felt the same.

“I am not worthy of love.” He whispered to himself in a vain attempt to curb these lasting rays of hope.

Amy was just too giving, too trusting, and, at this moment, too emotional. He was reading too much in her kind nature.

But a tiny piece of him stubbornly refused to let go of her light. It might not be love, but her words were true, and he wanted to believe he could leave these shadows behind for once and move on. If just this once, until she had to go back to her time.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground, @queengiuliettafirstlady

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[banisheed]

TIMING: Pre-goo LOCATION: University of Maine Wicked’s Rest PARTIES: Stingeky (@nightmaretist) and Stinkbhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: A potty poltergeist forces Ingeborg and Siobhan to bond.

Death came for all. It sat still, knocking at the doors of life, inviting bodies into its dark and cold arms. What existed beyond Death didn’t matter; it came, it asked, people gave. No one gave more to death than Siobhan Dolan, who was born in its clutches, raised under its indifference and who worshipped under its rules and chaos. Fate and Death always came together—two sides of the same weathered coin—but it was a fact of the world that some people existed beyond nature, beyond death. What did her scripture say about people like Ingeborg Endeman? Mostly, that she was a horrifying abomination and an affront of the natural order. What did Siobhan say? 

“Fates, I can’t piss if you’ve spread your filth around here.” Siobhan scoffed, gesturing at the undead professor--this was probably some sort of violation of workplace principles but Siobhan didn’t care. There was only so much disgust that she could pretend she didn’t hold and discomfort that she could swallow down. She spun on her heel, uninterested in anything Ingeborg had to say. She crashed against the door, stumbling backward. She kicked at it, watching the hinges wobble but the door remained shut in place. “Okay,” she spun back around, rubbing her red nose. “Very funny. This is one of your…” Siobhan gestured vaguely. “...tricks. Open the door, Endeman.”

—

She did lack subtlety, this Siobhan Dolan. Ingeborg often thought this a complimentary trait in women (as centuries of subtlety had hardly done anything for anyone), but as the other used it to express her dislike of her, she found it unbecoming. Amusing, some days, but frustrating on most others — there was a benefit in having her undead status fly under the radar at her place of work, after all, and Siobhan could be considered a threat. Besides, there was that hint of paranoid concern she liked to deny which wondered if this woman was a hunter. (A passive one, if so, so seemingly not a problem. As of yet.) 

She watched the professor of whatever-she-taught walk into the bathroom as her own lipstick was raised mid-air, ready to repaint her lips red. “Ah, and I haven’t even gone number two yet,” she said, dotting her lips with the lipstick with her eyes trained on the more pleasing person in the bathroom. Inge’s gaze released her mirror image when she heard a crashing noise, watching her colleague turn around. Half-painted lips spread into a smile, eyebrows raising in amusement and interest. “One of my tricks? What are you talking about?” She wasn’t even being facetious this time: she was not doing anything. “The door is push, not pull. Do you read?” 

—

Siobhan’s eyes twitched. Her annoyance was not masked— the undead didn’t deserve decency or politeness. It was embarrassing to march herself back to the door and try all manner of directional force: push, pull, turn, caress, groan, push again. When she approached Ingeborg again, her face was red with anger. “Stop it. I don’t want to be locked in a bathroom with you; it’s not funny.” She felt like a child, complaining that some older kid was picking on her by moving her bone collection around. “I have pushed. I have pulled. Yes, I can read. No, that shade of lipstick does n-not look good on you.” The lie burned the back of her throat, searing her tongue on its pained journey out of her mouth. It was unfortunate that Ingeborg was attractive; she would have looked better decomposing but now she had robbed the world of the opportunity to have her bones. Siobhan spread her palm over her abdomen with hopes that her hand would soothe her twisting stomach; she reminded herself that the lie was worth it. “Putting makeup on a corpse doesn’t change anything,” she huffed. “Unlock the door. I want to be freed from your stink.” 

—

“Oh, trust me, the displeasure is very much mutual. I’m not keeping you here, though,” she said calmly, taking in the other’s anger with some kind of amusement. If this woman was a hunter, wouldn’t she take this opportunity to bring out a knife, some salt, or cover the keyhole. (Inge’s eyes flashed to the keyhole suddenly, glad to still see it uncovered.)  She continued putting on her lipstick, clicking the tube shut with the loudest noise she could produce and turning towards the other after leaving it on the sink. “Your dramatics are impressive. Are you sure you don’t wish to join us in the art department as a professor of the dramatic arts?” She did have the looks to stand on a stage, but that was hardly something that had to be said out loud. “Putting make up on a corpse changes all the same things it does for a living body, actually.” Inge moved towards the door, trying the handle while staring at the other — ready to prove that she was being ridiculous. It didn’t budge, though, and she tried once more while staring at it. “Well.” She looked at Siobhan. “What the fuck?”

—

Siobhan rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. There is nothing more beautiful than a dead body— why would you put makeup on it? I want to see the discoloration, the desaturation, the gauntness.” Siobhan looked at herself in the mirror; she was beautiful but she didn’t look like a corpse. That was the tragedy of being a banshee: no livor mortis. Distracted by her own splendor, she nearly missed Ingeborg’s futile attempt to open the door. “You’re asking me?” Siobhan scoffed. “You’re the one that locked it with your undead trickery!” Siobhan waved her hands in the air as if the motion would prove her point, as if in between the waving Ingeborg would drop the act and unlock the door. The lights flickered. The bathroom groaned like a giant awoken from a nap. The lights flickered again. “I can't teach the dramatic arts.” What was acting but lying? There was a reason fae productions were often made using indentured humans. “But I’d be amazing at it if I could.” The light flicked off and when they buzzed to life again, red dripped from the mirror. 

Siobhan’s nose crinkled. “I think that’s a message for you.” The oozing red text read, simply: STINKY. 

—

Maybe in another world the two of them could get along. Professor Dolan was somewhat morbid, after all, with her talking of stages of decomposition as if it was nothing. Alas. “Then go find yourself a dead body? You won’t find them in the bathroom.” Ingeborg swiveled to the other, creasing her eyebrows in annoyance. “Undead trickery? I could use my undead trickery to leave this room if I wished! And I certainly would like to right about now!” She couldn’t completely, in all fairness, as it was day outside and Inge couldn’t take her body into the astral with her. And while escaping with just her spirit to leave Siobhan with a comatose body might be funny, she didn’t trust the other. “You know, I wish I could do this.” As the light flickered, she felt envious. Inge could do this in dreams, but never in the waking world. To her, this was a poor version of the dream world out there.

Inge stared at the message on the mirror, reading the word stinky with squinting eyes. “I’d sooner think it’s for you. The one who blames people is often the perpetrator of the stink.”

—

“You are a dead body, in case you have forgotten,”  Siobhan sneered; Ingeborg was being purposefully obtuse, she thought, but she couldn’t help but to fall into her play a little. The situation was frustrating and so was her company. “Don’t lie to me! You undead have…” Siobhan waved her hand around in the air again. Away from her tutelage of her family, Siobhan had no way of knowing what new, perverse tricks the undead picked up. It was unlikely that forty years created a brand-new, door-locking evolution in the undead, but Siobhan wouldn’t underestimate them. Diseases often adapt, after all. The lights flickered again and the bathroom groaned. The stall doors flung wildly, flicking open and slamming shut only to burst open again—each time accompanied by a loud and shrill banging. The STINKY on the mirror seemed to ooze more. “What sort of rule is that? Clearly, I am not the purporator of the stink. I smell lovely. Smell me.” Siobhan pointed to the stalls. “Stop doing that, Endeman. The sound is annoying.” Images of maggot infested corpses swarmed Siobhan’s mind all at once, unfortunately for whomever thought the sight would terrify her, it was the sort of thing she often pictured. As the faucets started to rattle, Siobhan got another idea.

“I think this might be a poltergeist, Endeman.” Siobhan said. “It’s very tacky of you to have invited one into the toilets. You struck me as a woman of more class–albeit, disgusting class.” 

—

“To you,” she sneered in return, refusing to agree with such a notion. Her body was strange, certainly, and Inge had her own mixed-bag relationship with it — but it was definitely alive. Not with something as arbitrary as human blood, nor tied to just one plane of existence: but it was alive, if only because it could be killed. “What even are you, Dolan, to judge me like this?” It was thrown in off-hand, a question she didn’t expect an answer to but wanted one for anyway.

The bathroom had to be possessed, or something close to it, and Inge felt something run up her spine — something like excitement. It wasn’t often that she was the one on the receiving end of some scaring – which wasn’t to say she was scared – and whenever she was, it was a thrill. Her eyes were wide when taking in the leaking lipstick, the flickering lights, the slamming doors and the suddenly running faucets. In her mind, pictures of dead bodies crawled around and she let out a sound of surprise. Whatever could do this had her admiration and envy, that much was certain — she wished she could manipulate reality like this. “Annoying? You have to respect the work, Dolan! It’s glorious.” 

As the other dropped the word poltergeist, it did seem to fall into place. Inge turned to look at Siobhan, eyebrows raised. “Doesn’t it get exhausting, being so presumptuous? I didn’t do a thing! But you have to admire its fervor, or are you incapable of looking beyond anything when it’s supposedly dead?” The sinks were clogged up, somehow, and water splattered onto the ground. “I wonder what that makes you, Dolan, a slayer of sorts …? Or just extremely dull?”

—

What was she? Siobhan preened at the suggestion of it; she was something great and powerful and perfect and beautiful and much, much better than the filthy abomination that Ingeborg was. She opened her mouth to explain what she was, and then she thought better of it and snapped her lips shut. It wasn’t wise to be so free with her knowledge, even as her fingers twitched at her side and her jaw ached, begging to be unclenched so the one, beautiful word, could be uttered: banshee. She had every right to judge the undead, ridicule them and make it known how much Death did not agree with their existence. Siobhan looked at herself in the mirror, fixing her strands of soft brown hair as STINKY continued to dribble down.

“Glorious?” She turned to Ingeborg, scandalized. “What is the point of it? Do either of us look scared? It’s a waste of effort.” Siobhan tapped Ingeborg’s reflection in the mirror. “Now this is scary.” As water splattered on to the ground, Siobhan lifted her feet, plopping around in the water as she groaned. All of this was nothing more than an inconvenience and she was just about to pull the salt she kept on her out of her pocket when the other professor went on. Slowly, Siobhan's brown eyes widened. “Slayer?” She clutched her chest, scoffing. “Slayer?” She repeated, offended beyond regular measures. She turned her head around and scoffed everywhere she looked, gesturing and opening and shutting her mouth as she struggled to articulate her disgust with the sentiment. 

“I’m a banshee,” Siobhan said, slitting clutching her chest. “A banshee! I’m Irish! I’ve got bones in my pockets!” She pulled the mandible of a mouse out of her inner jacket pocket. “By what idiotic metric would you even fathom that I was a slayer? A slayer! If I was a slayer, you’d be dead—again. I’d be beheading you right now! I would have beheaded you months ago!” Granted, she had thought about beheading her, but she thought about beheading most people that she meant—it was one of her ‘happy thoughts’. “A slayer!” She scoffed again and again and even as the bathroom started to flood, water rising up to Siobhan’s ankles. “I’ve never been so offended. I am a beautiful, superior fae and you would compare me to a disgusting, lowly human? And at that, a breed of hunter? Me?” Siobhan spun around. “I can’t–I don’t even want to look at you right now. You’ve offended me so greatly. If I wasn’t in exile I would sic pixies on you. You’re so lucky I can’t do that. You’re so fortunate.” 

—

It was true, neither of them looked scared. The poltergeist must be going through some of the possibly worst frustration a fearmongering creature could go through: the one that came with failure. These were cheap tricks, too little to inspire any kind of reaction besides one of glee from Ingeborg, and Siobhan Dolan seemed hard to shake herself. Still, she carried a certain level of respect for creatures and people similar to her, so she frowned at the other’s assessment. “Maybe they’re new to this, the scaring. We should support their efforts, even if they’re not particularly effective on us. If it was a freshmen here, they’d have peed their pants right where they stood!” 

She was annoyed with the water, which was not yet reaching her socks (thank God for her leather, expensive boots) but was capable of doing damage to the suede on the long term. She was more focused on Siobhan than the boots, though, wondering what her accusation of the other being a hunter would do. Either she was one, and it would lead to something annoying and potentially dangerous, or it would be offensive. To call something supernatural a hunter, after all, was a horrible thing. Inge knew that very well: when the tiny Bugbear had called her one, she had been terribly offended herself. There was no worse thing to be on this earth. 

And so, Siobhan revealed herself. She was a banshee. Now that was interesting, more interesting than whatever the poltergeist was doing. Inge stared at the bone, then at the other. “I don’t know, there are some real lazy slayers out here. You sure seem to share some of their viewpoints,” she said. Her hand traveled to her neck at the mention of beheading, caressing the scar that lined her throat. “A banshee is much better, though. I can’t say I’ve met any before.” Fae were strange things, still a mystery to her even if there had been decades of experience with the supernatural. They liked their elusiveness. She would respect it, if she wasn’t so curious herself. Her lips spread into a smile, impish like the pixies Siobhan talked about. Or, at least, so she assumed. “Oh yes, I’m very fortunate to be stuck in this room with you right now where we splish splash around. And what’s this, Dolan? You’re exiled?” Now, she was just going to be mean. “Can’t be that superior, if that’s the case.”

—

“What? Like they’re a child?” Siobhan was particularly offended by the idea of thoughtfulness; her mother was never forgiving towards her sensitivity and Siobhan learned that if anyone wanted to get better at something, it needed to be done with a firm hand. No, Siobhan absolutely wasn’t going to pretend to be scared just to temper the feelings of some untalented poltergeist. “You can scare a freshman by telling them there’ll be a group project. It’s not hard to scare a freshman.” She did it all the time and only occasionally by accident. 

“Shut your gob,” she hissed. She was done. The stalls kept banging and there seemed to be no end to the water rushing out of the burst pipes and Siobhan was done. She thrust the bones back into her pockets and rummaged the cavernous holes for the tiny packets of salt she kept on her; if there was anything that annoyed Siobhan without abandon, it was ghosts. She hated ghosts. “I’m still superior to you, you undead fiend; you abomination of the natural order; you disgusting, abhorrent, attractive, useless speck of wasted space. I am a banshee. I am a fae and I’m going to do something I should have done five minutes ago.” Triumphant, she pulled a fistful of tiny packets from her pocket; white paper jutting out from between her fingers. One slipped out from her grasp and plopped into the rising water, floating to the top where its black label glared at them: “salt” it read, with its own cartoon salt shaker. 

Siobhan’s eyes burst into pure blackness, two pools of ink. She shoved her salt-packet filled fist towards Ingeborg. “Do you want to be useful for once?”

—

“Well yes, a new poltergeist might as well be a child! I don’t expect you to understand, but there’s a learning curve when it comes to scaring. Not your area of expertise, though, so …” Inge shrugged, waving away the rest of her sentence. Siobhan’s comment on freshmen left her with a genuine sound of amusement, though, much to her own dismay. It was funny, but to laugh at something someone who disliked her said, well … it was below her. “And yet it’s so much fun.”

Siobhan kept going on, throwing vitriolic insults that Inge wanted to let slide off her back. She succeeded mostly, but she wasn’t immune to the nagging anger that rose in her as the other went on about her supposed superiority. She looked at the other with an angry gaze, “A banished fae,” she said, as if that would undo all of her arguments. “And oh, you’re so limited if you think the natural order is so boring as not to include us undead! Nightmares are natural, lest you forget, and besides — it’s not as black and white as you might want to think it is.” 

And then the banshee was pulling out salt, and worse, holding it out to her. Inge looked at the packets of salt, glad they were covered in crinkled paper, and looked up at Siobhan. Her eyes were as black as the India ink she used in some of her works, a sight that made her want to move closer to inspect it and grow inspired by it. “No.” She shook her head, curt and determined. “Get that shit away from me. Do what you’ve got to. I’ll watch.” 

—

Scaring wasn’t really Siobhan’s expertise; she had been raised to fit in, draw as little attention as possible, not that she really did that or wanted to do that. In fact, her whole family talked about the importance of plainness and never once practiced it. Anyhow, scaring wasn’t her business; it was a hobby. She didn’t know what suddenly made Ingeborg and authority and then it all clumped into place like a soggy jig-saw puzzle. Undead. Salt-aversion. The sparkle on her skin as she passed a big window on a sunny day, which Siobhan had previously begrudgingly accepted as the strange glow that beautiful people sometimes had. Her insisting that nightmares were natural without any acknowledgement that she wasn’t a nightmare, she was just a thing that could cause them—completely different.

Siobhan laughed, throwing her head up to the swampy ceiling. As she quivered with amusement, a couple more packets of salt fell from her hands and plopped into the water. “You’re so boring,” she said, lowering her gaze back on Ingeborg, “so predictable. How long have you been alive? You haven’t learned any style? Any originality? You’re not even moderately useful to the natural order; at least vampires and zombies clean up. What do you do except run around like a disease?” The black of Siobhan’s pupils burst, plunging her eyes into an inky darkness. The world turned dark and Ingeborg faded into a soft white stain. When she spun around, she found a girl sitting atop the stalls, greasy hair stuck to her bloated blue cheeks and her legs kicked out like she was running an invisible marathon. Siobhan tore open the salt packets and threw them at her. 

The flickering lights stopped, the stalls creaked on their hinges, wobbling with inertia, the faucets squeaked shut, and Siobhan flicked herself around, irises back to brown, scleras back to white. “You’re utterly useless, you know that?”

—

She was boring? Inge let out a similar laugh to the banshee’s, finding the entire statement so ludicrous, so ridiculous — hadn’t Siobhan been proving this entire time that she was small-minded and limited? She couldn’t understand why someone would not find the existence of undead interesting, why someone would think the mere idea of there being people out there who could move from one plane to another boring! She was anything but boring. She refused to be anything but boring. “You’re the boring one,” she retorted once her voice had ceased to bubble with that echoing laugh. Her eyes were wide with indignance. “You know nothing of my style or originality, because all you know to do is narrow your eyes and stare down a tunnel of small-mindedness!” 

She had half a mind to put the banshee to sleep and give her a daydream, show her how original and unboring she could be — but she refrained as there was still that poltergeist to deal with. Besides, when she saw Siobhan’s eyes turn inky black she was enthralled, thinking the woman more beautiful than she had ever appeared before. Inge watched with a begrudging awe, wishing she could appear that way when on the earthly plane but limited so dreadfully in this existence.

Everything ceased, then, and it seemed that the inky black eyes and salt-throwing had done their job. Inge was annoyed that Siobhan had succeeded where she could not, but she tried not to show it by shrugging casually. “I don’t like getting in the way of my ilk,” she said, sparing a look at herself in the mirror. At least her lipstick looked right. “This was very enlightening, Siobhan. We should do it again.”

—

Siobhan’s insides coiled and the beginnings of a scream burned behind her ribs. She didn’t say anything; Ingeborg Endeman had earned the final word and Siobhan was left soggy and clutching mini-satchels of salt. When the professor left, somehow prettier after their ordeal than before it, Siobhan waited and then followed her out, watching her back as she claimed the hallway with her even strides. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Ingeborg to look back and see her and if she did, what would she see? Siobhan didn’t know what sort of face she was making, she’d avoided her own gaze in the stained bathroom mirror as she exited. She clutched the wall and held her breath. Finally, Ingeborg turned and disappeared and finally, Siobhan could breathe. 

Ingeborg Endeman was dead, unbothered, delightfully macabre and timelessly beautiful and Siobhan hated her for it. 

[tiredassmage]

because i've gotten severe blorbo brain about one of my bg3 ocs, i think it is about high time i created at least a post to stick the reference material (as limited as that still is) out in the universe for tracking purposes, if that is of interest! so! also bc i generalized my personal bg3 tag, so for those who would like to keep that out of your circles, you may also do so!

baldur's gate content is still generally covered by a #bg3 tag. this is on my own stuff and reblogged content from the game.

my personal stuff for the game (screenshots, oc musings, etc.) will all feature the updated #dot's bg3 tag.

and then the oc tags. which i'll put under a cut to keep this Neat, but also bc they're (the ocs) are a mess in my heads and i'm one of those people that has so many blorbo and has yet to actually complete act iii bc i keep making more of them. sO! without further ado lol--

alucren ❖ the dark urge ❖ human ❖ he/him/his ❖ neutral tagged: #vs: is that... blood? no. nevermind | bg!alucren ❖ lae'zel romance

Technically should be on assassin in my heart. Played on the Fiend Warlock for my delight. Formerly the apprentice of Tyr in a mutual mercenary company prior to the rise of the Dark Urge and [Dark Urge spoilers]. A man as dangerous for his nearly-reckless disregard for personal consequence in his drive to achieve and a dangerously charismatic smile as he is for the sopping wet lost dog look he's capable of giving you. A fractured mirror. A facade. In the cutting words of a uquiz diagnosis once: a fraud, but not necessarily a malicious one, when truly cut to his core. The struggle to overcome the blood and a fervor once readily embraced.

ambrose ❖ lamb of the tempest ❖ human ❖ she/he/her/his ❖ lawful good tagged: #vs: the self is not so weightless / nor whole and unbroken | bg!ambrose ❖ shadowheart romance

Saddest puppy I ever did see and my newest blorbo. Raised primarily to weaponize her talents with sorcery, and a corresponding fear of reprimand for when that (wild) magic does not cooperate as intended. Ambrose was initially fleeing his former masters when the mindflayers struck, and now she has to add the whole mindflayer business to her mountain of concerns with the world. She is very small and has no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress he's under. He should be at the club. Except she'd probably find that overwhelming. Maybe just a good book in his pack will do.

tyr ❖ ex-assassin ❖ wood half-elf ❖ he/him/his ❖ chaotic good tagged: #vs: penance makes poor company | bg!tyr ❖ wyll romance

Former member of a company of mercenaries and assassins and the once-mentor of Alucren prior to his own retirement. Spent a further few years adventuring across the realm with his husband before they settled down to raise two daughters and Tyr took up bladesmithing as a hobby. Potentially knew more of Alucren's history than he ever let on, and has definitely not moved past the self-inflicted guilt of not pushing harder for the younger man to leave with him. Should also be an assassin in my heart if I was better at the playstyle. Stay tuned for if I ever make up my mind about what playstyle to actually do his run on. Imported blorbo from another game, and therefore subject of my giggling because I didn't change his name despite game lore. (It amuses me, let me have this.)

rhyst ❖ the lost paladin ❖ high half-elf ❖ he/him/his ❖ lawful good tagged: #vs: of wings that burn and men who fall | bg!rhyst ❖ gale romance

Lost Golden Retriever puppy. If found, please do not return to the powerful sorcerer that may or may not have been manipulating him to use his natural abilities. Rhyst may have stumbled into the wrong end of a poor deal attempting to serve the memory of an older sister that has raised him. Still a bit wet behind the ears with a giant heart to help that's a bit too easily taken advantage of at times. Rhyst seeks a way out of his stumble from grace and, short of a way to reclaim his Oath, a way forward with the new aspects of his life that may yet still yield benefits for the greater good.

savosta ❖ the ruthless stalker ❖ drow ❖ he/him/his ❖ lawful evil tagged: #vs: is it the spirit or the flesh | bg!savosta

Aforementioned powerful sorcerer's chosen attack hound and war domain cleric, though to which divinity he owes fealty may be nebulous. Singularly driven by his goals and his orders, if no path exists, Savosta will forge one in storm and fury if needs be. Their once-shared master demands the return of the straying Rhyst to their fold, so Savosta intends to deliver. Mindflayers, gods, and the Hells be damned if they stand in his way. (Or are you both merely lost? The marble shaped by the master's hands? Questions he huffs at answering, despite being tempered into cooperation. For now.)

hartley ❖ shapeshifter ❖ he/they ❖ chaotic good tagged: #vs: listen to the wind blow watch the sun rise | bg!hartley

Some may call them arbiter, others merely a rebel. Whatever you prefer, Hartley is an adventurer at heart, treading Silvanus's path wherever the wind leads. Their experiences (and experiments) with wildshaping and other magics have led to a partially shifted state that he tends to prefer. Outside of their favored form of the owlbear, Hartley prefers to wield dual scimitars in their pursuit to defend the natural cycle and challenge those who would see it manipulated for their own gains.

kaimir ❖ an outcast's lament ❖ he/him/his ❖ chaotic neutral tagged: #vs: take it on the other side | kaimir

Kai's ties are... complicated. Varying from sullen and at least somewhat snippish to airy displaces of arrogance, the cards dealt to the young warrior were not particularly favorable, and thus he found the shorter road was to present the realms with what they seemed hellsbent upon assuming of him anyway. While not entirely unmoved by the plight of his kin, his own steps strayed from their particular path years ago. He imagines not a warm reception of his brash tongue. Attempting to soften the edges of their infernal heritage in the depths of a bottle and the blunt strikes of the fist have... varying degrees of success. If he's nothing else, he will be a survivor, and let the realms know it even if it must be through spitting blood.

