#this is the closest I have come to actually answering the question of 'what do i think is happening'

[autistichalsin]

My chapter-by chapter analysis of The Hunger Games, chapter 1

Disclaimer: this and all future chapter analyses will contain spoilers for all the books.

What really strikes me about this chapter is what a masterpiece it is; a masterpiece of foreshadowing, establishing moments of characterization, worldbuilding and more, all without ever feeling like we're actually getting infodumped on. This is accomplished with Katniss's stream-of-consciousness storytelling. I've heard it criticized so much, but even aside from the very salient point that it fits her characterization as an emotionally stunted, traumatized, poorly-educated teenage girl, it still helps the story in moments like this. We feel Katniss's inner chaos, and it makes the story that much more immersive.

On to the spoilery part of the analysis:

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress.

There was a post, a while ago, that I can't find but wish I could. In it, the OP talks about how Prim is literally doomed by the narrative, not "heavily foreshadowed death," but literally doomed by the narrative, and this paragraph is the first sign, because Katniss reaches for Prim and feels emptiness instead. And re-reading this, I agree. The first thing we see Katniss do is reach for Prim, and find nothing. This time, it's temporary, but by the end of the series, it won't be. We've been warned, even if we don't realize it yet: Prim is doomed.

Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Katniss loves her sister and will do literally anything for her. Katniss also has no moral qualms about drowning kittens. With just one paragraph, we learn what a simultaneously harshly practical yet beautifully caring, loving person Katniss is. She has no room in her life for useless things like pets, and drowning strays probably helps the people of 12 in the long run by leaving vermin to be eaten by those on the verge of starvation. But her sister wants to keep Buttercup, and so she will. Katniss will sacrifice anything to keep Prim happy.

Foreshadowing. Prim is doomed.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

STILL more foreshadowing, for different themes: both for one of Katniss's biggest complexes (I'll get into details about this later) and for the theme of love. Katniss doesn't truly love anyone but Prim. Her entire world, we know, is going to be shaken when she does finally feel that for someone else again. Once again, we are being introduced to the recurring themes of love vs practicality and the classic question, "how much pain is love worth?"

Katniss is going to answer this question again and again: for Prim, there is no amount of suffering too great. For others... she'll find different answers. Eventually.

My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.

The first hints of Katniss as a deeply traumatized girl emerge. Sometimes, when you're traumatized enough, thoughts can segue into The Event with no warning, just by proximity. And through the combination of blunted language and stream-of-consciousness leaps, we can see just how broken this has left Katniss. Unfortunately, this is only the start of Events for her.

My father could have made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they’re as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they’re among our best customers.

A brilliant bit of worldbuilding. The Peacekeepers are working off of deeply corrupt laws, which they ignore because they too are being mistreated and systematically starved, even if they aren't as at risk as the people of 12. The system doesn't care about the very same people it safeguards to enforce its rules. This is the first hint we get that the system isn't sustainable, and it comes before we even fully understand what kind of hell this government is.

The theme of "bread and circuses" is going to be hammered down to us again and again that this is how tyrannical governments, including this one, pacify the masses. But when only the bourgeoisie are being given the bread and circuses, well.... the proletariat aren't going to take it forever.

The book hasn't shown itself to be the anti-capitalist masterpiece it is yet, but this is the first hint that we're reading a tale of class warfare.

“District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety,” I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, even in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

I have seen criticisms that this is an egregious case of showing and not telling, with Katniss constantly talking about the dangers of badmouthing the government while never facing them. But in truth, it's the opposite. Yes, Katniss hasn't been caught despite repeated statements that she could have, but we'll learn, here and in future chapters, that 12 has been receiving a sort of tradeoff with other districts; their more severe poverty places them below notice. No one thinks them capable of causing real trouble, and even their district specialty- coal- is later proven to be basically useless, busy-work. So they get ignored... for now. Until the oligarchs start seeing what the proletariat can actually do and crack down all the harder to ensure they keep their cheap labor.

Are you seeing the resonance with the real world yet?

Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

Here we see the dual themes of parentification and sacrifice. Katniss will be the adult, even though she ISN'T an adult, for her sister. She will keep quiet on things that hurt her, and upset her, to set a better example for her sister and keep her from getting hurt. Prim gets to have the normal and safe childhood Katniss never had, because Katniss has invested everything into ensuring she does.

We are taking a step up the ladder of self-sacrificial acts, here. In other words: more foreshadowing. Katniss will give everything for Prim. Prim is going to die, because Katniss is going to lose everything she cared about in the process of protecting everything she cared about.

In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself.

Katniss can't be a teenage girl. She has to be Prim's mom. She has to be tough. She has to be a provider. She has to be a trader. An advocate. She so rarely complains about it, too. But it shows here just how much she's given up. Only one place, and one person she can be herself with, and yet...

Gale.

Isn't this ironic. Because we are about to see, throughout the entire series, that this day is going to be the last time Gale actually lets Katniss be herself (and even here, there are strong hints that Gale wants Katniss to be something very different).*

*Disclaimer, because it seems important: my opinion on the Katniss/Gale vs Katniss/Peeta ship war is "team nobody." I think both of them were very bad for her in different ways. Any comment I make that seems like it is favoring one ship or the other... isn't.

“Hey, Catnip,” says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when I first told him, I had barely whispered it. So he thought I’d said Catnip. Then when this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts, it became his official nickname for me.

Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but I feel like this sums up the Katniss/Gale relationship so much. Katniss tries to speak, and Gale doesn't hear or understand her. Gale projects something onto her, and Katniss rolls with it. Sure, in this case it's a cute nickname, but it represents so much more to me.

Gale doesn't understand Katniss. Fundamentally. He understands the Katniss he wants to exist. The one who will run off with him and play house in the woods and indulge his little fantasies. He doesn't know very much about the real Katniss, at least as long as he's looking at her through a romantic lens.

“Look what I shot.” Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it, and I laugh.

Despite what I just said, I do love Gale and Katniss's friendship, and it breaks my heart that their friendship was as doomed as Prim. (Hint. Hint.) Katniss needed someone who understood the unique pain of parentification due not to abuse, but poverty- the kind where you aren't 'allowed' to feel angry at anyone within reach. Which is the worst kind of injustice. Getting mad at someone who harmed you is one thing, but getting mad at a system you can never (... yet) hope to change is different.

She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam.

It's said in a casual and sort of admiring way here. But Katniss is going to learn firsthand about the intersection between love and sacrifice. With the generational mirroring as a theme, especially between Katniss and Peeta, we're being given more foreshadowing that Katniss has self-sacrifice "in the blood."

I try to remember that when all I can see is the woman who sat by, blank and unreachable, while her children turned to skin and bones. I try to forgive her for my father’s sake. But to be honest, I’m not the forgiving type.

Another little glimpse into Katniss's pain and trauma. Her mom wasn't there when Katniss needed her most, and Katniss and Prim both almost died as a result. It wasn't her fault, and we see later that she regrets it deeply, but this still leaves scars. Your parents, above everyone else, are supposed to protect you. Katniss's mom didn't, Katniss nearly died, and because of that, Katniss had to sacrifice what remained of her childhood to become Prim's mom.

Katniss and Prim's relationship never goes back to just normal sisterhood after this. From the moment Mrs. Everdeen's trauma rendered her catatonic onwards, Katniss and Prim's relationship was infused with a mother-child dynamic that never left, not even when Mrs. Everdeen became well again.

It's so painful, all the more so because it's so real. I lived this with my little brother, albeit with stakes maybe 1% this high, when my mom became an alcoholic and my dad was too busy just trying to survive to really do anything. I was the one to take care of him emotionally, to show someone cared, to provoke my mom's anger so he wouldn't be hit, to make sure homework got done and he didn't skip school (I failed. Badly.) He still considers me more his parent than either of our parents. It never really goes away, even when you're both adults; that overdeveloped feeling of responsibility stays with you. Always.

And the worst part of it is when the parent who made you have to do this decides, on their own, that the time is right for them to come back. Katniss's mom is far more gracious about it than my own. She at least understood Katniss's pain, and didn't try to force the role on her; it happened only when Katniss was ready. But that too, as we'll see in a minute, was painfully real for me.

“I never want to have kids,” I say. “I might. If I didn’t live here,” says Gale. “But you do,” I say, irritated. “Forget it,” he snaps back. The conversation feels all wrong.

Once again, a hint that despite their sweet friendship and similarities, these are two tragically, fundamentally incompatible people. Katniss is in too much pain to think of ever having a family, and Gale is in too much pain to think of not ever having one. Katniss wants to survive the way she always has (which she doesn't realize isn't her destiny yet) and Gale wants to flee and survive literally any other way.

Both change in the end, but the underlying incompatibilities in their life approaches are still there.

And even if we did . . . even if we did . . . where did this stuff about having kids come from? There’s never been anything romantic between Gale and me. [...] Besides, if he wants kids, Gale won’t have any trouble finding a wife. He’s good-looking, he’s strong enough to handle the work in the mines, and he can hunt. You can tell by the way the girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find.

A few very interesting things are happening here. One, we're getting another hint, first dropped during Katniss's thoughts about Buttercup, that Katniss has a pathological inability to believe others actually like her- romantically or otherwise. Part of it is low self-esteem, part of it is putting Prim on such a pedestal that Katniss feels she can never live up (and giving her more self-esteem issues) and feeling like anything she attributes to herself might take away from Prim, and part of it is just raw cynicism. And maybe a dash or two of the feeling of permanent othering trauma gives you. Especially when that trauma involves a realization that you're never going to be able to rely on others to meet your own needs. You're responsible for your needs and your loved ones' too.

(Katniss is one of the most complex and real characters of all time. I relate to Katniss an uncomfortable amount sometimes.)

The other interesting thing is that you're getting a sense, for the first time, of how much trouble Katniss has recognizing and processing her own emotions- a very common trait in neurodivergent people. She can sort-of-understand a feeling of jealousy, but can't quite put her finger on the reason, and fitting with her attitude of relentless practicality, she decides that it's the worry of losing a useful hunting partner. Because, after all, Prim is the only person she loves, she can't care for anyone else, there isn't room for that. To care about anyone else would be to "take away" something from Prim.

Katniss repeatedly raises the question of when self-sacrifice crosses the line into self-harm by proxy. When altruistic love becomes self-negation instead. It's sweet that she loves Prim so much, but the codependence... If this is the benchmark for love for Katniss, it's no wonder that she feels at this point that she can't feel it for anyone else. This isn't sustainable.

(Prim is doomed. We've been warned.)

I found the patch a few years ago, but Gale had the idea to string mesh nets around it to keep out the animals.

This is going to be a recurring theme; Katniss is too impulsive and lacking a sufficient cause-effect pathway to be a planner/strategist. Gale makes the plans now; later it'll be Peeta and Haymitch.

(Also, this is foreshadowing Katniss's lack of agency. She is about to become an audience member in her own life story. She found the strawberries, but she didn't decide what to do about them. Gale did. That's about to become her entire life.)

No one in the Seam would turn up their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but the Peacekeepers who come to the Hob can afford to be a little choosier.

There is a hierarchy still, where the Peacekeepers are starving, but not as starving as the people in the communities they're sent to. Everyone is hungry, but some are hungrier than others.

Hint. Hint.

“That’s not her fault,” I say. “No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is,” says Gale.

"Remember who the real enemy is." Katniss gets told this repeatedly, by Haymitch and others, and eventually she learns the lesson in time to lead a successful revoltuion.

Gale does not learn this lesson. He will end up destroying everything he cares about in his pursuit of revenge against the Capitol and anyone associated with it.

Gale would normally say that there is a huge difference between Madge, the mayor's daughter who is pampered and comparatively privileged, versus the willfully malicious Peacekeepers; the middle class are still part of the proletariat, after all. But Gale, in his pain and fear, loses sight of it and lashes out. This time, it's just words. By the end of the series, when he gets actual power, it will lead to something far more catastrophic.

Prim is doomed to die, Gale and Katniss's friendship is doomed to end in the most bitter way possible, and Gale is doomed to be his own worst enemy.

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn’t reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I’m sure she thought was a harmless comment.

Gale knows he's wrong to say things like that. But again, as said above, his pain and fear get the better of him, and cause pain to those around him. His normal philosophy is correct, but he loses sight of and discards it far too easily.

(Gale is going to lose everything because of his scorched-earth approach to anger.)

Also, a note: this is how the real world operates too. Culture wars to distract from class war. For an entire generation of readers, this was their introduction to the basic principles of socialism.

But what good is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of the woods? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make things fair. It doesn’t fill our stomachs. In fact, it scares off the nearby game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than in the district.

Katniss is still hung up on practicality. When she rants about the Capitol, she is, subconsciously, crying for help. But venting for the sake of venting doesn't make so much sense to her, given her stunted emotions.

Another bit of characterization I really enjoy here is the realistic teenage behavior. Yes, they're the oldest in their families, responsible for their entire family and only able to support them by hunting, and they should "know better". But they're teenagers in a fascist government, with an already extreme list of traumas and corresponding problems with emotions. Of course they're going to act irrationally at times and scare off game because they're having a meltdown- even non-traumatized teens would do that sometimes!

They're teenagers. Incredibly well-written, realistic teenagers. They don't have fully developed frontal lobes with the corresponding gifts of planning, impulse control, cause-effect relationships, and other things yet. They're more mature than most, but they're still going to behave foolishly sometimes.

Prim is in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It’s a bit big on her, but my mother has made it stay with pins.

This is probably a "the curtains are blue because they're blue!" moment, but this is another bit of symbolism I enjoy. Katniss, at Prim's age, was hunting and entering the Hob. Prim is being kept alive by both Katniss and Mrs. Everdeen. She has a dress that mostly fits. She has good meals now. She is protected where Katniss wasn't. The dress represents both the sacrifices Katniss made for her and the fact that now, Prim has the adoring mother Katniss didn't have. She has two loving people looking out for her, willing to do anything to keep her safe, healthy, and happy.

(Prim is doomed.)

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. “Are you sure?” I ask.

Katniss can't comprehend her mom doing motherly things for her. Both because of the parentification, and because Katniss still fundamentally can't believe that anyone, even her own mother, actually cares for her enough to want to do anything for her. Not after four years of Katniss carrying the entire family on her back. It's incompatible with the world she's lived in for the last four years.

Katniss is painfully relatable.

I’m trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn’t allow her to do anything for me.

Painfully. Relatable.

What Katniss is feeling in this scene, I don't think I can describe to anyone who hasn't been there. It's relief-bitterness-anger-hope-longing-mistrust.

"Oh great, look who's finally here to help now that things are okay again and I figured everything out on my own! I want you back. I want a parent back. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't stop it. I can't trust you not to make me do it again. I'd better keep doing it so I don't get my hopes up. How do I even live without doing this? How do I live as a person and not a caretaking robot for my family? Am I allowed to do that? What kind of selfish person would I be if I did, especially now that I've seen what will happen if you fail again? No, I'm not letting you do this. I'll let you pretend to the little one because they need a parent figure and they deserve to feel normal, but me? Hell no, do you think I'm stupid? I am taking care of myself, I already learned what it costs to trust other people to see to my needs and that is not a price I'll pay a second time, thankyouverymuch. Yeah, mom I love you. I'm glad you're okay now. And thanks for doing this for me, I guess."

It goes something like that.

But I digress.

In just this paragraph Katniss expresses so much of the pain of parentification, so succinctly yet vividly that it makes my chest hurt.

I just really, really love Katniss, okay?

“You look beautiful,” says Prim in a hushed voice. “And nothing like myself,” I say.

Ow. Just... ow. She says it so matter-of-factly. Like she's just accepted it into her worldview; Prim, the embodiment of everything good in the world, is beautiful. Katniss, the leftover, the thing that exists just to take care of Prim, is ugly. That simple.

I wish we could have seen Prim respond here; surely she doesn't like anyone, even her sister herself, talking about Katniss this way? Or maybe Prim is so used to these kinds of casual self-put-downs that she's stopped trying to talk Katniss out of it.

Again: painfully relatable.

I protect Prim in every way I can, but I’m powerless against the reaping. The anguish I always feel when she’s in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face.

Once more: Painfully. Relatable. You put so much into protecting 'your kiddo'. And then something comes along and reminds you that you're even more powerless than the useless adults in your life. It hurts. It feels like you failed. It's one thing for you to get hurt, you already know how to deal with it, but them?

Ugh. Dystopian fiction isn't usually where my inner abused and parentified child gets validated, but this series unlocked some things in my neural pathways.

Thank you, Suzanne Collins, for Katniss. I feel so seen in so many ways through her and her story.

Sorry. I know this is supposed to be an analysis, not a love letter, but damn if Katniss doesn't play my heartstrings like a fiddle.

“Tuck your tail in, little duck,” I say, smoothing the blouse back in place. Prim giggles and gives me a small “Quack.” “Quack yourself,” I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me.

Sorry, I am going to try to not repeat myself so much, but once again it just... Prim gets to be a child, because of Katniss. She gets to be a normal-ish 12 year old who makes silly animal noises and can't tuck her dress in. Katniss was fighting for her life and trying to find food. And of course it's not Prim's fault- I love Prim. But there's something just so painful about this contrast. Katniss had her childhood stolen from her, first by the tyrannical government she lived in, then her father's death, then her mother's mental illness, and finally the needs of a child she never should have been responsible for.

It's no wonder Katniss spends so much of the series in that emotional state abused, neglected, and traumatized children know all too well. You're simultaneously precocious and childish. Too grown-up one minute and acting like a child the next. Katniss never got to experience linear growth, and her psychology sure as hell shows it.

Painfully. Relatable.

Also, yet again: Prim. Is. Doomed. She's the most important thing in Katniss's life, the rationale for every decision Katniss makes, the reason she gets out of bed in the morning. The one person who makes Katniss's life worth living. Precious, sweet Prim, who retains her innocence and kindness in a world that aggressively stomps out both, is doomed by the narrative in every possible way.

Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker. The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. [...] I stare at the paper slips in the girls’ ball. Twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written on them in careful handwriting.

When you're a child, you can't comprehend something awful happening to your parents, because your life experience just hasn't shaped yet to show you that it's even possible. You don't understand that it can happen.

When you're an adult, you can't comprehend something awful happening to your child, because your life experience has shaped to show you exactly how it's possible. You know exactly how it can happen, so you can't believe that it can actually happen.

Katniss is at a stage of her life that would already be transitional in normal circumstances, where she'd start contemplating mortality- but she's already dealt with it for years.

Her own death doesn't scare her anymore. Her sister's scares her so much that she doesn't even think it's a possibility. After all, everything she's done for the last four years of her life has been for Prim. To keep her alive and give her the childhood Katniss lost suddenly and traumatically.

Prim is doomed.

Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch — this is the Capitol’s way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy.

We got hints of apathy and cruelty before, but now the curtain is, for the first time, being peeled back. This isn't a system built on simple oppression. It's a system built on raw sadism.

It's another sign that Panem isn't sustainable. People can endure a lot of cruelty when their loved ones are hostages, but there are limits. When those limits get pushed (hint), something will have to give.

To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others.

Bread and circuses. The poor give labor (food) and entertainment, and the rich receive them. The rich live sequestered lives full of privilege, yet ultimately just as much under the thumb as the tyrant as anyone else. But still supporting the system because they lack the empathy to want change when they benefit from the status quo more than they would from a new system, so they think. They are simultaneously disgusting and pitiful.

Like the comfortably wealthy Trump-supporting boomers we all know and loathe.

The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food.

Our very first, incredibly subtle hint, that winning the games might be even worse than losing them. The first time reading, of course, you'll take this at face value. Later, though, you'll think of this and realize it was all only mockery and isolationism, a way of guaranteeing that the victors would be scapegoated by their District, ensuring they would never find companionship again even if their trauma didn't prevent it. And they can't complain, because, after all, they now have a life of comfort.

So many things are intersecting here; class warfare (Victors being an allegory for "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" and the American Dream) and the isolation of trauma and mental illness and more.

But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away. “But there are still thousands of slips,” I wish I could whisper to him.

Katniss so rarely worries about herself, only those she cares for. Again; her own mortality is okay to her. It's those she protects she can't let this happen to. But since she can't even bear to face the possibility of Prim being chosen (Prim is doomed) yet, she focuses her feelings on Gale, not only worrying that he'll be picked, but worrying that he will be upset that she might be. She only spares thoughts for herself for a few brief seconds, in the next paragraph.

Katniss gets accused of being selfish so many times, but it's notable that those moments only happen once she volunteers to go into the arena, once her survival depends on a bit of selfishness. Before then, she's one of the least selfish people in the entire series, and I'd argue that even at her worst she doesn't count as truly selfish. She's a teenager trying to survive and return home to her family, not a toddler who won't share toys.

I’m feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it’s not me, that it’s not me, that it’s not me.

But, of course, even when you are theoretically okay with dying, being faced with the actual thing will still inspire terror. So for just a moment, Katniss lets herself lapse into worry about herself.

For just a moment, she thinks about herself- and just that fast, Prim is placed in danger.

(This is how Prim will die too, by the way; being put in danger the one time Katniss is focused on something other than her. Prim is doomed.)

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it’s not me. It’s Primrose Everdeen.

The unthinkable has happened, and Katniss's life has been changed forever.

And even though she can save Prim this time, it's only temporary.

Prim is doomed. Nothing in the world can prevent it now. Prim would die in the arena, but by going instead, Katniss has put herself in a position where any and all actions she does will spark a revolution that gives her a Pyrrhic victory.

There is no version of events where Prim lives.

Prim is doomed.

[araneitela]

Stop, stop, stop. There is only one 'Destiny's Slave' in the boundaries of Honkai: Star Rail, and that is Elio. Whether speaking about Kafka, Blade, Silver Wolf, and Firefly as a collective or as their own individual selves, the Stellaron Hunters are not "Destiny's Slave(s)".

You can call every living entity in HSR a 'slave to destiny' if you so insist, as that is honestly a common perception of destiny in media and in our actual lives, but that does not make it our title. Elio is the only one, the only one, directly referenced (and capitalized accordingly as one would do with a title) as 'Destiny's Slave'. Singular, not plural. Never once is it utilized in plural form, and capitalized like that. So stop taking it from him. Stop giving it out to the others and diminishing what it means for him within the greater narrative of the story.

Here, let me explain the fundamental issue behind taking this from his character, it lays with the burden that he bears. For just a second, imagine being able to see all the ways in which destiny can unfold: you can see the destruction of worlds and of the lives that inhabit them, of which some may be dear to you. You see things that you don't ask to see or may never want to see, but you have to bear it. And then there's the reality that that's the only power you hold, and you are powerless to directly influence it yourself, or stop it from occurring in any way. You know what that makes you? Destiny's Slave. That's one hell of a cruel 'destiny', isn't it; to bear witness, but no more than that?

Seriously, think again before you call Kafka, Blade, Silver Wolf or Firefly 'one of Destiny's Slaves' or 'Destiny's Slave' individually, for it's not what they are. Stop taking something from one character, to then also, quite frankly, mischaracterize the others afterwards.

[likeumeanit9497]

the re-do | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: y/n participates in the triplets' "dirty q&a" video, where she accidentally infers that her experience losing her virginity to matt back in high school had been mediocre. instead of taking offence, matt makes it his mission to show her just how much he has improved since then.

warnings: SMUT; established friendship; m/f oral; unprotected p in v; dirty talk; 18+

notes: hi guys! this is my first ever one shot so pls be gentle with me (i'm genuinely so terrified to post this). it has absolutely NOT been proof read forgive me, but i hope you all enjoy <333

“Guys why am I actually nervous to film this?” Nick proclaimed from his place in the backseat of the car beside me. “No I am genuinely so scared right now.” Replied Chris from the seat in front of me as he began passing out our respective orders from McDonalds.

“We can’t act nervous or else the fans are gonna go even crazier than they already will.” Added Nick as Matt adjusted the camera on the dash. “You’re sure you’re gonna be able to handle the inevitable shit talking that’s gonna come from all this?” Matt asked as he turned to face me in the back. I took a deep breath but nodded. “The more they see me the more desensitized they’ll be. They’ll have to eventually get over it.”

As one of the triplet’s closest girl friends, I had been on the receiving end of a fair amount of hate from their fangirls on the internet. Because I had known them since elementary school, I had been a part of many of their earlier videos when their fans had still been pretty chill about our friendship. But over the past year, a new wave of younger fans had found the videos and had made it their life mission to publicly bash me any chance that they could. It became too much when, a few months ago, one of them decided to spread a rumour that Chris and I had slept together based on nothing other than strategically edited clips of us smiling at each other. It was then that the guys and I had made the decision to keep me as out of the public eye as possible.

However, the guys had sat me down last week to explain how fed up they were with how restricted they felt they had been in their content. They wanted to make an attempt at reclaiming a fandom built primarily of viewers closer to our age, and they thought that the best way to try that was to ignore the petty complaints and make content that they wanted to make. So, since I had been staying with them in Los Angeles for the month, I had agreed to not only be in one of their regular videos, but I had agreed to be in their ‘dirty q&a’ video. I couldn’t lie, I was a bit nervous, but mostly I was excited that my friends were finally confident enough to make videos with more extreme topics.

“Alright guys, ya’ll ready?” Chris asked, intaking a sharp breath while his hand hovered over the record button on the camera. We all responded with a falsely enthusiastic “ready!”, and the camera was turned on.

“Alright, first question,” Nick began after his long-winded introduction filled with disclaimers and explanations for their change in content. “How many people have you slept with?” Already with the first question, it was obvious that the guys were tentative about answering. “Bro I don’t know, next question.” Chris responded, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’ Chris?” Asked Matt tauntingly. “I mean I haven’t fucking kept track of everyone I’ve slept with.” He responded bluntly, before realizing how bad that had sounded. We all, however, erupted into laughter immediately. “Okay okay it’s not that bad guys I swear, I just have a bad memory is all.” He attempted to remedy his previous answer, but all three of us continued to laugh.

“Matt, how about you?” Asked Nick, to which Matt simply held up five fingers to the camera. “Same with me.” Nick agreed before turning to me. “Y/n? Spill it.” I rolled my eyes before answering truthfully. “Seven.” I shrugged, and I caught Matt’s smiley eyes through the rear view mirror.

“Alright next question is…” Chris was scrolling through the responses to their Instagram threads. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Sixteen” We all responded in unison, and immediately buckled over in laughter. “Not all at once though ya’ll.” Nick explained through his laughter, while mine and Matt’s eyes flew open and Chris’ laugh turned into hysterics. “Well…” Chris began before he was cut short by the three of us telling him to shut up. “I’m definitely gonna have to cut that one out. Sorry you two fools, I kind of set him up there.” Nick rolled his eyes as he looked between Matt and I.

Ironically enough, the fans had been half right in their rumour about Chris and I sleeping together. I had slept with one of the triplets before, but it wasn’t Chris.

When we were sixteen, Matt and I had decided that we wanted to lose our virginities to each other. It had been a no-strings-attached decision, and our friendship thankfully never wavered after it was done. Both Nick and Chris had already lost theirs that same year, and we had both just kind of wanted to get it over with. Obviously, this piece of information was known only by Matt and I, and of course Chris and Nick since they had barged into the room while we were in bed together. Even though the vindictive side of me would love to have the fans know this piece of information and shatter their dreams, I knew that the fallout would be an absolute nightmare.

“Okay let’s see…” I had been handed Nick’s phone to choose a question to answer and was scrolling through my options. “Here’s a simple one. Favourite position? Mine’s speed bump for sure.” I placed the phone down, satisfied with my confident answer, only to be met with multiple pairs of confused eyes. “I beg your pardon? The fuck is speed bump?” Asked Nick as he took his phone back. “The one where you’re kinda just lying flat on your stomach with the guy behind you. Trust me it’s chef’s kiss.” I responded simply. Chris’ facial expression turned from confusion to one of understanding. “Ohhh yeah that’s a good one.” He replied as he dapped me up. “Great, gonna have to edit that out too unless you want the rumours to get really bad again.” Nick said as he rolled his eyes. “Shit, sorry Nick.” Chris said, giggling slightly.

“Let’s just move on.” Matt said as he began scrolling on his own phone. “Best and worst sexual experiences.” He read off of his screen. There was a moment of silence while we all thought of our answers. “I had a girl throw up on my dick once. The problem is I don’t know if that makes it the worst or the best though.” Said Chris, earning a loud groan from each of us. “You’re sick.” Replied Matt, giving his brother a disgusted look.

“I mean I guess the worst sex would probably be my first time right? Like that makes sense right?” Asked Nick in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Chris’ confession, to which I nodded in agreed response without thinking. I caught Matt’s eyes in the rearview mirror again, this time seeing them filled with a pleading expression. Realizing what I had done, I silently prayed to the universe that my action would go unnoticed by the others. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, my head nod didn’t make it past Chris, which was made incredibly clear when he mumbled to Nick behind his hand that was hiding his smiling mouth from the camera.

“Did you see that?” He asked, and Nick looked confused so he continued, “Y/n agreed with you about her first time.” He managed to get out before erupting into laughter at the expense of his brother. Matt threw his hands up in the air once Nick joined Chris in his giggling, and I winced from my place in the backseat; also mouthing an apology to Matt’s reflection in the mirror.

“Bro come on it was my first time! I guarantee you were trash your first time too.” Matt said in an attempt to repair his ego as he threw his empty cup at Chris. “Maybe so, but I don’t have the girl who I lost it to here in the car to confirm it.” Chris snarked back, playfully nudging Matt’s shoulder. “We all gotta start somewhere dude.” He added when Matt didn’t respond. As Nick continued choking on his own laughter, Matt crossed his arms and stared out the window, very clearly wishing he was anywhere but there in that moment.

“Okay okay,” Nick began catching his breath. “We need to cool it because 90% of that what we just filmed is completely unusable. Let’s please just try to make it through this video without exposing Matt and Y/n’s bumpy sexual history again.” He pleaded as he began scrolling through his phone to find new questions.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“God, that was rough.” Said Chris as we all climbed out of the parked car. We had finally finished the video. It took us an hour to film, and would still be edited down to just twenty minutes of content where we weren’t exposing big secrets or directly fuelling past rumours.

“At least it’s done. It might be a while before I ever want to do that again.” Nick responded as he opened the garage door leading into their house. “Agreed.” Added Matt from behind me as we climbed the stairs to the main level. We all walked over to the fridge to grab drinks, as if the beverages would clean our dirty mouths.

“Alright,” Chris began after a hefty chug from his Pepsi, “I’m going to my room. Matt, Nick, get on Fortnite with me.” He began descending the stairs. “I’ll get on once I shower Chris. I have a desperate need to scrub this FILTH off of my body.” Replied Nick, and he began walking towards the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Y/n, come upstairs whenever you want to go to sleep and I’ll get off the game.” He called over his shoulder as he disappeared at the top of the stairs.

Matt and I were left alone in the kitchen, him sitting at the table and me sitting on top of the counter in between the stove and the fridge. Swinging my legs carelessly, I decided to break the silence first. “I’m really sorry about all of that in the car Matt. I didn’t mean it.” He looked up at me and chuckled. “Yes you did, and it’s not a big deal. I know I wasn’t great back then.” He responded before taking a drink from his can. I smiled softly at his response but decided to leave it be. There was no use in trying to deny it. The sex was just boring, short, and awkward; the way that most first times are. At least he didn’t take any offence to it.

“You know,” He began after a few moments of silence, his eyes shooting to mine as he stood up from his place at the kitchen table. “I’ve gotten much better.” A playful smirk travelled to his lips as he began walking towards my frozen figure on the counter. He stopped just a few short centimetres away from me, so close that I could reach out and touch any part of him that I wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me, until I felt his early signs of arousal press lightly against my knee.

My throat was dry, and I felt like a deer in headlights. Even though Matt and I had slept together when we were younger, the dynamic was much different than now. The proposition came about awkwardly, and we were a fumbling mess with very little understanding of how it felt to be aroused. But in this moment, I was very very aroused just from this conversation.

In my silence, he placed a firm hand on my hip, rubbing his thumb across it gently. “I can do just about anything. Just let me know how you want it and I can give it to you.” My stomach did a somersault at his words, and I felt my panties dampen. He used his free hand to push my legs apart so that he could stand in between them, and my limp hands subconsciously moved up to grab onto his shoulders. At the first sign of my willingness, Matt quickly leaned forward and peppered soft, teasingly slow kisses along my neck. His lips travelled up to my ear, where he bit the lobe playfully before whispering, “Well, tell me. How do you want me Y/n?”

His words caused me to clench on nothing and I nearly moaned from the anticipation. With him still waiting on my response I whispered back, “You can do anything you want to me, Matty.”

Without missing a beat, he attacked my lips with his own and I melted from the immediate relief. I moved my hands from his shoulders up to the base of his head, and as his tongue danced along with mine I pulled gently at his messy hair; my own mouth filling with a moan falling from his lips. His right hand traveled up my grey hoodie to find that I had nothing on underneath, and he lightly brushed the bottom of my left tit with his thumb. Suddenly his hands moved from under my shirt and gripped my ass as he effortlessly lifted me off the counter and into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he stumbled towards his bedroom.

Once inside the undisturbed room, he placed me down on his desk, my ass hitting the mouse and causing the computer to turn on; casting a light on the otherwise dark room. He wasted no time in removing my hoodie, leaning me back slightly so he could easily twirl his tongue along each nipple. I hummed in pleasure from the warm, wet sensation of his mouth connecting to my skin, and brought my hand down in between our bodies to softly run my hand up and down his clothed hardness. After a few moments, he pushed my hand away and dropped to his knees in between my legs.

Pulling my grey sweats off my body and pushing my thong to the side in one quick motion, Matt took a moment to relish in my swollen, dripping hole. “I don’t remember you being this wet for me last time.” He smirked as he looked up at me with blown out pupils. “Let’s see if you taste the same.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head at his filthy words, and a moan slipped from between my lips as his mouth made sloppy contact with my sensitive bud. I subconsciously grabbed onto the back of his head, suffocating him with my heat as he continued to suck and kiss my clit. As his tongue worked on my nerves, he released a guttural moan that vibrated against my heat, causing my back to arch at the intense feeling.

When we had done this all of those years before, Matt’s movements were lacking in confidence. He had fumbled around my clit blindly, and had ate me out cautiously as if he was afraid of hurting me. Now, this Matt had clearly gained experience, as my stomach was already beginning to fill with the familiar pressure from the build up of an orgasm once I watched him find all of my most sensitive spots; his eyes blissfully closed.

Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away from my heat and I groaned at the loss of contact. He straightened his body back up to my level and brought his face so close to mine that our noses were touching. “Kiss me. I want you to know how good you taste.” He whispered through his glistening bright red lips. More on fire than I had ever been in my life, I immediately attached my open mouth to his, moaning at the distinct taste of my sweet arousal on his tongue. As we deepened the kiss, his fingers found my heat and he ran two of them up and down my folds to collect my wetness before slamming them into my cunt; finding my spongey g-spot on the first pump with his curled fingers.

My head rolled back, lost in the euphoric feeling of his fingers filling me up, and he watched my facial expressions intently as the wet sounds of my upcoming orgasm filled the space between us. “Holy fuck, Matt.” I slurred, my voice coming out choppy as his fingers continued to relentlessly pound into me; never losing contact with that one spot that drove me crazy. “I-I’m gonna-” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the very beginning of my orgasm roll over my body.

Suddenly, all of his movements stopped and my eyes shot open out of frustration. In the time since my eyes had screwed shut, his own had darkened in arousal. My body trembled from the sudden halt in its pleasure, and he smirked at me. “You want to cum, sweetheart?” He asked, his kind words a harsh paradox to his sinister expression. Still, I nodded eagerly to which he pulled his fingers out of me completely before leaning up and placing his wet mouth right against my ear.

“You’re gonna fucking wait for me.”

I attempted to squeeze my legs together to take some pressure off of my throbbing, unsatisfied core as his vulgar words scrambled my brain, before he pulled me off the desk and pushed my head down so that I was now the one on my knees. Confused, I looked up to find him gazing down at me. He gestured towards his clothed member. “Go ahead.” I grinned slyly.

My turn.

I had made an attempt at giving him head the first time we had sex. Just like him, I had struggled with confidence due to the sole fact that I had no clue what I was doing. Since then, I had had plenty of practice, and I was excited to now be the one to show him my improvements.

I grabbed onto the waist band of his pyjama pants and pulled them down to his knees. With only his tight red boxer shorts covering it now, the outline of his thick cock and the small wet spot at its tip from his pre-cum made my mouth water. I brought my mouth up to the skin on his lower stomach, right above the Calvin Klein logo on his boxers, and began peppering excruciatingly slow kisses along the light sprinkling of hair there. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes to find him peering down at me with curious lust, his mouth open slightly and his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

After a short while, I grabbed his boxers and pulled them down to meet his pants at his knees. His hardened cock smacked his stomach on its release from the tight material, where it left a wet patch from his pre-cum. Grabbing it with my left hand, I collected a pool of saliva in my mouth and stared up at him as I let it all drip down his swollen member. After pumping my hand for a few strokes, I placed only the tip in my mouth as I watched his eyes dilate. I swirled my tongue teasingly along the swollen tip, tasting the the saltiness of his fluid. Eventually, I began pumping my hand up and down his shaft in rhythm with my head bobbing along the top half of his cock. He shifted on his feet at the new sensation and let his head fall back. I kept my pace agonizingly lazy, knowing that it would drive him crazy.

With my tongue, I licked a strip from the base of his ball sack, up his shaft, and to his tip, earning a hushed whimper from his lethargic mouth before he grabbed my hair and shifted his hips. Looking down at me and holding my head firmly in place, he began thrusting his hips as he kept me still. He started slow, but when he realized that I could take more his pace began to pick up and his cock began to hit deep in my throat. I looked up at him through my tear-filled eyes, and saliva began to drip down my chin. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth.” He grunted out through each thrust. I lifted my hand to cup his balls, giving them gentle squeezes that seemed to send him towards his climax.

As a moan fell from his lips, he pulled my head back so that his dripping cock sprung free before he got the chance to fill my mouth with his cum. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed taking deep breaths as if he was fighting the urge to finish right then, before he opened his eyes and gazed down at me. “Get on the bed.”

I pulled myself up off the ground and, on shaky legs, walked over to his bed with him following close behind. Once I reached the edge of the bed he stopped me, turning me around to face him and pushing me down so I would sit. “Put your feet on the bed and pull your knees up to your chest.” He commanded, and I did as I was told, albeit I was a bit confused. “Good girl.” He praised me as he pulled me right up to the edge of the bed before pushing my legs further apart.

Placing one of his knees on the bed beside me, he lined his cock up with my entrance; rubbing it tantalizingly along my wetness. Placing one arm around my waist to brace my body, he slowly pushed his cock inside of me right there on the edge of the bed. His trusts were slow but harsh, and the position he had placed us in made it so that my cervix was barrelled into each time his hips met mine. He placed his sweat-coated forehead against my collar bone and released small breathless grunts with each deep thrust. “So fucking good Matt. Oh god.” I whined as his pace began to increase in speed. He planted his teeth into my shoulder as we fell back onto the bed; his body now completely on top of mine as he continued to drive into me.

He lifted his head and looked fixedly at my fucked out face, his eyes glossed over in erotic pleasure. With this visual, I was brought back to the first time we had fucked, in a position so similar to this one. His rhythm was slower and much more tentative, and we were both certainly much less pleasing to the other, but still I suddenly got hit with a wave of recognition in how much we had both grown since then.

I was pulled out of my trance by Matt’s commanding voice. “Move back real quick and get on your stomach.” I did as I was told, feeling the emptiness that came from his dick sliding out of my soaking wet pussy. Assuming he wanted me in doggy, I got on my knees and arched my back; my head and shoulders pressed firmly against the soft mattress. I felt the bed move as he climbed on all the way, and in a moment of animalistic desperation I pushed my needy cunt subconsciously back to meet heat of his cock.

“No.” He stated simply, his veiny hands massaging my ass. Confused, I looked over my shoulder as I waited for him to explain. He had an ominous smile as he moved his gaze from my fully exposed cunt to my face. “I wanna see if your favourite position is really worth the hype.” He used his hands on my ass to push it down flat to the bed before adjusting himself so that he could line up correctly. Still looking over my shoulder with glazed eyes, I watched his expression as his cock sunk into my core once again. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyelashes fluttered slightly from the new sensation that the position gave him as he bottomed out. “Oh fuck.” His eyes were fully shut now as he stayed still for a moment. Small beads of sweat traveled down his stomach as I took in the beauty of the man who was making me feel so so good.

Getting turned on even more just from Matt’s visual pleasure, my walls clenched subconsciously and I whined, “Please keep going Matty.” His eyes snapped open and landed on mine, before he leaned forward — one hand beside my head and the other planted firmly to the small of my back — and began pounding into me relentlessly.

The depth of this position allowed me to feel every inch of his cock, and it became impossible to keep the moans and strings of profanity from escaping my lips. This seemed to be the case for Matt too, as over the sounds of my own moans and the wet sounds of our bodies connecting, I could hear the gruff throaty moans of his own pleasure. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight Y/n.” Even though I was aware that we were both making far too much noise that Chris and Nick would definitely hear, I couldn’t get myself to bring it to Matt’s attention, as the animalistic vocalization of his indulgence was bringing me closer and closer to my climax.

“I-I need to cum Matty.” I managed to vocalize as my nerves began to unravel. “Hold it. Want you to cum with me.” He responded, leaning even further forward so that his body was practically lying on top of mine. He took a free hand and wrapped it around my throat, lightly squeezing the sides as my pleasure became dangerously close to bubbling over.

“P-Please cum for me. I can’t hold it anymore.” I begged, digging my nails into his silk bedsheets and feeling my walls quiver each time he drove his cock into my cervix. His breathing became hitched in my ear and his movements became sloppier. Biting my ear, he asked, “Where do you want me to cum, Y/n?”

Without wasting time, I moaned my response. “Cum in me please. Want you to fill me with it.” At that, Matt slammed his twitching cock into me a few more times before finally telling me what I so desperately needed him to.