[thefamilybruno]

The Prince and the Peasant - Chapter 1 - The Snowstorm

Summary:

Adam Alexandre Alsace du Maurier lives in a shining castle in France’s countryside. When an old beggar woman comes to Adam’s castle seeking shelter from a winter storm, he turns her away, cold and indifferent to her suffering. After she transforms into a beautiful Enchantress, she strips away Adam’s title and wealth, cursing him to live as a peasant with the hope that he will learn the value of community and kindness.

In a daze, Adam wanders through the woods, the memory of his encounter with the magical woman cloudy and fragmented. When Adam stumbles into a nearby tavern, Gaston Legume, a respected member of the community, offers to take Adam into his home, both to uphold his stellar reputation and to impress the woman he wants to marry.

Life in the village proves to be more difficult than Adam had expected and having a supposed nobleman as a roommate stretches Gaston’s patience to its limits. Through many conflicts and arguments, Gaston and Adam's relationship transforms, first into friendship, and then into something more.

But one night, a shimmering rose blossoms to life in Adam’s mind, and as winter turns to spring, its petals begin to fall, leading Adam to wonder: what will happen once it wilts?

Pairing: Gaston/Adam

Some Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Banter, Fluff, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Mutual Pining, Roommates

Excerpt Below!

The doors to the tavern burst open. In strolled a man wearing nothing more than a soaking wet button-down shirt and a pair of dark blue trousers, his long reddish brown hair drenched from the falling snow. As soon as the door was shut behind him, the man staggered over to the bar and leaned against the counter, his body visibly trembling, probably from facing the winter storm while wearing such inadequate attire. 

Gaston approached the man with caution, his brow furrowing from a mixture of confusion and concern. He knew every single person in the village, but he hadn’t seen this man before, he was sure of it.

“Hello there, monsieur,” Gaston said in a loud, confident voice, one intended to reassure everyone that he had the situation under control, whatever it was. “Can I help you?”

“I’m lost,” the man said, his teeth still chattering. “I’m not sure where…my castle…I was in the woods…”

“Castle?”

“Yes, I live in, in, a castle not far from here,” he stammered. “But…I couldn’t…find it.” His voice faltered and he shook his head in apparent confusion. “I think it...I think it disappeared.”

Hearing such ridiculousness, Gaston felt the corners of his mouth twitch, his expression threatening to break into an amused grin, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. The man’s simple clothing alone indicated that he was probably delirious. He was no nobleman. And a castle?! In these woods?! Wherever the man had come from, he was in a very poor state indeed.

“That is troubling,” Gaston said, clapping the man on the shoulder, trying to sound friendly even though he wanted to laugh outright at the man’s preposterous story. “Let’s get you warm. We can find your castle later.”

After Gaston pulled his now-wet hand away, he wiped it on the side of his pants, and then he pounded his fist on the bar counter. 

“Joseph!” he barked. “Bring this man an ale. I’ll find him a blanket and a dry shirt.”

Gaston hurried upstairs to his home, grabbing one of his least-favorite shirts from his closet, along with an old blanket one of the triplets had knitted for him some years ago, and then he returned to the tavern. 

“You’re so generous,” one of the triplets cooed as he walked past.

“I know,” he crowed, his chest swelling with pride.

As soon as Gaston reached the far end of the bar, he handed the man the clean and dry shirt, and then waited for the man to thank him. When he didn’t utter a word of gratitude and instead moved to unfasten the buttons of his sopping wet shirt, Gaston felt a small twinge of annoyance.

“You’re lucky you picked my establishment, you know. Most people wouldn’t dream of welcoming a literal stranger into their home in the middle of the night.”

Hearing the man mutter the words ‘fucking hell’ under his breath, Gaston’s stomach stiffened, irritation punching him in the gut, but as he moved to ask the fellow whether he’d prefer to spend the night out in the snow, the man inadvertently ripped one of the buttons off of his shoddy shirt, and something about the look on his face told Gaston that the man hadn’t been cursing at him , but at himself. Perhaps he was finally realizing the truth of his situation - stumbling through the woods during a snowstorm, barging into someone’s business in the middle of the night to rave about disappearing castles - he had fashioned himself as some sort of madman!

As the man donned the dry shirt, Gaston turned around, and was pleased, but not at all surprised, to see that everyone was watching this exchange with intrigue. It made sense; there weren’t too many exciting things happening around the village. By morning, everyone would probably be gossiping about the unexpected visitor seeking shelter from the dreadful storm. Even Belle. Turning this notion over in his head, Gaston realized that he should attempt to appear as altruistic as possible. Maybe the demonstration of his impeccable character would be the thing to finally persuade Belle to visit his tavern, if only to compliment him on his magnificent show of kindness.

[abysscronica]

Yo~~ ngl, I didn’t even notice birdie’s possessive behavior until that ask pointed it out 😂. but now it makes me wonder, what do aokiji and kid think of this? Ik kid’s possessive af, but i feel like he’d find possessive behavior annoying. As for aokiji, i just realized you prob can’t answer due to Bonds spoilers lol.

But now i’m wondering: if birdie decided to go along with tsuru and her legion, do you think birdie would be less messed up?? I’m beyond curious on birdie and aokiji’s past, and think (in my head anyway) that he’s somehow the cause to her behavior, like not following orders and just being difficult. But anyways, looking forward to when you get to Bonds!! Also, if I may ask for a tiny hint, will we get to see any kizaru/birdie interactions thru flashbacks maybe?

Hey, thank you for the ask! Sorry it took a while for me to get to it.

Let's get to the Kid part right away: a possessive birdie turns him on. I'm with you that he normally would find possessiveness (directed to him) very annoying, and he wouldn't stand for it with the random women he was messing around before, buuut... because birdie is such a tsundere, and he loooves teasing her, he gets off by seeing her getting jealous, and it amuses him when she tries to get his attention back. Because she always tries to play it cool like she's not really smitten with him, Kid loves seeing her forced to show her feelings. I guess everything is different when it's someone you really care for. 🤷‍♀️

Now, Aokiji! There are some hints in Captive that may partially answer your doubts, so I can get into them without turning spoilerish.

More than annoying, he finds birdie's possessiveness toward him somewhat concerning. Aokiji knows she's not independent and idealizes him way too much. We subtly get this feeling in a few instances: he wants her to decide for herself what to do with the ancient books, he leaves her alone during the ball so she can handle the social situation on her own and, at the very end, he wants her to say that she will be fine without him (which she fails to). There are other examples in the flashbacks.

At the same time, he doesn't do enough to address this issue, and it's not clear why. Did Aokiji really want her by his side all the time? Was it convenient? Did he think about her like his daughter? Was he simply too lazy? Because of this, yes, he enabled birdie's toxic/asocial/headstrong traits through her teens, so they dragged into her twenties and she never really learned how to connect with others.

The thing is, like you pointed out, we do not get Aokiji's POV in Captive, so it's hard to make out what he thinks. It's clear he cares about her to some extent, but not much else. You'll get some clarification in Bonds, although you'll probably have to wait for the very end.

I'd love to write some birdie/Kizaru interaction! I'll see if I can sneak something in Bonds.

Lastly, what if birdie had accepted Tsuru's invitation to enter her squad? Her social skills and behavior would be more developed, but... she likely would be just as unhappy. Birdie doesn't do well with women (she doesn't do well with humans, actually, but there are better chances with men), so she would probably feel like an outsider all the time anyway.

What could've actually been a game changer was joining Smoker's G5. There's mutual respect between birdie and Smoker/Tashigi, she could truly connect with them in due time. Plus, G5 men are the rascals of the Marines: birdie could do great among them. Not only she would benefit from a greater degree of freedom (with Smoker's trust), but as she rises through the ranks, she would have to keep in line men that are just as difficult as her, so she'd learn first-hand how much of a pain in the ass she is/was. Furthermore, birdie and Tashigi could have become true friends.

Yes, this is one of the very few scenarios in which birdie really finds her place in the Marines. Had Aokiji won the duel and become the new Fleet Admiral, he probably would have sent birdie to Smoker.

[unknownjpegs]

medic'd

“You have got to start bein’ more fuckin’ careful or somethin’, Xavier.”

Benji’s voice is tight and tinged rough with concern; it’s not dipping into that scathing worry that sometimes blisters Xavier and makes his hackles pull up. Makes them both look away from each other, unable to meet eyes, teeth grinding together. Mutual dislike of the obvious fucking elephant in the room. That had pooled time between them once, a river of distance that’s sore to think about, to touch. But. Right now, he’s sort of subdued with it. Maybe it’s because Benji is the one taking care of him.

Xavier likes that.

He’s only been on the receiving end of these medic hands once. And he thinks about that time often, that stolen kiss, the taste of Benji on his tongue lingering for the entire fight after. He’d been dizzy from it, the blood loss but also that fucking kiss. When he thinks about all of this, he thinks he was doomed right from that one.

These hands, he’s got—they’re competent and quick and efficient. They’re sexy, is what they are, tinted a bit with his blood as Benji pulls gauze out his medics kit. Xavier’s leg is throbbing up something awful, and that’s probably from the bullet wound that’s punched right into his calf. Nothing fatal, apparently—or he figures Benji would be a lot angrier about the whole situation.

Not that he’d been pleased, necessarily, when Xavier had hobbled into the meeting place they’d arranged with a bleeding leg.

“Well, good thing I got a hot medic on call,” Xavier had said and not amused Benji even slightly with it.

Now, he’s laid out, braced on his elbows, watching Benji work on his calf. Which is…good. He’s focused, brows pinched, a little bit of sweat on his neck that he can’t stop staring at. Xavier guesses he looks a lot less appealing, heaving out breaths in between tiny grunts as the gauze gets tighter. No time to be self conscious about it, though.

“Can’t give you a pain pill. They track those somethin’ fierce.”

Xavier shudders at the mention of one, blinks his eyes up at the ceiling and wishes he could momentarily take that reaction back. Benji, blessedly, either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to. More elephants in the room they dance around. Xavier grits his teeth together and then lets himself smile. Thinks that if a fucked up leg can’t ruin this small moment in time for them, he won’t let anything else either.

“You liked doing that,” he says. Benji’s eyes roll up to the ceiling, like he might curse at him, snap something angry but holds it in. His hands are still red with Xavier’s blood. It’s thin and shiny across his fingers. “Oh, admit it.”

“Right, I’m a medic. I like medic’ing.”

“Nah, you liked taking care of me.”

He goes about cleaning up, starts to use a cloth to wipe Xavier off his fingertips and it makes him feel, well, sad. Wishes Benji could keep the little reminder with him, as morbid as it might be. He wishes he could follow the medic right out this room, right back to SAS base. He’d let himself get captured, tortured, whatever; just give him a chance to stick to Benji longer than a fucking half hour for once.

“Benji,” he says it, in that way he knows really gets his attention. But Benji is committed to putting away his medical supplies, spares him only a quick glance. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you taking care of me.”

There’s a moment when Benji’s hand twitches off the gauze wrap he’s trying to roll up.

“I swear you only get keyed up when you’ve got massive blood loss,” Benji replies, but his voice has lost it’s bite entirely. Holds a little rough note to it that has nothing to do with annoyance. Xavier clings to it immediately. He scoots back, lets himself lean on the wall to the building they’d made rendezvous. He feels a sweat breaking out over his skin, his leg throbbing and pulsing with heat.

“It’s just that—I wanted to tell you today, but my leg kind of got in the way of things.”

“Right it fuckin’ did, if you’d stop bein’ target practice for people.”

“Benji, I can’t stop thinking of you fucking me.”

That’s dropped into the room and Benji also drops the scissors he’d used to cut open Xavier’s pant leg. Xavier watches it clatter and skate away before one of those warm, capable, callused hands reaches for it again.

“Meant to say that in a more suave way, but my leg hurts.” Xavier laughs about it, tugging open his collar. “And I’m feeling very hot.”

“Aw, fuckin’ hell—you’re not creepin’ up a fuckin’ fever are you?” Benji, who needs to go, like needed to go probably five minutes ago, crouches and leans over Xavier. Flattens his hand over this forehead and Xavier’s eyes flutter close at the sensation. He could live in that; he wants to tell him, I could live in the moments where you touch me. Instead, his own hand hooks into Benji’s vest to keep him there.

“I wanna tell you how good I’d sound. Not to be egotistical. Just, I want you to think about it.” He can see Benji’s adams apple bob and it encourages him. “I want you to picture it as much as I’ve been picturing it. You’re going to think I’m so fucking vanilla for it, Benji, but—”

“You are warm, mate—”

“I think I’d want you fucking me missionary.”

Benji’s hand slips back, holds into Xavier’s hair briefly. Their eyes connect, his soft brown on Xavier’s dark green.

“Xavier.”

“Right, you’d say it a little like that. And I’d say Benji, in that way you. I can tell you like when I say it—like that. And, you’d get my legs up over your shoulders. Because, I know you like them.” Which, actually, he’s hedging a guess here, running off his own fantasy more like. Because, in his head, Benji does like them. In his head, right as they’re about to, Benji is saying it. Saying, I love your legs.

Xavier pulls in a big huff of air, lets it slow and shaky.

“God, I fucking want you—”

It’s either to shut him up, or because he feels the same, but Benji kisses him. It’s hard, in that way they kiss. Xavier’s hand grips with force, pulls him in as he leans forward (feels the twinge in his side he’s been hiding) and he makes a sound, It’s a throaty, desperate, painful whine. Benji doesn’t relent, grips his face with the same hands that had just been pink with his blood. They kiss hungry, full of tongue. Teeth knocking together, breath mixing when lips part just to kiss again. Xavier’s heart is speeding up, leg twitching in pain.

The kiss is broken, messy with a string of their spit, Xavier’s hand tied up into Benji’s curls.

“I want you to kiss me, just like, when—”

His comm crackles alive, Lark’s voice spitting and electronic. Xavier’s eyes shut, head thrashing back against the wall behind him in frustration—surprised to find Benji’s hand there, half catching it. Like he’d anticipated such a gesture. Makes Xavier smile, but it drops when Benji turns to continue gathering his things up. His medics hands are shaking.

“Alive,” Xavier says into his comm, but his chest is still aching. He’s thankful for the way he’s sitting, so Benji can’t see more of the blood.

—

Lark finds him in the room because of the tacky red trail. Is unsurprised at Xavier’s immediate boyish, wide grin.

“Found Corporal Wolffe!” He’s calling out to the others, a floor below before he stomps his way to the man slumped up against the wall. He looks pale—which, he always does. Just now, he looks really pale. Makes his freckles very apparent, and the dark smudges under his eyes brutal. “You absolute fuck,” is what Lark starts with before falling to one knee to look at the bandage on his leg. For a moment he only looks at it, the dot of red seeping through.

“Which way did he go?” He mumbles.

“East,” Xavier breathes out.

“Sergeant,” Lark speaks to his comm. “Baby says combatants are moving West. Unit of two.”

“Rog.”

“Dog.” It’s both an insult and an exclamation of annoyance as Lark takes Xavier’s face in his hand to examine him. “Jesus, you’re real fucking hot. All this from your leg?”

“Well.” Xavier unzips his jacket with a fumbling hand. When he does, he peels away the layer—and truly peels. Blood has stuck the two bits of clothes together. Lark’s vision goes momentarily white, fuzzy all around the edges before his hand is trembling and gasping Xavier’s chin with force.

“Weren’t you just with a fucking medic?” because Lark knows damn well what Xavier is doing here.

“Can’t let him use all his supplies on me. Bastard Lieutenant will notice. Has his favorite soldiers.” Lark can detect the drip of venom in Xavier’s voice and decides to ignore it; none of this is any of his business and he wishes it could stay that way. But it’s Baby. His fucking Corporal, and he can’t step away.

Xavier’s too gone to notice the foot steps, but Lark does. He jerks himself immediately to Xavier’s leg, a fist snatching hold of some of the gauze and poises his head up. He hears a groan pull from Xavier, a bead of sweat rolling down Lark’s cheek.

Sergeant Styles steps through the door. She’s a bullet of a woman; short, severe and thick with strength. Her eyes wander across the room and then take in Xavier. For one very human moment, concern flashes in those pale amber eyes and then it’s smoothed out into a neutral look.

“You dyin’, Corporal?” She asks, stepping further inside the stuffy little room.

“Never,” Xavier replies, his smile big and easy, if not twitching in pain. He holds his jacket open a little wider. Styles tuts, like an annoyed aunt.

“I got his leg, but, the side looks bad.”

“Good work with that,” Styles indicates the gauze that Lark is making pretend with. Hopes she doesn’t look any closer, because he’s never, in his life, been good at medical shit. “Got poked, did you, Baby?”

“Little bit.”

The Sergeant turns to speak into her own comms, barking out orders for more medical. She’s not facing them, so Lark takes his time in shooting Xavier a scathing look. Unashamed, he lifts a thumbs up.

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Mutual Desire - Chapter 64

*Warning - Adult Content*

Damien Clarke had to stop feeling sorry for himself and act by giving a call to Nick first. 

Nichola D'Alonzo took Damien's call after a single ring.

"Damien is that you? You're alive." Nick rushed to say, breathless.

"Why wouldn't I be alive?" Damien snapped. "And what is wrong with you? Why did you send me a bunch of texts and called me nonstop?" Damien said, bombarding his best friend with questions, as Nick has done with his calls.

Nick better had a good reason for his unusual harassment, as Damien was slightly pissed by his best friend's behavior. 

He had things to sort out and he didn't have time for Nick’s immature little games.

"Well, sorry for being a good friend and worry about you," Nick retorted sarcastically but with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Damien rolled his eyes. Nick was fucking with him exactly as he had anticipated.

"Why are you worry about me?" Damien asked disinterestedly.

"When I woke up this morning and didn't see you, I thought you went home. But then I saw your car in the parking lot. Since you weren't at my place and your car was, I naturally thought something had happened to you. I thought you had been kidnapped in the parking lot on your way to your car or something."

Nick was closer to the truth than he probably thought he was. 

Well, Damien hadn't been kidnapped in the true sense of the word but knowing that he hadn't had total control of himself being drunk, thus making the decision to get into Nabokov's car not being quite consenting. 

So, in a way, Damien believed he had been kidnapped. 

Sort of. And he had completely forgotten that his car had stayed in Nick's parking lot. 

If it weren't for Nick, Damien would probably have realized it while driving home and not seeing his car. 

Damien now planned to phone Nabokov's driver right after he was done with Nick's call so he could drive him to his car. 

From there, he would go home and reflect for a long time on the next step in his relationship with Craig and Nabokov.

"You're over-dramatizing things Nick. I'm alive and well," Damien said, aware of being half responsible for this misunderstanding.

Nick's concerns had been legitimate, as Damien should have left him a message to inform him that he was coming home. 

In the state of mind Damien was in then, that idea hadn't even crossed his mind.

"You know me, I only see the worst in everything. Anyway, where were you? Did you stay the night?"

‘Shit, shit.’

Nick had taken Damien by surprise. 

Not only had Nick had had excellent reasons to be concerned but he had also asked relevant questions that any logical person would ask in such circumstance. 

Damien thanked the heavens that he was on the phone and not face to face, because he doesn't believe he could've concealed his distress in trying to find a concrete excuse.

"Uh no. I took an Uber," Damien said, stammering. "I was a little drunk, so I took an Uber."

Damien mentally sighed. It wasn't so much a lie, since it was exactly what he had planned to do before Nabokov arrived. 

Well, he had planned to take his car and not an Uber but this was only a minor detail that didn't need to be revealed.

"Ah. I thought about that too but seeing that you weren't answering my calls and that you weren't home when I passed by earlier, I really believed that something serious had happened to you bro."

Damien was amazed to learn that Nick had been to his place but since he looked genuinely worried, it shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. 

Damien now had to explain why he wasn't home when he didn't have his car.

"Dimitri came to get me for something to eat," Damien dishonestly gushed without thinking.

Damien didn't have to worry about that lie because Nick was unlikely to find out about it, he and Dimitri being more acquaintances than friends. 

Besides, it was a completely harmless lie.

"Next time, don't scare me like that. Send me at least a text. Don't forget that I was totally blacked out yesterday and could barely remember a thing, so I'm imagining a lot of weird stuff."

Damien sighed and closed his eyes, exasperated with him. 

All this had all been his fault and it was clearly not his proudest moment.

"Yeah, I know and I'm sorry. You're right, I should've texted you. I owe you a drink, Nick."

"No, you owe me ten and I ain't going down."

"You got it," Damien agreed, chuckling softly.

Damien Clark chatted with Nicolas D’Alonzo for a while. 

After the end of his conversation, Damien telephoned Richard, Alexander Nabokov's driver, using the phone number the Russian man had left at the bottom of the note. 

Damien felt bad for disturbing him but he was also embarrassed to do so. 

He didn't know the man but he had no idea where he was. 

While dialing Richard's number, Damien thought about stopping midway and taking an Uber instead. 

One thing was holding him back from doing so, he was afraid that Nabokov would take it personal and be upset. 

Resigning himself, Damien dialed the number and Richard didn't give Damien time to change his mind and hang up because he answered after a ring.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Clarke."

For some reason, Damien felt that this phone conversation was going to be extremely embarrassing. 

If he wanted to get home as quickly as possible, he had to go through with this phone conversation.

"Uh, yeah, hi."

"How can I help you, Mr. Clarke?"

By causing your boss to disappear. 

This is how you can help me, Damien really wanted to answer but abstained.

"Uh yes, Can you drop me off at the same place as yesterday?"

Though he hadn't given much details and the wording of his request was poor, Damien knew that Richard understood what he meant.

"Certainly Mr. Clarke. I can be there in ten minutes. Is that okay for you?"

Damien suppressed a sigh of relief. 

He wasn't going to be waiting for long and he would be heading home soon.

"Umm, yes thank you."

"Perfect. I"ll call you when I've arrived. See you in a few."

The call hadn't been as uncomfortable as Damien had thought it would be. 

The fact that it had lasted barely twenty seconds had obviously helped. 

Damien now had ten minutes to waste before Richard arrived. 

He thought of distracting himself by going through Nabokov's Penthouse but quickly changed his mind. 

Apart from being impressed and amazed, visiting Nabokov's residence wasn't going to contribute to anything. 

The Russian's room had already a very impersonal touch to it, having no family photos in sight. 

As he explored the area, Damien wouldn't be learning anything he didn't already know about Nabokov. 

So, Damien remained seated on the edge of the bed while he contemplated with great contentment and appeasement the grandiose view in front of him. 

It was the ringing of his phone that abruptly took him out of this moment of tranquility he was enjoying. 

It was Richard on the phone informing him that he had arrived. 

Damien took one last glance at the mesmerizing sight before exiting the bedroom and the Penthouse by taking the elevator. 

Richard was waiting for him in front of a different limousine than the one from yesterday, the back door already wide open. 

Richard greeted Damien with a professional smile and Damien returned him a shy smile. 

The atmosphere was interesting to say the least and Damien avoided Richard's gaze. 

Richard must obviously be aware that Damien had spent the night at Nabokov's and probably believed that the two men had slept together. 

Damien was curious to know how the Russian would react and feel knowing his driver had knowledge of their relationship. 

Damien walked past Richard and got into the limo as fast as he could. 

Richard closed the door and a few seconds later the limo started to move. Damien took his phone out and returned Dimitri's call. 

Dimitri didn't answer, so Damien texted him to call when he was free to do so. 

Damien knew he would need Dimitri's advice to help him make clear decisions regarding his relationship with Craig. 

During the ride, he had only thought of that and it was only when Richard came to open the door for him after arriving at his destination that Damien was temporarily free from his thoughts which had kept him rather busy. 

Damien thanked Richard and gave him a sincere smile. 

The atmosphere was much less uncomfortable this time around. 

The two men said their goodbyes and a few seconds later, Damien watched the limo leave the parking lot. 

Richard had dropped him off in front of his car and Damien only took a few steps before getting into his car. 

He'd thought of calling Nick to find out if he was home since he was in the underground parking lot of his building but Damien needed to be alone with his thoughts before going to see Craig. 

Damien intended to go see his boyfriend without wasting a moment. 

It was the right thing to do since he wanted to make Craig his top priority. 

Though he didn't want to make all these secrets last, Damien didn't know what the right action was to take. 

He knew that if he was to confess his last night mistakes to Craig that Craig would leave him without even having to think twice, barring a miracle. 

This fact was enough for the decision to be made to be quite obvious but the idea of keeping it a secret didn't seat well with Damien at all because a small voice inside him was warning him that he would end up bitterly regret it and that nothing could be kept a secret forever. 

Damien really needed Dimitri's advice, because he was in a total impasse. 

Arriving home, Damien parked his car in front of his apartment building. 

When he opened the front door, he heard noise coming from the television in the living room. 

Damien stopped on a dime and completely froze, his heart pounding. 

He immediately thought of a burglar who had left his television on after his committed mischief. 

Then he thought of Nick who had told him that he had stopped by his place. 

Nick might have turned on the TV for some weird reason. 

It was a possibility but Damien wasn't sure and continuing his way into the apartment knowing there might be a thief clearly didn't seem like the idea of the century. 

He could already see tomorrow's headline in the newspaper. 

Dumb citizen dies, he entered home knowing full well there was a burglar. 

When Damien decided that putting his life at risk for a simple riddle wasn't worth it and that he was in the midst of turning back on his tracks, his phone then took that moment to make a ringtone sound because of course it fucking would. 

Damien was startled and he barely suppressed a curse. 

Instead of running away as fast as he could, Damien just stood there with his head bowed, his hand rummaging in Nabokov's jogging pant pocket in search of his noisy phone. 

With impressive speed, he managed to extract his phone from the pocket. 

Damien quickly declined Dimitri's call to silence his phone. 

He put his cell back to where it was an sighed.

[jaybarou]

TMA Entitties & Kinks!!!

Do not archive

Don’t click unless you are over 18

Even if you are ever 18 some of these may be squicky for you, you chose to read, don’t @ me

The Desolation: Wax play, temperature play, fire play

The Eye: Voyeurism, praise kink, humilliation kink, exhibitionism, mirror sex (katoptronphilia), oculophilia (duh)

The Hunt: chase kink (sometimes called phygephilia with some debate), bestiality, impact play, hair pulling, furry

The Dark: somnophilia, nyctophilia (duh), sensory deprivation, blindfolds

The Slaughter: angry sex, blood play, impact play, s/m, biting, knife play

The Flesh: Dehumanization, breeding, lactation, mpreg, body modification (duh), vore,  bodily fluids

The Corruption: formicophilia, Emetophilia, urophilia,

The Web: shibari, restraints, domination, begging, bondage, orgasm delay/denial, forced orgasm

The Spiral: sex while high, tentacle sex, dream sex, hypnotism, electrostimulation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, teasing, edging, scratching blood play, knife play

The Stranger: glory holes, orgies, sex with strangers (duh), sensation play, cheating, cuckold, incest, petplay, furry (any disguise as long as you don’t know who is under the disguise)

The End: Tentacles, (dare I list it?) necrophilia, ice play, choking,

The Buried: Claustrophilia, restraints, bondage, choking (duh),

The Vast: Macro/microphilia, zero gravity sex, public sex, size kink

The Lonely: onanism, sex with strangers, orgasm denial, degradation

And if you send a good suggestion to my ask, I will add it

[kaepop-trash]

Chance Encounter

Cover: @hyeinfection

Rated: Smut, Office au, CEO au

Pairing: JohnnyxReader

Summary: Yuta invited you for a Friday night out and the only real reason you accepted was because you didn't want to eat at home. His overzealous insistence should have been the first evidence but it was hardly everyday that he drags you to an adult club where seemingly anything goes. Still, you were nothing if not adventurous at heart and that alone made you strive through. Till that is, you met the most unlikely person behind those debaucherous doors.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, drugs, sex; public sex, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mutual masturbation; long self-indulgent tangents on wine; the second-hand embarrassment of it all.

Word Count: 18.9k

(A/N): This was a 'hear me out' from a friend that got out of hand and I apologise for nothing. Except maybe how it ends.

Mini Masterlist

"So you're still not going to tell me where we're going?" She asked Yuta for the fifth time that evening. The Uber driver's map was driving them to the posher side of town but that was the only hint she had.

"Don't you trust me, (Y/N)?" Yuta turned away from the window to grin at her.

“With my life? Probably. But when it comes to doing things on a whim? You’re a menace.” She groaned.

“You trust that I know you?” He rephrased, earning a skeptical nod from her. “Good. Just know you’ll have fun.” He squealed with a sense of brimming excitement that seemed suspicious on the otherwise perpetually bored Yuta Nakamoto.

Still she sighed, giving him a reluctant nod. Her eyes scanned his outfit over again. While the effort Yuta put into looking presentable for any occasion depended solely on his mood when picking clothes— a trait they proudly shared— she could tell that he put effort into his outfit. His dress shirt was a deep purple and he even put one some eyeliner. She looked down at her own clothes with a sigh of defeat. While the red blouse she was in was one of her timeless favourites, it was justifiably slightly disheveled from the day's wear.

"You could have at least let me change out of the clothes I went to work in. Or warned me how to dress for that matter." She huffed in protest.

Yuta looked her over, "We can’t be late otherwise people get engaged before you get there.” He said it was an universally acknowledged fact.

“Late for what?” She tried again.

“You look fine!” He changed the topic, voice high-pitched and meant to give her a false sense of security. “It's very 'independent woman-chic'." He commented as he wondered something, reaching out to tug the knot that held the collar around the base of her neck off. When he reached out to take a button off she swatted at his hand, making him look up to glare. "And now you look hot. Just put on some lipstick and open your hair and you'll have more fun than I will tonight." Yuta immediately looked away when he said that, knowing he said too much.

"Yuta." She snapped, "Where exactly are we going?" She demanded this time.

"Almost there." He chimed with a wide grin. "Let's get off and I'll tell you, I promise." He tugged his coat closer to his chest.

She laughed in Yuta's face once her feet hit the pavement, leaving him visibly confused. He huddled his jacket closer as the cold autumn air bit into his exposed neck as he slipped out the cab. His amused look turned to concern when she laughed a second time. While he considered a few of her reactions, that wasn't one of them. He closed the cab door and turned to her with restrained skepticism.

"Are you crazy?" She chided incredulously, hugging her coat closer to her. "A sex club?" She laughed again. "You got me to a sex club and kept it a secret?" She lifted her heeled foot to kick him, making Yuta take rushed steps back.

"Only because I knew you'd say no if I asked. You’re always reluctant to try new things yet you somehow end up being the person who has the most fun." He failed at dodging her shoe completely, the metal tip of her shoe hitting his ankle and making him wince, "Ow! That hurts!" He swatted back at her.

"Did you think that thrusting me into this situation was any better?" She groaned. "I am not going to do this!" Her face burned.

"If I'm being totally honest, I wasn't really thinking about it all that much. You've been strung particularly tight lately and I thought to myself, 'You know what (Y/N) could use? Some good dick.' Which is why I told Ten that I'd bring you along." He raised his arms up in a sign of surrender and she stopped kicking him.

"Your ex, Ten?" She mumbled.

Yuta nodded, "How many people named after numbers will you find in town?" He snorted at his own joke. "It's his club, so you have nothing to worry about. His new rich husband invested in it."

"Do you make it a habit to be friends with people you've slept with?" She raised a brow.

Yuta grinned at that, "You and I slept together once and as nice as it was, we bonded more over my Goyard luggage bag and shitty men. Ten and I were never serious, don't give me that look this isn't about me." He warned her, "Just come inside and have a look around. No one will force you to do anything and you could use the change of pace. You might even like it." He gave her a wink.

"And if I don't?" Her voice was skeptical.

"Then drink the booze and go back to your apartment to spend the weekend going down a new Youtube rabbit hole you’ll try to get me on." He groaned, "It's not like anyone can ever make you do something you don't want to do." He came closer and tugged her arm, "Can we please go inside though! I'm freezing." He whined.

“That’s what you get for wearing a coat with literal holes in them.” She rolled her eyes, looking down at the sad excuse of outwear he was in, “Are those shower curtain rings?” She huffed.

“It’s fashion.” Yuta defended, a shiver making his teeth chatter.

“It’s November!”

Yuta sighed, “Let’s go inside.” He put his arm through hers, tugging her towards the inconspicuous looking building.

“This doesn’t look like a sex club.” She commented, looking at the rather oversized wrought iron gate.

“That’s the point.” Yuta said it like he was disappointed in her ignorance. “It’s meant to be low-profile and very very exclusive.” He shook his head.

“Wow.” She droned with heavy sarcasm, “I’ve never been a part of something exclusive before. Will there be team t-shirts? Is there a secret knock?” She scoffed.

“No.” Yuta grinned, “Just this.” He produced an inconspicuous looking orange envelope from his coat.

“Is that a tax audit?” She raised a brow.

“No." He scoffed, shaking his head. "It’s the invite. I have an accountant for audits.” He knocked on the door.

The metal door screeched open to reveal a man who looked like an average night club bouncer. “Mr. Nakamoto.” He gave Yuta a short bow of his head.

“How’s your son, Phil? Did he make it to the soccer team?” Yuta gave the man a friendly pat on the back. “This is my plus one for the night, it should be on the list.”

The bouncer smiled, “Yes, he did get in.” He turned to look at a clipboard in his hand, what she could only assume was the guest list. He gave a nod and then extended his arm towards a booth, “Welcome to Orange. Please put your cell phone and any other recording devices in the lockers provided, an attendant inside will check your person for drugs and any other materials that are forbidden inside the premises. You can pick up your things on your way out.” The bouncer spoke like he had the lines memorised.

When Yuta turned to look at (Y/N), the look on her face made him burst out laughing.

“I have to give my phone?” She asked him, eyes wide with shock.

“It’s for everybody’s safety and comfort. Let’s go.” He pointed in the general direction.

They walked out of the locker room into a corridor with a table in the middle of it. Upon walking closer, she could see three trays lined side by side with thin chains inside them. She looked up to give Yuta a look laced with suspicion, instead he was already giving her one of defeat. She looked back at the table, noting the difference in the three types.

“Don’t ask.” He shook his hand, groaning. “Ten went to some club in Prague that gave people preference bands, you know the kind that glow in the dark?” She nodded, “He found them so ugly that he has his own thing now.” Yuta pointed at the table.

“What is their purpose?” She questioned, running her hands against the delicate silver chains in the box on the right.

“Dom is silver, sub gold and switch copper. Kind of gives you an idea of Ten’s personal inclinations.” Yuta scoffed to himself at the observation.

“Lots of pressure.” She tried to ward the unease of indecision away as she stared at the three separate options. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to explicitly state that to anyone.” She knocked her knuckles against the table. When Yuta picked up a silver chain, she gave him a dubious look that made him square up in defense.

“What?” He questioned, “I’ve been changing things up lately. Plus, silver suits my outfit better.” He winked. She scoffed at the dismissal but it gave her the final push to finally pick the chain she was toying with the idea of.

“What do I do with it now?” She questioned Yuta, holding up the chain to him.

He shrugged, “Anything. As long as people can see it.” He wrapped the chain around his wrist, “I’m going to wear it like those bracelets and see if Ten notices.” Yuta sniggered, drawing the end of the chain into a clasp attached to the end and using it to tighten the object. Once done, he looked up at her lost face and sighed, reaching out to take the thing out of her fingers. He looked her over once before wrapping the chain around her neck. He looped it till the chain remained secure around her neck like a choker, clasping it down to the side.

She turned to the frosted glass that separated the corridor from the locker room, trying to catch a reflection of the chain. Once she took a few steps, the copper chain came into view and she wasn’t displeased by the detailed knot Yuta tied it in. Her fingers ran over the dainty chain, cool against her skin, as she tried not to think about the loaded implication the fragile jewellery would dictate once inside. She had to admit at the very least that everything so far had been a learning experience for her.

Once they actually made their way inside the club, the general ambience left her less nervous than she felt before. It was a large area and a number of people sat around making conversation.

“This isn’t what I imagined.” She mumbled the confession making Yuta laugh.

“The night’s still young! And this is the outer lounge area. The naked people are at the back usually, the more frisky ones upstairs.” He scoffed. "The real kinky ones end up in the basement." He pointed at the floor with a scandalous whistle.

(Y/N) blushed, “Oh.” She didn’t say anything else.

Yuta sighed, “Let’s get you a drink or something. At least try to have some fun. I’ll introduce you to Ten, you’ll like him.” He tried to raise his voice to get her excited but she was too busy nursing an increasingly dry throat. “Look, I promise you there’s nothing to worry about. It’s like meeting someone at a bar, except here you’ll both know what you’re here for and the excessive security ensures nothing bad will happen.” He turned to grab her shoulders, squeezing it to give her some reassurance. “And like I said, you don’t even have to have sex if you don’t want to. This is just about you needing to try new things. Worse comes to worst,” He gave her a sly grin. “Just come watch me do it. I’m into that and you might learn a thing or two. It’s a win-win.” He giggled when she poked his rib, squirming away from her finger.

“Seeing your skinny ass naked once was good enough for me, Nakamoto. Keep your sex life out of our friendship.” She scoffed.

They were sitting by the bar as Yuta reiterated some general rules of the place that became a conversation too long because he had an anecdote for every other word he spoke. She just hummed along, enjoying the slow music and good drink. Her eyes scanned the room as she listened to the stories, taking the place in.

“There was the time when the club had a renaissance theme night and the outfits just turned out to be a disaster. Still fun though, I learned that night that nobody wore underwear in the medieval times.” Yuta hummed thoughtfully.

That made her turn back to him, a short laugh emitting from her lips. “Are you serious?” Yuta nodded and she laughed some more. “You’re so lucky you’re a good drummer, Yuta. Because you’re very ignorant about most other things.” She joked.

Yuta huffed, “You’re just jealous because I’m pretty and I don’t have to work in an office like you.” He placed his empty glass on the table.

“You’re also richer than me.” She added. “Being a rockstar must be nice.” She sighed playfully.

“This isn’t fun if you admit defeat.” Yuta smiled, “Come on, I spot Ten.” He got up quickly. Turning towards the centre of the room.

“If it isn’t my favourite ex.” Ten grinned the moment he spotted Yuta, “And you got what you promised.” He turned to look at her, “A fresh face.” He eyed her up and down like he was assessing a product in a display window, a pleasant but debaucherous smile on his lips. Ten sat at the bar in a silk robe that was open, leaving his chest bare. She looked at the intricate floral patterns on the material with silent appreciation. She looked towards his legs, wondering if the pattern on his pants was something she recognised from Yuta’s luxurious wardrobe but she couldn’t seem to recall while being scrutinised the way she was— by the very man whose clothes she was currently eyeing.

She looked up at his face, noting the gold chain in his hair. “Hello.” She thought she sounded friendly.

“I like this corporate flair you have going on. I’m going to remember that for the next theme night.” Ten pointed at her skirt. “Want a drink?” He turned back to her eyes. She lifted her glass at him making ten scoff. “No, a real drink. Not freshman cocktails. First time right?” She gave him a nod, refraining from mentioning that it would probably be her last as well. Ten gave her a smile, “I’ll give you the good stuff.” He winked, turning to the bartender who nodded in response.

Ten and Yuta spoke about a patron they were both familiar with when the bartender came back with a small glass full of light gold liquid. She gave the bartender a defeated look, sitting down on a high chair before tipping her head and slipping the drink down quickly.

“Good girl.” Ten laughed.

“It’s too soon for you to say that with such conviction.” She groaned at the sting of the liquid down her throat.

Ten grinned, “You were right,” He turned to Yuta, “We might get along.” Yuta just shrugged, mumbling about being right.

“So,” Ten continued, turning his attention back to her. “What brings you to my den of debauchery?” Ten grinned, seemingly proud of that term.

She pointed at Yuta, “He did. Without telling me.” Her expression was as bemused as she felt.

“I am doing you a favour.” Yuta protested, “That boss of hers has her all on edge and cranky. It’s starting to annoy me.” Yuta frowned at her, “If I wanted to hear the struggles of corporate life, I’d have finished university." He pointed an accusatory finger at her. When she raised a brow he sighed, "Do you know what you need to do?" He questioned her seriously, "You need to find someone attractive here and let them bang your brains out. Do it for me, (Y/N). Do it for me.” He put his hand on his chest and feigned pain. She kicked his thigh and Yuta winced, “See what I mean? You need to find someone who will teach you some manners.” He earned another kick.

“Speaking of.” Ten sat up, looking around and suddenly getting out of his seat. “You need to meet my best friend. He’s here tonight.” He turned to look at her, eyes turning to her neck. "Nice idea with the necklace." He pointed at it like he was making a mental note.

"Thanks, it was Yuta's." She said like he really cared at all.

He gave her a nod and a quick hum, getting out of his chair and lifting his eyes to scan around the room some more, “Ah!” He clapped his hand, walking off into the room. He stopped walking once, turning back to imply that he be followed, before turning back and making his way around the bar.

She leaned towards Yuta as they followed Ten, “This is more–” She paused to search for the right words. “Casual than I expected.” She finished.

Yuta gave her an incredulous look, “Were you expecting people to walk in and start penetrating each other?”

“Don’t use the word penetrate. Not even ironically.” She shoved him. Yuta laughed, shaking his head and giving her a reluctant agreement.

Ten waved them over towards a cluster of sofas arranged in a square, tapping on the shoulders of a man when they approached. When the man turned around and gave Ten a smile, (Y/N)’s throat went dry.

“This is John, we shared a room in university and have been friends since.” He turned to face them, “Johnny, this is my friend Yuta and his best friend. She’s new.” He turned back to give John a meaningful smile but he was staring at (Y/N), squinting at first but then his brows raised slightly. She blinked, frozen in place. “Her boss is making her life very difficult.” Ten clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. Ten sat down beside him, gesturing at the empty seat. Yuta sat down, she kept staring at John.