“Okay sweetheart. Go ahead and make a mess for me.” Even before his words fully left his dirty mouth, I gave into the overbearing pressure in my stomach and felt my intense orgasm over-take me. Practically screaming his name, my pussy convulsed uncontrollably. I felt the immediate relief and heard the gush as I squirted along his cock and down his legs. “Jesus.” He moaned out as his body suddenly stilled. As my legs shook, I could feel his cock twitching inside of me; painting my walls with his cum.

After we both came down from our highs, catching our breath and reconnecting with our minds, Matt slowly pulled his dick — freshly bathed in my own juices — out of my swollen core. With a satisfied sigh, he threw his body onto the bed beside mine. Both of us laid there for a moment, facing one another with glazed over expressions, before a shameless smile crept onto Matt’s face.

“Well you definitely didn’t squirt the last time we slept together.” He chuckled proudly, and I knew his ego had been inflated. I rolled my eyes. “Well, you didn’t whimper the last time we fucked either.” It was my turn to smile as he covered his face bashfully. We laid there in silence for a moment, both of us lethargic and fucked out.

“If that was anything like when ya’ll lost your virginities then I am extremely impressed.”

Matt and I both shot our heads up and looked around the room for the origin of that familiar voice. We were alone, but my eyes focused on the lit-up computer. On the screen, Matt’s Discord was open to the group with Nick and Chris. I turned to look at Matt, who had also clearly made the same discovery that I had, and whispered, “Did you for real leave the channel unmuted?” He tucked his lips together and shrugged apprehensively, before climbing off the bed and over to the computer.

“Chris, how much of that did you hear?” He asked into his headset. I heard a laugh through the mic. “Oh Matt, I heard it all. Good work. I’m a proud brother.” I covered my face in embarrassment as Matt rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. You’re a perv.” He mumbled to his brother, but I caught the small smile that tried to creep to his lips.

“I’m gonna need a fucking lobotomy to get over the trauma that I was just put through.” I heard Nick’s voice now through the mic and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro you could have just left the server, you act like I forced you to listen to the entire thing.” Matt argued with his older brother. “You think I stayed and listened to the ENTIRE thing? What are you crazy?” I was full out laughing now, despite the embarrassment. “I left as soon as I figured out what was happening, but I still heard waaaay too much.” Matt laughed now and muted his mic — perhaps a bit too late — then walked back to where I was on the bed, propped up on my forearms.

“Whoops.” He simply said as he pulled his boxers back up. I shook my head and smiled shyly. “We are literally never going to be able to live that down.” I replied as he draped his body along the bed beside me again. Rubbing his eyes awkwardly, he shrugged softly. “Well, at least they’re gonna have to stop teasing me about my skills.” I smacked his arm playfully and he responded by grabbing me swiftly and pulling me to his side.

“You were impressed, weren’t you?” He asked teasingly, as he held me close. I closed my eyes and sighed, “I was, Matt. Really, really, impressed.” He giggled into my neck at my truthful response and I swatted him once again.

“I’m glad we got our re-do. I’d been wanting that for a while.” He said after a moment. I looked at him with a smile and ruffled his hair. “Me too, honestly. I always knew you had some potential in you.” I teased.

“Well, if you don’t want to have to face Nick right now, you’re welcome to sleep in here tonight.” He offered and I sighed in relief. “That would be great, actually.” I said as I began to sit up. “Let’s get cleaned up first though.” He began as he got up and grabbed us both towels from his closet, “You’re not allowed to get under my sheets until you wash my children off your thighs.” My eyes shot open at his disgusting choice of words and I quickly covered myself with my towel. “Matthew Bernard you are sick!” I exclaimed as we both headed towards his bathroom. “Sure am. But so are you.”

He pulled me into a hug while we stood in the bathroom waiting for the shower to warm up. As he rubbed circles on my back with his hand, I sighed. “I think this is the secret to good friendship.” He chuckled before asking, “What is?” Playfully, I smacked his ass over his boxers. “Fucking the shit out of each other once in a while.” He laughed and pulled away from the hug before getting into the shower; leaving the glass door open so that I could follow him. “Shut your weird ass up and get in the shower with me, friend.”

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[ramonathinks]

RAISE THE STAKES.

being a therapist was hard enough without the leader of an infamous group becoming your patient or to answer your questions, sylus has a few requests.

(18+, no minors! no blank accounts!) inappropriate relationships, patient!slyus, therapist!reader, munch slyus, oral and female masturbation, slight pussy inspection, dirty talk. exhibitionism, dry humping, word count: 3k... short and sweet

tagging: @xmiisuki @sunasbon @sugugasm <3

There was something clinical and plain about your office — though technically you were a type of doctor — the decor screamed hospital more than a comfortable place to tell your deepest darkest secrets. Faint pale blue walls with littered old stickers from the previous child therapist and even the stench of crayons … not to mention the floor tiles, squared with an iced blue paint that made the room both childish and clinical. Something fitting for a child hospital or even a former child psych ward.

That was the reason you decided for this particular appointment you’d switch rooms to somewhere more adult and that hopefully your boss would let you stay there. The pristine polished marble floors and white walls, two empty lush chairs and a small brown wooden table with magazines with two waters sitting on top. This was your dream room and one you felt you deserved. You were the most decorated person on your floor — top of your class in your undergrad and graduate class, internships at major places, yet you settled for here. Settled. It was smack dabbed in the middle of a city that needed you most. A dangerous city… but somewhere you felt like you could actually make a difference. 

Sitting in the chair towards the window you awaited for Sylus Qin – a name that sent more than enough shivers up your spine but who’s name spiked your curiosity, especially seeing it written for a first appointment directly with you. 

He walked in, his presence loud and alarming from the moment he stepped into the door, looking at you before he sat down in the seat closest to the door. You inhaled, the deep smell of metallic and what you must’ve guessed was gunpowder filled your nostrils. “You’re late,” You told him with a small smile. “And for your first appointment nevertheless.” Your tone is light and playful, you only hoped that he understood that. 

He arches a white brow and slouches back on the couch, it was obviously too small for his broad body and long legs but he still stretched them so they were nearing yours. “A meeting held me up.” He waited for some form of reaction before he looked away from you, probably now disappointed when your face remained blank.

You cleared your throat, “I’m quite sure that you didn’t come here on your own volition, so why are you here? I know that you of all people couldn’t have been forced.” You crossed your legs, watching his eyes glance at them.

“Two nuisances…” He grumbles, his face scrunched into a deadly scowl but his crimson eyes remain gentle as he looks at you. “It seems that I’ve been even more aggressive as of late.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he disagrees with the diagnosis. 

“Well… what made them come to that conclusion?” You watched him open his mouth to answer before he paused, thinking something. It takes a while before he speaks again and when he does he shocks you.

“What do I get if I answer any of your silly little questions…?” There’s a huskiness to his voice, a rough edge as he speaks. His eyes are trained on you, following you as your body sways a bit. 

You quirk a brow, “You want a reward for being…compliant?” You straighten your posture, looking at him with slightly wide eyes, it was the first time someone asked for something so ridiculous. “You tell me what you want—” You start before he interrupts you.

“Your panties.” Curt. Simple. Straightforward. You blinked, staring at this man and questioning how you managed to get yourself in this position. 

 Was the money worth it? That was the question roaming around your head as you just stared at him. How could he ask you such a thing with a serious face expression. “My panties? That would tempt you to answer the questions truthfully?” The skirt you were wearing felt a thousand times shorter and the room felt too warm for you to ignore the wetness you felt between your —

Your eyes twitched. A conversation alone, brief… and your panties were drenched, sticky to your folds. It would do wonders for your career to have gotten the man himself… the big leader of a malicious group to be less violence. So you sigh, “You want them now—”

“As an act of good faith,” He says smoothly. “Let’s put all our cards out on the table…How about you at least take them off so I know you’re being truthful to me.” 

You sucked your teeth, debating with yourself on if you really should do this or not. Your career is on the line regardless of each decision. You could just deny him, tell him off and force him out of your office. But your body seemed to be screaming at you to just do it. You hadn’t had sex nor a true orgasm in more than a year… possibly two and yet with him sitting in front of you, you felt as if you were close.

Your mouth no longer produces saliva and your throat dry as you slide them down your legs; you held them and watched a smirk take over his face. You couldn’t believe yourself honestly, this wasn’t something you’d ever expect yourself to do. While you weren’t exactly a good girl, you had standards… you couldn’t believe you were being so trashy. Yet the excitement in your body spilled out of your center and with his eyes glued there while you removed your underwear, your body shook.

“Already the air smells so better in here.” He chuckles and you feel embarrassment cloud your mind. “To answer your question from before… Apparently they believe I’m in a foul mood since I’ve been less tolerant on certain things that in the past, I was more passive on. They’ve expressed to me that with the rough ways I’ve been handling business has grown rather…impulsive.”

“Do you agree with that?” You recross your legs. “I’ve always heard that you were impulsive and honestly, I never heard anyone say you were passive… Do you think you’ve ever been passive? Do you think you can paint me a picture of yourself?”

He reaches out his hand and for a moment you’re confused before you realize he’s asking for his reward. Handing him the panties, you see him sniff them and it makes your insides quiver. This man… he was too much for you. 

“I see myself as…” He thinks, his eyebrows furrowed, he taps his foot on the ground. “I often find myself bored and find myself indulging in self destructive behavior... taking on more than I can and getting myself injured.” He scoffs. “I guess this particular time they're talking about is when I knew I was being set up but still decided to go alone without informing them - Luke and Kieran, I mean.”

“So they care about you?” You ask, mentally taking notes of every word and ever ounce of movement and even taking account of his voice and tone.

“Sure.” His voice has a slight tremble to it. “We’ve been together for longer than I can remember being without them…” Then he’s closed off again, acting as if he revealed too much to you. His crimson eyes trace up your legs again, he bites his lips.

You recrossed your legs. “Anyway…” You cough. “Is there a thrill in putting yourself in these situations? Or is there a need to demonstrate that your reputation is correct… to stop or limit people from defying you?” You are met with silence and a sinister glint in Sylus’ eyes. “Sylus? Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“I answered some for your panties. For this next question, you’ll have to do something else for me to answer it… unless you want a lie…or more silence.” His roaming eyes told you all that you needed to know, this request would be more.

A scowl on your face, “My panties weren’t enough?” You’re close to rolling your eyes at him, you want to hate him but it’s something in those eyes that keeps you from it. After this you knew that you’d decline any other visits from him, you might as well entertain him— no, you want to slap yourself for even thinking that thought. 

“I wanna see you cum, pet that pretty pussy and put a show on for me.” He says and you gasp, full blown as you stare at him. “C’mon kitten, don’t be so coy.” His eyes darkened but still his tone remained playful; slick gathered at your thighs and it’s almost as if he scented it with how quick his eyes snapped to your skirt.

“Sylus, the panties were already inappropriate enough. I can lose my license—” You stammer, your voice small and timid as you speak. This man… would be the death of you.

“I won’t let that happen.” 

You swallow, staring hard in his eyes. Looking in his eyes made you want to bend to his every whim and to continue. Your thighs spread a bit because honestly, you wanted this. “Fine.” You relinquished every ounce of self respect you had for yourself and spread your legs completely apart. A slap of cool air brushes against your bare skin, your shutter but spread your folds. You rub at your clit, staring in those addicting eyes. 

He drinks in the sight of you — dripping and oozing out spilling to the chair, he straightens himself, his eyes now locked between your thighs. Your clit is hard and throbbing knowing that his eyes are on your most delicate parts. You circle your entrance, collecting the slick that sits there before you dip it inside – teasing both you and him. You feel the warmth of yourself as you stroke your finger in and out of your walls, sloppy noises echoing around the room. Your thighs tremble and breathing heavy, he briefly glances at your face and back to the dripping sight below.  Your face scrunched up in a sense of pure ecstasy, you pop your finger out of your cunt and you put a finger in your mouth before rubbing your clit again, your thighs bucking and your hips humping upwards. 

His feet tap against the floor watching another finger join the one already knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers twitch looking at how wet and creamy your fingers are pumping in and out. “There’s a thrill… and excitement that comes with doing dangerous things…” His voice trails off, your mouth agape spilling little moans. “It feels good… it’s never a sense of pride, it’s more of a –” Using your other hand, you rub fast at your clit at the same time your fingers thrust inside deeper, hitting another spot that makes a bit of cream drip under you. “It’s more of a simple pleasure, just something to take the edge off of life. It’s a high… c’mon kitten, you’re killing me there. Need to see your face when you cum.” 

Your stomach sucks in at the words and you whine, leaking with a deep orgasm and deep breathing. “Ohhhhh!” Cream continues to spill out, you milk yourself more – curling your fingers before you pull them out with a drawn out moan. “Oh, mmm…” You feel so tired, your eyes dropping and a fuzzy brain when you turn your attention back on him. 

“What’s your next request for answering this last question?” You huff, your face flushed and your body trembling. You still tried to cover yourself but he just laughed, full and heartily. 

“I want you to sit on my face.” He’s hard, tapping his foot against the floor again still looking at your creamy pussy. “That’s all.”

“What?” But it shouldn’t surprise you anymore, no matter how much you fought on his demands… you knew you’d give in and you knew how badly you wanted him.

“I want you to sit on my face.” He said again, nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But… why? Are you trying to make me lose my job? Or are you just insane and don’t care about my livelihood or my dignity?” But really, it didn’t matter, with all you did now… your license was already revoked. 

“Would you rather be a good girl and sit on my lap? Grind yourself on my cock?” It was an enticing offer and you had to mentally stop yourself from taking it up. “Just keep being an obedient little girl like you have been and come sit on my face.” He’s pulling himself from the chair to lie on the floor with a bright smile on his lips. He waited, both of you already knew that you were going to come. 

“First... put your fingers in my mouth.” It makes you jump when he says that but you swallow your nerves and pride, reaching over and letting his tongue work its way through your fingers, his tongue slimy wet and sticky all at once. He groans out at the taste. “Sit.” He says simply. You’d never did this before, your legs trembled just standing above his head and even more when you bent down. 

You hovered over him, a string of your slick dripping over his face before he moved his head to capture it between his tongue with a groan; swirling his tongue in a circular motion as he took in the taste. “So wet…tastes so good.” His voice deep and inviting; sticking his tongue inside then flicks his tongue against your clit and wraps his mouth around it — sucking it before he releases it with a plop sound.  “Sit.” He told you, rubbing his hands across your ass, spreading it so that your pussy would wink at him with a small gushy sound. He firmly sits completely on his face so that his face is covered with you. 

His tongue feels like a thousand tongues when you drip over his face, grinding your hips and circling them. Your knees digging into the floor when you slide forward and back against him.“Sy–lus!” The pad of his tongue licks up your slit, moving to your folds and up to suckle on your throbbing clit. You tug his hair and he buries his face impossibly more into your pussy. Grinding and shaking his face into you before gripping your hips to make you really grind against his mouth.

You squeal with every moment as he uses his tongue to curl deep inside of you – your legs shaking and he slurps. Your toes curl inside of your stuffy shoes and though you can’t see his face because of the skirt you wear, you can feel the devilish smirk against your flesh.

He pulls you up, holds you. A string of his salvia and your slick and cream mixed together on his lips. “Never did ask that question, sweetie.”

“Oh, fuck you Sylus.” He’s sitting you back down, your thighs squeezing his head. His mouth latched to your clit and doing deep sucks with his fingers pressed deep in your thighs. Opening his mouth wider to truly capture all of what he can of your cunt — there’s a deep hunger in every lick he gives, his tongue dragging down from your clit to your slit and back up again. He laps at your folds with nothing else but groans and soft moans that leave both of your mouths.

His tongue swirls on your clit before small soft kisses that make you flinch. Cream and slick trickling down your thighs, your hips continue to hump him — it was as if his face belonged there, his tongue glued to your core and eating up everything you had to offer. Lifting you again, he says, “Want to feel that pretty pussy soaking me… you’d like that won’t you?” He grins, showing all his teeth. You’re quick to nod your head, tears in your eyes… this man was turning you into his plaything and you could care less… there was a thrill to this.

He doesn’t take off his pants much to your disappointment but he helps you to sit on his lap, his lust filled scarlet eyes filled with nothing but desire as he rolls his hips against yours. A small gasp leaves your mouth, your bare cunt soaking his pants and his cock deliciously digging into your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him thrust up against your throbbing center. 

Throwing your head back – you rock your hips back and forth against his clothed cock – feeling him press himself harder into you, rubbing himself against your core with deep throaty groans of pleasure leaving his mouth. You try to match his movements, hips bouncing up and down against him with needy whines leaving your lips. You both hiss when his cockhead brushes up against your clit – he rubs himself back and forth repeatedly, slowly while you move faster – chasing that high and in that moment you knew of the pleasure and the high that Sylus mentioned earlier because your body was reveling in it. 

Your stomach swoops at the sticky sounds that come from your pussy and the soft noises he makes. Even with soundproof office spaces, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone heard you both. Lazy grinding becomes thrusting again before downright dirty gyrating of both of you against each other – so close, you were almost there yet again. Pathetic sinful whimpers falling out of your mouth, he presses openmouthed kisses up and down your neck, nibbling on your clavicle. Your back arches, tears falling from your eyes, your pussy sliding against him and his hips stuttering. But he stops, standing you both up. 

“W–why’d you stop?” You’re gasping for air on trembling legs, he holds you close. Small sniffles leaving your mouth, desperate to feel him.

“I believe our time is up, sweetie. Maybe another visit will help unpack more.” He chuckles, walking towards the door. “I’ll return these on my next visit.”

[snaileer]

Wrong Number? Wrong Answer.

It was the usual deal that the Justice League Dark dealt with… way too often honestly.

Initially, it had been just Wonder Woman, investigating a cult that had attempted to abduct her earlier in the month.

Diana had defeated them. Easily. Of course. But upon questioning them, their reasoning had concerned her.

They had attacked her for a ritual to open the ‘Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep’, a ritual which required ‘a blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

Once again, she was being targeted for her parentage. Did it ever end?

Of course, she questioned them further, what other ingredients did they need, what artifacts they would be hurting others to create.

A ring carved from the bone of an unfreed slave.

A crown made of lava untouched by human hands.

And sand directly from the pouch of Dream of the Endless themself.

It was an eclectic collection of items.

And yet, they had told her that only the blade remained to be created.

Again, it was concerning.

So Diana left the fools to be taken care of by men’s authorities, and focused on tracking down just what they were doing and if necessary, how to stop it.

After depleting her academic resources, and her connections within with nothing to show, Diana finally called in her friend through the league, Zatanna.

Zatanna had been frazzled by it, showing up in her living room before they’d even finished the call.

Together they tracked down the cult to Gotham… which was also a problem.

It was the reason why Diana was running through the caves beneath the crime ridden city with one of her closest friends in men’s world and a magician by her side.

All too quickly, they were surrounded by fanatics, each carrying sharp blades solely focused on her.

Working in sync with Batman and Zatanna throwing spells above them, Diana believed it would be a well-won battle.

Until a golden light flashed across the cave, blinding her for a precious second as she felt a sharp sting cut across her arm.

When her vision cleared, her arm was dripping blood and John Constantine stood in front of her.

“Sorry about that, love,” Constantine smirks, “No harm done?”

Diana’s teeth grind together as she turns away from him, fighting her way through more followers. The one who had injured her is nowhere to be seen, and the blade with them.

Even once the rest of the swarm is beaten, their numbers no longer being replenished, Diana does not feel content. The sense of danger lingers.

“Constantine.” Batman growls, “What are you doing in Gotham?”

The Brit rolls his eyes as he lights a new cigarette, “You know I don’t actually have to tell you every time I enter the city right? But besides, that’s news to me, portals are a tricky business, I’m tracking my own problem.”

Batman glares at him.

“Someone stole from me mate. And whatever they stole it for can’t be good, so I’m here ta get it back. Thought you’d be proud of something like that, Batsy, insteada leavin’ it for someone else?”

Batman’s eyes darken, “We’re tracking a group trying to open the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep, is your artifact related to that?”

“Fucking shit it is yeah! Bollocks I didn’t think they’d be using the dream sand for something like that, what sort of mannies are these?!” Constantine exclaims, hastily grinding his cigarette beneath his shoe.

“Hn.”

Suddenly, there’s a rattling boom, the ground and walls shaking around them as dust rains down and they are all forced into stabilizing stances.

They barely share a glance before all three are running down the hall to the source, Constantine left scrambling to keep up.

The scene they come to is equal parts confusing as it is problematic.

The cultists are each in states of disrepair, crusting on the edges or yelling at their leader. The leader is the first to notice their arrival.

“You! You say you are a child of Zeus and yet your blood does not work! You lie of your ancestry!”

Diana steps forward, “I do not! I am the daughter of Queen Hippolyta and Zeus, grandchild of Kronos! The fault of your magic does not lie with me!”

The leaders face twists, mouth open to shout, but a flash of gold slams into him.

“Z, the book!” Constantine yells, arms outstretched as he flings more spells at the surrounding people, glowing ropes binding each.

“On it! Etativel em dna eht koob!” Zatanna shouts, lifting into the air as a book the leader had been holding flies into her hands.

Immediately she begins turning pages with desperation, “Wohs em eht stsitluc lleps!”

The book flips to a distinct page, and Zatanna’s face drains of color.