Her boss John Suh.

"Is he?" He questioned her directly, the unfettered eye contact making her resist the urge to squirm.

“Yeah, I feel like by now I’m fluent in how much of an asshole he is.” Yuta scoffed, “Right, (Y/N)?” He turned to her, reaching out and tugging at her hand and effectively making her sit down and sealing her fate.

“I–” She swallowed, her heart beating so fast she felt she would faint. “He’s just very particular.” Her voice was a soft squeak.

“How cute, she’s defending him.” Ten laughed.

“Just last week you called him a 7 foot pole of horseshit. Why are you suddenly being so accommodating?” Yuta turned to her and snorted. She glared at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Anything that would make him shut up.

Ten laughed loudly, “Oh that’s brilliant. A seven foot pole–” His voice trailed off in laughter.

“Of Horseshit.” Her boss finished the sentence, an unreadable expression on his face. “He sounds horrible.” He shook his head, eyes suddenly gleaming.

“You should tell them about the time he didn’t sign an artist you worked for a year to recruit.” Yuta poked, far too excited about this.

She took the chance to look away from Mr. Suh first, frowning at Yuta “I thought you didn’t want to talk about the struggles of corporate life?” She snapped.

Yuta brushed off her irritation like he always did, this time at a cost he wasn't aware of. “What’s the point of listening to you complain for hours if I can’t tell people how miserable you are. I want Ten to feel so bad for you that he finds you the best fuck in the room.” Yuta laughed, “I need to be assured you’ll have something to occupy you before I’m off looking for sin.”

She gave him her best panicked look, and then a glare. But Yuta picked up none of it, turning back to Ten.

And to her boss.

Her boss who's eyes were still on her, “Your boss sounds horrible.” He hummed, lifting his glass to take a sip of his amber liquor.

“He’s the worst!" Yuta groaned. She didn't understand where his sudden vocal distaste for her employer was coming from. "I have no frame of reference because I’ve never had a real job. But he really is.”

“He isn’t that bad.” She didn’t know why she was still trying, knowing well that he was writing her letter of termination in his head. He was probably looking at her to memorise her face enough to tell her immediate supervisor first thing on Monday. “I just can’t control my tongue when I’m pissed.” She added self-criticism as a last ditch effort, thinking about her student debt.

To her sheer horror, the words made him smile. The expression somehow more jarring than his look of apathy.

“Yeah.” Yuta laughed, “Like when you said you would pull his spinal cord out and use it to hang him.” He laughed harder.

When her boss laughed with Yuta, she sunk further into her seat.

She was so fired.

"I need a drink." She sighed to herself, getting out of the seat.

"I'll join you." Her boss stood up with her. Ten slapped his leg with a grin. She stared at Ten with her mouth agape for a moment. Reluctantly, she closed her jaw, licking her lips and giving Mr. Suh a single nod.

The walk back to the bar was longer than when she walked away from it. She alternated between looking at the floor and looking straight ahead, vehemently avoiding looking at the man who walked beside her. Everything about this night had been a bad idea from the start and she made a mental note to move into Yuta's home once she was unceremoniously kicked out of her job come Monday.

She remembered the one time her entire floor was on edge because one of the label's publicists had made a comment on an artist's personal life. While his firing was absolutely justified, she remembered clearly how the man left John Suh's office with tears of rage in his eyes. She was also aware that the man never got another job in the industry.

When they reached the bar she was deep in thought, trying to sort out her finances in her head when she noticed her boss looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry did you say something?" She questioned.

One corner of his mouth lifted, "What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Anything." She answered too quickly, "Whatever you like." She added in another sorry attempt to avoid the inevitable. For all she knew, he was preparing to fire her right now.

"Wrong thing to say." Even though the words were clearly lighthearted, it made her stomach clench with anxiety. "Now I'll have to get something that will be reflective of my tastes." He hummed thoughtfully.

She took a deep breath, finding the conversation too excruciating to keep up any longer. "I'll hand in my resignation first thing Monday. Please don't fire me." The words poured out in her state of panic. "I'll use my notice period to look for a different job and I'll be gone please just don't fire me."

She never really did well with tension.

His forehead creased at her words, "I'm not going to fire you." He seemed genuinely confused by the notion.

"You're not?" She blurted out, caught off-guard.

This time he smiled, eyes glinting. "What you say about me in your own time is your business, (Y/N). As long as you do your work and keep my company out of any legal issues, I have no reason to fire you." He shrugged.

There were a lot of things to unpack in his sentence but she chose the dumbest one. "You know my name?" She blinked.

His smile only grew wider, "Of course. You're the one who handled the IPs during the acquisition. Kun says you're one of the best on his team." He recalled, "You're also the only person who drinks the shitty breakroom coffee." He grinned.

"It's your coffee." She defended, clearly she had managed to put her foot in her mouth. "Sir." She added unhelpfully as an afterthought.

John Suh dragged his teeth over his lower lip. "You are very correct. I should be flattered that you like it enough to drink it." Amusement lit up his features, dissipating some of the tension. “Sit.” He pointed to a chair.

"I drink too much coffee to drag myself to the nearest coffee shop every few hours. And I'm closer to being someone on a coffee run than having someone get me one. So the break room coffee is fine." She explained, following his gesture and taking a seat.

"You're very defensive." He stated it like it was an observation, sitting down on the chair beside hers.

"I'm a lawyer."

To that he smiled again, “Red or white?” He questioned, the abrupt change in topic catching her off-guard. “Wine.” He clarified.

“Red.” She shifted in her seat.

He gave her a nod, turning when the bartender finally came up to him. "You have Saint-Préfert don't you?"

The bartender nodded, “Which would you like, sir?”

“The 2017 Charles Giraud.”

“We have it, sir. Fortunately” He replied.

Johnny nodded, “Ten always did have good taste.” The bartender smiled in agreement and walked away. He turned back to her, "He'll have to get it from the cellar." He explained. "What brings you to a place like this?" He asked so casually that for a second she was confused.

In the panic Yuta's loud mouth caused and the preoccupation she had with preparing for unemployment, what slipped (Y/N)'s mind was the fact that she was currently in a place where people came to indulge in sexual activities. With a harsh tug, her mind was pulled back to the realisation that she had just encountered her boss at an adult club. She found herself searching for his chain, promptly stopping her curiousity short before she got out of hand.

Hiding the heat that crept up her cheeks was futile, "Yuta tagged me along right after work." The words made him look down, as if only just noticing the office attire. "It was supposed to be a surprise." That made him look up at her, rather shocked.

"He didn't tell you he was bringing you here?" He sounded surprised. When she shook her head he laughed, "Wow. You're not prepared for this at all, are you?" He threw his head back, laughing a little more at her expense. "Am I really that bad a boss that he thought this–" He pointed at the room around him. "Was the only thing that would help?"

"No." She interjected, "Like I said, I just say a lot when I'm angry. It's been a problem all my life. Yuta just likes to add a little flair when he speaks. I think you're a great boss."

"You just want to hang me with my own spinal cord?" He grinned.

She groaned, "I'm sorry, Mr. Suh."

"Don't be. I can appreciate a creative threat like that." He chuckled, "And I'm sure I did something to deserve it. I'm aware that I'm notoriously difficult to work for at times."

"Most of the time, I'm talking about my immediate boss anyway. Not you." She clarified.

"Kun?" He looked a little caught off-guard.

She nodded, a groan leaving her lips naturally. "Great guy, so good at his work. But he will politely make you do so much."

The bartender came back, a bottle in his hand. He cradled it like it was something precious, displaying the label to her boss. When he gave a small nod, the bottle was uncorked. The bartender poured the smallest amount into a glass, handing it to him.

She watched her boss bring the glass up to his nose, brows furrowed in thought. He then took a small slurp, closing his eyes and humming to himself. When he opened his eyes, he gave the bartender a nod and he proceeded to pour more wine into his glass and then one for her.

The entire time, she resisted the urge to scoff.

“Lot of theatrics for a glass of wine.” She couldn’t resist the urge to comment.

The look he gave her was doused with humour, “It’s from a good terroir, French and full-bodied. Deserving of a little theatrics.” He chuckled.

She hummed, nodding like she knew what that meant. “I once got myself a Yellow Tail. It was the peak of my dalliance with wine.” She chuckled at her own attempt to add to the conversation.

“Australian wine is good.” He humoured her.

She nodded like she knew what he meant, looking towards the glass that sat on the counter. “This must be a very good wine.” She humoured him back.

“It is.” He nodded.

“Expensive.” She said the dreaded words.

“Drink.” It was an order.

She obeyed, taking a sip. She hummed with contemplation, “Tastes like wine.”

He laughed again, eyes squinting and looking far more comfortable than the current situation should warrant.

“What am I supposed to be tasting?” She questioned, wanting to know what the fuss was about now that she was in a situation to do so.

“Ripe berries.” He answered, pausing to take another sip of his wine. He swirled it around inside his mouth, swallowing it down slowly. She watched his throat, swallowing the invisible lump in her throat in tandem with his. “Cherries, light notes of pepper.” He spoke, making her look up to his eyes. His eyes were on her, definitely catching her eyeing his throat. His tongue darted out the slightest to taste his own lower lip, “There’s a trailing taste of dark chocolate, rich and deep." She was sure his voice was lower now.

She licked her now dry lips in return, giving him a nod. She took a sip of the wine, swirling it around her mouth like he did. There was a silent encouragement in his eyes that pleased her more than it should. She tasted none of the things he mentioned, only that it was less of an assault to her tongue than most wines she had ever drank.

She swallowed slowly, licking some of the wine of her lips. His eyes took a brief journey to observe the action. "It's–" Her mouth felt dry again, this time from the wine. "Fruity." She admitted.

His lips twitched, "At least you're honest." His voice dropped some more. She resisted the urge to squirm again, sure that he would notice if she did. She took another sip to ease her throat. "Careful with that." He warned, "It's quite alcoholic."

At his words she seemed to notice the rising heat from her legs. She gave him a nod, keeping the glass down.

"Are you usually this agreeable?" He tapped his finger against his glass.

"I can be.” She smiled to herself, “Only when it benefits me." She shrugged.

"And how is this beneficial?" He lifted his glass back to his lips, resting the rim of his glass on his lower lip and dragging the skin down.

"You pay really well." She reached for her glass, well aware that it would only make her throat drier. "Very beneficial in this economy." She raised her glass to him. He smiled in return, his lower lip pressing against the glass.

She dragged her eyes away, looking out into the room and letting herself listen to her own words. Reminded herself that she was staring at her employer's lips for too long by now.

"I–" Her voice came out a breathless sigh, making her pause to find a more appropriate tone. "I should go look for Yuta before he's off indulging himself." She slid off the chair, proud of not stumbling.

"Shouldn't you be indulging yourself?" It was a simple question, not out of line considering the context of the setting.

It made her heartbeat rise.

She looked around the room, noticing how people were definitely more comfortable now than they were when she first walked in. Without a watch, she wasn't sure how long it had been. She caught the eye of a man just as he was pushed against a wall by a taller woman. He gave (Y/N) a wink. She looked back to her boss, a little light headed suddenly.

"Thank you for the wine, Mr. Suh." She raised the still half full glass. "It's very nice." She gave him a quick smile. He gave her an amused nod.

"Why are you back?" Yuta looked up to her, frowning.

"You're such a good friend, Yuta Nakamoto." She replied, voice lacking sentiment. "What would I do without you?"

"Excuse me? I thought you were already halfway down the dick of that fine specimen of a pine tree you went to the bar with. Why aren't you?" He turned around to face her, the annoyance in his face turning to concern.

"That pine tree," She picked up a cushion from the couch and hit his chest. "Is my boss!" She groaned, sitting down with a loud thud.

Yuta looked at her for a second, processing what she said. "What?" Was his underwhelming reply.

"You know the one who you suddenly had so much to say about?" She hit his face this time.

"I'm–" He paused, clearly shocked. "Are you serious?" He let out a short laugh. "You're boss is." He paused, a ridiculous grin spreading on his face. "You have a hot boss." He laughed. "Who is currently at this club?" He pointed to the floor, leaning back to laugh harder. "Your employer is here to get laid." He sat up again, wiping a tear in his eyes as he struggled between laughing and breathing.

"Yuta!" She groaned, "You aren't helping. You already said so much about him."

"Oh my god." His face contorted like laughing so much was causing him physical pain, "I told him about the spinal cord thing." He doubled over. She dropped the cushion to slap his leg outright this time.

"This is like something you'd read in Cosmo." He burst out laughing again. "I met my boss at a club where people have sex." He wheezed.

She decided to ignore him, knowing that was the best way to make him stop. She sat back and took a sip of her wine, smacking her lips and trying to find the taste of cherries. Her eyes wandered back towards the bar, where he was still seated. She watched him conversing with a woman whose dress made her eyes linger. The emerald silk draped her body like a dream and the colour complimented her skin.

She really liked her dress.

When she turned away, her eyes met Mr. Suh's. He gave her a slow smile that she quickly returned before turning away.

"This is really bad." She groaned, "Royally bad." She put a hand on her head. "Oh my god this is bad." Everything seemed to hit her in one go. "How am I supposed to go to work on Monday?" She turned to Yuta. "This is all your fault!" She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "None of this would happen if you didn't bring me here. How am I supposed to face him after tonight?" She whined, still not drunk enough to not feel the looming consequences of the night.

"He also has to face you." Yuta pointed out, "It's not that big a deal! His friend owns the club, he must be a regular. You're the only one nervous." He scoffed like her anxiety was unfounded.

"He doesn't need to face me. Between the both of us, I'm a totally replaceable employee and he pays my rent!"

"That's hot." Yuta chuckled. She gave him a look so full of rage that Yuta had to sit up and reach his hands out in defense. "Alright alright, I'm sorry. Look, if he fires you. Just come work for the band!" Yuta smiled like it was the best idea he had all night, "God knows I'm always in need of a lawyer." He nudged her with his elbow. "Why don't you start by getting your new boss a drink from the bar, huh?" He sat back.

"You can get your flat ass out of that couch and get it yourself." She glared at him.

"That's no way to talk to your new boss." He bit back a smile.

"I still haven't been fired." She pointed a finger at him.

"Exactly." Yuta scoffed, "So stop worrying and relax. You could have real fun if you just stop thinking about your boss. It's always him." Yuta groaned, putting his head back against the headrest. "What did he even say to you at the bar?" He closed his eyes.

"That he wasn't going to fire me for calling him horseshit." She recalled the conversation. "He called me agreeable," She furrowed her brows at the odd adjective. "And asked me why I'm not indulging myself."

"Why aren't you indulging yourself?" Yuta bounced his leg, clearly getting impatient.

"I'm not in the mood, Nakamoto." Her tone was accusatory.

"Balls!" He scoffed, "You have sex. You love having sex." The words made her groan.

"Yes but I wasn't prepared for this setting." She looked around, more and more people now just casually in different stages of intimate contact. "Plus, my boss is here." She took a sip of her nearly finished glass of wine, her throat dry again.

Maybe it was the slowly building intoxication, but she was sure she could taste that chocolate John Suh mentioned.

Yuta stopped bouncing his leg, earning her attention again. He lifted his head and turned it to her. "Maybe you should go fuck him." He sounded too serious.

"Are you high?"

"That's besides the point." He flicked his wrist. "You absolutely could. He's hot, he seems like your type. Ten says he's got an enviable penis." He grinned.

"For the sake of God! He's my boss!" She shoved him.

"So?" He didn't budge, "Have you not watched porn?" He looked very serious.

"Does this look like porn to you?" She huffed.

"Look around you, (Y/N)." He looked at her like she was the one being absurd.

"I have to see him on Monday! What are you talking about? Can you please not put the idea of sex with my boss in my head." She groaned again, "All you are doing is ensuring my nine to five becomes unbearable. I work on the same floor as him!" She felt a little breathless, sitting back and taking a sip of her drink, finishing it. She looked at the glass, a little disappointed.

It was great wine.

"It was just a suggestion, geez!" He lifted both his arms in surrender. "But sure, if you say so. Let this opportunity go I suppose." He bounced his legs again, "I tried." He got up, reaching his hand out to her. Reluctantly, she grabbed it. "Want to have a threesome?" He asked casually, earning her fist against his chest.

Yuta fell a few steps back, a pained laugh leaving his lips. "Always good to ask." He rubbed the area, standing up straight, "I'm going to leave you with Ten while I go talk to people. I promise I won't leave you by yourself for too long," He paused and winked. "Yet."

"So desperate." She clicked her tongue.

"I came here with a task on my mind, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)! The only reason I'm still in all my clothes is because you are my best friend and you've seen me through the worst." He grabbed her arm and turned her in a general direction.

Ten was seated with a few people, chatting like he was out for a night of catching up. She told herself that she had to let the prejudice she held about this place go, it did seem like people were enjoying themselves beyond just the sex aspect.

As Yuta and her got closer, she spotted amongst the people the man in the charcoal grey suit she was dreading. She realised that much like her, her boss was also in the clothes he had left work in.

She saw him before he saw her. He nodded at something a person across him mentioned, brows raising as a friendly smile lifted his lips. His forehead creased with skepticism as he said something else, smiling much wider when he earned a light smack on his arm in retaliation. His eyes creased and his cheeks wrinkled as he laughed, clearly very amused.

She looked away with a start when she finally came too close to the people, resisting the urge to kick Yuta's ribs in for putting this unnecessary idea in her head.

She wasn't blind, she knew her boss was good looking. But that was an objective observation, one limited to admiring occasionally how the man looked in a well-fitted suit. But now she was put into a hole she could not crawl out from. One she could blame Yuta for bringing the shovel for, but that she absolutely knew she dug for herself.

Suddenly, she was struck with the realisation that she found him attractive. Mr. John Suh. Her boss.

When Ten spotted them, his eyes lit up with a smile. "We're still without a conquest, are we Yuta?" He laughed.

"You have (Y/N) to thank for that." Yuta scoffed, "She has decided that tonight is the night to be a prude." He rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Ten laughed, shifted to give them both space to sit. "She can do what she likes. In my club we respect everything." He gave her a wink. "We can keep you company while Yuta goes around, can't we babe?" He turned to a man who sat with him. The one her boss was speaking to.

"I was really hoping you would say that." Yuta grinned, making the other people laugh. He turned to (Y/N), giving her palm a squeeze and her cheek a chaste kiss. "I'll be back. Try to have some fun." He pointed his eyes to her boss, walking away before she could hit him.

"(Y/N) meet my husband, Taemin." Ten put his arm around the man's waist.

She gave him a smile, sitting in the space made for her.

"Johnny was trying to convince Taemin to join his label again. I was just enjoying the conversation." Ten laughed.

She turned to Taemin, recognition lighting up his face. "You're Lee Taemin? The singer?" She gasped. He gave her a sheepish nod at the words. She was the one who had drafted a very favourable contract for him, one he still hadn't signed. "Why do you not want to join the label?" She questioned out of personal curiosity, She had spent weeks on the contract with both Kun and Mr. Suh to write what she thought was her best contract. As a widely famous artist who left his old label more than a year ago, signing Lee Taemin would be a big deal.

"He thinks our friendship will affect our professional relationship." Her boss spoke from across the seat. She turned to face him, finding him watching her with a professional assessment that she was familiar with. He wanted to see if she could do her job right now.

She turned back to Taemin, "Why do you think so?" She asked politely.

He looked down at his fingers and smiled, "Isn't it best to keep your work life and professional life different? I left my last label on very unsavoury terms and I don't want to ruin my friendship or my husband's over something like that." He explained.

It was a valid concern, it made her sit back and try to remember the terms of his contract. "You can get creative autonomy." She reasoned. "A personal manager and publicist to handle daily operations and an A&R to decide what music suits you best. If creative freedom is what you want, isn't working with someone who would consider you a person and not just an asset more favourable?"

Taemin gave her a skeptical smile, making her pause to assess her next words. She bit the corner of her mouth, "Whether work and your personal life can work together is up to the people really. For any interaction you need trust and respect, that's what matters I guess." She shrugged, trying to sound less insistent in the last few words.

Ten smiled, "You should work for Johnny instead of the horrible person you work for." He handed her a glass from the table. With an amused nod, she took the glass. When she heard her boss laugh, she turned to see his head thrown back on the couch and his chest heaving with his laughter.

He sat up, still clearly amused, and fixed his tie. "What do you say, (Y/N)?" He raised a generous brow at her, eyes drenched with humour. She couldn't hold back her own smile, a short laugh leaving her too. To the others, it accurately looked like they shared an unspoken joke amongst each other.

He turned back to Taemin, "You have to admit, Taemin. She's got a point." He shrugged. Taemin picked the peeling skin on his lips with his nails as he genuinely looked like he was considering it. "You still have the contract." Johnny added with a smile.

"Alright enough talk about work." Ten reached out to put Taemin's fingers away from his lips. "You're making him peel his lips off. I need them." He told Johnny off.

He laughed and nodded looking down at his watch, "Fine. I'm letting this go for tonight. It's midnight and it's officially the weekend." He looked up, looking right at her, "I'm no longer anybody's boss." He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. She swallowed.

"Good for you." Ten scoffed, making her shift her attention back to him. "Now go have fun." He gave him a dismissive wave. "I want to know the new person more, you're boring." He turned to give her eager eyes. "What do you do for fun, (Y/N)?" He patted her hand.

Ten was a rather engaging conversationalist, something she ended up being very grateful for. It was also something she did not appreciate enough till he slapped his thigh with finality.

“Well, that’s it for us.” He grabbed Taemin’s arm. “I must now whisk away my man.” He grinned, getting up from the couch. “Johnny will keep you company till Yuta remember’s his best friend.” He looked behind her to where the man in question sat. “Behave. It’s her first time.” Ten's encouraging grin said the opposite of his words.

“I’m a very well-behaved person.” Johnny replied, his tone non-committal at best.

“I will refrain from commenting on that because you are my friend.” Ten smiled at him one last time and then turned back to her. “It was very nice meeting you.” He gave her a nod, talking his husband’s hand when he stood up.

“Nice meeting you.” Taemin gave her a kind smile before being pulled away.

“You’ll see him again.” Johnny spoke from behind her, making her turn. When she did, he sat back into the couch, relaxing his posture. “When he agrees to sign the contract.” He clarified.

“When?” She squinted at his confidence, “Is that a calculated guess or do you just not take no for an answer?”

When Johnny smiled, she resisted her own. “The former.” He took a sip from his glass, licking his lips. “And, he didn’t exactly say no.” He pointed his glass at her.

“Right.” The ghost of a smile danced at her lips, “He just said maybe not.” She scoffed at her own words.

Humour lit up his eyes. He sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Would you care for another glass of wine?” The words were weighted.

She shifted her eyes away from his and rested her gaze on the glass in his hands, “Don’t you want to finish that first?” She kept her voice innocuous.

He looked like he was going to say something, instead he dragged his lower lip between his teeth. The next thing he did was empty his glass. She grimaced playfully, making him laugh.

Johnny turned to face her, his forehead creasing. “Does my presence make you uncomfortable?" He questioned seriously.

Her lips parted, confused by the question. "No? Should I be?" Her answer was as dumbfounded as the question left her.

He gave her another amused smile, he seemed to be very amused by anything she said. "I don't mean in general, (Y/N). I meant right now. I'm sure my presence is unwelcome after office hours. I don't want you to feel like you have to humour me because you work for my label. I really appreciated what you said to Taemin, but from here on out you are absolutely allowed to ask me to fuck off." He gave her a truly genuine look.

She didn't know how to process anything about the situation she was in for the evening. But she was sure that 'uncomfortable' was not the word she'd use to describe his presence currently. She would even go as far as to say that his air of nonchalance was tethering close to disarming any reservations she should be feeling.

"I thought you weren't a boss on the weekend?" She raised a brow at him. He narrowed his gaze in return, waiting for an answer. “No, Mr. Suh, you aren’t making me uncomfortable. We’re all adults here.” She tried to mirror his nonchalance even if her mouth felt impossibly dry every time she thought about it too long.

He gave her a nod and a small smile, getting up and taking his jacket off. The stretch he did made the buttons of his black shirt strain against his chest. Even when he relaxed, she realised that the shirt was still stretching. She felt bad for the buttons.

She felt worse for herself.

He readjusted the collar of his shirt, making her eyes flick to the shiny sliver against his neck that reflected light. As he sat back in the couch, she realised that it was one of the chains from the entrance. The same copper one she was wearing around hers.

“Well?” He questioned, making her look up at him with lost eyes. “Wine?” He reminded her. She gave him a nod, standing up. “Something on your mind?” He questioned, folding his jacket onto his arm. Her eyes lingered for the shortest moment on his arms and then the back of his neck, from where the chain hung inconspicuously, before meeting his gaze. Yet again caught gawking at him, she decided it best to just not look at him at all.

She shook her head, “I guess I’m a little tired.” She mumbled the partial truth.

“You practiced as a contracts lawyer before joining the label, didn't you?” Johnny asked after two wine glasses were filled in front of them.

She was again surprised he was aware of this. “Yes, I did.”

“Why the music industry?” He titled his head before quickly adding, “Most lawyers in music are copyright lawyers. There are more lucrative careers in contracts. I was just curious.”

She shrugged, “It’s a combination of factors.” Her answer was an honest one, “I like music, always have. I was never creative enough to make it or perform it,” She laughed. “But when I heard of the opening at your label I was intrigued.” She smiled at her glass, “Kun hired me for the acquisition you did last year. I interned for an M&A lawyer when I was getting my degree.” She added as explanation.

Johnny smiled, “I am aware.” That made her turn back to him. The surprise on her face made him laugh, “It’s not a huge company, (Y/N). I know most of the people who work at the label, at the very least I know why they were hired.”

“There’s no need to be modest. I work for you, I know how big your company is.” She found his humility both unjustified and admirable.

“We’re growing.” He gave her a proud nod, “Which is why signing Taemin would be a big step.” He reached for his own glass, which made her pick up hers.

She took a sip of the wine, thinking about what she could do to solve this problem while tugging at her bottom lip with the rim of her glass. She wrote the contract herself, she knew it was a good one, even for someone as famous as Lee Taemin. Now she understood why.

As she considered this more, she turned to Johnny, his eyes on her lips. She pulled the rim of her glass away from her bottom lip.

He looked up to meet her eyes, “You don’t have to worry about this, especially not after hours.” His words held the same nonchalance, seemingly unperturbed. Something about that vexed her, he was either pretending he wasn’t just staring at her lips or was unimpressed by them. Both options read to her like a challenge, one she might have taken up if the person sitting in front of her was anybody else.

His eyes then travelled down her neck, lingering for a moment too long.

"I almost didn't recognise the chain." He pointed at her neck, "It looks pink after reflecting your shirt and I can't tell which it is." He asked ever so casually.

"Copper." She answered, heartbeat picking up despite him making it sound like an ordinary question. His gaze flicked back to hers, "Same as yours." She joked with a small chuckle. The slow smile that spread on his lips winded her.

The room was large, but it was suddenly too claustrophobic. She took another generous sip of her wine, feeling its pleasant buzz.

“This is really good wine.” She hummed, needing something else to talk about. “I really do wish I could taste all those berries.” She sounded wistful. When Johnny laughed, she smiled.

“I want you to try something.” He moved closer to the edge of his chair, she gave him a nod. “Close your eyes.” His voice lowered in volume.

Her eyes grew wide making him smirk, “Trust me.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, making it hard for her to even trust herself.

She took a shallow breath, moistening her lips and nodding. She fluttered her eyes shut, waiting.

“Try to imagine ripe cherries, a dark, delicious red. Like your lipstick.” Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering at the comment, distracting any effort she put into the image. “Don’t open your eyes.” His words were a quick, chaste warning.

She obeyed.

“Good girl." He hummed, she sat up in her chair. "Now imagine raspberries that are so ripe that they practically burst when you touch them. Juicy and sticky sweet.” His smooth voice kept her grounded as she imagined the burst of the summer ripe fruits on her tongue, the juice dripping down the corner of her mouth and from between her fingers. She licked her lips again, squirming in her seat and giving him a nod to continue.

She heard the slightest shake in his inhale, so subtle that the way heat spread down her legs felt gratuitous. She heard him clear his throat gently, “Now imagine dipping those in thick dark chocolate, bitter and with a distinct clean, metallic taste. Like the way soil smells like after rain.” His voice was rich, dripping thick.

The nod she gave him was too quick, too eager. It was unseeming how badly winded she felt in the moment. She bit her lip like she was afraid of any sound from her throat betraying her. Despite everything, the image of what he described was clear in her mind. The image of the man conjuring it even clearer.

“Do you see it?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. If her eyes weren’t closed, she’d squeeze them shut at the sound.

She swallowed a lump as thick as his voice in her throat. “Yes.” Her voice was barely present, as loud as she could allow it to go.

She heard him shift, his knee touching hers. Her heart jammed itself up into her throat, her lips parting and her exhale shaking off her lips with sick betrayal. The contact made her aware of his presence; the warmth of his leg, the brush of the fabric of his pants on her skin. She felt so incredibly exposed and vulnerable.

This time when she shifted in her seat, she rubbed her thighs together.

She felt the cold rim of a glass touch her bottom lip, making her gasp at the unexpected contact. He pulled it away partially, dragging down the edge of her bottom lip to expose the soft flesh inside. He touched his glass against it.

“Drink.” His voice was a smoky whisper.

She tilted her head back and felt the liquid coat her tongue. Her mind swirling with images of chocolate coated cherries being slid into her mouth on a rainy summer night. The glass pulled away and slowly she swallowed, the feel of the liquid somehow syrupy thick and also refreshingly light. When she finished, she wanted to sigh. Instead the sound was closer to a weak whimper.

She heard him part his dry lips, “Can you taste it?” She was sure his breathing was quicker. She nodded, needing both this moment to be over quickly and for it to never end.

She closed her parted lips, “It’s very good wine.” Was all she could bring herself to say. She heard him shift.

He hummed, “Open your eyes, (Y/N).” She didn’t realise she was waiting for him to let her do that. Her eyes fluttered open, the light taking a second to adjust. She blinked, her gaze focusing on his face.

Her mind felt like it was dipped in something thick. The sounds around her were a blur and her ears rang. Her gaze slithered down to his lips, noting the swollen glistening lower lip. He bit down on it, giving her a source of the state it was in. When she bit down on her own, he sat back in his chair and worked on loosening his tie.

"The right wine can make anybody a believer." Despite the casual words, his forehead was creased; his fingers gripping the knot of his tie tighter than necessary.

It was a struggle to keep reminding herself who he really was. Anybody else reacting with such physical aggravation would have given her more clear audacity. The bravest thing she could now was keep her eyes on him.

He lifted the glass in his other hand to drink, the imprint of her lipstick on the side that faced her. It made her realise that the glass she drank from was his, the idea not meant to be as exciting as her heart rate currently implied. The second thing it did was remind her of what he said about her lipstick; the comment so subtly veiled that she was equally impressed and displeased.

His eyes did not move from hers and she could not allow herself to relinquish and look away after how hot he left her skin with nothing but the talk of wine. They were edging dangerously close to a boundary, but still not crossing it.

The thought pissed her off.

She couldn't decide if it was because she wanted him to back off or to take the step forward. In the haze her mind was in, she decided not to linger on the thought. Instead picking up her own glass and holding his unwavering gaze. The silence stretched.

Too late she realised that he was waiting for her to do something. When they heard Yuta call her name from somewhere, his brows furrowed as a soft huff left his lips. She had seen John Suh annoyed before, she knew what it looked like. She parted her lips to speak.

"You have to go?" His tone was unassuming but the raise of his brows were blatantly sardonic.

She felt so preposterously aroused that she had to nod, getting out of the chair before she changed her mind.

"Come find me if you want more wine." The words followed a deep chuckle. Her steps wavered but she willed herself into honouring her commitment, walking away from him.

When she was at a safe distance, she exhaled loud and hard. Yuta's smile turned to a quizzical frown when he came close enough.

"You look like someone threatened to shoot you." Yuta scoffed, she couldn't bring herself to disagree. "Oh my god!" He smacked her arm, making her almost spill her wine. "Did you find someone to get frisky with? Naughty girl." He nudged.

She smacked him back and put some distance between them to protect her precious drink. "No!" She sounded too defensive even to her, "No frisky business. I just want to enjoy my wine." She glared at him.

Yuta caught a look of something behind her, a slow grin spreading on his face. "Is it by chance from the bottle that is currently sitting in front of your boss." She didn't have to give him a verbal answer, his grin only grew. "All the constant berating of the man and yet he's pouring you a 300 dollar wine just like that. I wonder what you say about actual shitty people." He clicked his tongue, clearly mocking her.

Instead of calling him out on it she blinked, "Three hundred what?" She blinked again.

"Dollars." He said it a little louder, "You know like the unit of currency? Money?" He bit back his smile.

"How do you know that?"

Yuta scoffed, "How do you know I'm not just a man of culture?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I've seen you eat fruit loops with sprite, Yuta." She berated, tone and expression impatient. "How do you know?"

"Ten mentioned it once, the label is unique enough to remember." An epiphany lit his eyes, "He said his best friend gifted him a crate of the stuff to have around for special occasions." He smirked this time. "Maybe it's his birthday tonight." He shrugged, his words deliberately shrewd.

"Can we sit down? I'm starting to feel a little drunk." She pushed him, in a direction that led them away from the man she was failing to not think about.

"Is it good?" He pointed at her glass as they walked. "Ten never let me have any. Can I try some?" He reached out. She groaned and gave him the glass. He took a large gulp, making her sigh. "Tastes like wine to me." He handed the glass back as eagerly as he took it. Despite everything churning inside her mind, the words made her laugh.

Yuta had his head leaned over the back of the couch, his fingers drumming over his thighs. The lights around them were dimmer and the music had shifted to a slower tempo. Yuta said it was Ten's little trick to ensure that the last of the people got into the right mood. Yuta had ushered her deeper into the building, heavy curtains guiding them towards an area littered with couches, chairs and cushions. Comfortable.

He guided her towards a set of sofas, sitting down with a tired huff. She ignored the childish antics, making herself comfortable in the cushioned seat.

"You know." She drew her feet up, resting her elbow on the headrest and her head on her knuckles. "You can just go. I'll just finish this glass of wine and leave." Her tongue felt heavier in her mouth, the first signs of intoxication. "I'll call myself an uber and drop a text the moment I open my door. You don't have to sit here." She smiled.

"I know that." Yuta huffed, turning his head to face her, "I just really wanted you to have fun tonight." He pouted dramatically.

"I know." She laughed, "I know you had the best intentions."

"Yeah." Yuta mumbled, "It's just that boss of yours." He grumbled, making her laugh some more. "I still cannot believe he's actually here. I also can't believe he's Ten's college roommate. That association is so wild and I'm too drunk to fully realise it." He groaned.

She reached over and shoved Yuta lightly, "It's not his fault. I'm just–" She paused, trying to search for a reason. "Not in the mood to sleep with a stranger tonight.

Yuta gave her a knowing smile, "Your boss isn't a stranger." He wriggled his brows

She groaned, "I told you to stop doing that."

Yuta shifted to face her, "You're both here, ripe for the picking." She made a face at his choice of words. Yuta laughed, turning to look away towards the room.

"You know it's vastly inappropriate, don't you?" She scoffed, "Plus. You're saying this like I can somehow go up to him and he'll just drop his pants. Why would John Suh, my boss, want to sleep with me in the first place?"

"You're hot." He said, sounding absent-minded. "And," A smile tugged at his lips as he pulled his face back to face her. "He's currently looking at you from across the room. Don't look yet!" He added quickly, grabbing her shoulders like he knew she would reflexively turn. "I need you to take a deep breath." Yuta was trying not to grin, she could tell. She did what he asked. "Now another." He acted out a long inhale and a slow exhale from his mouth.

After two turns of mimicking his gesture she frowned. "What are you doing?" She tried to turn but he grabbed her head in her hands and kept her eyes on him.

"Listen to me." Yuta tried not to laugh, "God! You are not prepared for this." He turned to look across the room, biting his lips and turning back. "Your boss is so hot." He groaned. "I'm jealous of you." He huffed playfully.

"Yuta!" He reached out and twisted one of his nipples, making him giggle and take his hands away from her head. "At least you're both kinky, huh?" He grinned.

She swallowed a growing lump in her throat, Yuta's elaborate act making her nervous. When she finally turned she realised that the warning was warranted. It took her a little over a second to spot him.

"Oh." Was all she could manage.

She licked her uncomfortably dry lips, her eyes focused on her boss across the room. Her boss, who had the woman in the green dress on his lap— the one she had seen him with before. His hand was on her hips, moving her slowly on his lap. The woman had her mouth on his throat, working her way all over the expanse of his neck.

As she looked at him, he got what Yuta meant. His eyes were on (Y/N), forehead creased. When their eyes met, he gave her a smile of acknowledgement. He lifted the woman off him, pushing her down again, his lips parting slightly.

Her mouth felt drier than before, "Oh." Her voice was softer.

"I can't believe he's fucking someone while looking at you. You lucky bitch. Is he straight?" Yuta murmured, more amused than anything else.

She turned to look at Yuta at his words, her mind swirling and her tongue at a loss. "He's what?" She sounded dazed. She felt dazed.

She turned back to look at Johnny, his eyes still on her, forehead creasing further. The way the woman's dress creased around his fingers let her know that he gripped her waist tighter, moving her up and down. The dress covered his lap and his pants were on.

"Are you sure they're–?" Her voice trailed off. Even as she said that, she saw the women sink down. Johnny's head fell back. "Oh." She said again, feeling far too many things at the moment to say much else.

The women suddenly turned, following Johnny's gaze across the room. When her eyes met with (Y/N), she gave her a soft smirk. When their eyes met, (Y/N) felt heat rush up her neck, her cheeks. Johnny reached out and grabbed the woman’s jaw, forcing her to look back at him. She laughed, giving (Y/N) a wink before turning back to give Johnny a nod. He raised a single brow at her, frowning. When he snapped his hip up, she dropped her head to his shoulders, her back arching and shoulder blades flexing.

She strayed a startling look around when she realised that there were other people in the room as well, some even watching them like she was. She turned back to look at him.

He moved her hips faster, his lips moving as he said something. The woman sat back and nodded. Johnny turned back to look at (Y/N).

"Christ." Yuta whispered.

(Y/N)'s mouth felt like wool.

Yuta shifted, "That could be you, I'm just saying." He spoke into her ears. She bit her lips, the image so very unnecessary.

Johnny suddenly frowned, hands gripping the girl tighter.

"Oh he doesn't like that." Yuta laughed. "Look at him getting angry over me whispering to you while he fucks someone else. He's definitely straight." Yuta huffed, "Want to make him jealous? I could bite your ear or something." Yuta suggested.

"Can you–" She raised her voice, her breath caught in her throat. "Shut up?" She huffed when Johnny raised a brow at her. She felt impossibly hot, needing air and needing release. Everything about this felt wrong, yet it was hard to look away from his gaze. The unapologetic way he watched her made her feel oppressively wet, the fact that they were sitting in the middle of a large crowded room, the fact that he had another woman on his lap seemed to be tertiary details. He turned away from her, focusing his gaze on the woman on his lap.

She clenched her jaw.

Her own stomach felt heavier with each glide of the woman's hips he now matched with precise upward thrusts. When he bit down on his lips, she had to bite down on hers in case she did something as bad as moan out while her best friend was witness.

Everything about this was so very wrong.

She crossed her legs, feeling aroused and neglected. She wanted to scream. Instead she lifted her glass to her lips, taking a generous gulp of the wine. Johnny turned back to her once, his eyes lit up when he saw her still looking at him, a pleased smile spreading on his lips that he bit down again. She released her shaky breath into the glass, her fingers gripping it tighter.

Then his brows furrowed and his lips parted, he blinked rapidly a few times and then dropped his head back.

She turned to the women who sat back. She reached her hands between them, listening to something Johnny said to her. He gave her a tired, dazed smile.

(Y/N) chest snapped tight.

Johnny sat back up, giving the woman a quick kiss in her cheek and she shifted off his lap.

She looked back at Yuta, who looked back at her at the same time. "You know I love you, (Y/N). Always have.” His face white, “But I'm going to go find that couple I was talking to and penetrate both of them." He swallowed, voice thick.

She would have laughed, instead she gave him a nod.

He laughed, "Look at your face!" He pointed, "Bet that got you wishing you weren’t being so choosy tonight. I offered you a threesome, remember that. I'd do you myself but I have too much respect for you." He gave her cheek a quick squeeze with his fingers and got out of the couch. "He's very hot." Yuta gave her a last look, "And he clearly wanted his dick to be inside you." He smiled.

“Leave.” She glared. He laughed at her obvious irritation.

"Heterosexuals.” He shook his head with mock disappointment, “Good night, (Y/N). Whether you go home chaste or post-cock, text me." He gave her a salute as a final farewell and walked away.

After Yuta left, she looked back to find her boss missing from the place she had seen him last. She was still ignoring the tight pull of her chest, the heat of indignation in her veins. Of course, he no longer had a reason to stay.

It was time for her to go back home too.

She was on her way out when, with a start she realised her things were still locked inside a locker somewhere. She turned back and looked around, fortunately spotting Yuta going up the stairs at the end of the room. She made her way through the room towards the landing.

She caught up to him just as he waved at two people. Putting a hand on his shoulder, a little breathless from the brisk walk. Yuta turned around, frowning at her.

“I just need to get my bag.” She said before he accused her of cock-blocking him again.

“Oh.” His features smoothed out, “The combination is my birthday.”

“Narcissist.” She scoffed.

“Forgetful.” He corrected her. “Bye.” He waved, turning back to the now approaching couple.

“Hi.” The woman smiled at her.

“I’m the only one of the table tonight, Vicky.” Yuta informed her quickly, turning back to give (Y/N) a wink. She laughed but appreciated the interference, turning away.

"Hi." She gave the woman an amiable nod, "I was just leaving." (Y/N) turned away.

"Pity. Always nice to have a chance to appreciate a new face." Vicky smiled.

"Some other time." (Y/N) reassured without meaning to honour it. She then turned to Yuta with a smile, “Have fun.” With a wave, she parted.

She was making her way towards the exit when she saw a familiar figure at the bar. Johnny sat with a glass of wine in his hand, alone. Her steps slowed and she nibbled on the corner of her lips. Before she could think about it any further, she turned her steps towards him.

The first thing he did when he saw her approaching him was widen his eyes the slightest bit. Then he gave her a small smile.

She rode on the coattails of the same spark of boldness that made her walk up to him to say, “I thought you left.” The world’s tumbled out quick and messy. His smile perked into a smirk.

“I thought you went upstairs with your friend.” There was a small spark in his eyes.

She furrowed her brows, “Yuta?” She scoffed. “No.” She shook her head rather aggressively. “I know him too well.” She grimaced.

Johnny sat back in his seat, an amused smile lighting up his previously restraint features. “Oh.” He looked away, unbothered. “Want some more wine?” He got up as he said so, reaching across the bar to pick up a glass.

“I was just leaving.” She told him.

“Why?” He didn’t sound like he cared as he filled her glass.

“I tried something new. Didn’t work out.” She shifted her weight between her feet.

He smiled at her glass, pushing it across the bar in front of the empty chair beside his. “My fault?” He looked up at her, giving her an arrogant smile.

It made her think about the way he turned back to make sure she was still watching him while he fucked a different person. She stepped towards the chair, taking a seat. “Yes.” She gave him her most brazen look yet.

His eyes slowly brushed over her frame, “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t.”

He looked up at her, eyes dark but his smile laid back. “Drink.”

She did, lifting the glass. His gaze found purchase on her lips while she slowed her action deliberately. She flicked her bottom lip down with the rim of the glass, watching him carefully. His lips parted.

“Do you usually like putting on a show, Mr. Suh?” Her tone was light, conversational— mirroring his general disposition.

He hummed, distracted as she pressed the glass against her lip. When a smile lifted her lips, he looked up at her.

“Do you?” His gaze was resolute. Despite her building confidence, it made her squirm. He smiled at the reaction. “I have a proposition for you.” His voice dripped with a slow, cautious trickle.

Her breath hitched, silently she took a sip of the wine and waited for him to say what he needed.

“I can’t fuck you.” He looked away from her lips back to her eyes, frowning. “Unfortunately.”

“Why?” Her voice was breathless, disappointed.