“Batman, we need to be careful, this spell looks legitimate, we might still have a risk on our hands.”

Batman hummed, looking at the chalk lines of the summoning circle drawn out before them, drawing Diana to do the same. Looking closely at the artifacts placed at each cardinal direction, including a short dagger with her blood nearly completely dry on the flat of the blade.

Batman moves towards the gathered and bound cultists as both magicians whisper over the spell.

Diana continues to look out on the evidence of the ritual, confusion warring in her.

She lays a hand on the lasso at her side. She knew she had not been lying about her heritage, so then why….

‘A blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

She looks at the bloodied dagger once more. It didn’t make sense, even if they had managed to harm a godly descendent, pure ichor would be gold; and even her blood was simply a humanly deep crimson red, not black; not until it-

Diana lunges towards the knife, fingertips brushing its hilt just as her blood dries a flaky black.

Her body slams into the cave walls in the next second, percussive force rippling through the air.

She crumples to the ground, struggling to lift her head.

White boots pass in front of her eyes.

She watches as they move towards her colleague, her friend, only to be surprised as they stop in front of the cultists instead.

As the air returns to her body, Diana lifts herself up, shaking arms supporting her as the weight of the atmosphere presses down.

She looks at the being, the sight almost making her collapse once more.

Mist curls around its form like a mountain peak, iridescent light glowing near its head, pitch black night covering its body, the pinprick of stars so small you can’t see them straight on, claws like a falcon’s beak: unhidden and meant to tear apart. And more importantly, wrapped around the leaders neck.

““̵̨̮̣̀͊̓Y̷͖̊̒o̸̤͈͍͌̈́͘u̶̗̭̲̍ ̵̬̤̞̀̑ā̴̟r̸̹̝̉e̴̞̦̮͑̍ ̴̣̩̖͑̓͛a̷̮̞͍͊͆͝ ̶͍̀̈́́f̷̖̄ò̸͈̓͝ǫ̷̅̀̔l̶̹̥̹̋͌͠.̴̤̲̈́͋̀”̶̛̫̺̈́”

The voice rattles her heart within her chest. She watches as Batman continues to try and stand.

The cultist struggles against the hand, mumbling screams behind Constantine’s bind. The creature tears it off with one claw.

“We summ-moned-… the king! Pa-pariah-!“

The creatures hand barely twitches, but the cultist breaks off in a scream. She is surprised to note the other cultists react exactly alike. As if linked.

“̵̻͝Ý̷͚o̶͈͝u̷̦̐ ̶̆͜d̶͈̄ǐ̸̢d̵̲̓ ̴͖̽n̴̘̅ȯ̸͍t̵̛̯ ̴̫̐ŝ̵̗u̴̹̇m̶̨͠m̴̡̽o̴̱̐n̵̘͝ ̴̪̈h̴̨̀i̶͝ͅm̸̰͗.̴͍͆”̸͔̔ The creature growls, “À̴̳n̸̛̜d̶͒ͅ ̴̤̃y̸̬͝ǫ̸̒u̵̫͗ ̶̘͛a̴̫̐r̷̠̈e̶͂ͅ ̶͔̋ḽ̶̔ủ̷͜c̷̥̍k̴̲͊ÿ̸̯́ ̶͓́f̷͇͝o̷͎͒ŕ̴͇ ̶͔͝t̶̞̀h̸̲̉ȧ̸̮t̷̩͝.̷͔̍ ̵͙͐I̸͎͌f̶͖͛ ̶̜̇y̵̜͗o̴̩̍ṵ̶͆ ̵̫̈́h̴͛ͅā̴̼d̸̤͆…̵͍̈́i̵͍̐t̸̡̉ ̴̭͂w̷̥̔o̷̟̅u̴̪͂l̸̞̏d̵͚̀ ̵͓̃b̴̢̽e̵̗͠ ̸͕̉m̸̠͆u̶̖͘c̷̯͘h̴̤̎ ̸̥́w̷͚͝o̸͐ͅr̶̦͐s̵̨̿e̸͕͆ ̸̙̑f̴̧̂o̶̱̓ȓ̷̟ ̴̠͗ÿ̸̥́ö̵͜ŭ̶̟.̵͎̉”̶͍̀

The man whimpers under the claws.

"I̴n̷s̵t̴e̷a̵d̸,̶ ̵y̸o̷u̵ ̴g̵o̷t̶ ̷m̸e̸,̴I̴ ̶g̵u̸a̷r̶d̴ ̶h̶i̷s̵ ̶p̸r̸i̵s̵o̵n̶ ̶b̶e̷c̴a̷u̴s̶e̸ ̵I w̴a̸s̴ ̵t̴h̸e̷ ̸o̴n̸e̴ ̷t̸o̶ ̶p̵u̴t̵ ̴h̸i̴m̶ ̵t̴h̷e̸r̶e̴ ̵o̶n̵c̸e̵ ̶m̶o̸r̸e̸.̵”̴ The creature leans into the cultist, arching ever higher, angles sharpening, body distorting, "“̸̝͋a̵̱͋n̶͓͛d̵̘́ ̵̡̍f̷̱͊o̵͚̓r̷̪̎ ̴̭̑a̷̬̓s̷͙̅ ̷͍͌ĺ̵̫o̸̻͆ņ̵̀g̶̚ͅ ̷̬͌a̶̮̿s̵̩͊ ̸̫̌t̸̲̕h̸̢̉e̷̖͗ ̴̰̋c̸̹̀ȍ̸͎s̷̡̃m̵̥̍o̷̜͋s̷̗͐ ̴̜͆e̷̛̙x̸͓̑i̶͉̿s̸̹̀t̵̛̺,̴̡͠Í̷̢ ̷̣̽w̵̠͋i̶̺͒l̴̠͐l̸̮̃ ̴͍͌k̴̰̑e̸̠͐e̷̟͋p̵̲̏ ̸̙̂h̷̘͋ị̸́m̸͕̚ ̶̳̋t̶̡̒h̷̩͆e̷̪͝r̷̒͜e̵̡̔.̵̭͗”̵̮̔

There’s a dull flash as light flashes beneath the cultists skin, beneath all of the cultist’s skin, before they drop to the ground unconscious.

All too quickly, air returns to the room, pressure lifting like a deep breath into the room.

The creature turns, eyes meeting Diana’s for just a second as he turns towards the chalked lines of the circle. Diana lifts herself to her feet, drawing closer to Batman as they both watch him, hesitant.

On the other side of the room, Constantine and Zatanna also struggle to their feet, eyes filled with fear and caution as they take in the scene.

As the creature moves, mist still rolling off him in waves, his features fall away with it, gradually smoothing to a more human visage. It looks… young. Boyish.

Those same white boots crush down on the formed crown, the cooled lava rock crumbling under one step. Next is the ring, held carefully in two hands the creature whispers over it, breathy wind carrying it away as it turns to dust. He holds the blade with one hand, flakes disintegrating off as he lifts it.

Diana’s arm tingles.

Then the creature is standing in front of the last point, holding the small brown pouch of sand with consideration.

Silence reigns in the room.

Constantine, of course, is the one to break it.

“I believe that’s mine, mate,” he cuts in, stance still laden with suspicion.

“Oh?” The creature smiles, almost mockingly as he turns to Constantine, “Is it? If I wasn’t mistaken, this ritual calls for Dream’s sand. Are you Dream of the Endless, little magician?”

Constantine visibly swallows, “I’m not.”

The creature huffs a laugh, fangs glinting in his smirk. He moves swiftly, pivoting on one foot to toss the pouch at Constantine, “Catch.”

Constantine lurches forward to try and catch it, only to find it vanish in the air before it reaches his fingers.

The creature cackles, floating backwards, “What did you do to get your hands on such an amount of Dream’s sand, magician? I’m curious.”

“It was a family present,” Constantine grinds out as he turns back to the gently levitating humanoid form, “You can drop the kid facade by the way, you’re not tricking anyone here looking like that.”

The creature shrugs, “And if I’m comfortable like this?”

Diana steps in to stop Constantine from snapping back, “Who are you, spirit, to be summoned by such a ritual?”

The creature watches her for a beat, “I am Phantom of the Dead City, Protector of infinite realms. They did not bring me here, but I knew who they wished to summon and came because of it.”

Batman steps forward, voice interrogating, “The Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep-“

“Remains sealed. The Tyrant King remains trapped and at rest, do not worry.”

Somehow Diana does not think that soothes Batman, even as a great a warrior as he is.

“Hn.”

“Now, about that spell book,” Phantom turns to Zatanna, waving a hand and the book flies to him. He hovers a hand over it, and Diana watches in fascination as the chalk on the floor begins to burn away, the drawing in the book following.

Phantom looks at her once more, eyes too wise and strong for the age of his face, and then from one moment to the next, he is gone.

The book drops to the floor with a slam, cover open to aged blank pages as the last of the sigil burns away.

Hesitantly, Constantine goes to it, the rest of them following. When Constantine lifts the book with careful hands, they watch another image fade into view on the paper.

A cool colored image of Phantom rising over a city skyline outlined in green against a deep violet sky. Even on paper, his visage shifts constantly between the boyish figure and the ethereal danger of the form he’d appeared in.

Beneath the city lays a large coffin covered in chains.

The lock glows a pulsing toxic green before fading to a steely gunmetal grey and going still.

“Well that was the best encounter I’ve had with a dangerous dimensional figure and I still lost the dream sand.”

Zatanna’s slap echoes in the cave.

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Anon request - "could you do a smut based on the reader and colby being good friends, but she secretly likes him, they do the q&a vid where colby admits to being a dom and then something happens with him and the reader after the vid and he like proves what he said?? hope this makes sense"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, dominant!Colby, sub!y/n, mentions of alcohol, dirty questions being asked, flirting, use of pet names - daddy being one of them, rough unprotected sex, choking, oral (both), breeding kink?? Cream pie,, hair pulling, scratching, semi forceful actions, filth

Disclaimer: All of the questions expect for the kinks question are made up, along with the answers. Also sorry in advance if this isn’t my best work.

Word count: 4.4k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"What's up guys. So as you can see, Sam has changed a little bit." He laughs as he motions to you sitting next to him.

You laugh and shake your head. Colby smiles and looks back into the camera, "No, Sam is actually behind the camera today."

Sam peaks around, showing his face extremely close to the camera, "Hello." He stands back up, sitting back down in the chair and Colby claps his hands together, "Well now that Sam got his three seconds of fame, let me explain why y/n is here."

You cross your leg over the other and lean back as he speaks, "I thought it would be fun to do a little Q and A, but not only on my personal channel, but with one of my closest friends, y/n."

Colby turns to look at you, "Y/n. Don't be rude, say hello." He laughs as you gasp, "Oh, gosh. Sorry." You wave, "Hello everybody."

"Thank you." Colby laughs and reaches down, "So.. you all know mine and Sam's drinking question Q and A stuff, so I figured we'd do the same here." He looks over at you, "You know how this works?"

You nod, "If I don't want to answer the question, I have to take a shot?"

"You catch on quick." Colby chuckles and sets a shot glass on the table, "So.. Sam went through our little twitter thread and picked out some good questions to ask us, from you."

"Now." He glances over at you, "I know I said they're for me, but we can accommodate with having y/n here, right?" He looks over at you and you smile, "Sure can."

You liked Colby. Not as long as you knew him for, but you've started to like him way more than a best friend over the last few months.

You were nervous, because you knew his fans are ruthless when it comes time asking questions about whether or not he likes being tied up, and since the questions are also for you today, what are you going to do? Lie?

"Alright." Colby's words snap you from your thoughts, "Let's get started."

"Okay, first question." Sam clears his throat but you cut him off, "Hold on, Sam. Sorry. Colby you have.." you reach over, pulling a piece of fuzz from his purple colored hair, "Fuzz, or something."

You wiggle your fingers as it floats down to the floor and you look up, "Sorry. Continue. That was just bugging the hell out of me."

Colby smiles, "Thank you."

You nod and Sam clears his throat, "Alright. First question. If you could design your own superhero costume, what would it look like?"

You raise your brows, "Wow I thought these were going to be bad." You laugh and Sam quickly follows up, "Just wait."

"Oh." You laugh and shake your head, "My super hero costume would definitely be something like.. oh gosh. I don't know. Like a mix between Wonder Woman's and Black widow? If that's even possible."

Colby nods, "Nice. Nice. Like a black bodysuit type thing with the tiara that wonder woman wears?"

You look at him, "I think so, maybe not having pants, but longer sleeves definitely and maybe a boy shorts type bottom and of course the tiara."

"Sick." Sam says with a nod, "Colby?"

Colby thinks for a few more seconds, "Definitely something like Spider-Man, maybe not a mask, but something I can wear under a button up and just rip it open and save the day." He points, "Definitely more black and a royal blue color."

You smirk, "Instead of the spider, have a big C and B on your chest in cool letters, that would be sick."

"Yeah, yes!" Colby snaps and points to you, "I like it."

You laugh and look back at Sam, "Alright. Next question."

Sam laughs slightly and you close your eyes, "Oh no."

Sam sighs, "What's an embarrassing thing you've done and never told anyone about?"

"If I never told anyone why would I say it here? Right now when there's a camera pointed at me?" You point to the camera on the tripod and laugh.

"For the goodness of this video?" Sam laughs and you shake your head, "I need a shot, Colbs."

He tilts his head, "Really? Will you tell me later?"

You laugh, "Probably not."

He sighs and pours you a shot, "Fine." He smiles as he hands you the glass and you take it, "Oh god. I hate straight vodka."

You wipe your mouth and set the glass down, "Your turn."

Colby sighs, "I think I'm going to have to agree with y/n on this one." He pours himself a shot and takes it.

"You guys are no fun. Get drunk so you answer." Sam groans.

You roll your eyes and Colby laughs, "Next question, dear host Sam."

Sam scrolls on his phone and smirks, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

You try not to make it obvious, but you look at Colby and he looks at you. You nod, "I mean, I would have to say so, yeah."

"Ohhh. Wanna tell us who you-"

"No." You cut Sam off and laugh, "that wasn't a part of the question."

Colby laughs and you can tell his eyes are still on you. He looks away as you look back at him and he shrugs, "I mean, with the right person maybe? So what, is that a yes?"

"I'd say so." You nod as you look from him to Sam and Sam nods, "Yeah, that works." He hums as he looks for another question, "Okay." He tries to hold back in his laughter, "Colby. This one is specifically for you."

"Oh no." Colby leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, "Hit me."

"Colby. Why do you have a pair of handcuffs in your room?"

Your mouth drops slightly. You knew about them because it's an on going joke between all your friends, but it still never ceases to amaze you.

Colby's eyes go wide and he gasps, "Oohhhkaaay." He laughs, "Why?"

"Yeah Colby. Explain why." Sam says, "What, are they from your god dang arrest or something? Props on a video.. really, what are they for?"

Colby reaches down and grabs the Tito's bottle, "um.. I mean.." he looks over at you, "I mean, no." He looks at Sam, "Definitely wasn't for those."

He untwists the cap then screws it back on, "Alright.." he leans forward as he sets the bottle on the floor, "I use them for personal fun, alright."

You cover your mouth and look at Sam who looks scared, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"That.." Colby laughs, "..would answer the question, though, right?" He looks into the camera, a smirk on his face, "I'm already.. I'm already getting embarrassed." He leans back, fixing his shirt and Sam shakes his head, "No."

"Judge is saying no." You point to Sam and Colby smiles nervously, "What? No?"

"Drink!" Sam yells and Colby goes to pour his shot before he finally spills, "I use them for.. sexual fun. Alright?"

He caps the alcohol and sets it back down. You can feel your cheeks turning red, but with this next question they're red no matter how hard you try to conceal it.

"Name two dirty kinks that you have." Sam raises his brows and Colby's mouth drops, "Oh god."

"Sam." You scoff and he laughs, "It's not me, I'm just reading the question from this person so yell at them."

"You know.." Colby starts, "I think it's only fair if y/n answers first on this one."

"No- don't do that." You laugh and cover your face. Sam laughs, "He's right." You look at Sam, "Of course you're agreeing with him."

You look at Colby with a smile, "Okay, fine." You take a deep breath, "I like.. wax play."

The look on Colby's face changes and he raises his brows, "Oh really?"

"Oh snaaaap!" Sam yells behind the camera. You hold up your hand, "Yeah, yeah, Colby. Your turn."

"Oh fuck.." he looks into the camera, "Sorry.. mom." He laughs slightly and reaches for the bottle of alcohol, "You know what.. I don't wanna answer now."

"No, no. You have to. I did, so you do." You lean back, crossing your leg over the other, "Come on. Let's hear it."

"I already said one. The handcuff thing." He pours the vodka into the glass, "Does that count as one?"

Sam nods and you sigh, "Good so now you only have to say one." You laugh as Colby caps the bottle, "Okay.. um.." he laughs slightly, "I like to be dominant. Alright.. there we go."

His words did something to you.

You squeeze your thighs together and he most definitely noticed that.

Sam erupts from behind the camera, "Whoooaaaaahhh."

You and Colby both laugh at him as he shakes his head, "The beans.. were spilled."

Colby rubs his eye and sighs, "I hate this." You nod, "Me too." He looks over at you, "What's your second kink Miss y/n."

"Oh we're back to that. Great okay." You look down and sigh, "I guess I might as well just.." you slap your hands into your lap and look up at Colby, "I like to be dominated."

"Oh shit." He tilts his head, eyebrows raising as he nods, "Go you."

"Moving on please." You try to deter from your answer, but it's hard when you said it on purpose.

You wanted Colby to know that you wanted him, but you didn't want to fully come out and say it.

Not yet at least, maybe when he's telling you to say it.

"Okay, okay. Moving on from that spice show." Sam laughs, "Next question."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Alright. So that's it for this video, I'm actually surprised that we aren't drunk." Colby looks over at you, "Thanks for coming on and getting down and dirty."

You laugh, "Anytime, guys. This was.. if you look past the embarrassing part, it was kind of fun."

Colby laughs and nods, "Yeah. It was. He looks into the camera, "See you guys in the next one."

Sam cuts the camera off and stand sup to stretch, "That was.. something." He laughs and shakes his head, "You guys are going to be the stars of twitter when this drops."

"Why?" You ask knowing the answer. You just wanted to hear what Sam had to say.

He tilts his head, looking at you dumbfounded. He points to Colby, "Likes to be dominant." He points to you, "Likes to be dominated."

You roll your eyes, "mhm."

Colby laughs, changing the subject, "I'm going to go start editing this." He looks over at you, "You coming with?"

"Yeah, I'll be up then. Just to make sure you don't embarrass me."you tease and he smirks, "I would never."

You smile and look over at Sam a he snorts, "You guys.." he shakes his head and you tilt your head, "You guys.. what?"

"Just keep it down." He mumbles as he walks away. You laugh and look at Colby, "I'll be up." He nods and stands up to grab the camera off the tripod, "See you then."

You watch as he walks away, shaking your head as you think about what happened tonight.

You couldn't believe you were so open about some of the stuff you said.

Wax play?

Like being dominated?

A lot of that had to do with your comfortability level with Colby, if he wasn't there, you probably would have just drank, but at the same time...

You knew exactly what you were doing, and you think it worked.

You get up, making your way up to your room. You change out of your jeans and sweatshirt and put on a pair of shirts and a loose t-shirt.

You take a deep breath before going next door to Colby's room. You knock before slowly opening the door, "Can I come in?"

You watch a now shirtless Colby turn around and he nods, "Of course."

You walk in, closing the door behind you as you walk over to his bed and sit down on the end, "Get a lot done?"

He chuckles, "Just watching it.." his eyes move up your  legs, "So see where I can cut it, you know." He looks up at your face and turns back towards the computer.

You lick your lips, smirking as you bring your legs up to sit comfortably on the bed, "Can you cut out my sneeze, please?"

"Why?" Colby asks, turning his chair towards you, "I thought it was adorable."

"I hate how I sneeze." You argue and Colby rolls his eyes playfully, "Well I don't, so." He spins back towards the computer and you can hear Sam ask about the two kinks.

"Oh god." You groan, falling back onto the bed, "Just cut that whole segment out."

Colby pauses the video and you hear him turn towards you, "Now why would we do that?"

You look up at him and sit up, "Because I actually said what mine were." You laugh, obviously nervous, "That's.. embarrassing."

Colby pulls his lips between his teeth and sighs, "You know what I think?"

You look at him, "What do you think?"

"I think.." he leans forward, fingers tapping your knees, "You said it for a reason."

You chew on your cheek, trying to keep your composure, "Uh huh. Okay." You nod, "What if I did?"

"Then I know what I need to do." He moves forward, crawling up the bed as you move back, his body hovering over yours.

You stare to at him for a few seconds before he leans down, roughly attaching his lips to yours.

You hands slide up his chest, laying on the sides of his neck as he reaches down to spread your legs. He nestles his hips between your knees, grudging his bulge against your clothed center.

You whimper out, moving your hips, "Please."

It was like a switch flipped the minute you said you liked being dominated, because he's doing exactly what he said he likes to do.

"Beg." His voice is low and his lips move along your jaw, "Beg for me, baby. Tell me what you want."

You whimper, tilting your head back to give him room as he kisses down your neck, "Please Colby, I need you."

He sits up, your legs over his thighs, "Need me to do what, baby?" He pushes his hands up your thighs, slipping his fingers inside your shorts and pulling them away.

"Take off my shorts." You lift your hips, "Please."

He chuckles lowly and slowly pulls your shorts down. You bring your legs up as he pulls them over your feet and tosses them, "come here."

You get up, on your knees in front of him, "Tell me what to do."

He smirks, fingers moving to pull your shirt up over your head. His eyes scan down over your bare chest, "Move to the floor."

He stands up as you move to the floor, on your knees awaiting your next command.

Colby stands up, undoing his jeans and pushing them down. He sits down, in his boxers, on the edge of the bed, "Come here."

His eyes follow you as you move in between his legs. You look up at him and he reaches down, gripping your chin, "I'm going to take care of you, okay? But first.." he bites his lip, thumb hooking over your bottom row of teeth, "I want to hear you gagging on my dick."

Your breath hitches in your throat as your heart rate picks up, "Yes, daddy." You smirk slightly as you see his eyebrow twitch.

He nods with a small smirk, "Fucking right."

He brushes hair from your face, lifting his hips as you work his boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free and you immediately bring a hand up to wrap around it.

A low groan leaves his throat, lip pulled between his teeth as he locks eyes with you. He nods down, "Go on, sweetheart."

You lick your lips, leaning in to swirl your tongue around the tip. He gasps lowly as you wrap your lips around him, bobbing your head to work at coating him in your spit.

"Fuck, that's it." He moans out quietly. He lays a hand on the back of your head, pushing down, urging you to take him all, even if you can't.

He wanted to hear you.

You push your head down, his cock hitting the back of your throat which causes you to gag around him. He pulls your hair into a makeshift pony with his hands, "That's it."

You bob your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you gag on him a few more times.

Colby moans, pulling your head up. He grips your chin, squeezing as he leans in, "That's my girl." He bucks his hips, "Keep going."

You nod, moving your head back in to take him in fully, gagging around him as your hands move up to grip his thighs.

He moves your head up and down, pulling at your hair as the sound of your saliva squelching around him fills the room, along with the sound of you gagging.

He moans, "Fuck, that's my girl. That's my fucking girl."

He lifts your head, wiping away the spit from your chin with his thumb, "On the bed."

You quickly get up, still breathing rapidly as you get on the bed. He motions with his hand, "Hands and knees, baby."

You roll over onto your stomach from your back and lift yourself up. Your arms holding up your weight as you look over at him.

His eyes scan up and down your body, biting his lip before he holds up a finger. He walks over to his dresser, pulling out the - you guessed it - black fuzzy handcuffs.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him walk over to you with them, spinning them on his finger like a taunt.

"Do you want these on you?" He tilts his head, holding the cuffs up higher.

You nod, "Yes."

"What did you say?" He bites his lip, trying to fight back his smirk and you swallow, "Yes daddy."

"Atta girl." He winks and moves behind you, reaching down to take your one arm and bring it behind you. You rest your head down onto the bed before bringing your other arm back.

You feel the fuzz against your skin, biting your lip as you hear the click of the cuffs tighten around your wrists.

"You look so fucking hot like this." His hands slide down the small of your back, over the lace of your panties to deliver a smack to each ass cheek at the same time.

You whimper, jolting forward as the sting settles in, "Fuck."

His hands rub the red prints on your skin, "What do you want, baby?" He slips his fingers into the band of your panties, teasing you because he knows exactly what you want - he just wants you to say it.

"Fuck me, I want you to fuck me." You whine, "Please. Please."

"You don't want me to taste you?" He leans down, kissing your lower back, "you don't want me to taste what you've been flaunting around me for all these years?"

His words make your stomach flip, but in the best way.

"Fuck, yes. Yes, Colby." You move your head so you can try to look at him. He chuckles, "Yes, yes Colby what?"

"I want you to taste me." You breathe out, biting your lip as you feel him pulling your panties down over your ass.

He pulls them down to rest at your knees, "fuck, you have such a pretty looking pussy." He brings a hand up, teasingly sliding his fingers up and down your folds.

You whimper, pushing your hips back to meet his fingers more, but he pulls them away, "Mm, baby. You're so eager aren't you?" Colby moves behind you, bending down to kiss the small of your back again.

"Please." You whine, "Colby."

You head him chuckle, "Tell me again, baby. Tell me what you want."

"I want your tongue in me." You say, desperate for his touch, "Please, daddy."

You feel his hands lay on your thighs as his thumbs gently spread your folds open. He leans in, licking a strip up and groaning against you, "So fucking good, baby."

You moan loudly, wrists pulling again the retrains, "Fuck, yes."

Colby's tongue moves up and down a few times before pushing into you. He digs his fingers into your skin as he slides his other hand up to pull your hips back.

You groan loudly, wanting to do badly grip the sheets, "Fuck, fuck. Yes." You pant loudly, wiggling your hips as your eyes roll shut.

Colby pulls away, placing kisses up the back of your thigh as he sits up, "Your pussy is going to feel so fucking good around my dick."

He moves behind you, sliding his hand down to grip the center chain of the cuffs as he slaps the head of his cock against your pussy a few times.

"Tell me you want it." He demands, head of his cock sliding up and down your slick folds.

"I want you. I need you." You push your hips back, nails digging into the palm of your hands, "Please, daddy. I need yo-"

Your words are replaced by a long and loud moan as Colby slowly slides his cock into you, "You keep it up with that daddy shit and I might have to just make it true."

You moan in response, "Please.. daddy."

"Fuck.." he groans as he pushes his hips against you. His hands hold your hips tight as you stretch around him.

"M-move. Please." You whimper out, but Colby doesn't comply. He leans down, kissing your shoulder and you moan as his cock shifts slightly.

"Just give it a minute, baby." He rubs your hip, "You feel so fucking good. I could cum right now."

"C-co-"

He cuts your begging short, "Tell me what you want."

"M-move.." you whimper out quietly, the feeling of him just resting inside of you becoming unbearable.

"Louder."

You whimper, a little louder than the last, "Please move.."

"Mm. Louder baby. I wanna hear you nice and clear." Colby continues to rub your hip.

You move your head, "Colby.. please move."

"Mm. No I need you louder than that, baby." Colby chuckles and you sigh, slightly frustrated, "But Sam.."

"I don't give a fuck about him right now, y/n. I only care about one thing right now and that's hearing you beg for me." He pulls your hips back, causing you to moan at the pressure from his cock.

"oh my god." You moan out, making your voice louder, "Fuck me, daddy. Please move, I need you to fuck me!"

"That's my girl." He pulls out and thrusts back in, "Fuck, keep going baby. I wanna hear you."

You pull your wrists, whining when you can't move them anywhere, "Fuck, yes yes yes."

Colby lays a hand on yours as he thrusts, pulling the metal chain to the cuffs back with each thrusts, "Fucking hell, baby. You're so fucking good."

You moan out, basically screaming his name, "Fuck, Colby! Yes!"

You squeeze his cock, digging your nails into his hand. His thrusts are punishing, building up your orgasm quickly, "Shit, d-daddy!"

You whine, "So fucking close. So fucking.. close."

"Hold it, baby. Wait for me." He leans down, kissing up your back, "Wait for me."

A constant string of moans leaves your lips as your eyes roll back, closing as you try your best not to cum just yet, "Please." You breathe out, "C-Colby."

"Almost there, sweetheart." He whispers in your ear and you nod against the mattress and he groans, "Where do you want me?"

You just whimper in response and he sits up, "Can't hear you, baby. Tell me where you want it."

"Don't stop." You moan out, "Please daddy."

He grips your hips tight, "Fucking hell, you gonna cum for me?"

"Y-yes. Yes yes." You gasp, pushing your hips back as much as you can, "Fuck, cum in me."

His fingertips press into your skin harder, "F-fuck." He moans loud as his thrusts become sloppy, "Shit." He breathes out, voice shaky as you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You moan, breathing heavy as he gently rests your hips down onto the bed. He undoes the cuffs, rubbing your wrists as soon as they're off, "Are you okay? These didn't hurt you did they?"

"No." You try to shake your head, "No I'm fine, Colbs." You smile as he lays down next to you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

“So.. follow up question..” you look up at him, “Does this mean we’re together now, or?”

“you're my girl, now." He brushes hair from your face, "Thought me moaning out my fucking girl gave that away." He chuckles and you smile with a slight laugh, "Yeah, no you're right."

You sit up, leaning over to kiss him and he lays a hand on your back, smiling within the kiss, "Just be prepared for Sam to bitch in the morning because you were pretty loud."

You lean back, laughing as you push his shoulder, "Only because you told me to."

"Yeah, and you listened very well." He winks and pulls you back down for another kiss, “Next time, we'll take it a little bit slower, and more gentle."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thank you for reading!

Love you all!

Like and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! 🖤

[chlorinecake]

𓂃 watercolor eyes | park wonbin oneshot

⚡︎ pairing: Stoner!Wonbin x Female!Reader | ⚡︎ word count: 7.8k | ⚡︎ genre: mutual pining, college au, smut (⚠︎) | ⚡︎ contains: awkward relationships, an original character + sungchan and shotaro, swearing, drug use/distribution, angst (?), mild dacryphilia, sexual tension mixed with fluff, kissing, unprotected sex while buzzed, heavy petting, oral (m. r)

ON TOP OF countless other obligations in your life, upcoming exams were kicking your anxiety's ass with the biggest fucking boots imaginable.

All you wanted was to take the edge off, and at this point, you didn’t care what it’d take to do that.

Introducing Exhibit A: Your closest friend and roommate, Roxanne, who so conveniently happened to be a junkie.

You brought up your need for a “quick fix” (so to speak) while studying in your dorm together one afternoon. Though, she offered to get you some help from another friend of hers who you’d never met before.

“Wait, you want me to go with you?” You asked in confusion, already prepared to reject Roxanne’s proposal at the idea of personally consulting her drug dealer.

“Yes, you're coming with me… What do you think this is, Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“No, but… I-"

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, ____,” she chuckled, turning the steering wheel as she trailed down a shadowy lane.

“No, I… I want this… I need this even, it’s just that…I don’t really know what to expect…”

“Then don’t expect anything,” she answered, giving you an encouraging smile that came off as more condescending, “Expectations are for pussies anyways.”

“Roxanne, I’ve never even met this guy before,” you pressed, hoping that she’d maybe let you sit outside in the car instead of actually speaking with him.

“Look, I’m close with my dealer, and as I always say, a friend of mine is a friend of yours.”

Cue your internal sigh of submission.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your posture in your seat with a feigned confidence.

“Uhhhh, are you sure with that ‘okay,’ or is it more like an ‘okay, I have more questions’ type of ‘okay’?”

“No,” you clarified, “it means what I said… I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, before giving you a brief synopsis about this friend of hers: STEM major, weed connoisseur, and art-hoe with a shy guy undercut.

Doesn’t sound anywhere near as daunting as the drug dealers on TV shows appear to be, right?

She pulled up to one of the apartment complexes a few miles from your university. It was one of the lower quality establishments, with the only oddity being how nice the vehicles parked outside the apartment divisions were, a sleek black motorcycle belonging to none other than the mysterious drug smuggler named Wonbin Park.

“Hey, take off your hood, silly, it’s rude,” Roxanne nudged, locking her car from the keys in her pocket more times than necessary.

“But… what if someone sees us?,” you whispered, walking closely beside her.

“Then I’m glad their eyes are working? Hell, I don’t fucking know what they’d want me to tell ‘em,” she shrugged, walking up to the front door.

“So are you acting like a nonchalant loser on purpose, or is this just your way of trying to calm me down?”

Roxanne laughed hysterically at your words, showcasing the sparkly pink gem decorating her upper canine teeth as she patted you on the back.

“We’re just here for weed, babe. That will help calm you down before I can.”

You had almost missed the part where she knocked as you got lost in your head, the front door suddenly opening and basking you both with a sudden warmth, contrasting with the cold evening weather.

“Roxie?,” asked the male from the doorstep that you fought with every bone in your body to avoid making eye contact with.

“Wonie?” Your friend mocked goofily, walking up to hug the boy briefly before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend.”

“Not at all, my place is always open to you and your girlfriends,” he chirped with forced yet gentle enthusiasm.

“Uhhhh, she’s just a friend, considering how we’ve only slept together while clothed before… but thanks anyway!”

“Any time,” he replied confidently, walking up to the sink that was conveniently in his living room before re-lighting the dead bud of the joint he held gracefully between his plump lips, ashes falling from the tip before he inhaled a thick huff.

Some of the ash fell on his lower abdomen, and you were just now realizing that he didn’t have a shirt on.

Good thing you were used to the smell of pot by now, thanks to Roxanne’s inevitable habit of greening out every Friday night.

“So, what brings you ladies in today? I’d hate to break it to you, but I used my last condom just a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, we’re actually here for a different kind of pipe this time,” Roxanne answered, blinking as if trying to communicate with him to ditch the wild language.

“Oh,” he said, doe eyes widening as his mouth hung a little, his bunny teeth shining right back at you.

Stop staring at his mouth.

Stop staring at his mouth-

“I uh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” he smiled softly, and of course you noticed because that’s where your eyes were glued the entire time, so distracted that it startled you when he reached to shake your hand.

“I’m Wonbin, but… you can call me anything you like, really.”

“It’s alright,” you returned, finally coming back to the present, “I’m ____.”

His initially confident demeanor stemmed from his assumption that you were more flamboyant like Roxanne, but he made note to be less vulgar until he could tell you warmed up to him.

Until he properly warmed up to you.

“So uh, yeah, do you want the usual, or were you thinking to try something new?” Wonbin asked casually as he leaned on the back of the sofa.

“Hmm,” Roxie hummed in thought, “yeah, my usual’s good. Just lay off the stronger stuff in the mix, though. It’s her first time.”

Something about what she said made Wonbin smile, wide and excited, peeking at you through his shaggy bangs with zero intent of hiding it.

Was he… flirting with you?

“Well, it’s my pleasure to be your first then,” he winked, getting up from the couch and heading to another room on his flat.

“You two kittens just wait here and I’ll be back with your stuff in a minute,” he claimed, which actually ended up being around an 8 minute wait while you and Roxanne went on and on about something you can’t even remember now.

The smile evaporated from Roxanne’s face as Wonbin returned to the living room while reciting the order. “You’ve got two ounces of-”

“I know the recipe, moron. You might scare my friend away if you say it out loud…,” she joked, feigning a pout as she hugged your shoulder, “so how much do you want for it, candy man?”

“It’s on the house this time,” Wonbin said, “so long as you bring me dinner tonight.”

“Fucking fat ass,” she spat, “what’re you craving?”

“Something warm,” he replied almost immediately, “with seasoned meat and a sauce… Maybe some rice, too.”

“Gotcha,” Roxie chirped as she pushed off of her knees to stand up.

Wonbin walked up to hand her the goody bag with such politeness, almost in the way that a child would give something to his big sister.

“Cool. I like eating around 7 o’clock, so you know when and where to find me.”

“Yes, through your stomach and all the way up to your greedy little heart.”

“Mhm,” he said with a satisfied hum, taking Roxanne’s spot on the couch as she walked towards the door. You and Wonbin were now sitting next to each other, his arms spread out on the back of the couch in a relaxed manner.

“Uhm, ____?”

“Oh, right! Sorry… I didn’t know we were finished,” you stammered, getting up from the couch to meet Roxanne at the door.

“Yeah, took him long enough,” she rolled her eyes, “I was starting to think he wanted us to spend the night…”

“Alright, get out of my apartment already,” he said playfully, waving a hand as if shooing you two, “and make sure to secure the bottom lock for me, I don’t feel like getting back up yet.”

“Whatever.”

Slam.

The door was closed, 50% locked, and you two were heading back down the staircase, cold air greeting you once again before you both got back in the car, driving back to your dorm room to drop off the drugs first, and then to the grocery store…

… to buy a bag of rice and a fresh pack of chicken.

“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?,” Roxanne asked with animatedly furrowed eyebrows, holding the grocery bag you two had packed Wonbin’s “dinner” in.

You ended up making a chicken roast with carrots, potatoes, gravy, and steamed rice like he asked.

“Here, hold this,” Roxanne mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear before she dropped the bag, your reflects luckily kicking in fast enough for you to catch it before the glass container could hit the concrete stair well.

“It’s as cold as a snowman’s grave out here, Wonie, open up!,” She yelled while banging on the front door, the little dream catcher that hung on the inner side jingling with her forceful hits, “Hellooooo?”

“You’re like Doordash but with the temper of FedEx,” you heard a deep voice say from behind the walls.

“But I only charge herbal fees for my services,” she added while crossing her arms.

Creek.

The door slung open, Wonbin’s muscular arms framing the entrance with a fed up look plastered on his face.

There were two people sitting behind him on the couch playing video games. A violent game, you’d assume, given the sporadic and sharp flashes of light that filled the room.

“Is there some kind of a secret password now or something?,” Roxanne asked impatiently, not as entertained my the view of Wonbin’s still shirtless body like you were.

“Oh, right… come on in ladies,” he said with a feigned smile, extending a hand to welcome you two back in, “hope you brought enough food, because I have guests.”

You followed Roxanne and Wonbin to the kitchen, where you placed the steaming bag of food on the counter before taking out the containers. That’s when Roxanne started grabbing dishes from the cabinet.

The glass plates clinked behind you as you went to search for a serving spoon in the drawer. “Hey… where are the spoons and forks?,” you asked while still looking through one of his kitchen drawers before Wonbin suddenly tapped you on the shoulder.

“I uhm… I keep the utensils in here,” he smiled shyly, just as he reached for the overhead counter to grab the silverware he kept in a box. Your breath got caught in your chest as you felt his hips nearly fuse with yours in the moment. Luckily, he couldn’t see how flustered you appeared underneath his shadow.

“Gimme that,” Roxanne giggled, snatching the box from him and taking out two large ladles, one for the rice and another for the roast.

“Gosh, that smells amazing! Can you put cheese on mine, pretty please?,” you heard one of the boys ask from the couch, peeking over his shoulder with soft eyes.

“Yes, Taro, I can put some cheese on it for you… even though I think it’s weird,” Roxanne smiled.

“Ahh, thanks man. Oh- and who’s the new girl?” He went on, placing the controller down as he was no longer interested in playing.

“Just a friend in need of a good time—” Wonbin answered, which shocked you to say the least, “—so be nice, Sungchan.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?,” The taller boy pitched in, “but does she even talk?”

The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound being Sungchan’s clicks from the remote controller before he got gunned down by a random player.

“Dammit, Shotaro! Why’d you stop playing? Now we’re tied with the other team!!”

“Too bad, so sad, bro. I’m hungry,” he chirped, getting up from the couch to help you bring the plates to everyone.

“Woah, who’s the big plate for?” Shotaro asked with widened eyes.

“Me and Sungchan,” Roxanne said with a satisfied smile, “we’re sharing.”

“Oh… you didn’t tell me you and Sungchan were on good terms now,” you said, breaking your awkward streak of silence, just now recognizing the taller boys face from Roxanne’s phone.

She always talked about Sungchan and his “big stupid dick,” as she liked calling it.

The pair stopped being cool with each other for reasons you don’t really remember anymore, but you’d take her sudden affection towards him over the violence you witnessed during one of her texting fits the other night.

“Shhh,” she giggled, meeting Sungchan on the couch before sitting on his lap, “I hope you don’t mind me feeding you in front of your little friends… unless that makes you shy,” she pouted.

All he did was open his mouth in response, savoring the taste of the first spoon she fed him.

It was a sickeningly cute sight to be honest.

“Sick and twisted,” Shotaro said as if reading your mind.

“Cry about it,” Sungchan joked between a mouth full of saucy rice, heart swelling from the way Roxanne cooed at him.

You and Wonbin were just now making it to the living room after getting some napkins for everyone. There was room left for the two of you on the couch thanks to Roxie sitting on Sungchan’s lap, but that meant you and Wonbin would be sandwiched together in the middle.

Great.

“Come on guys, take a seat,” Roxie said before taking a bite of the food, her teeth grazing the metal fork with a loud scrap.

“God, I hate when you do that,” Sungchan sighed, tickling her sides as she laughed uncontrollably.

“Stop that, asshole, before I drop this food everywhere!”

“That’d be a shame, this chicken is so good,” Wonbin hummed with a nod, stuffing his cheeks with more of the gravy.

“____ made it,” Roxie pitched, giving you a look.

Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you were started to feel pretty awkward.

You knew it had a lot to do with Wonbin, thanks to his cripplingly annoying quirk to not put a damn shirt on.

You did eventually warm up to everyone, even pitching in on some of Sungchan’s dad jokes.

Though, the stack of empty dishes in the center of the living room table seemed more alive than your spirits right now.

The inevitable tiredness that came with staying up late without a phone in your hand started to kick in.

“Hey, I’m gonna go wash up these dishes real quick,” Wonbin said, glancing your way for reasons you almost couldn’t process between the loud laughter of Shotaro and Roxie over whatever dirty joke Sungchan told about SpongeBob and Patrick.

Did he want you to come with him? Alone?

Yes.

By now, Wonbin was no longer in the living room, having walked to the kitchen sink where he proceeded to run soapy dish water.