He chuckled, “Call it personal ethics. You work for me, and from what I know you do a good job. I’m trying to rationalise.” The dilemma was clear in the way his brows gathered, it gave her a small sense of compensation.

She nodded, “Okay.” She took another sip of the wine, swallowing her disappointment with it. She looked away from him, nodding.

He held back a small smile, “That being said.” She snapped her head back to him. “I want you to come upstairs with me.” His nonchalance was disarming.

She felt at a loss, “For what?” She sounded bewildered.

“There are still things we can still do.” His gaze held a tempting promise. “Things I want to do.”

She blinked, “What? Cuddle? Really not into cuddling strangers.” She snapped, confusion growing into impatience. His laugh at her words made it worse, impatient but genuine.

“No, I don’t want to cuddle, (Y/N).” He licked his lips. “And it’s hardly fair to categorise me as a stranger.” His smile was taunting, then he gave her a serious glance, “You’re free to say no. Just walk away and we can forget about this. By design, nothing leaves the premises of this club.” His eyes searched her face.

She chewed on her lip as she thought about this. She tried to consider and reconsider over and over till all the possible predicaments melded into her mind like white noise. She chastised herself for being impulsive about the worst things possible every time. Then she took another sip of her wine.

“And what is the other option?” She mumbled. He smiled like it was the answer he wanted to hear.

“Humour me.”

When she walked into the room, it looked no different from an average hotel room. She walked by what she assumed was the bathroom and came in front of a king sized bed. The sheets were a dark blue, something she assumed was a prudent choice. There was a small leather couch where a tv would usually be and it wouldn’t take a lot of mental gymnastics to figure out why the bed was a four-poster, gauzy white cloth tied to each wooden bar.

It was a tasteful room. It looked better when Johnny switched on the soft yellow lights.

“Bed.” The soft volume of his voice didn’t muffle the command in his tone. She did what she was told, the soft click of the lock on the door making her resolute to see this fever dream through till the end.

She sat back at the edge of the bed, watching him walk towards her. He took off his jacket and tie, shoving the latter into his pocket. With a soft sigh, he took off the first two buttons of his shirt. She watched every action with wretched focus.

When he sat down on the couch, his eyes came back on her. She kicked her heels off, lifting a leg and put it against his knee. When he didn’t move, she slid her leg up. When he swallowed, she smiled. He grabbed her foot, stopping it from going any higher.

“Go up to the headrest. You’re being a bad girl.” He shoved her foot back slowly. She pouted softly but pushed up to the pillow. “Spread your legs.” He sighed, relaxing into the couch. He lifted his hand, wrapped around the bottle of wine they were sharing. He took a large glug, watching her as he did so. She didn’t move.

He narrowed his gaze, wiping his lips with his thumb. “Do I have to repeat myself, (Y/N)?” His voice dropped another octave.

She slid her feet up, lifting her hips to pull up her skirt, his eyes travelled down. When she spread her legs, he bit down on his lips. A smile tugged at hers

“Touch yourself.” He ordered. Her breath stuttered, the sound sharp and loud.

“Will you not touch me?” Her voice was soft.

“No.” He murmured.

“Pity.” She hummed, trying to sound indifferent.

Despite her act, her heart pounded loud in her ears from the building embarrassment. She felt meek at the idea of getting off in front of anybody, the fact that the man currently staring at her throbbing core wasn’t just anybody made it that much more mortifying. She looked up at the ceiling, taking a breath like someone about to be pushed underwater. Tentatively, she brushed her hand down her stomach. She pulled her skirt higher till it clung to her waist in a tight bundle. When she pressed her fingers down over her warm slit, she winced.

“Sit up and look at me.” He said. She pushed her body higher, her head resting against the cushioned headrest. “I’m trying to enjoy the view.” His smirk was cruel. Her cheeks heated, but she relaxed her back.

She knew something about putting on a show worth watching. It wouldn't be hard if she stopped thinking.

His eyes were on her, making that impossible. He was the very reminder of the thing she wanted to forget, the thought making her walls clench. He brought the bottle to his lips again, pulling his lip down with the rim and slowly parting them. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. She pressed down to her clit over her panties, whimpering at the friction. He stopped drinking, bringing the bottle away from his lips and his eyes back to watch her pleasure herself.

He had really nice lips.

She grabbed the fabric of her underwear in a tight first and pulled it up, the material pressing into her slit and rubbing against her clit. She bit down a moan.

“Fuck.” His groan was guttural.

She took the word as encouragement, lifting her hips off the mattress slightly and rubbing herself against the material of her underwear again. This time a moan left her lips.

“Such cute panties.” Johnny groaned.

She blinked, trying to remember what she put on in the morning. It was a thought she didn’t need while she was trying to focus on being present in only this moment, legs spread wantonly for a man’s gaze. The memory felt so far away that it was hard to recall. She knew though, that they were cotton and unremarkable— something comfortable for everyday wear.

“Cute little watermelons.” He chuckled once, “How adorable.”

Her cheeks heated, embarrassment taking hold of her again.

Johnny looked back up at her, his grin indecent. “I bet when you got dressed today you didn’t expect this, did you?” He took a soft breath, lips pursing. “You walked in here wearing the same clothes I saw you in at my office a few hours ago.” She rubbed her clit harder, lips parting. “I thought I was mistaken at first, but you work on my floor.” His eyes flicked to her chest, “You wear that blouse all the time.” He sighed, looking back at her face, “Now anytime you wear it again, I will think of how you look with your legs parted, watermelon panties staring back at me.”

She moaned, her pace increasing.

“Stop.” He snapped.

The sudden rise in his volume made her take her hand away in shock. She took deep breaths, chest heaving.

“Don’t cum yet.” He warned, “We’re only just getting started.” His voice dropped back to it’s velvety tone. “Unbutton the top buttons of your blouse.”

She huffed in annoyance, pulling the blouse out of her skirt. He wasn’t supposed to talk about work; it ruined the illusion, it shifted the dynamic she was trying to build. It made her angry. She sat up higher on the bed, putting a pillow on her back and fixing her gaze on him. Slowly, she unbuttoned all the buttons and let the now useless material hang on her shoulders. His eyes narrowed, she hoped that disobeying the specific demand pissed him off.

“Slower this time.” His voice was sharper.

She shoved her hand into her panties. Shame be damned, her entire body felt on edge under his gaze. The least she wanted out of this was him feeling the same.

“How wet are you?” He watched her fingers disappear.

“Very.” She breathed out.

He shifted in his seat, “Take your panties off.”

“No.”

He looked back at her eyes, a frown settling on his face. “No?” Her pussy clenched at the sudden rise in his volume. She shook her head. “Why?” Despite the impatience on his face, his eyes were curious.

“Take your dick out.” She took a shallow breath.

His slowly rising grin made her close her legs to rub her thighs. “Do you want to see my cock?” He questioned, lewd amusement in his eyes.

She nodded.

“And if I say no?” He tilted his chin.

“You can keep looking at the watermelons.” Her words were a breathless huff but stubborn. “Sir.” She hoped he realised that she could be cruel too.

Johnny licked his lips, standing up. She thought he would take his pants off, instead he walked towards her.

"Want some?" He raised the bottle in his hand, smirk meant to provoke her further. He pressed the bottle against her mouth, raising a brow when she didn't part her lips. "What is it? Don't like being told what to do? Is this why you aren't wearing gold like a good little girl?" His hand reached towards her, thumb brushing her neck, the chain rubbing against her skin The way her jaw flexed answered his question. "Such belligerence." He clicked his tongue, grabbing her chin to lift her head up. His thumb brushed against her lower lips, eyes shifting to focus on his own action. "Open your mouth, it's a treat." He hummed, pressing his thumb against the soft skin.

She parted her lips, biting down on the tip of his thumb before he could pull it away. She heard him grind his teeth together, nostrils flaring. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around the digit. Her eyes remained on his as he licked the pad of his thumb in her mouth, he pushed his thumb deeper into her mouth in retaliation. Almost immediately, she released it with a soft pop. The base of his thumb tainted red from her lipstick.

He didn't speak, rubbing his finger against the pigment and observing the colour spread between his fingers. When he brought the bottle back to her lips she parted them without hesitation. He tilted her chin back, pouring the wine down her throat. The liquid lapped against the edge of the bottle eagerly, cascading down with audible glugs. Her eyes lit up with ill intention, slowly wrapping her lips around the mouth of the bottle.

He pulled the bottle out of her mouth, a clear thread of spit dragging out and snapping.

Johnny bit his lip, "Swallow." His voice was gruff. She obeyed, tilting her chin higher and swallowing with slow bobs of her throat.

Their gazes remained welded together.

"You're very capricious." He hummed the word with soft approval.

"Almost as much as you are mercurial." She retorted. Hearing her own voice after so long made her sit up, the taunt in it surprising her almost as much as the anger.

He looked back at her eyes, “I thought you were agreeable?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I specifically said that I can be.” She sat back on the bed, “It doesn’t benefit me right now, does it?” She gave him a look that dared him to prove her wrong.

Johnny turned away from her, walking back to his seat. He sat back and put the bottle down on the floor, movement leisurely.

"Take your panties off, (Y/N)." He wasn't asking. The sound of her name on his lips accompanying the crude demand made her toes curl.

"Why are you wearing copper?" She questioned with a soft huff.

He stopped moving, turning his towards her. "That's a tale for a different date. Off." He turned away before she thought she saw a smile.

She parted her lips to refuse, but before she could he unbuckled his belt. She shut her mouth, licking her lips. His face remained unreadable as she heard the sound of a zip.

"Now." He spoke through his teeth.

She pulled the panties down quicker than she would have planned. When it dangled on her ankle, an idea made her stomach churn. She lifted her leg up, eyes tracing the patterns on the material before turning back to look at him, waiting for him to sit down. She kicked her leg, the fabric in question falling in his lap.

The groan that came from his lips bounced off the walls. Her breath stuttered out of her shaking lips. Her eyes went down to his lap. She moaned softly.

He wrapped the underwear around his hand, brushing his thumb against the damp front, his breathing wild. She sat back and enjoyed the sight of it. He rubbed the area against his tip, earning a low hum of approval from her. He looked up at her, but she kept her eyes where they were. Johnny's hand slowly pumped his generous length, rubbing her underwear against the skin of his shaft.

She felt so hot. Something about the sight of her mediocre panties wrapped around her boss's cock while he used it to jerk himself off filled her with such a rush of power that it felt filthy. Her hips bucked up.

"Enjoying the show?” His voice was a dangerous challenge.

She accepted, “Fuck.” She moaned, “Yes. You look so good like that, fucking yourself against it. I didn’t know you were so filthy, Mr. Suh.” The words stumbled out of her mouth, the fluent flow of the taunt pleasing her more than she would have guessed.

I want you to match my pace." His voice was breathy now, desperately holding onto its level stoicism.

She nodded, sitting back against the headboard. She spread her legs again, relishing the way his dick twitched at the sight.

"You're so wet." He groaned, squeezing the base of his dick hard.

"I told you." She mumbled with feigned apathy, reaching back to stroke her fingers on her clit.

Johnny smirked, "Imagine my dick rubbing against your swollen little clit."

She watched him rub his thumb against his purple tip, matching the rhythm with slow vertical strokes.

"Oh my god." She whimpered, her mind swarming with the image. Johnny chuckled, the sound throaty and tortured.

"Do you want to feel me inside you?" The words made her look up at him, fingers going still. The smile from his was face gone, replaced with what she imagined was a real predicament. She nodded, her eager eyes making his hips buck up. "And what have you done to deserve it? All you've done is test my patience tonight." Her eyes faltered, shifting them back to watch him slowly stroke his dick. He stroked it bare now, her panties hanging against the base.

She inserted two unsatisfying fingers inside her, the sound of her walls squelching making them both groan together. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Don't close your eyes." He spat.

"Or what?" She snapped back, opening her eyes nonetheless to look at him.

She didn't need to elaborate, he had no control of her at the moment. As if to emphasise, she pumped her fingers a little faster. His jaw clenched.

"If you cum, this will be over." He whispered. It wasn't a threat, it was the truth. She removed her fingers, bringing them back to her clit.

"Fuck me." Her chest heaved.

"No." He said too quickly.

"Please." She whined, any sense of the world outside the walls of the room dissolved long ago. All she could think of in the moment was the way his dick would stretch her out, filling her up. "I'll take it so well." She breathed out.

"Shit. I can't." He pleaded with her with desperation. It made her head swarm, making her feel like she was the one in control. The idea of that alone appeased her so much that she nodded.

"Fine." She huffed out the brunt of her irritation.

"Do you want to cum?" His voice snapped back to it's authority so quickly that she felt like calling him mercurial was an accurate assessment.

"Yes." She sighed. He gave her a nod of permission, she rubbed her clit with eager fervor. She curled her lips, licking them before parting them to inhale.

"Do that again." He growled, his own fist pumping with a frenzy. "Lick your lips again."

She moaned, pushing her tongue out from between her lips and licking them. He gripped the base of his shaft tight again and she pressed down on her clit, both of them delaying their release for a little longer.

Her hair stuck to her face, beads of sweat dripping down her temples and between her breasts. She could see the sheen of perspiration on his forehead too, his hair pushed back and damp at his hairline. He looked back at her with a desire to conquer and she wanted to do nothing but vanquish him. It was deranged.

It shouldn't have been as hot as it was. She couldn't believe that she was risking so much over doing nothing but touching herself. Yet she was soaking wet and every muscle in her body ached for release.

A stray thought at the back of her mind told her that she'd never be able to look him in the eye again. Not without thinking of how he had the most perfect dick that she didn't even get to touch. She tucked the thought away, but the indignation it left made her want to burn herself into his mind with equal intensity.

She looked up at his eyes, trying to speak over her shallow breath. "I want you to say my name when you cum." She locked her gaze with his. She felt like a dirty slut, the thought made her stomach flip.

He nodded without protest, biting down on his lower lip.

She spread her legs wider, restarting the maddening assault on herself.

"I really wish it was your dick inside me." She groaned.

"I know." He breathed out, eyes softening for a fraction of a moment. "Me too."

Her toes curled at the confession. "I'm going to cum." She held her breath, lips parting.

"I'm–" He grumbled, "Fuck. (Y/N)." He growled. "(Y/N)." He moaned.

Her legs started shaking so hard that she dug her heels into the mattress. She came with such intensity that her muscles twitched enough to make her fall to her side and shut her legs tight. Her head pressed into the cushioned back of the bed, loud whines leaving her throat.

When she opened her eyes, Johnny had his head thrown back, chest heaving. Her eyes drank in the sight of his exposed neck, wanting to graze her teeth against the smooth skin. His fingers were loose around his now limp dick, her underwear wrapped around the tip and visibly soaked with his cum.

He really was a cruel, filthy bastard. The sight of him like that would forever be embedded in her memory, she was sure.

It had been a few minutes of silence full of ravaged breaths slowly steadying when Johnny exhaled, “How did you get here?” He spoke through deep breaths.

“Uber.” She sat up, fixing her skirt and swinging her legs off the edge of the bed.

He lifted his head, his eyes furrowed and lips down turned. She remembered the fucked out smile he gave the woman in the green dress, dazed but friendly. He stood up, tucking himself back into his pants.

“I’ll drop you home.” He informed her with cool detachment, she didn’t have the energy to do anything but agree.

Johnny led her back to the locker room, both of them gathering their own things. He took a step away to call what she could tell was his driver and she was grateful that he wasn’t going to drive her home drunk. She turned to see a mirror on a wall, getting her first look at herself all evening. It had been a mistake.

She felt a little dumbstruck.

Her hair was a mess, matted in places and sticking out in others. Dragging her fingers through it as she did, solved little. Her eyes were glazed over and heavy from how tired and drunk she was. Her lips swollen and peeling from her own teeth's persistent assault and nothing else. They were also unfortunately barren.

She sighed, walking over to the mirror. Reaching into her bag, she took out her tube of lipstick. While it hardly fixed much of the mess, it was an attempt to look less unkempt then she felt. (Y/N) didn’t like looking unkempt.

She twisted the bullet tentatively. Wearing the shade always came naturally to her and she hardly messed up her lipstick application, it came with years of quick fixes in moving vehicles and powder rooms. But at the moment her hands were, if only partially, shaking.

When she heard the click of approaching footsteps, she looked up into the mirror. Johnny watched her in the reflection as she placed the lipstick against her bottom lip. He watched her glide the lipstick on like it was the most interesting thing he’d seen, he took a few more steps to stand close enough for her to hear his slight unsteady breath. Her stomach flipped under his gaze and she had to look back at herself in the mirror to finish without making a mess. Once her lips were fully covered with the deep ruby, she cleaned the corners with her fingers, parting her lips for ease. When she heard his soft gasp, she had to steady her own breathing. She looked up to give him a last look, smacking her lips together.

“The car is here.” His expression was void. She only nodded.

That was another daily task he had effectively ruined for her.

She was tired and dissociating for her own sake, watching the dimming lights of the city passing by from the window of the car. Neither of them spoke after she told the driver her address and it was an understandable silence. She was sure though that she would sleep well tonight, a pleasing idea at the end of a Friday evening. When the streets started to look more familiar, she knew it was time for the night to end.

A part of her already yearned for the comfort of her bed. The other felt a small sting of disappointment that the fever dream was finally ending. She was grateful that she at least had the weekend, from Monday onward she’d be an adult about this.

When the car stopped in front of her apartment building she turned around to finally look at him. “I had fun tonight.” She gave him a smile. He returned it with a pleased one, giving her a nod.

“Me too.”

She thought that was it, instead he pushed closer to her. The way he looked at her pinned her in place, waiting with bated breath.

“I wasn’t going to do this.” He mumbled, reaching out to hold her chin between his thumb and index finger, his touch gentle but secure. He looked down at her lips again, licking his own. “But you have the most distracting lips I’ve ever seen. All I want is to kiss them.” He looked back up at her, waiting.

His guarded eyes told her what she needed, it was an intimate gesture. So far, he'd hardly touched her, a kiss was a leap. It was an act of relinquishment, the crossing of a hazy line. She looked at his lips, his hand holding her chin tighter than before. She thought about the chaste kiss he left on the cheek of the woman with the green dress.

“Do it.” She breathed out, her entire body a bundle of nerves.

She expected him to be quick about it, getting the thought out of his system and moving on. She braced herself for it to be quick and chaste.

Instead, he leaned in with slow deliberation. His eyes didn’t leave hers even when their lips met. He watched her with careful consideration. She was silently compelled to keep her own eyes open, her heart beating so fast that the added blood rushing to her head made her dizzy. This close she could see that his eyes were actually light brown, the kind that would look golden in the sun.

Slowly, he moved his lips, tongue leaving a soft lick on her bottom lip. When she parted her lips, she witnessed his pupils dilate at the proximity he was in. She wanted to devour him. Instead she kept her hands fisted tight in her lap, afraid of the way her heart was beating against her chest. He tilted her head higher and slipped his tongue into her mouth, eyes still infuriatingly open, still watching her. Her muscles spasmed, reacting more to this kiss than anything else she had witnessed in the evening. It made her afraid to do anything but watch as she slowly unraveled under his gaze.

He pulled away too soon, taking too long to do it. Taking a glance over her face, he pecked her lip once, smiling against her lips and then at her. Butterflies knocking inside her belly at the action— urging to be freed from the confines of this car.

It was single-handedly the hottest thing she’d ever had happen to her. A small, surprisingly gentle kiss. Her body was wound so tight that she didn’t know how she found the ability to shift back.

“Good night, (Y/N).” He gave her a smile that was soft.

She turned away from it, every organ inside her feeling like mush from his unpredictable assaults. She grabbed the handle of the car, her fingers tightening around it. A juvenile thought made her turn back once, eyes going to his lips. To her disappointment, the touch of his lips were too light to leave any trace of her lipstick on him. She shook her head and turned back to the door, chewing down on her lip.

“No goodbye?” His tone was playful. It was another unpredictable shift, one that made something in her split open.

She turned back and grabbed his jacket, crashing his lips to hers. He grabbed her waist and drew her to him almost instantly, making her feel she was the one caught off-guard. In a way she was: she didn’t expect to do this. But her lips moulded over his and she let experience take over, not thinking. He bit down on her bottom lip and she writhed in his arms, gasping into his mouth. She gripped his jacket tighter, trying to pull him closer while their tongues set their own tempo.

He held her waist tighter and through the haze of the kiss, she realised that she was in his lap, his arms bringing her there with ease. With a groan, she ground her hips down on him like she was on a path of vengeance. His hands were all over her body, touching her arms, her neck, her waist and anywhere else he could. In return, she did the same. She didn’t realise she was craving this— touching him— till her fingers tugged on his hair, dug into his neck and slipped under his collar. This close, she could smell him too: woodsmoke and amber. Like a burning tree in an ancient forest.

The next time she moved her hips was completely involuntary. He reached up and grabbed her jaw in both his hands and pulled her away. She looked at him, he said something but his words registered as background noise while her eyes focused on his lips. She reached out, cleaning the smudged red from the corner of his mouth, smiling to herself at the red stain on his lips. His lips parted, she bit down hers.

“You’re not.” He paused, licking his now blush lip and groaning, eyes squeezed shut. “Shit. You aren’t wearing anything.” She sat back, a little dazed. She stared at him at a loss. When he opened his eyes to catch the look on her face, he shifted her higher up into his lap and pressed her down on him. The friction made her drop her forehead to his.

“Your pussy is bare.” He whispered into her ear, breath gliding over her cheek. She moaned softly when she realised he was right.

“That’s your fault.” She whined. Johnny laughed, the sound breathless and tortured. It made the butterflies in her stomach protest again.

She scrambled off him, “I’m–” Pausing, she turned to look at him. The sight of him gasping, head back and legs spread was enough to take anybody’s breath away. It made her lungs forget their very purpose. “Good night.” She stumbled over her words and her legs, getting out of the car quickly.

Only when she reached her door did she muster the courage to turn back. When she turned he gave her a nod and something that was supposed to be a smile. She dipped her head back at him and went into the building.

“So?” Yuta questioned after he put down his mimosa.

“So?” She asked back.

Yuta sat back, a lazy smile settling on his lips. “You texted me hours after you told me you were leaving. Yet you reached home after I did.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “You can’t just kiss and not tell.” His choice of words made her blush. She turned back to look at her food like it would help.

“Did you invite me for brunch to grill me?” She busied herself by cutting a sausage.

“Obviously." Yuta scoffed, "Did you have sex with your boss?” He wasted no time.

“No.” She looked up, speaking too quick and sounding too defensive, “Not exactly.” She sighed, looking back at her plate like the act of skewering a piece of sausage with her fork required all her focus.

“Not exactly?” He said, “What does that mean?” He sounded both confused and skeptical.

“There was no sex.” She looked up with a clear guilty look in her eyes, putting her food into her mouth.

“(Y/N).” Yuta laughed, “Why are you being so reluctant? Do you think I’ll judge you? I once ate frosting off someone’s ass at a party!”

She laughed a little taken aback by the information, “First of all, that’s disgusting and I did not need to know that. Especially while we eat brunch.” She laughed again. “And secondly, I’m not being reluctant. I didn’t have sex with him.” She sat back, tossing a few peas on her plate around with a fork.

“So you found someone else? Honestly I’m glad–” He stopped when she looked back at him, “No?” He winced. She shook her head.

Yuta narrowed his gaze, taking a second to consider things. “So you didn’t have sex with someone else, and you didn’t have sex with your boss.” He worded it out like she wasn’t making any sense.

“No,” She sat up in her seat, “I said I didn’t exactly have sex with him. I never mentioned another person.”

Yuta rolled her eyes, “What did you do? Did you blow him or something?” He sounded bored by the conversation already, leg shaking.

“No. We,” She paused, face heating up. “There was.” She stopped again to groan.

Yuta huffed, “You can just say he finger fucked you. It’s not like we’re in church.”

“No,” She frowned. “He didn’t even touch me. It was,” She paused again, licking her sudden dry lips. “New? I don’t know.” She gave up. “I touched myself, he touched himself. It wasn’t supposed to be as hot as it was. But we didn’t have sex.” She added the last part again like it was important.

“You mean he didn’t put his dick in you.” Yuta corrected her.

She squinted, “Yes. Because of ethics I guess.”

He laughed at that, hand hitting the table a few times and earning the attention of a few other customers. “Please!” He laughed again, “So not having his dick inside you was an ethical decision?” She nodded, “But you got off watching either?”

“Where are you going with this?” She mumbled.

“I’m just so fascinated.” He put a hand on his cheek and leaned it against the table, “You think you didn’t have sex?” He scoffed.

“We didn’t have sex.” She reiterated with added restlessness.

“(Y/N).” Yuta looked at her with amused sympathy, “Did you see how he looks when he cums?”

“Yeah.” She said.

“Does he know how you look?”

She nodded.

“Then you’ve had sex.” Yuta shrugged, “It’s the intimacy of it. You’re so ignorant sometimes!” He laughed while stuffing his mouth with lettuce. “Sex isn’t a single specific action, it's the whole act." He pointed at the salad, asking her to try it. You’ve had sex with him.” He put his fork down on his plate, giving her a look that made his words non-negotiable.

She reached for her gin and tonic, taking a slow but persistent sip of it.

“You might be right.” She mumbled, putting the glass back on the table, “Shit.” She looked back up at him, visibly nervous.

“What are you going to do now?” Yuta had genuine concern on his face, granted mixed with well earned humour.

“Nothing. Be an adult about it.” She dismissed his concern.

“By which you mean you’ll ignore the elephant in the room and hope it goes away?” His voice was skeptical.

“That’s the most adult thing to do.” She shoved the last of the peas into her mouth and reached for her plate of waffles.

“Sure.”

“What?” She huffed, “I’m very good at minding my own business. I won’t be awkward about it. I barely have reason to interact with him anyway. It’ll be fine.” She waved her fork at him, tipping it back before she dropped the syrup stuck to it on the table.

“No I’m sure of that. You’ll ignore him just fine.” He shrugged, but his brows remained gathered with question.

“But?” She encouraged.

“Will you be okay with him ignoring you?” He looked very serious.

“Yes.” She said immediately. Yet, at the back of her mind she knew Yuta was very perceptive.

She also knew he had a point when she considered it. She was in no way petty about attention, but she liked it. She liked knowing she was desired, enjoyed the effect she could have on a person. She sighed when she realised Yuta did have a point.

“He said he didn’t want to kiss me, you know?” She told Yuta, hoping that getting the words out would stop the stirring in her head.

Yuta smiled the way he did when he wanted to gloat about being right. To her relief, he didn’t verbalise it. “Yeah. Some people find kissing very personal. He didn’t kiss the girl he was doing while eye fucking you either.” He added the thought with deliberate precision, his eyes clear of his shitty intention to rile her up.

She hated how Yuta enjoyed stirring trouble just to enjoy it. It didn’t help that he knew her too well by now. He knew exactly what to say to agitate her mind.

“He said he didn’t want to.” She spat, “But then he did.” When Yuta smiled she knew that she walked into his trap willingly.

“Oh? I bet you liked that, didn’t you?” He laughed. “I bet he did too, you’re a phenomenal kisser.”

“Thanks, I’m aware.” She grumbled.

“So? What’s bothering you? You have to tell me now, I’m invested.” He reached over to take a piece of her forgotten waffle.

“I’m concerned by your need for drama sometimes. I was fine with what happened till you started talking.” She frowned at him.

Yuta scoffed, “No you weren’t. You just wanted to believe you were. And I, as your most precious and loving friend I remind you, wouldn’t let you live in ignorance.”

“Ignorance is a fine state of mind.”

“Okay. I’ve said what I had to, now you do what you want.” He shrugged it off, changing the topic. “Ten said he liked you, he said you can come back any time.”

She hummed, both irritated and relieved by the change.

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 9,067 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison Warnings: mentions of anxiety, language Summary: Y/N falls ill on a run and Daryl worries about what's wrong.

Your name: submit What is this?

You leaned back against the chain link fence as Daryl pulled out the bolt cutters and cut the chain around the gate. “Okay. Umm… canned pears,” you said, glancing over at the archer. He peered up at you through his curtain of wavy brown hair.

“Pears? Nah. Peaches.”

You straightened up as he heaved the gate open. “I prefer pears.”

“Canned pears are disgusting,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Fine! If we find some, more for me!” you said. He slung his crossbow back over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit and started to lead the way toward the building. You followed just slightly behind him, fingering the hilt of your knife.

When you reached the small loading dock, Daryl gave you a serious glance and set down his duffel bag. He pulled the bolt cutters out again. You nodded and he banged them harshly on the closed overhead door. You both strained your hearing after the metal rattling ceased. Nothing. It was silent. You grinned at him.

“Well, that’s good news,” you said, relaxing slightly.

“There could still be some in there stuck somewhere. Don’t let your guard down,” he said, clipping the lock off the mechanism keeping the door shut.

“You know I don’t let my guard down,” you countered.

“Mmm,” he hummed, focused on the task at hand. He replaced the bolt cutters in the duffel and checked the magazine of his pistol before sliding it back into the holster at his side.

“French-cut green beans,” you said suddenly.

His blue eyes shot back up to your face. “Green beans?” he repeated. “And what the hell does ‘French-cut’ mean?”

You laughed. “They’re, like, thin sliced lengthwise. Julienne cut.”

Daryl just kept staring at you like you were nuts. “Juli-what? Green beans,” he said again. You grinned. “I love canned green beans! Maybe even more than fresh ones… although I don’t think that’s true anymore since you can’t find fresh anything these days…”

He let out a scoff of a laugh and shook his head, turning back to his crossbow and fitting a bolt into the flight groove. “Yer nuts, ya know that?”

“You like it,” you said, lifting your boot and poking the toe into his butt. It elicited the exact response you wanted, which was a look he meant to be stern, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes gave away his mutual amusement.

“Sometimes,” he said, straightening up.

“Well, what are you hoping we find in there? Besides canned peaches.”

He shrugged. “I dunno.” He reached for the door latch, getting ready to heave it open.

Your hand shot out and landed on his arm, stopping him. “Nuh uh! That’s not a good answer!”

He sighed, taking in your insistent and expectant expression. “How ‘bout a giant jar of garlic dill pickles?”

You nodded, pleased with his answer. “Much better. Okay. Ready,” you said, unsheathing your knife. Daryl took in the playful light that lingered in your eyes as you readied yourself for whatever you were about to find inside.

He heaved the overhead door open and the two of you stepped into the dim shipment receiving area, shoulder to shoulder. You both clicked on your flashlights and swept them over the room. Daryl led the way to a door in the far wall. “Bet this goes to the storage area,” he said quietly. You nodded, a little anxious, shifting your weight from one hip to the other.

Daryl knocked loudly on the door and again you both strained your hearing, listening for the tell-tale moaning and clawing of the dead. It was intensely quiet. You and Daryl exchanged a look and he reached for the door handle. You gave him a nod and he pushed into the next room.

You were hoping to find the stock of emergency supplies that had been put together shortly before the outbreak became all-consuming. They were to be sent as hurricane relief. But instead of the hoped-for stockpile, you found a mostly empty stockroom instead.

“Shit.” You stepped farther inside and kicked at a piece of discarded shrink wrap on the floor. “I guess someone else heard the same tip we did,” you said, shining your light over the empty shelves.

“Mmm. Or got real damn lucky,” Daryl said, his crossbow still raised. His light illuminating a nearby doorway into the main store area. “C’mon. Let’s just check out here.”

You followed behind him with your flashlight up and you hadn’t moved too far into the room before a wall of horrendous odor hit you. “Oh my God,” you said, pressing a hand over your nose and mouth.

Daryl’s light landed on the decomposing scattered bodies of walkers. “Somebody cleared the place out,” he said, crouching down to look at the inflicted wounds. “They’re all shot.”

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured, gagging at the smell. You doubled over and heaved a few breaths, struggling to stop the bile that was suddenly churning in your stomach.

Daryl glanced back at you over his shoulder, climbing to his feet when he saw how pale you looked. There were beads of sweat across your forehead. “Ya alright?” he asked, rushing over to you, overwhelmed with concern. He gently rubbed your back.

You were afraid if you spoke you were going to vomit so you waved a hand at him and did your best to steel yourself. When you felt like you could talk, you tried to straighten up. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Really. It’s just the smell—Ugh, it hit me hard. I think I just need some air…”

Daryl was staring at you with a deeply furrowed brow. “Ya sure?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” You felt another wave of nausea and shut your eyes against it. “I’ll be outside… Just finish looking around in here and I’ll—I’ll meet you out back,” you said. Daryl sweetly grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. You met his blue eyes and saw they were darkened with concern. “I’m okay.”

The archer watched you retreat out into the fresh air, puzzled over the situation. He’d never seen you react to the smell of rotting bodies or gore that way. Hell, he’d seen you open up a walker’s stomach to check for meal contents. He’d seen you put down countless numbers of dead ones with an unhesitating knife to the skull. Just then he heard the unmistakable sound of you retching outside.

“Y/N?” He rushed outside to see you doubled over on the pavement a short distance from the door.

You straightened up at the sound of his bootsteps, your knees feeling a little shaky.

“You’re sick,” he said, a shadow growing on his face. “We gotta go. Get ya home.”

You looked miserable. “It’s just a stomach thing. It’s not a big deal,” you said, pulling out your water and rinsing out your mouth.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ ya ate. What’d ya have this mornin’?” he asked with anxiety.

You shook your head. “Can’t be that.”

“Food poisonin’? Why not?”

“Because I didn’t have anything,” you said, shoving your canteen back in your bag. “Did you finish up in there?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, but don’t matter. I’m sure whoever put down all those walkers cleaned it out. Ain’t nothin’ gonna be in there anyway. C’mon. Let’s just get ya home,” he said, taking your pack from you and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Daryl, we came all this way. Don’t you want to—”

“Nah. What I want is to get ya home. You’re sick. C’mon,” he insisted. His face was clouded with worry as you wiped a shaky hand over your brow, surprised at the clamminess of your own skin.

You nodded. “Okay. Alright.”

You were still a little nauseous the whole drive back to the prison. You had the window down so the fresh air was on your face which helped some, but the churning in your stomach never really stopped. Daryl kept glancing over at you the whole time he was driving, checking the color of your face, watching carefully for any sign that you were worsening.

He reached over and rested his hand on your knee. You caught his blue eyes and smiled weakly. “Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing. Probably just the stagnant air in there or something,” you said, trying to reassure him.

He wasn’t convinced, but he nodded.

He felt better as soon as he had you back behind the safe walls of the prison. His hand rested lightly on your lower back as you both headed up toward the main building. Daryl spotted Hershel and Carol in the yard and stopped short. “Hey—I’m gonna grab Hershel to come take a look at ya. Go on and lay down,” he said, inclining his chin toward the building.

“I’m fine,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time. “You’re really making too much of this,” you said.

“Maybe. But better safe than sorry,” he said.

You gave him a weak smile and nodded, conceding to his sweet concern. “See you in a few?”

He nodded, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze before he jogged off toward Hershel.

It wasn’t long before he arrived at the space the two of you had claimed, Hershel and Carol in tow. You were laying on the mattress with his poncho draped over you. You looked tired, but Daryl was relieved to see that some of the color looked like it had come back into your face.

Hershel pulled up a chair as you sat up. “Feeling a bit under the weather? Let’s see if you’ve got a fever. After having kids, every parent turns into a human thermometer,” he said. He pressed a hand to your forehead. “No fever. Any other symptoms? Headache? Weakness? Feeling dizzy?”

You shook your head. “No. A bit tired. And just had some nausea.”

“She was pale and clammy before,” Daryl drawled, watching with worry. “She looks better now.”

Hershel nodded. “I see.”

“Really, I think it was just the smell of those rotting walkers. The air in there was heavy with decomp. It was like I could frickin’ taste it. Ugh, it was horrible,” you said. Your stomach turned again a little as you thought about it and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Hershel nodded. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Hershel said.

Daryl shifted. “Ya sure?” the archer pressed him.

“I’m sure. Why don’t you go on and help Rick with that new water line? We’ll just get her some water and something to eat. Make sure she rests. But I don’t think there’s anything troubling.”

Daryl considered you for a moment and you gave him a smile. He seemed to feel reassured and he nodded. “Alright.” He crossed the space to you quickly and leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, giving you one more parting glance. You smiled at him again and watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

“So, I’m okay?” you asked, adjusting Daryl’s poncho over your lap. You watched Hershel and Carol exchange a look. You stomach twisted. “What? What is it?”

“It was the smell of the walkers that set off the nausea?” Carol asked.

“Yeah…” You stared at the two of them, perplexed. “What, you’re surprised that a bunch of rotting corpses in a closed-up store with no ventilation made me puke?”

“Well… a little, to be honest,” Hershel said gently.

You gave him a questioning look and then stared at Carol.

“We’re not saying that isn’t understandable. It’s just that you have never reacted that way before. And we’ve all seen you deal with rotting corpses before plenty of times,” Carol said. “You’ve never gotten sick.”

“I don’t get what you’re driving at. So, maybe I have a little stomach virus or something?” you said. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No. No, honey,” Carol said, grabbing your hand. She took a breath, her eyes searching your face. “Y/N, could you be… pregnant?”

You froze, a sudden, struck expression on your face. The doctor and Carol watched your eyes go a little round and wide, flitting back and forth as your mind whirred, like you were searching for the answer in the air over their shoulders. “Oh my God.”

Hershel and Carol watched your reaction carefully. You were as still as a stone statue.

“Oh my God,” you said again. “I didn’t even—” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t realize, but—” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “Between never having enough to eat and the constant stress, I didn’t even notice that I—I mean, it’s not like we’ve been trying.”

“So, I’ll take that as a maybe,” Hershel said nodding. There was a spark in his eye as he peered at you kindly. “We’ll see about getting you a test.”

You looked back at Carol, your mouth dropping open and your eyes a little frantic. “Carol, what do I—? Daryl… He—" If it was true, you had no idea how the archer would react. Hell, at that moment you didn’t even know how you would react.

She gave you a concerned smile and squeezed your hand between her palms. “Let’s just take this a step at a time,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You gulped and nodded, suddenly reeling with anxiety. “Okay. Okay…”

Hershel climbed to his feet. “You rest. Carol and I will figure out getting a test for you. Probably just ask Glenn to make a run.” He read the anxiety on your face. “Either way this goes, it’s your decision what happens next,” he said gently. “Daryl is a good man. Try not to worry,” he said.

You nodded. “I know. I know… Okay.”

Carol followed Hershel out and you laid down on the mattress, pulling Daryl’s poncho up over you and curling your fingers into it, pressing your face close to the fabric and breathing in his smell. You laid awake for a while with your mind spinning, wondering how he would react to the news. It was always easy to picture your future with Daryl, even during what was seemingly the end of the world, but you’d never thought about the details beyond the two of you being together. And with the history of his parents, what he had gone through, you didn’t know what he would want as far as a family… That had never mattered to you before, but now that you were staring the possibility in the face you were suddenly wrecked with nerves.

Sometime later, the archer arrived to check on you, approaching the space you shared in the lofted area of the cell block quietly, expecting you to be sleeping. But he was surprised to see that, although you were in bed, your eyes were open and you rolled over at the sound of his quiet steps.

He was sweaty and coated in dust and mud that was in various stages of drying. He set his bow down beside the bed. “Ya ain’t sleepin’?” he drawled.

You shook your head.

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Fine. Just a little tired.” You smiled at his dirty and somewhat disheveled appearance. “Come here,” you said softly.

He glanced down at his mud-coated clothes and arms, and looked back up at you like you were nuts for that request. “M’filthy,” he said.

“I don’t care,” you replied. “Come here.” You moved over to make room for him to lay down beside you.

Daryl gave you a look, his blue eyes soft, and bent down to at least pull off his boots. He laid down facing you and his heart leapt as you moved into him closely, your arm draping over his waist. You moved your leg until it was tangled between his. He happily breathed in the scent of your hair.

“Ya okay? Really?” he asked, his deep voice a little heavy with gravel—the result of his concern.

You pulled back from him just enough so you could look into his handsome face. “Mhm. I’m fine. Really.”

He nodded and seemed to relax some, draping his arm over you, mirroring your position. You nuzzled into him again and for the first time since Hershel and Carol had left you alone, your mind quieted.

You felt him place a kiss in your hair and you smiled reflexively.

“I need to clean up. I’m gettin’ our bed all muddy,” he said. You felt the rumble of the bass in his voice.

“Can I come?” you asked softly. “I’ve felt gross since the run.”

He glanced down at you and nodded. “If I ever say no to that, ya can assume I’ve lost my damn mind.” He gave you a fond look and smoothed your hair gently. “Ya sure ya just don’t wanna sleep?”

“Mhm. I’m sure. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep unless you’re right here anyway.”

Daryl smiled, feeling a swell of affection for you and the way you always made him feel wanted and needed. “Alright. C’mon then.”

So, the two of you made your way to the showers and slipped into a private stall. Daryl pulled you into him under the stream of water and kissed your bare shoulders and up your neck, his arms smoothing over the curves of your sides and landing on the angles of your hips. You scrubbed away the mud from his skin and he smoothed the soapy lather over yours, loving the way his fingers glided over the shape of you. When you were both clean, Daryl shut off the water and wrapped you into him with his big towel causing you to laugh. “Gotcha,” he drawled.

“You do.” Your hand landed flush on his strong chest, your fingers splayed out, and you looked up at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled slightly in a smile. Daryl’s heart jumped every time you looked at him like that. He leaned forward and left a kiss on your nose, watching as your eyelashes fluttered closed.

You looked up at him again as he grabbed your towel for you and you both dried off before pulling on some clean clothes. Daryl watched you running a comb through your hair and studied the graceful movements of your hands. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing your eyes to him immediately. “Ya know I love ya, right?” He still looked a little bashful every time he said it. You didn’t mind.

Your face lit with a gentle smile and you closed the space to him in an instant, clasping his face in both of your hands. “I know. And you know, I love you, right?” you said.

Daryl’s lips found yours and you sank into each other for a moment. “I know,” he said when you broke apart. “C’mon. Ya need somethin’ to eat and then sleep.” He laced his fingers with yours and pulled you toward the cell block.

After a quiet supper with the rest of the group, the two of you wandered outside into the evening air to enjoy the stars for a few moments before heading up to bed. Daryl sat down on the soft grass and tilted his head at you, beckoning for you to come sit up against him. You sank down in front of him and leaned back. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

One thing Daryl always loved about you was that you didn’t need to fill every silence. Just being close to one another filled each of you up in ways that idle chatter never could. But when he did want to talk, you listened intensely, really listened to him in ways he wasn’t used to. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said softly, pausing to anxiously chew his bottom lip for a moment, “if the outbreak hadn’t happened, you and I probably never would have even looked at each other.”

“Hmm. How do you mean?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking about how best to explain what he meant. “I was too busy runnin’ around bein’ a piece of shit with Merle. And you—we were in different worlds, ya know. We probably never woulda even had the chance of brushin’ elbows. But if we did,” he shrugged, “I don’t think ya woulda looked at me twice.” He ran his hand down your bare arm, relishing the feeling of your soft skin. “Hell, I didn’t think ya would look at me twice even now…”

You turned and looked over at him, a sad but thoughtful expression on your face. “It’s hard to know, and maybe you’re right, that we would have never met… but if we did, I think I would have seen you just the same way. It’s impossible not to see you, Daryl.” You clasped his face and stroked your thumb along his strong jaw.

His eyes were flickering between yours and he felt that familiar bloom of warmth starting in the center of his chest, right between his lungs, and growing outward. He nudged his nose up at you, in awe of you always, and you acquiesced happily and kissed him. “Let’s get some rest,” he drawled when you finally broke apart. “C’mon.”

Daryl stood and pulled you up, keeping your hand captured in his, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand as you made your way up to bed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you woke up the next morning you could tell it was much later than you usually slept in. And the fact that Daryl wasn’t beside you and that you hadn’t woken up when he stirred was also unusual. You were a light sleeper, and the two of you generally woke and got up around the same time. This sent your anxiety whirling again.

You got up and threw on some clothes, heading down to the lower level of the cell block and finding Carol and Beth sitting at one of the tables with Judith.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Carol said with a smile.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed. “Yeah, geez. What time is it? I don’t even know when I last slept in this late.”

She nodded and gave you a pointed look.

Beth only smiled up at you. “You must have needed it then,” she said kindly.

“I guess so…” You glanced around but the cell block was empty. “Where’s Daryl?”