The scent of lemon wafted through the dimly lit space as you stepped beside him to get the dish towel.

“Sorry,” you said nervously, noticing the way he jumped as your hand grazed his arm slightly.

“It’s alright, you just surprised me,” Wonbin smiled, drying his hands before walking over to the other side of the counter, opening a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be blunt wraps and another bag filled with fluffy green.

“You just leave that stuff out on your counter?,” You asked, voice kind of quiet over the running water.

“Mhm…,” he started, “it’s not like the cops are just gonna raid my house randomly… unless… you were to say something,” he winked, putting a filler along the inside of the wrap before sprinkling in some herb, then tucking it tightly.

“Your secrets safe with me,” you said, the faucet squeaking as you turned the water off.

“____.”

“Yes?” You asked in confusion almost… he was already starting to use your name so normally.

“Pass me that lighter from over there,” he pointed before sticking his tongue out, licking the inner side on the blunt wrap to seal it.

His pretty tongue glistened underneath the kitchen lights, captivating you once again.

Fuck, stop staring, you internally swore at yourself.

He put the blunt between his lips, waiting for you to light the tip. “Stop moving, silly,” you giggled, holding his face in place with your other hand to keep him still as he playfully moved his head around to give you a hard time.

A tiny giggle erupted from his throat, too, making your smile linger for a little longer before he bid his thanks, inhaling a huff of the smoke and exhaling it through his nose.

“Hmmm,” he hummed as he cleared his throat. By now you were leaning against the sink with no intention of washing the dishes any time soon. No intention of leaving the kitchen, either.

“C’mere,” he offered, reaching for your chin in the same way you did to him earlier before inching closer to your face.

“Wonbin-”

“Just part your lips for me, okay?” He asked in a light voice, “I want you to try it with me.”

You nodded at his words, hesitantly parting your lips as he slowly set the blunt between the opening you allowed for him.

“Okay now seal your lips,” he said, licking his own, “and inhale… slowly.”

You obeyed his words, taking a steady breath in as the warm and cloudy smoke filled your mouth… then your stomach… then your senses.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, coughing at the way the smoke hit the back of your throat, to which Wonbin only laughed at your reaction.

“Good job, newbie,” he teased, running you a glass of water before passing it to you, your teary eyes staring back at him in a mix of embarrassment, regret, and intrigue.

“How was hitting it,” he asked, pearly eyes staring back at you.

“Just as bad as I thought,” you admitted.

“Yeah… they effects will start kicking in pretty fast, too,” he chuckled, proceeding to take a huff from the same blunt. “But,” he started, voice falling to an alto, “you know that wasn’t free, right?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, watching as he lazily cradled the joint in his two fingers.

“I only do favors for Roxie because we’re chill like that…,” he paused, biting his lip derisively as he tilted his head, “I hardly know you, though.”

You didn’t even bother checking your pockets because you knew you came empty handed.

“Aww, what is it, baby?,” he cooed, turning your chin to face him again as he took another huff from the joint.

“I didn’t bring any cash with me, unfortunately,” you replied with a halfhearted expression, already feeling yourself get dizzy.

He noticed the way you began to tear up even more from the smoke he was now gently blowing in your face.

“You’re eyes look pretty right now,” he smiled, staring way harder than he should’ve, “how do you feel?”

All of a sudden your core starting to heat up, making your legs feel as though you were merely hovering over the floor. You didn’t feel grounded anymore because you were overcome with a feeling of light.

“A little warm,” you started dryly, “but like… numb and euphoric at the same time.”

“In here?” He asked, placing a hand on your upper stomach, resting dangerously close to your tits.

“No…. It’s uh… a bit lower,” you said, reaching for his wrist before pulling his hand away from you.

That’s when you caught a glimpse of a colorful splash decorating his wrist. “That’s pretty,” you smiled, adoring the tattoo from afar.

“You think so?” He asked sarcastically before whispering in your ear, “too bad compliments won’t pay my bills.”

You sighed at his words, watching as he braced his body weight on the counter before your right hand found a mind of it’s own, reaching out to trace a line up his defined abdomen.

“Then allow me to repay you in another way,” you offered, poking his flesh with your nail a bit, “you like my cooking, don’t you?”

“Very much so, yes. But you could try pleasing me somewhere else… ‘A bit lower,’ like you said,” he whispered seductively, eyes in a daze as he guided your hand by your delicate wrist to the center of his belt buckle, a line of hair leading to the bulge buried behind his baggy jeans.

A thick vein trailed from his thumb to his forearm before his grip left your wrist.

“Wanna take a closer look?” He offered, drawing your attention back to the colorful spot on his skin even though your first mind thought he was talking about something naughtier.

“Sure,” you answered quietly, taking his hand again to examine the design, “a butterfly?”

“A moth, actually… it’s a little more masculine if you ask me,” he added, the shadow of a proud smile ghosting over his lips.

“But it has watercolored eyes,” you pointed out.

“True… So it’s like.. more ambiguous I guess?”

“Maybe… or it could just be a beautiful man,” you voiced, stroking over his skin with the pad of your thumb.

You liked this.

The look of his skin, but more so the way it felt.

The way touching him made you feel.

“Uhmmmm, guys?,” Shotaro cried out from the living room, the energy in his voice breaking the stillness of the moment, “I’m pretty sure Sungchan and Roxie are about to start fucking each other in a few seconds, and I could use a little help in here!”

You and Wonbin made eye contact at Shotaro’s words, the same thought filling both your heads:

“What?”

“Just get in here, quickly! They’re taking each others clothes off!!!”

“FUCK, MY STOMACH still hurts like a bitch from laughing so hard yesterday night,” Roxie sighed, cheeks a flushed hue either from the three shots of brandy she just guzzled or the three comforters she was wrapped in on her side of your shared room.

“Yeah… I had a great time hanging out with everyone,” you said, only half-present as other thoughts floated around in your mind.

Thoughts about when you would get to see Wonbin again?

What you two would even do?

How Roxanne would react if she knew Wonbin had been stuck in your mind like gum on a-

“What the hell are you thinking about?”

Oh shit.

“Uhm… Nothing, why?”

“It’s gotta be something,” Roxie pressed, staring at you from across the room through her false eyelashes, “you were moaning in your sleep last night with that same look on your face.”

Wow. She was quite a fast talker for someone so tipsy.

“I was?”

“Mhm,” she smirked cheekily, trailing a finger along the knitted seam of her bed sheet.

“Tell me who you were thinking about… I’ll know if you’re lying, too,” she pressed.

“I was just… gosh, why is that making me so flustered,” you sighed, hiding your face in your pillows.

“C’mon, spit it out, ____!”

“I was thinking about Wonie, okay?,” you finally admitted, hoping it would make her shut up.

“Hmm…,” she started with a satisfied smirk, “you’ve already starting calling him by a nickname, I see… what’s up with that?”

“Nothing at all,” you smiled aggressively, watching as she spread herself out on the mattress like a star fish, “would you like me to call Sungchan over to keep you company while I’m out?”

“He’s already on his way over, silly,” she smiled, flexing her fingers around nothing, “wait, where are you going, anyway?”

“Nowhere special… probably just gonna talk a walk around campus. But don’t worry, I’ll wait for your boyfriend to get here before I leave.”

She pouted at your words, lower lip poking out like a baby, “Aww… stupid… big dick Sungie’s my boyfriend… ehehe…”

SUNGCHAN SHOWED UP shortly after you managed to get Roxanne back to bed. Praying that they wouldn’t end up fucking in your bedroom while you were gone, you put on a jacket with hopes of taking that walk to clear your head, even though now you simply hit a joint to calm your nerves.

That’s when you heard a pair of footsteps approaching from outside your door, just as you were about to zip up your winter boots.

Knock, knock, knock.

A a warm feeling erupted in your stomach, making your fingers freeze at your ankles.

Standing up to peek through the door-hole, you saw Wonbin’s plump lips first, before his bright brown eyes stared back at you.

Shit, why was he here?

“Hey, I can hear you breathing from behind the door… well, whoever you are,” he giggled, which made you giggle a bit too.

There’s no way you were gonna get out of this now, but you still counted down from ten before opening the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, letting him in, “don’t know how you got on campus, let alone to my dorm room, but okay.”

“I’m friends with Roxie, remember?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember you visiting here before… like, ever.”

Even if he had, it’s not like you’d be able to forget a face or presence like his.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” you teased, poking him in the stomach to which he smiled.

That terribly cute smile of his.

“Yeah I uh… wear them sometimes,” he replied, adjusting the beanie he wore before speaking again, “Where is she, anyway?”

“Pretending to be asleep so I can cuddle with her while she sucks on me… well… not there but… nevermind,” Sungchan interupted, walking from the room with now disheveled hair.

“Hell, I left for like three seconds, what happened,” you asked, observing the fresh purple bruise on Sungchan’s neck.

“Roxie gets unbelievably horny whenever she’s drunk for some reason, and I refuse to do anything with her when half of her mind is on fucking mars,” he sighed, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda.

“She’s lucky I let her do this much… Wait- I thought you said you weren’t coming?” Sungchan said to Wonbin with a suspicious look.

So Wonbin was invited to your place. How fun.

“Ahh, I changed my mind out of boredom...”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded while walking to the front door, “I’ve gotta go get a lighter from my truck, but I’ll be back if Roxie asks for me.”

“Hey uh, me and ____ can go get it for you if you want,” Wonbin offered, flashing you a look.

“Really, I mean I parked pretty far away, but-”

“It’s fine, really, I saw where your truck on my way here.“

“____?” Sungchan said your name as if searching for your approval, to which you nodded which a humble, “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Alright then, go ahead. But take your time though so you don’t slip and break your asses…”

WONBIN LOOKED IN the roof compartment of Sungchan’s truck, just as the lighter fell down, slipping between the small crack in the seat.

“Shit,” he cursed upon trying to reach for it, “my hands too big to get it.”

“Hey, I can try getting it for you,” you offered, watching as he made room for you to take his place in the vehicle.

The drawstring of your underwear clinging to your hips as your shirt fell down your waist with gravity.

“Are you wearing a thong?” Wonbin asked, cold index finger hooking with the thin strap of your panties before pulling back and releasing it with a snap.

“Ahh, what the hell, Won!,” You yelped, retreating from the seat to swat his hands from you, “you’re supposed to be helping me!”

“No, we’re supposed to be helping Sungchan. Now get back to work,” he order you playfully, pointing back down to where the lighter fell.

You shook your head, bending back over in an attempt to retrieve the lighter once again.

He was only teasing you because he wanted to see more of your personality.

He couldn’t say that things were moving fast between you thanks to the inevitably awkward grounds your first impression of each other was cultivated upon, but he still wanted to get past the shy stage.

Skip all of the a baby steps and just start running with you.

Weakened grunts fell from your lips as you desperately fished for the lighter, your hips looking a mere second from bursting through your tight jeans given the position you were in.

“Shit,” Wonbin cursed under his breath, feeling a sense of warmth grow on his cheeks as he darted his eyes away from you.

“Oh,” you said with a muffled sounding voice.

“Um, y-yeah? What’s up?” He stuttered, still looking off into the distance.

“I’ve got the lighter… And some spare change,” you chirped, clasping the findings in your hand before reaching a foot down cautiously.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Wonbin teased, finally looking back to only see your foot slipping on the wet condensation from the truck’s running board.

“____, watch your step!” He called out with a slightly raised voice, his hands finding your waist to protect your fall, which only led to you both tumbling down together.

A strained groan erupted from Wonbin’s throat as his back hit the cold hard ground first, your body weight falling onto his center as your hands hit the gravel, slightly scuffing your skin.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed the entire time until you finally opened them, the coins you held being scattered about as Wonbin’s wide bunny eyes scanned you with shock.

His arms framed his head, nose a little red from the weather and a sprinkle of snowflakes dusting his black beanie.

“Are you…are you okay?,” he started, voice trailing off as it finally clicked in his mind that you were straddling him on the ground, essentially in public.

He couldn’t pin a finger on what it was about you that made him feel all shy like this, especially whenever he wasn’t buzzed.

“I-I’m… uh… I’m fine,” you stuttered, freeing him of your body weight and extending a hand to help him up.

“Thank you,” he huffed, a puff of cold air escaping his mouth before circling around your warm bodies, “I told you to watch your step….”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that those stupid coins distracted me,” you shivered, just now feeling the effects of the weather as goosebumps sprouted on your skin, “At least I got the lighter, though!”

Wonbin chuckled, both at your enthusiastic words and the uncanniness of this moment, taking off his beanie and adjusting it over your head before closing the door to Sungchan’s truck, pulling you close to him by the shoulder.

“Alright… let’s get back inside before we both freeze to death.”

AFTER GOING BACK inside, Sungchan had somehow managed to get Roxie out of bed, the four of you sitting on the couch while watching a random movie till midnight.

It all brought you a strange sense of déjà vu. You and Wonbin sitting awkwardly together while Roxie and her Sungchan sat like Siamese twins. The only thing missing, aside from some good home cooked food, was Shotaro’s infectious smile and a recreational drug in your system.

A soul booster.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts again, not even realizing when Roxie kissed Sungchan goodnight before he headed home.

Nor when Wonbin pretended to be sleep so no one would wake him as you slept peacefully on his shoulder.

Nor how he left your side once Roxie went to her room to sleep, reaching for the dust-ridden acoustic guitar hiding in a corner of your loft after a long forgotten ex-roommate left it behind as a “farewell” gift.

Nor the warm and woody melody he started to play from the other end of the couch, the gentle hums from his throat luring your busy mind from its slumber.

Your eyes opened with lazy blinks, vision slowly keening in on the lit joint that hung from his mouth, the sound of his fingers sliding against the fretboard and strings sending shivers down your spine.

Or maybe that had more to do with the winter air thrumming through your dorm room's cheap windows.

From the look outside, you’d guess it was sometime around 1am.

The stars were sparkling in the sky and the world beneath almost dead quiet.

“Oh- sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Wonbin said in a half-whisper, noticing the way you were glancing at him before taking the blunt from his mouth.

“Oh, no… it’s okay, I was just… I didn’t mind…” your words trailed off to a mumble as you sat up a little straighter on the couch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “What song was that? It sounded really pretty from what I heard.”

“Yesterday… by the Beatles,” he smiled, getting up to set the guitar back in its original place of abandonment, “it would’ve sounded even better though if I had a pick with me.”

He took another huff from the blunt, exhaling through his nose in a familiar manner as he offered it to you, “Want some?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, taking the blunt from his hand before inhaling the herb yourself, though, it was slightly different from the one you had in Wonbin’s kitchen the other night.

“It’s some of Sungchan’s pot,” he said in a husk voice as if reading your mind, “Don’t go too crazy though, ‘cause his shit’s pretty strong.”

He peeked at you through his wavy bangs, waiting for a cough from you that never came.

“Are you buzzed yet?” You asked after taking another huff or two yourself, playing with the smoke in your mouth before blowing it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “don’t know how I managed to play a full song, but... yeah... I'm trashed.”

“It must be a talent, I guess,” you hummed at his words, just now noticing the lit candles sitting at random areas in the kitchen and living room.

Good thing, because it helped to drown out the scent of marijuana.

“What else are you good at doing while high?”

His tongue clicked at the roof of his mouth as a subtle yet unmistakable smirk creeped on his face, perfectly matching the rosy hue that began to stain his cheeks.

“You thought of something dirty, didn’t you?”

“Maybe…” he chuckled, widening the distance between his legs a bit as he sat.

Was he… teasing you?

Your eyes fell down to the blunt he placed on the ashtray beside the table, it’s lit bud ceasing with a quiet hiss.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t free either, huh?” You joked, shaking your head at yesterday's memory.

“Nope,” he smiled, “but… you still haven’t returned the favor from your first hit, so I won’t be too mean for now.”

Of course he’d bring that up again.

Right here, right now as you sat mere inches in distance from each other, both buzzed out of your minds.

“And if you were to be mean,” you started hesitantly, biting your lower lip before continuing, “what would that look like?”

He thought on your words carefully before answering, “Well, I doubt it’ll ever come to that anyway, so don't worry about it.”

“Oh, and is it the weed making you confident all of a sudden?”

“No, just the simple fact that you’ll pretty much do anything I tell you to.”

You scoffed, “That’s crazy talk.”

“Is it?“ he pressed, inching closer to you. "Kiss me,” he said, lips just a gentle wind's push from touching yours.

You didn’t budge, but your heart beat escalated all the same.

“Cute,” he smirked, his large hand finding the length of your neck, gliding up to your jawline as his thumb toyed with your lower lip. “I can see it all over your face that you want me, ____.”

“Then why are you asking for it?,” you teased.

“Because I wanted to hear you say it first… even though I already knew you’d let me do this,” he whispered, closing the space between you with a kiss, his warm mouth engulfing yours as the scent of his woody cologne filled your senses.

His other hand found your lower back, pulling you impossibly close to him as the sound of both your hearts beating and his needy grunts consumed you.

Much like the watercolor moth on his wrist, Wonbin’s gentle and vibrant masculinity couldn’t get any more precious in this moment.

This is exactly what he was looking forward to, whether he decided to guise it under the façade of a favor or be completely straight up with you, he finally got you right where you wanted.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged a bit, desperate to hear more of his pretty sounds before the shadow of a smile wavered over Wonbin’s face at your actions, up until he felt your knee bump his hard-on through his pants, causing him to hiss.

“You’re being rough with me,” he said in between kissing your mouth, his hot and thick tongue darting past your lips as the kiss become messier.

Louder.

“And?” You asked, pulling away from his lips before leaving a trail of wetness down his neck, paying extra attention to a spot that made him twitch in his seat.

“And it’s so fucking hot,” he almost moaned when your teeth grazed his skin, his back meeting the couch arm as you subconsciously grinded your hips against his pants, straddling him.

“Is this how you wanted me earlier,” you said, stopping your movements, “when we were outside in the cold?”

By now his shirt was off and your fingers unbuckling his belt with gentle clinking sounds from the metal.

“No,” he said in an impossibly deep voice, looking dead at you as he spoke, “My first mind wanted to fuck you silly in the backseat… but I couldn’t to that to you.”

You giggled at his choice of words given how high you were, shimmying his pants down a bit further before halting at the waistband of his boxers, palming him gently through the fabric.

“Why not?” You asked in a soft voice, contrasting with the fierce grip you had on his clothed shaft.

“Because... even though you’re being an impossible tease right now, I felt like you deserved better than to be fucked in your best friends boyfriend's truck,” he said with a shaky voice, gripping at the couch to contain himself.

You appreciated his consideration in your heart, but didn’t wanna say anything out loud, especially not while your hands were on him like this.

And thank God for these thick curtains, otherwise the whole world would’ve seen how red his throbbing tip looked after finally being freed from the restrictions of his boxers.

You started at the base of his length before gliding upwards, spitting on the head that was already leaking a bit of his early release.

You started to pump him slowly, pearly white precum standing out as it mixed with your clear spit like watercolor.

“Use your mouth for me,” he almost begged, eyes falling victim to a blurry haze as his knuckles turned white with his grip on the cushions.

You teased him a bit by letting your warm breath ghost over his tip, eliciting a groan from him as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

The desperation inside of him only grew from here as your warm and wet lips finally wrapped around him.

You hollowed your cheeks a bit, hands resting at either side of his hips as you began using your tongue to help you take him inch by inch.

“Mmm, feels so fucking good, baby,” he said with a strained voice, his hands finding your head before his thumbs grazed your lips, one of them prying to squeeze itself into your mouth with his already thick cock.

The sight alone was enough to make him buss, so he threw his head back, biting his lip harshly to contain his sounds.

You hummed against his dick, almost feeling it in your chest once his hands pushed your head down further.

He just couldn’t deal with your teasing anymore, wanting to feel you more than he could begin to explain.

He bucked his hips upwards, rutting into your mouth like a bunny in heat. “Aww, fuck,” he cursed, watching the way your eyes glazed with tears.

He always managed to see you crying one way or another, and he loved it every single time.

Your fingernails dug into his sides as the sound of your gagging became hard to miss. He released your head with a sigh, panting as both of your faces burned with heat.

He didn’t expect you to start pumping him again though as soon as your mouth left his cock, but you knew he’d end up missing your warmth in seconds anyways.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean when I did that, by the way,” he sighed, biting his lip as you looked back at him with moist eyelashes, “I just couldn’t hold bac- nghhh~.”

A broken moan escaped his mouth once your hands found his balls, gently cradling them in your hands while alternating with pressures, your other hand still stroking him.

“I’m doing quite the favor for you, Wonbin,” you said with a rasp voice, your throat a bit sore from his actions on top of the smoke you huffed earlier, but he figured it made you sound hotter anyway. “Are you sure I’m not overdoing it?”

“Mmm… no, p-please don’t stop, baby,” he whimpered shamelessly, screwing his eyebrows tightly.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the nickname, and judging from the way his face changed, you’d bet he noticed.

By now, he could hardly keep still, the muscles in his stomach flexing just as you felt his balls tighten, just as he was finished, chest heaving with need as you rode out his high.

That's when you started to take off your jeans, tossing them in the corner somewhere as he practically drooled at the sight of you in just a baggy top and panties, a dark spot forming at the center of your core where your arousal started to leak through.