“He’s on the fence with Rick. Little herd piled up overnight,” Carol explained.

“Mmm,” hummed in acknowledgment.

“Maggie and Glenn ran into town for some supplies,” Carol said, shooting you another meaningful look.

You nodded. “Great. Okay.” You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek.

“You want some breakfast? There’s some oatmeal we made,” Beth offered.

You shook your head. “No, I’m alright. I’m gonna go see how things are going on the fence I think.”

“Y/N, you should eat something,” Carol said.

You waved her off, already headed toward the door. “I’m fine! I’ll eat something in a bit!” Truthfully you had no appetite at all. This waiting, the not knowing, was agonizing.

You stepped out into the bright sunshine and set out toward the two figures on the perimeter fence. There was a group of walkers still clawing at the chain link, but it looked like Rick and Daryl had it under control. You grasped the interior chain link and hollered at Daryl and Rick over the mawing and growling sounds. “Best way to start the day?”

They both spun and you grinned at them. They were sweaty and splattered with walker blood, each clutching a metal rod in their hands, the end covered with a bit of gore. You felt a spin of nausea and avoided looking at the crimson dripping from their weapons.

“Morning exercise,” Rick said with a smile. He turned back and continued the task.

“Yer up,” Daryl said with a smile. He came over, wiped his hand on the red rag he always had in his back pocket, and then rested his fingers over yours, which were poking through the fence on his side.

“You should have woken me up! I can’t believe I slept in this late,” you said.

“Nah. Ya needed it,” he drawled. “Ya were out cold. Didn’t even move when I got up. Besides, we’ve got this handled. Ain’t no reason ya need to be out here.”

You nodded. “I see that.”

“Should be a done in a bit,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the growing pile of dead ones on the other side of the fence. Looking back at you, Daryl thought you looked a little pale. “Ya feelin’ alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing a little.

You nodded. “Mhm. Fine. I’m gonna just go see if Hershel needs help in the garden,” you replied. “See ya in a few?”

The archer nodded and watch you start to turn away. “Hey—just take it easy, alright?”

You laughed. “I think harvesting cucumbers is about as easy as it gets!” You gave him one more wide smile and headed for the vegetable garden. “Hey, Carl,” you said, as you came through the gate and passed him. “What are we harvesting today?”

Hershel glanced up at you and gave you a small smile. “Cucumbers. Peppers. Those tomatoes could use some weeding if you’re up for it,” he said. He surveyed you carefully and, like Daryl, did think you looked a little pale. But you seemed otherwise bright and alert as you set about your task.

But you hadn’t been working in the garden long when you started to feel a bit dizzy. A cold sweat broke out at your hairline and on the back of your neck and you knelt heavily in the soil a little suddenly.

Hershel noticed immediately. “Y/N?” He got up and moved over to you. He watched you wipe a shaky hand across your forehead. “You alright?”

You heaved in a deep breath and forced it out slowly. “Just feel sick all of a sudden. I’m okay. I’m fine,” you said, straightening back up. But as soon as you tried to stand your knees felt weak.

Hershel grabbed your arm to steady you. “Whoa. Easy now. Alright.” He turned to Carl. “Carl, go run and get Daryl.”

“No. No, I’m fine… Don’t bother Daryl with this. It’s nothing. I’m alright. I’ll just head back inside and rest,” you argued.

“You sure? It’s no bother to Daryl to come look after you,” Hershel said, giving you a pointed look.

“I’m fine. Really. I guess I do need some rest. It’s nothing,” you argued.

Hershel reluctantly released his gentle hold on your arm and you made your way back inside. Carol stood up when you came in and you read concern on her face at the sight of you. You let out a wry laugh.

“Wow, do I really look that bad?” you said, wiping at the sweat on your brow again with the back of your hand. Beth glanced over and she too looked worried after studying you. “I’m okay. Just gonna go lay down. I must just be a little sick... Caught some virus or something.” You climbed the stairs and collapsed back into bed, again grabbing Daryl’s poncho and cuddling up to it.

You dozed in and out for a while but woke when you heard hurried steps on the stairs. Looking up you saw Daryl in front of you, his blue eyes narrowed and obvious worry on his countenance. You leaned up on one elbow as Hershel came into view behind him.

Daryl sank down on the edge of the bed next to you and pushed your hair out of your face, smoothing it gently. “Ya are sick,” he said.

“I think she might be a little anemic,” Hershel said. “She needs iron. Red meat would be best.”

Daryl glanced over at him and nodded. “Alright. I can do that,” he said, grateful for a task that would be helpful to you when he was feeling helpless. He looked back at you. “I want ya to stay in bed today. Rest,” he said softly, his eyes flitting between yours. “Ya gonna be alright if I go out and hunt?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He gulped. “Alright. Promise you’ll stay in bed?”

You looked up at the sweet worry on his face. “I promise. Promise you’ll be safe out there?” You hated the idea of him going out and hunting alone.

“I promise. I’ll come back to ya.” He smoothed your hair again and then leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes briefly at the sensation.

He shouldered his crossbow and look at Hershel. “Thanks, doc,” he said. You watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

You glanced up at Hershel who set a glass of water down next to the bed for you. “You really think I’m anemic?”

He nodded. “I do. Fits all your symptoms. All of them except you getting sick yesterday.”

“Oh… okay.”

Hershel gave you a kind look. “Glenn and Maggie should be back any minute now. I’ll come and check on you in a bit.”

You dozed on and off for a while until you heard some activity down the stairs and you sat up in bed. Quiet, steady footsteps on the stairs approached and Maggie came into view with a small bag for you. “Got what you needed,” she said.

You sat up, your stomach churning nervously, and accepted the bag from her. “Thanks,” you said. She hovered for a moment.

“Do you know what you’re hopin’ for?” she asked.

You shook your head and glanced up at her. “Not really…”

She nodded. “Well, either way it goes, we’re all here for you. And I know Daryl is too, no matter what.”

You gave her a small smile and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” You stared back down at the bag in your hand. “Well, better get it over with I suppose,” you said, standing up and heading for the bathroom.

A short while later you were back in the space you and Daryl shared, the pregnancy test sitting on the chair next to the bed. You couldn’t stop switching between sitting and anxiously bouncing your leg and pacing along the side of the bed wringing your hands. You were obsessively checking the time and it felt like it had decided to move like cold molasses. You were a bundle of nerves, but finally it was time to check the results. You forced a nervous breath in and out and picked up the test.

Positive. It was positive.

You felt like your knees were about to give out and you sat down on the bed hard, staring at that little plus sign.

Your heart was racing, and even though you were terrified, and so nervous wondering what Daryl’s reaction would be that you thought you might pass out, you broke into a teary smile as you stared at the results.

You replaced the test on the chair beside the bed and flopped backwards onto the mattress, staring up at the gray concrete of the ceiling and watching the shifting light and shadows. Whether it was simply from the relief of knowing or a result of the stress leading up to it combined with the toll on your body, you fell asleep not long after, cuddled up to Daryl’s poncho.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was almost sunset when Daryl came back from his hunt, hauling a small deer over his shoulder. He had told himself he wasn’t coming back until he had some meat for you and everyone else (but mostly for you…) and he had succeeded. Usually hunting or tracking quieted his mind, but the whole time he was outside the prison fences he had been worrying about you. Before the outbreak, it wasn’t a big deal to get the flu or some random virus. But now, without access to modern medical care, something simple could turn into a big fucking problem real quick. You’d never had a problem with anemia before, if that’s what this was, and he didn’t really understand why you suddenly would. But he also knew that you were the type of person who would choose to go without a decent meal so Beth or Carl could have a second helping. He made a mental note to ask Maggie and Glenn about whether they saw any place on their run today that might have meds or supplements. Better to search out what they could before you needed it desperately.

The sun was low and sinking fast beyond the tree line as Daryl nodded to Carol as she closed the gate behind him.

“That’s a good find!” she said enthusiastically, looking at the deer slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. How’s Y/N?”

“Hershel’s been checking on her. She’s been sleeping all afternoon,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded. “Good. I was afraid she’d be up tryin’ to help on the frickin’ fence or somethin’. Stubborn,” he drawled. He started up toward the prison and left the deer outside to be butchered. He wanted to see you before he did anything else.

It was quiet in the cell block. Most of the group was winding down for the evening, sprawled out with a book or busying themselves with some quiet activity. Rick gave Daryl a nod as he came in and continued bouncing and shushing Judith.

Climbing the stairs to your shared space, Daryl could tell you must still be asleep. Normally you’d have been calling out to him already with some greeting, or you’d be waiting at the top of the stairs with a one of those smiles that killed him every time.

He smiled as you came into view on the bed. You were partially curled up on your side, cuddled up to his poncho tightly, your fingers curled into the fabric and your cheek pressed to it. He pulled off his vest and tossed it on the chair beside the bed, debating about whether or not to wake you up and ask how you were, when he heard something clatter to the floor.

He bent and felt around under the chair and his hand closed on it. Straightening up, he finally looked at what was in his hand. Even Daryl knew what that little plus sign meant. He glanced back over at your sleeping figure.

This was—was this—suddenly, everything made sense.

The archer rushed down the stairs and toward the exit. Rick looked up and frowned at his urgency. “Daryl?” But the archer didn’t even stop to look at him.

Outside, he grabbed his crossbow from where he had laid it down by the deer, shouldered it, and let himself into the alley between the fences, running toward the vehicles waiting on the outside.

Carol saw him and her stomach immediately twisted. “Daryl?” She rushed toward the fence, but by the time she got there he was already slamming the driver door of the SUV and peeling out, the tires scattering gravel behind the car. Carol gripped the chain link fence so hard her knuckles were white and stared at the taillights disappearing into the dark beyond the lazily drifting cloud of dust. Her stomach dropped.

She ran the whole way back up to the prison and met Rick on his way out. “What’s going on?” Carol asked desperately.

“I was just coming to ask Daryl that same question,” Rick said, his eyes searching the yard and perimeter fence for his broad-shouldered frame. “He just went hurrying out of the cellblock.”

“I saw! He just took the SUV and peeled out of here,” Carol said, her eyes wide and worried. “It’s dark! Where could he possibly be going right now that couldn’t wait?”

A shadow darkened Rick’s expression. He shook his head and shrugged, meeting Carol’s eyes again, at a complete loss. “Better ask Y/N.”

Carol suddenly realized—like a flash of lightning. She nodded to Rick. “Let me go talk to her.”

Carol climbed the stairs to you and Daryl’s space in the cellblock. You were fast asleep on the bed and she gently touched your shoulder to wake you. You stirred and glanced over at her through sleepy eyes. You must have read something on her face because you shot up in bed immediately. “What? What is it? Is Daryl okay? Is he back?” You could tell by the lack of slanted light coming through the high windows that it must be dark.

Carol didn’t know how to tell you this. “He’s fine. He came back with a deer. And then—all of a sudden he just barreled out of here again. He took the SUV.”

You suddenly realized that Carol was sitting on the chair where the pregnancy test had been. Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “Wait—where—where’s the test? It was—it was right there where you’re sitting,” you said.

Carol shook her head. “I didn’t see it. There was nothing here when I came up. Just Daryl’s vest over the back here—”

Carol took in your wide-eyed expression. You jumped up off the bed and starting searching around the floor, reaching under the mattress. “It was right there. I set it there.” You stood up, frozen, one hand clutched to your head. Shit. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Daryl came back, and you were asleep, and he must have seen the test and— “He—He came back and I was asleep and he saw it,” you murmured. “He must have seen it and… he just ran off?” There were tears stinging in your eyes now.

Carol stood up and gently grasped your shoulders. “Try not to jump to any conclusions.”

“Carol, it was positive.” You just stared at her, your eyes still wide. “It was positive! What else am I supposed to think? He came back and he saw a positive pregnancy test and he just—he just left?” Your voice was desperate.

The only thing Carol could think of doing was to grab you tightly and hug you. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay! Don’t panic!”

Part of you knew Daryl would never just leave, but another part of you knew this was completely uncharted territory. You honestly didn’t know how he would react to the news… You couldn’t stop cursing yourself for leaving the stupid test out like that and letting yourself fall asleep. Anyone could have walked up and seen it, and of course it had to be Daryl. You snatched his poncho off the bed and started toward the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Carol demanded.

“I’m gonna go wait,” you said. “I’ll be in the east guard tower…And Carol—Please don’t say anything about this to anyone… Just—not yet. Not now.” You breezed past Rick on your way out, ignoring him calling your name.

Carol met him at the bottom of the stairs. “What’d she say?” Rick drawled.

Carol shrugged. “She was sleeping. Maybe—maybe Daryl is worried about her being sick and decided to go look for supplies,” she offered weakly.

Rick let out a disbelieving sigh. “At night? By himself?”

All Carol could do was shrug.

“How is Y/N? And where’d she just rush off to?”

Carol nodded. “She’s alright. Worrying about Daryl now obviously. She wanted some fresh air and to watch for him so she headed up to the guard tower.”

The worry creases on Rick’s forehead didn’t ease. “What the hell is he thinking going off by himself at night?”

Carol shook her head. “He probably wasn’t.”

Up in the guard tower, with Daryl’s poncho swaddled tightly around you, you sat out in the open night air and stared at the road that led up to the gate. A few times you even tricked yourself into thinking there were distant headlights approaching, but when you looked again everything was just as still and black as it had been a moment before. You heard the door creak open behind you and Hershel stepped out.

He sighed and looked up at the inky blue-black sky, dotted with innumerable stars. “Ah. It’s nice and cool out here now,” he said, leaning back against the wall of the tower. He bent and set a bowl of some noodles and vegetables beside you. “You better eat something,” he said.

“No appetite right now, funny enough,” you said.

He could see the rigid tension in your shoulders and he sank down next to you with some effort, adjusting his prosthetic leg with a sigh. “I can see you’re getting ahead of yourself,” he said gently. “Trying to guess the answer before you can even ask the question.”

You finally looked over at him, an anxious expression on your face. “Did Carol tell you?”

“No. She didn’t have to. I can guess well enough,” he said, a small smile on his lips. Hershel turned his gaze out over the yard. “You know there was a time, back at the farm, when I wasn’t sure about Daryl. You can imagine this old farmer was a little skeptical of his rough-around-the-edges, hot-headed biker attitude,” he chuckled to himself. “But time and time again, he came through for me and my girls. He watched out for all of you and he kept us safe even when we weren’t his to care about yet. He certainly saw Shane for what he was before anyone else.” Hershel breathed in a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out slowly. “And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d do anything for you.”

You could feel tears burning in your eyes again, and you adjusted the poncho around your shoulders.

“Whatever reason he had for tearing out of here like he did, I promise you that he will be back,” Hershel said strongly.

You wiped one tear that leaked onto your cheek and sniffled, trying your hardest to blink away the rest. You nodded. “Yeah. I just—I don’t know how to—how to do any of this,” you said. “And we’ve never even talked about it so I don’t know what he wants. What if—”

Hershel chuckled again. “What ifs can lead you down a dangerous road of thinking. Let’s just wait and see, hmm?”

You gulped and nodded, staring back out into the night. “You don’t have to wait with me,” you said.

“I’m going to sit here until you eat something. Doctor’s orders.” You could hear a smile in his voice and you begrudgingly picked up the bowl he had brought for you and picked at the food. Hershel smiled.

When the bowl was empty, Hershel took it from you and pulled himself to his feet again. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You’ll see.”

You felt like you had been waiting up there for days, but it was really only a few hours. You were reeling with worry, but this time when you thought you saw headlights and looked again they were still there.

You jumped up and stared as the SUV came into view and stopped at the gate. Turning on your heel, you started to rush toward the stairwell but you suddenly froze. What the hell were you going to say? What the hell was Daryl going to say? You were gripped with anxiety again as the multitude of what ifs you had been fighting since waking up suddenly traveled through your brain in single file at light speed. You were frozen, staring at the door for… you didn’t even know how long when it suddenly started to open.

You startled and jumped back with a small gasp of surprise. Daryl’s broad shoulders emerged through the widening gap. “Y/N?”

You gulped and stared back at him, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek.

He stopped just inside the door and took in your wide eyes and obvious distress. His brow furrowed heavily, casting a shadow over his narrowed blue eyes. He gulped and stepped closer to you.

You cleared your throat, hoping your voice wouldn’t come unnaturally high or strangled sounding despite the constriction in your throat. “You’re back,” you said softly. It was the only thing you could force out.

Daryl looked puzzled. “Of course I’m back,” he said, stepping closer. He drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and worried it between his teeth for a moment. You watched as he reached in his back pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test.

Your heart was pounding.

“I, uhh—I found this. Ya were asleep and—” He gulped. “It’s positive, right? Means you’re pregnant.” It really wasn’t a question.

Daryl could see your chest heaving a little with your nervous breaths. You nodded.

Daryl stared down at it for a long moment before he looked back up at you. “What do you wanna do?” he asked.

You stared at him. He looked so calm while you felt like you were spinning. “I don’t—I don’t know—I—” You forced in a breath. “We’ve never talked about what you want. Hell, we’ve never talked about what I want either…”

“I know what I want. I want you. That’s more than I could ever ask for,” he said, stepping closer toward you again. “But this? This is your decision. And whatever you decide is fine by me.”

You were almost overwhelmed with emotion immediately, just hearing him speak those words. Daryl saw it and he couldn’t resist breaking the buffer of space between you any longer. He clasped your face in both hands as the tears finally broke free of your eyes and traveled down your cheeks. “Hey. S’alright,” he murmured to you. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you against him tightly. “M’right here.”

You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. “You’re really okay with… either way?” you asked him, uncertainty still plain in your eyes.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya. Promise.” He smoothed his hands over your back.

You leaned your head against his chest for a moment and listened to his strong and steady heart. Daryl gently stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of you against him and the silky strands of your hair under his fingertips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, part of you still bracing against some worst-case scenario you knew would never come, but that nagging doubt wouldn’t be completely silenced. Your voice was soft, but Daryl still heard it as clear as day. “I think—I want to do this. With you.” You pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting Daryl’s waiting blue eyes. You had barely gotten the words out before he had wrapped you up again and picked you up off your feet, hugging you so tightly he squeezed a little air from your lungs. You let out a surprised laugh as he set you back down, about to speak again, but he clasped your face and kissed you feverishly before you could start. It was like a warm shot of bourbon or that first warm day of sunshine after a long winter. It was urgent and soft at the same time, pleading and needy but affirming, his fingers in your hair.

When he finally pulled back there was a smile crinkling the corner of his blue eyes as they flickered between yours. You were sure you had a slight look of shock on your face still despite the bewildered smile you were now wearing.

“We’re doin’ this?” he asked, not releasing his gentle hold on your face.

You nodded. “We are.” Your heart was pounding. “Oh my God, we are…”

Daryl kissed you again and you sunk into it deeply this time. His hands came to rest on your hips and you stared up at him, still feeling a little like you were spinning. “I didn’t know how you’d—because of your life growing up…” you trailed off.

He nodded. “I know. But I ain’t my dad,” he said forcefully. “You’ve shown me that more than anyone.”

“I woke up and Carol said you just went running off and I—I didn’t know what to think when I realized the test was gone and that you must have seen it,” you admitted.

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he shook his head as he looked at you. “Ya thought I would leave ya?”

“No! No, I didn’t—but then—I just—I guess I got scared… This whole thing is a little overwhelming.”

“Hey. C’mere,” he said, wrapping you up in his arms again and pressing you against him. “I ain’t never leavin’ ya. Never. You’re—you’re my everythin’.”

You breathed him in for a moment before pulling back. “Well, then where did you go?”

One corner of his mouth twitched up and he laced his fingers with yours. “C’mon. I’ll show ya.”

You followed him down the stairs and back into the prison to the cellblock. It seemed that everyone was already asleep except for the two of you, satisfied once Daryl was back that they didn’t need to wait up worrying anymore like you were. When you climbed the stairs into your space, Daryl bent down and pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed. It looked like it was stuffed full. He knelt down beside it and unzipped it.

You stared down at the contents and then met his blue eyes. “This is what you were doing?”

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod, pressing his lips together a little nervously. Now you were the one who grabbed him and kissed him desperately.

The bag was full of things you would need during a pregnancy and for a baby; pre-natal vitamins, bottles, pacifiers, blankets, diapers. Your heart swelled as you looked down at it and then back at Daryl again. You shook your head. “You just—you amaze me,” you said.

He shrugged, still a little bashful when you directly complimented him even after all this time. He reached back under the bed and pulled out a second bag. You gave him a questioning look. “What is that?”

“In case ya decided the other way,” he said. “S’mostly just some random things ya like. Books and…” He shrugged again.

“So—Baby was Plan A?” you asked him as he climbed to his feet.

“You were Plan A. Ya always were and ya always will be.”

You looped your arms around his neck and his hands reflexively landed gently on your lower back. “But—you were hoping—?”

He paused thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “If ya woulda asked me a week ago I don’t know what I woulda said. But as soon as I picked up that damn test up and looked at it… And then I looked at ya just layin’ there asleep, all wrapped up with my poncho the way you were… I knew what I was hoping for. But I mean it when I say that anything you decided would be fine. You’re the one who as to do the hard part.”

You arched up onto your toes and kissed him again, sliding your fingers into his hair and feeling calm and happy again for the first time since you had sent out for the test. “How’d I get so lucky finding you?” you asked him quietly. Daryl felt his heart skip a beat and electricity zipped up his back. You always did that to him. Easily. Still.

“I ask myself that all the damn time,” he drawled. “Now c’mon. Ya need rest.”

You nodded and realized that despite sleeping most of the day, you were exhausted. Anxiety will do that… “I suppose you think this means you’re gonna be able to boss me around now?” you joked, settling into bed.

“Damn right,” he said with a smirk, pushing the duffels of supplies back under the mattress. “Gotta make sure ya take care of yerself and the little one. I’m gonna boss ya around all the damn time.” He kicked off his boots and slipped into bed next to you, immediately moving until his body was pressed against yours and he could wrap an arm over you. You slipped your fingers between his. “Gonna tell Hershel he can boss ya around too,” he joked. “And Carol. And Rick. And Maggie. And—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you laughed.

Daryl smiled to himself and kissed your neck. “We’re doin’ this,” he said softly.

You sighed contentedly and nodded. “We are.” And that night you had no trouble sleeping.