“____,” he paused you, bringing you into his lap, your warm core sitting right atop his aching hardness, “you don’t have to go this far if you don’t want to.”

“Well maybe this isn’t just about me owing you anymore,” you whispered, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, “what if I want this?”

His cock stimulated you through your panties as he thought on your words, subconsciously rocking your hips back and forth.

“Then I’ll let you have your way with me…” he said with a rasp whisper, kissing up your neck as one of his hands massaged your tits, his other hand sneaking past your underwear to find your soaking wet clit, rubbing it slowly but with such a pressure that your fingers clung to his broad shoulders.

“I want you to make me feel like I’m falling apart,” he groaned against your skin, spreading your slick all over your aching pussy lips, “I want you to ruin me.”

You didn't waste any time with aligning him at your entrance, sliding down with ease most of the way given how wet you were.

He groaned as your tight walls fully consumed him.

“Fuck~,” you whined, feeling euphorically full as he started thrusting into you, hands gripping at your back as he became overstimulated inside you.

The drugs must've made you feel extra sensitive, especially with the way his tip fucked against your g-spot. You looked into his teary eyes, stoking his face as you helped to bounce with his movements, lewd sounds bouncing off of the walls.

“You’re being so fucking good for me, baby, just like that," he moaned as you clenched around him, too high to give a damn about filling you up raw with thick spurts of his cum.

“Wonie,” you whimpered, feeling as his hands roamed all over your climaxing body.

You felt every part of him in every part of you, and to say the least, it was worth all the awkward moments it took to get here.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up with your head resting on Wonbin’s chest, his messy hair spread about his head as you felt his breath faintly on your head. You probably looked like two babies with the way you were cuddling each other under the blanket.

It was a sickeningly cute sight, one might say.

“Sick and twisted,” you heard Shotaro say in the back of your mind, just as Wonbin groaned beneath you with a cat-like yawn.

“I still feel high,” was the first thing he said, making you giggle a little more than necessary before looking him in the face, the effects of your night together ever-present on his face.

“I feel…good,” you smiled.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hummed back, peeling yourself from his body as you blinked the tiredness from your eyes.

“You can keep a secret, right?” He asked hesitantly, voice barely audible given how quietly he spoke.

“With my whole life,” you answered, now making eye contact with him which was surprisingly way easier to do than a day ago.

He found your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “We should do each other favors more often… but… maybe not call it that.”

Was he initiating a sexual relationship with you?

Maybe something more?

“Well…” you started curiously, “what would you wanna call it instead, then?”

A grin peeped on his face that quickly softened when he licked his lips, giving your hand a squeeze once again before parting his lips to speak. “Maybe-”

“Fuck,” Roxanne sighed with annoyance, “you horny ducks didn’t blow my candles out last night… now the wax is no good,” she sulked.

“Oh, s-sorry about that, Roxie, we were smoking and it helped the smell,” Wonbin answered first.

“… wait, did you just call us horny ducks?” You asked with a mix of confusion, offense, and realization.

She heard you two.

Hell, of course she did.

“What? You think I didn’t hear Wonbin and his vocal ass practically singing as you did… whatever you did to him…?,” She rambled on, washing her hands in the sink before pulling some from produce from the fridge.

“Oh my God,” Wonbin cringed at himself, covering his face with his hands, though his ears were clearly burning red now.

“The blanket… you brought it in here, didn’t you,” you asked her, just now noticing that it was one she kept at the end of her bed.

“Yep! You’re welcome, freaks,” she chirped through a mouthful of raw celery, drawing your attention to the knife and cutting board she handled, “I’m gonna need your help soon though, ____. We're cooking for a mini get-together later with Taro and Sungchan.”

You hummed at her words, folding up the blanket while thankful that despite how high you two were last night, you managed to put your clothes back on before the sun came up.

“You guys should get cleaned up first, too, by the way,” she said, side-eyeing you as she diced a few green onions. “And preferably not at the same time, please... I’ve heard enough moans for the rest of this week, thanks to you two.”

⚡︎ a/n: I just wanna say thank you to everyone who read this goofy lil piece I wrote !! It's been a while since I wrote something that wasn't requesting, and I had so much fun getting back in my creative mode again !! Hopefully you guys enjoyed it as much as I did huhu !!

📍 check out my NEW RIIZE masterlist

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[eiightysixbaby]

baby, it’s cold outside

i ought to say no, no, no sir — at least i’m gonna say that i tried!

eddie munson x fem!reader

3.6k

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. mutual pining, friends to lovers, eddie convinces reader to stay but he’s not a creep - she’s just nervous, one (1) singular use of y/n, brief mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, protected piv sex, fingering. barely proofread so i apologize in advance if there's mistakes xoxo love u guys.

“No, really! I’m serious,” you laugh, tears springing from the creases in the corners of your eyes. “I had the biggest crush on him,” you add, taking a tiny hit of the joint between your fingers before letting it rest in the ash tray.

The warmth from the tiny space-heater in Eddie’s living room kisses your cheeks, your fingers warming up where they wrap around your mug of spiked cider. You shift your weight on the worn cushions of the sofa, tucking one leg beneath you. You’re home from college for the holidays, catching up with all of your closest friends. Steve had hosted at his place, and when the party died down there Eddie had offered that you come back to his.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” the boy grins, shaking his head as he takes a swig of his beer.

“Yeah, well… I don’t know. We were in high school. Everything feels like such a big deal when you’re in high school. I felt like that crush could’ve been the end of the world if word got out,” you giggle, leaning your head back against the cushions behind you.

“I get what you mean,” he says, leaning to knock his shoulder with yours. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “You weren’t always subtle, you know.”

You shove him, snorting out another laugh.

“Okay, so who was your high school crush?” you ask him, tilting your head to face him, a playful grin on your face.

“Chrissy Cunningham,” he says easily.

“That’s the obvious one,” you roll your eyes. “We all knew that. Robin never let you live it down. I want your secret crush, one you never told anyone about. You have to have one,” you pry.

Eddie swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes shift away from yours, his beer bottle raising to his mouth to take another sip. A way to avoid his answer.

“Well,” he says, his voice gravelly. “It was, uh, it was… you, actually.” He’s quieter now, less sure of himself than you’ve maybe ever seen him. Your heart twists inside of your chest.

“What!?” you ask, sitting upright. You didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but it certainly caught you off guard.

“Forget it, it’s stupid,” Eddie retreats, trying to laugh it off. You stop him, though, reaching out to put a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s not stupid. I just… I had no idea,” you say, emphasizing the last few words.

“Yeah. It’s like you said, I thought it would’ve been the end of the world if you found out,” he laughs a little, but you detect a twinge of sadness behind it.

“Eddie…” you say. “You could’ve told me. I— I’m glad you told me now,” you continue, rubbing a soft circle over his knee with your thumb.

“You are?” he raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah. But I have one question,” you say, drawing your hand back from him and placing it in your lap.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Do you still have feelings for me? Now?” you ask nervously, glancing back and forth between the contents of your cup and his face.

He’s quiet, searching your face.

“Would it completely ruin everything if I said yes?” he asks, so quietly. His voice a gentle hum in your ears.

Suddenly, words escape you. You feel frozen, not knowing what to say. No, it wouldn’t, is what you want to say. Kiss me, please, is what you want to demand of him. But you find yourself unable to say anything at all. His gaze is overwhelming. Your heart races in your chest. Why is this so daunting?

He’s about to speak again, his mouth opening and closing. The moment is heavy, nerves raised high. Something in you wants to run, to flee. To escape the scary precipice you teeter on, between friends and something more. You welcomed this, but now it’s too much. You glance at the clock, cursing under your breath when you see the time. An excuse.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m so sorry. It’s so late, I really should get going—” you say, scrambling to stand while you set your mug on the coffee table.

“Wait,” a firm but comforting hand grips your arm, stopping you. “Please don’t go,” he says.

“Eddie, it’s almost midnight—”

“So stay with me. Please don’t leave right now, not after what we just talked about.”

“My parents, Eddie, they’ll be worried,” you rush out, slipping on your boots at the door and opening it.

A flurry of snow falls outside, coating the cars and the dirt and what’s left of the grass. The December night air is frigid and harsh where it hits your skin.

“Oh!” you gasp, wincing at the cold.

Eddie’s stood right behind you, his arm reaching over you and pushing the door shut again.

“No way you’re driving home in that, ‘s dangerous,” he tells you.

“Maybe I’ll wait it out…” you murmur, words failing you the longer he stares at you.

Your cheeks feel hot despite the below-zero windchill. Facing Eddie is harder than it had been five minutes ago, and you’re the one who brought on the conversation. He’s so close to you, gazing down at you, his eyes pleading.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “If you want to run, I won’t stop you. But I don’t think you really do. Just tell me, is the world going to end? Or can I have you?”

“I…. Eddie—” you stammer, and you really, truly feel like your heart might hammer through your chest and land on the floor.

His eyes are so big, pools of deep brown that draw you in. You could drown in them if you looked too long, could get lost in his vastness. He’s begging without words, aching for you to say something. Nervous eyes travel over his face, watching the slight twitch of his lips and the way they part just slightly. He’s beautiful. He’s always been beautiful.

“You can have me,” you whisper.

It takes a split second before his hands find your waist, pulling you into him. He noses at your face, watching your eyelids flutter shut. Every exhale from him wafts breath over your face, warm and so incredibly him. The air that he had breathed and put back out into the open space, filling your lungs now. His lips press against yours, featherlight and testing the waters. Your body relaxes fully, mouth melting against his as you let him kiss you.

It becomes needy quickly. What started so soft and tender becomes eager, open mouths devouring each other as tongues touch.

“I had a crush on you, too—” you blurt in between kisses.

“What?” he breathes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and then to your cheek. The way he says it doesn’t indicate surprise, but rather he just wants to hear you say it again.

“You were my other secret crush in high school…” you confess shyly, eyes wide and blinking at him when he stops his movements abruptly.

“You really weren’t always subtle,” is all he says, smiling as he leans in to kiss you once more.

Teeth clash, both of you giggling into the kiss, your hands wandering up his chest as he holds you close to him. He tugs at the collar of your sweater, pulling you with him as he walks backwards to the couch. Straddling his lap, your hands find their way up his shirt, smoothing over his soft skin. He lets out a satisfied hum, his own hands reaching around to squeeze your ass as he lets his tongue prod into your mouth.

A soft whimper escapes you, your hips grinding on top of his. You can feel the tent in his jeans as he grows stiff beneath them, completely affected by you. It becomes increasingly obvious to you, then, the boundaries that are being crossed right now. You can’t go back after this, things are forever changed between you and Eddie.

You stop kissing him, glancing out the window at the falling snow. “Eddie—” you say, your eyes looking frantic; skittish.

“Don’t you dare tell me you have to get home. It’s cold outside, baby. The weather’s bad,” he says softly, nuzzling his face into your hair by your ear.

“What happens after we do this? Everything will be different,” you say, wishing you weren’t so nervous. So hesitant. So scared to fall completely for him and for it to end badly.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek. So gentle, so slow. “We don’t have to do anything. We can take it slow,” he soothes, and you can’t help but melt into his touch.

The blizzard still rages outside, no way you can get home safely.

You rest your forehead against his, your body relaxing once more. “I’m sorry for being so jumpy. I just… I want you in my life forever.”

“You know I feel the same. I’m going to make it my life’s mission to never give you a reason to kick me out of it,” he promises, hands rubbing up and down your sides.

You sigh, rolling your hips once atop his lap. Kisses are left on your cheeks, your jawline, traveling down to your neck. Everywhere his mouth lands is set ablaze, your body giving in to him, craving more. He paws at the hem of your sweater, causing you to pull it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking in the sight of you.

Your bra holds your breasts perfectly, your chest rising and falling with each breath you take. His hands trail up your skin, fingertips making you shudder as they dance along your torso. He caresses the swells of skin in warm hands, letting his thumbs run over the tops of each cup of your bra, dipping down to roll over your hardened nipples. A delighted, breathy noise leaves your throat, and Eddie revels in it. He wants to pull more pretty noises from you, keep you like putty in his hands.

“Can I take this off?” he asks you, dipping down to place a kiss between the curve of your breasts. His hands reach around your back, gliding along the band of your undergarment.

“Mhm,” you hum, your fingers tracing over the buckle on his belt.

He makes quick work of unclasping your bra, letting it rest on the floor with your sweater. His mouth immediately finds your tits, those big eyes of his glancing up at you as he sucks one nipple into his eager mouth.

You let your head fall back with a soft moan, electricity running through your veins. Your whole body is tuned into his actions, ready and waiting for more. And fuck, he’s barely doing anything yet but he’s so good. You know he’s fooled around here and there in the last few years, gained experience, but god, he’s so much better than you ever could have imagined on those late nights with your hand between your thighs. His hands and his mouth know exactly where to be at every second, making you perfectly pliant for him.

Your fingers start to undo his belt to the best of your distracted-ability, his tongue swirling around your nipple and making you dizzy with arousal. You work the button of his jeans open, fumbling with the zipper right after. You ease your weight off of him, hovering in place so he can slide the denim down till it pools around his calves.

A short, punctuated groan slips past his lips when you palm his stiff length over his boxers, his mouth now focused on your other nipple. Your short skirt does very little to keep you covered, the soft fabric riding so far up your thighs you’re almost exposed. His big palms move down to squeeze them, fingertips grazing beneath your skirt. You whine, bucking your hips slightly, encouraging him to move his fingers higher.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he coos, his mouth so close to your ear, hands rubbing the expanse of your thighs. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

It sends shivers down your spine, the way he talks to you. So unaccustomed to hearing him speak this way, and still in disbelief that he’s speaking this way to you — doing these things to you. His hands bunch your skirt up as far as it will go, fingernails dragging along your sheer black tights. He snags them, leaving a run in the material.

“Oops,” he says, smug as his hands climb your thighs, reaching closer and closer to your core. There’s still too many layers between him and you for your liking. Your tights and panties, his boxers concealing his cock.

“Eddieee,” you whine, squirming on his lap.

“What, sweet girl? Where do you need me?” he asks, voice so sugary sweet as he blinks at you, lashes fluttering.

You huff, brows furrowing in desperation. “Do you need me… here?” he asks, letting his fingers trail over your clothed core. They tease, cupping your sex and rubbing soft patterns on the skin.

“Yeah, please Eddie,” you gasp, your hands planting firmly on his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Take everything off for me, baby, yeah?” he suggests, watching intently when you stand momentarily to strip.

You’re grateful for the warmth coming from the small heater, the chill from outside slipping in through the cracks of the trailer’s windows being warded off to the best of the equipment’s ability. You come to straddle Eddie once more, one of his hands immediately grabbing your waist, the other making its way back to your cunt. He ghosts his fingertips over your clit, making your hips jerk ever so slightly. He laughs lowly, not mocking you but instead basking in the spell he has you under in this moment.

His index finger runs through your folds, collecting the wetness that waits for him. “Christ, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours for another kiss.

His tongue pushes gently past your lips right as he slips a finger inside of you, making you moan into his mouth. He swallows your sounds gratefully, his finger curling inside your walls to hopefully bring on more.

“Need more, Eddie,” you beg, grinding yourself on him. He obliges easily, slipping a second finger inside.

The way he stretches you is divine, it feels far too good to have you worrying any longer. You don’t care that one of your best friends has you naked on his lap, you don’t care about what your other friends will think, you don’t care that it’s late and you haven’t called home. You don’t care. He pumps his fingers in and out expertly, your arousal filling the trailer with lewd, wet noises. Your mouths move hastily against one another, kissing and licking and biting, making up for lost time.

“Feels so good,” you pant between kisses, making him smile.

“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous,” he praises, pressing more kisses to your face.

You feel your cheeks warm at his words, your head fuzzy. “Want— want you to fuck me,” you say softly, and he tilts his head, reading your expression.

“You sure?” he checks, stopping the movements of his fingers and instead removing them from you. He cups your face, his cheeks flushing pink when you nod.

“I’m sure,” you reply, reaching your hand down and squeezing the outline of his cock beneath cotton fabric.

He inhales, sharp and fast, his eyes half-closing in pleasure.

“Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you lay down?” he asks, patting the cushion beside him.

You both maneuver your bodies, you lying on the sofa as he comes to hover over you. A condom had been pulled from his wallet, and he opens the packet with his teeth as he shimmies out of his boxers. You watch in awe as his cock springs free, the size of it surprising you. Your eyes are trained on him as he rolls the condom on, his fingers making quick work of it.

“Like what you see?” he asks, catching the area your eyes are glued to.

All you can do is nod, redirecting your eyes to the smirk on his face. Goosebumps rise on your skin, the icy wind blowing stronger outside now, more persistent in the way it penetrates the trailer walls. Eddie notices, standing up and pulling the thick knit blanket from the armchair in the corner of the room. He returns to the couch, positioning himself on top of you and awkwardly fixating the blanket over both of your bodies with your assistance.

It’s warm, and it’s safe, and it makes your heart swell.

“You ready?” he says quietly, kissing you on the cheek and then the forehead.

“Yeah,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly, letting your tongue take control this time.

He exhales heavily as he starts to push in, his head breaching your folds and making you both moan. His forehead rests atop yours, strong arms caging you in as he holds himself up. He moves slowly, filling you inch by inch and paying careful attention to your reactions. Your lips part, no sound coming out as he bottoms out inside of you. His head drops to your shoulder, shaggy hair tickling the junction between it and your neck.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you sigh, letting your body adjust to the stretch of him. It feels like he was made for you, your body quickly aching for more.

He starts moving, careful not to go too fast for you.

“Baby…” he breathes, pulling almost completely out before thrusting back in again.

Your hands slide down his back beneath the blanket, nails digging in slightly when he starts to pick up his pace. You can’t fucking believe you have him like this right now, and you think about how different this night would’ve played out if you had just gone home after leaving Steve’s. You’re grateful you didn’t; grateful to be here, being loved on by Eddie.

Your relationship blossoms into something new with each snap of his hips against yours, further solidifying the fact that you want more with him. Something deeper, something intimate.

Moans leave you in short, breathy spurts as he fucks you, filling you up over and over. He’ll slow down, taunting you with drawn out movements before he’s back to thrusting quickly, giving you whiplash. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, his nose brushing against yours. He smells so good and his skin is so warm, it only urges you closer and closer to release. Being so close to him is intoxicating, and you cry his name over and over as his cock hits that perfect spot inside of you.

“Getting close, angel?” he asks, grinning down at you when you nod. “God, you feel so fucking good around me, baby,” he says, kissing you like he simply can’t get enough.

His breathing is heavy, exertion evident in the way he fills his lungs with air. You snake a hand down your body, softly starting to rub your sensitive clit with the pad of your finger.

“Want you to cum for me, baby, give it all to me,” Eddie encourages you, your eyes screwing shut as pleasure builds and builds in the pit of your stomach.

His cock glides in and out with complete ease, your pussy soaking him. He keeps a moderate, steady pace, wanting to savor every last second of this milestone with you. You can feel yourself quickly approaching your release, rubbing more urgent circles around your clit now. Your brows are furrowed in concentration, Eddie’s breath fanning your face as he grunts with each thrust.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, feeling yourself let go completely.

Your walls clench tight around him, tensing up over and over as he helps you ride out the high. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he soothes. “Did so good,” he praises as he continues to fuck into you.

He’s close, you can tell by the way his movements get less precise. You pull his face down to you, capturing his lips in what feels like the millionth kiss of the night. He kisses back urgently, pulling away only to warn you of his approaching climax.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” he huffs, barely giving you a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of the condom.

His hips stutter, and you can just barely feel the way his cock twitches as he rids himself of every drop. Both breathing heavily, he collapses on top of you, your arms wrapping around him to hold him tight. The blanket keeps the warmth locked in, his skin sweat-slick against yours.

Regaining composure, he pulls back enough to look at you.

“Did you mean it, when you said I can have you? Will you be mine?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

“Yes,” you assure him. “I’m yours.”

His grin is brighter than the sun, outshining the glow from the Christmas tree as he smiles down at you. All he can think to do is kiss you, and somehow it feels even sweeter this time.

Once you’ve both redressed, him in his pajama pants and you in his borrowed clothes, he pads into the living room with a glass of water for you.

“Oh, hey. The snowstorm’s died down,” he says, peering out the window. “You still want to try and make it home?”

“No. I want to stay right here,” you say, coming up behind him. Wrapped in a blanket, you reach your arms out, enveloping him in the warmth, too. Your face nuzzles into the space between his shoulder blades, before he turns around so he’s facing you.

“Good. Cause I really don’t want you to go,” he smiles, his dimples peeking out. “It’s still cold outside, after all. A lady like you should be safe and warm in my bed, not braving the elements.” You giggle, nuzzling your nose against his.

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll stay.”

[disneyprincemuke]

5 times * mv1

there are five times max almost caught himself saying he loves you, and then there's the time that he finally let you know

pairings: max verstappen x horner's niece!reader

warnings: i... don't know?

notes: yes, i'm making a comeback because i've gotten back into the mood of writing (i'm single) and because f1 has got me screaming, crying and throwing up. also, this took me 3 days to write, and i have grown attached. lmk if you guys want the counterpart (basically the same concept, but it's from your eyes???)

one.

"fucking," max cuts himself off, grabbing the closest thing to him. lucky for him, and his team, it's just his racing gloves, "bitch!"

it's just so infuriating to be so close to that podium. he crashed with 5 laps left of the race. his left rear decided to fail him stupidly near the end, after he'd poured his heart and soul to get on that podium. but here he is, moping in his driver's room.

after constantly being in the scrutiny of the public, especially with the way he handled losing, he'd resided here immediately. there's a bubbling anger rising up from him. he's so infuriated.

until a soft knock lands on his door. snapping him out of his thoughts, he knew what he wanted this time. "please leave me alone."

"okay. but christian just wants to know if you're alright." your voice sounds small. he could barely hear you with the door in the way.

he takes a deep breath, then walks over to the door. it reveals you with a hesitant smile on your face.

but he's always had a soft spot for you. all of the anger he'd been feeling merely 5 seconds ago dissipated. "oh. you're not in my room at the circuit often."

"i know. i'm sorry to intrude." you look down at the ground, your often confident self absolutely nowhere to be seen. "christian sent me to check in on you. i'll leave you alone, but i can't go back without an answer."

for starters, you're not a stranger to the signature max verstappen temper. but never has he directed it at you once. it's surely raised the eyebrows of christian horner the first time it happened when you joined the team.

one second he was all over the garage, only rude words coming out of his mouth. the next, he was silently raging as he sat on the tire of his car while you discussed dinner plans with your uncle.

"please, don't worry about it." he takes a step back, gesturing for you to enter the room. you do just that, although a bit hesitant. and he doesn't blame you for that. "come in."

there's a moment of silence between you two. for a moment, the engines from the cars outside start to die down, and the frequency of the fireworks is slowing down, and there are more footsteps in the gravel that surround the trailer.

"i'm okay." he leans on the massage table in the middle of the room. he still hasn't changed out of his race suit. his helmet, balaclava and gloves are all thrown in different directions of the room. they had all been victims of his uncontrollable rage.

it's apparent that he's not even close to being okay. he just has to bank on the fact that you don't probe with more questions.

"it's okay if you're not," you answer in a gentle tone. a soft audible sigh passes your lips as you sit on the couch in the opposite side of the small room. "it's just you and me. i'm not part of your racing team."

his eyes do the speaking again. the heaving of his chest is enough to tell you that he's actually contemplating it. without another moment's hesitation, he starts to go at it. all of the emotions he's been feeling lately, the frustration from just being 5 laps shy of being on that podium.

he's just ranting, throwing his hands in the air while he paces all over the room. he makes a mental note to find a way to make it up to you after this - you're just sitting there patiently, nodding your head empathetically while he talks.

it’s as if you knew and understood all that he’s talking about.

"it's just unfair! i did everything right this time!" he exclaims, hands clenched up into a fist. "i should have been up there! i deserved to be on that podium!"

there's one more thing that bothers him. you. whatever he feels for you. the way his heart races whenever you're around, or the way he's always thinking of the way you fix his hair for marketing promotion material - he can't get you out of his mind. for years, now.

he'd met you when he was 18, fresh into red bull racing as christian's new prodigy. he had only seen you a total of 15 times within the span of 3 and a half years. the transition from crumbs of your presence to full-out spending the whole racing season with you was more than his heart could handle.

now that he's gotten to know you better, the 22-year-old is almost convinced that he might actually have feelings for you. "and-"

he looks up from the ground, flinching back slightly when you're staring directly into his eyes from across the room. your eyes dart down to his hands and it's only then he notices how his hands are clenched into fists next to him.

he almost slipped up about his feelings for you. good thing he caught himself at the last second. his chest heaves as he looks at you, shoulders tensed up and eyebrows furrowed.

you raise an eyebrow, slowly nodding. you make a gesture with your hand to encourage him to continue saying whatever is on his mind. "and?"

"and," i have feelings for you, "it's just so unfair."

he feels his body melt at your stare. his shoulders slump, his breathing starts to regulate and his hands slowly unravel from a fist. it's just so unfair that he's so hopelessly smitten with his principal's niece.

"i know." you push yourself off the couch and walk over to him. stopping just a few steps from him, he looks at you sigh. "i'm sorry that it happened to you, max."

then a small grin slowly stretches his lips. the race is over - there is absolutely nothing he can do to change the result. he shrugs, "it's just racing."

"you can still feel angry about it," you grin, "it's just me."

max shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "i know. it's okay; i'm okay."

you drop your head slightly. max knows you don't buy his lie. of course, he's still angry about what happened. but there is still some truth to what he said - he got unlucky today with the car.

you take a deep breath. he's caught completely by surprise when your arms spread out, taking a step forward and engulfing him in the warmest hug.

he catches a whiff of all your scents - your shampoo, your perfume, and creepily enough, the soap you use for your clothes. and he completely basks in your embrace, his arms wrapping themselves around your smaller frame. his neck rests on your shoulder, silently straining his back just to take you in.

"i know you're not," you whisper. you lean your head into his as you rub circles on his clothed back. "i'm here for you, okay?"

and he wants to say it to you. he gets an inkling, after you just spent the better part of 20 minutes letting him scream about his feelings, that this is bigger than himself.

"i," he trails off, arms tightening around you. he closes his eyes, repeatedly reminding himself that he's not willing to risk it. he releases the breath he's been holding. "thank you."

two.

max can barely keep himself upright in the seat. he's clutching onto his balaclava, eyes following the light shone into his eyes as per the doctor's request.

he had a bad crash with lewis during the race that sent him flying into the walls. he blacked out for a couple of seconds, and he's been in pain since they escorted him to the medical centre.

there's a soft knock on the door, before he hears the creak followed by footsteps. "i'll be back with results, okay?" the doctor straightens up before walking away from him. he acknowledges the presence of someone new, then proceeded to walk out of the room.

the relief max immediately felt when he sees you standing shyly by the door, hands clasped together.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, slowly making your way over to him. "i came as soon as i heard what happened to you. that was horrible, what happened to you."

he tilts his head at you, ignoring the strain in his neck and the pounding in his head. "as soon as you heard?"

you chuckle, glancing down at the floor in what could only be described as embarrassment. "i was in the bathroom taking a piss when geri ran in yelling for me," you admit.

your eyes roam his body, your eyes matching the empathetic stares of everyone he has looked at since he was helped out of that stupid car. he hates it. he hates being on the receiving end of those stares, but it was strangely comforting coming from you.

"are you alright? do you have any more injuries?" you ask. you look at him, hands hovering above his hand that rests on his knee. max gives you a small nod of consent.

"it's just a concussion, from what i can feel," max admits. though, it hurts everywhere. when you crash into a wall at that speed and black out, it's definitely going to hurt everywhere that it can.

he's watching you intently. you're lifting his sleeves to scan for bruises and moving about the neckline of his race suit to look for any injuries. there's a tingling sensation that you leave behind as your fingers graze over his now exposed skin.

"i'm okay."

"i don't buy that at all," you scoff. you reach over for the empty plastic chair and pull it to his side. you take a seat. "i'm glad you're okay. i was really worried something bad had happened."

he smiles. the way you care for him never fails to make his stomach churn and his heart start to race. "it could've been worse. i'm glad it's just a concussion i've got."

you turn your head to look at him. god, he wishes he can just take you in for an embrace and reassure you that he's perfectly fine. because he is. it's just some body aches - nothing he hasn't had to go through before as an athlete.

"i'm sorry about the race." you take his towel into your hands and fold it up. you gently tap on his face, wiping away the sweat that had formed on his face. "let me know if you need anything, okay? water, ice... food..."

"i will handle," he grins, his gaze following your hands' movements. "thank you, though."

you don't say anything. you just smile at him as you put the towel back down on his knee. you rest your hand just above the damp material and tilt your head at him. "how do you feel, though?"

"g-"

"about the points," you cut him off. "it's a close fight for the driver's championship. how do you feel about that?"

he shrugs, pouting his lips out. you widen your eyes at him as you anticipate the next thing coming from his mouth. "it's just racing. i'll come back next weekend."

you roll your eyes and lean back into the chair. both of your eyes are on the tv, watching the broadcast of the race together. "i believe in you. there's still a long season ahead of you."

he moves his eyes to look at you. not his head fully - he doesn't need you catching him stare at you. your unconditional support for him just made him want to jump for joy.

thought, sometimes he does wonder if you're only doing it because you work for the team. but other times you're just so believable that he thinks it's him as a person you're rooting for.

and god, he wants it to him so bad.

"it feels like forever - this pain," he admits. without thinking, his hand instinctively reaches forward. he puts his hand above yours. he squeezes your hand.

he sees you shake your head. you manoeuvre your hand. now your palms are touching. he could have sworn it was the concussion making him see and feel things when you intertwine your fingers.

if he were to be honest with you, he feels like this could the lowest point of the season for him. that rear failure earlier on felt minuscule compared to this crash. deep down inside, there's a fear that there's no coming back from this.

you squeeze his hand, slightly tighter than he had done to you just a few seconds prior. "i wish i could make it better. i'm sorry, max."

your voice wavers as you speak to him. and it kills him that you’re so worried for him. he does have a healthy support system, as much as the public wants to make it out that he’s too cold for that.

max wants to reassure you, just as you'd done with him. but he doesn't even know how to do that. your presence now, while he's still slightly out of it from the crash, is enough to put him at ease.

he sighs, squeezing your hand once more. it's at the tip of his tongue. if he could just convince himself to say it to you.

yet, he settles with, "you're the best."

three.

max leans back into the wall, arms folded over his chest. the strobing lights, the music bouncing off the walls, and a plethora of bodies surround him.

next to him, sebastian is deep in conversation with daniel. a conversation that he had tuned out of a few minutes ago. when he found you on the dance floor, terrorising alex and lily with your dance moves.

if you asked him, he would've told you that you're a natural at many things. dancing, unfortunately, is not one of them.

his silent pining comes to a halt when he meets lily's gaze from across the room. a knowing smile on the girl's face, he feels his cheeks heat up when she drags alex down to whisper something in his ear while pointing at max accusingly. alex turns his head in max's direction and his body shakes with a laugh.

great. they've caught on.

alex nods and raises his eyebrows at max teasingly. alex glances at you, shocked to find out that you've managed to shimmy your way 5 metres down the dance floor to now terrorise george and carmen.

max smiles to him, watching alex bend over backwards to get your attention. it's proven a challenge when you sandwich yourself between them.

when alex manages to finally get your attention, you just smile at him. you hand him the empty glass in your hand and grab carmen's hands. it's a wonderful sight - alex struggling to get your attention. but when he did, max swears his heart skips a beat.

because you lean into alex, listening to what he says into your ear. alex points in his direction and your face lights up when your eyes meets his.

you stride across the room and push yourself through the crowd. before he knew it, you're staring up at him with a toothy grin and wide eyes.

from the corner of his eyes, he notices sebastian and daniel have stopped their conversation. across the room, lily and carmen have flagged their boyfriends down. all eyes are on the two of you.

"what are you doing here all by yourself? you should be out on the dance floor celebrating!" you shout over the music, tiptoeing slightly to meet max's height. "you just won a race!"

"i'm good here, thanks!" max laughs, moreso at your state. your cheeks are puffed up and your lips are swollen. even your voice sounds damaged from all the screaming you've done. "enjoy your evening, please! don't worry about me!"

you shake your head in urgency. "no! you have to celebrate!"

he continues to look down at you, genuinely considering if he should let your persuasion tactics work on him tonight. who is he kidding; he can never say no to you.

"okay, but i'm driving us back to the hotel. so no drinks for me." before he could finish his sentence, you've managed to yank him off the wall. your hand has a firm grip around his wrist as you guide him through the crowd towards the bar counter.

"we'll get a cab!" you stop right at the bar and turn around to look at him. "you won the race today! aren't you excited? are you not at least a little bit prideful that you're leading the driver's championship again?"

max supposes you have a point. he should be excited. here he is in his 6th year in formula 1, being so close to clinching the world champion title for the first time in his life. it's just one night, right?

he can't possibly let you be more excited for his achievements than himself. that's just not right. did he not believe in himself?

he watches you prop yourself up on the bar stool, carefully telling the bartender your order. max's hands hover over your body, just in case you'd fall.

once again, you have managed to make his heart race by putting so much emphasis on his achievements. he's made his way onto the podium several times now that it seems almost mundane for him to end up there.

he wants the next big thing; he wants the world championship title. but why exactly is he waiting a whole few months just to celebrate again?

"come on, max! let loose a little. you don't have to wait for the season to be over to celebrate," you answer genuinely. for a moment there, max almost thinks you're sober. "if you don't want to celebrate your small wins, at least let me do it for you?"

he huffs. you're a lot more convincing when you pretend to be sober, after having downed a couple glasses of cocktails.

you tilt the unscrewed bottle of beer towards him, a freshly mixed glass of cocktail in your other. "congrats on winning the race today, max. i'm so proud of you."

max takes the bottle out of your hands. he willingly taps the neck of the bottle onto the rim of your glass. "cheers," he grins, watching you excitedly sipping away on your mojito.

if he could guess, you’re 6 glasses in. you’re definitely going to regret it in the morning.

you swiftly intertwine your fingers with his and start to pull him towards the dance floor. "let's go celebrate!"

you stop abruptly, your cocktail almost spilling all over your dress as he plants his feet into the ground. you squeeze his hand and look up at him shyly with your chests almost touching. even in the sea of people in the club, you managed to make it feel so intimate.

just you and him.

can he really excuse the words threatening to slip out of his mouth with half the bottle of beer in his system? can he just say it without you remembering it the next day?

but you beat him to saying something. "i'm so proud of you, max."

he smiles, letting a small breath out. he squeezes your hand. "thank you. you're the best."

four.

it's upsetting, really, not having you in the paddock all weekend. what you'd thought to be a simple itchy throat from all the sweets you've consumed had turned into a covid scare. you're isolated in the hotel, albeit having tested negative, already better.

the team couldn't risk getting either driver contracting a sickness. especially not max, a clear contender for the title this year.

max has not seen you since tuesday. the photos of him on the red bull racing social media platforms are just not as good when it's not you taking them. nobody else on the marketing team ever tells him his hair is a mess. neither do you - you always just reach in to fix his hair for him.

max huffs, adjusting his shirt as he stood in front of your hotel room. the small bouquet of flowers suffocate in the grip of his hands. a plastic hangs on his fingers.

the lock clicks. the door is slowly pulled open. there you are, in all your glory. your hair is up in a ponytail, you're in your pyjamas with juice in your hand. your eyes widen. "max! what are you doing here?"

with flowers in his hands, there's really only so many excuses he can make up. he tilts his head and his eyes narrow down. he's searching his brain for an excuse - something that doesn't scream the fact that he is hopelessly in love with you. "um..."

he stays in the hallway of the hotel, and you stay inside with your hand still on the door handle.

when he had gotten off the race track, alex had celebrated with him. at some point, max expected someone to bring it up. it just shocked him that it had taken this long.

alex gave him a firm pat on the back as they strolled the paddock after media commitments. and the question finally came up. "so are you ever going to ask (y/n) out?"

the question should not have even shocked him in the first place. he had been sitting around waiting for someone to ask him this. nevertheless, he was still dumbfounded by the question.

he started explaining - how he can never get around to asking you out. you're christian's beloved niece. first of the next generation. christian even introduced you as the daughter he had to raise before he ever thought about having kids of his own.

and alex gave him the weirdest stare. because everyone on the paddock could easily tell max had feelings for you. he didn't do much to hide it either. it'd apparently been so bad that even toto wolff sneaks around the paddock with questions if there's been progress.

and so, here he is, standing in front of your hotel room after having won his home race. when he managed to escape his pr manager, he took a shower and immediately bought flowers, some food and came straight to you.

he missed you all week.

"max?"

his answer comes out in a ramble. if you hadn't spent so much time with him, you probably wouldn't have understood. but in your week of absence, the driver doted on you with video messages, voice messages and pictures. endless updates with the grid, the drama, the placements.

anything to make it feel like you were still there with him.

"can i take you out on a date?"

his heart races. beads of sweat form on his forehead. the hallway, that had once felt so icy suddenly became so warm.

"what?" your jaw drops, eyebrows are raised in shock. the silence is deafening.

is this some kind of sick prank alex is pulling on him?

immediately, max goes into defensive mode. "i mean, it's okay if you don't! i just thought if i don't shoot my shot now, then i'll never know. i won't take it personally!" he lifts up the plastic filled with tupperwares of food. "i even brought you supper!"

you scoff with a laugh bubbling up from your stomach. you leap up from your spot, throwing yourself onto max. you lift your feet off the ground. his available arm wraps around your waist to stabilise you. his other arm, already busy with gifts for you, darts out to hold the door ajar.

and what does this mean, exactly? max verstappen has never been one to take these things for an answer. he needs is in black and white - in the clearest of clarifications.

"yes, of course!" you squeal into his shoulder. okay, now he can celebrate. it had taken you a solid 10 seconds in a tight embrace before you decided that the hotel's hallways were too exposing for your liking.

finally, he lets you guide him into the hotel room. he can't stop the wide grin forming on his face either. by the looks of it, neither can you.

"right. these are for you," max finally says, holding out the bouquet of flowers to you. "and i'm sorry i'm late. i could have gotten here earlier if it weren't for alex and lando fighting me over what flowers to get you."

your eyebrow raises, willingly receiving the flowers. "you were in cahoots with those two?"

"and george," max shrugs simply, scrunching up his nose. "but he was easier to deal with than those two."

you smile, if it's possible to get even bigger than what's already there, as your fingers lightly graze over the petals of the flowers. max simply stands back while he watches you admire the brightly coloured bouquet.

he's confident about one thing that night: what kind of flowers to get you. so when lando and alex were fighting him over which flowers to get you, they were simply debating over the roses.

but he is in the netherlands. what else could have been the right choice of flowers but the tulips? and he's in an expensive sport, after all. it would be so uncharacteristic of him to undermine the way he felt for you.

long story short, he got the most gigantic bouquet filled with striped tulips. he spent 150 euros. that's not even near the amount he knows he feels for you.

if you asked him for the world, he'd simply exhaust every single resource he has to give it to you.

"thank you so much," you coo, finally looking up at him. you lean in, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. and he will absolutely spend the rest of his night thinking of this exact moment.

this is quite possibly the furthest he's gone with you. and he almost slips up again. he should've just said it, but he's just not quite sure he should. it's just going to scare you off.

"oh! and, congrats on the race win today," you cheer before pressing your lips against his cheek again.

max grins. he doesn’t know why he put it past you. you’ve made it clear you’re going to be his biggest fan. “oh, you watched the race?”

you’re gently laying the bouquet on top of the table in the corner of your room. “of course. it was a brilliant race. i'm so proud of you."

he just squeezes your shoulder. "thank you. you're the best."

five.

in his dark hotel room, the tv illuminates your face as your eyes lock on the movie you've chosen. it's the only way max can see your face. he'd love to be able to pay attention to this movie, but how could be when you're all tangled up with him.

"are you scared?" you suddenly mutter. your first words in almost 20 minutes, almost making him question if you're making conversation because you're falling asleep.

"what?" he's genuinely dumbfounded with the question. he glances at the tv, curious if he had dozed off long enough for you to choose another movie. but no. it's still mamma mia playing. "we're watching a musical."

max watches your body heave up, then down. "for tomorrow."

he tenses up. he's been trying his hardest not to think about it at all, actually. since he'd finished up his evening with media commitments, he just went straight to you in the garage office. he packed his bags and took you out to dinner.

he's secured pole position for tomorrow. he didn't want to think of anything else right now.

he doesn't want that stress passed on to you.

max hums, suddenly feeling an interest in the musical. it's meryl streep singing abba, after all. how can he not be any more interested? he shrugs. "okay, i guess."

he avoids your eyes. all eyes and remaining attention of the evening is on the actress belting out a song. and it's rudely interrupted when you pause it.

you stumble around, propping yourself up to your elbow to give him a stern look. "okay?" sometimes max forgets you're now his girlfriend. he forgets that he doesn't have to put up a front to shield you from his real emotions. "what do you mean 'okay'?"

he sighs. he turns his head back to face you, almost flinching at the glare you're giving him. he clears his throat as he pushes himself up against the arm of the couch. he sits cross-legged and you mirror his posture. he shrugs again. "i can't overthink it now. i just have to do my best tomorrow."

you throw your hands up in the air, scoffing. "what?"

max is at a loss for words. what response, exactly, did you expect out of him? "what?" he says back, hands also thrown up into the air. from the amount of time you've spent around him on the race track, he expected you to know his mindset when stepping into a race.

he can't overthink it before he even gets on the track. in fact, there is no room for that at all.

you resign to the other end of the couch and fold your arms over your chest. you even pull your feet back, not wanting to be in the range of his touch.

"(y/n), i don't know what you want me to say, darling," max responds gently. he's slightly annoyed, yes, but he doesn't want that to triumph your relationship. "you know the clear mind i need to get into a race. if i overthink, that's when it's over for me."

you roll your eyes. "no. it's just you and me. there is absolutely no way you have no opinions about the race tomorrow. not even a single thought? seriously, max?" you tear your eyes from him. "i'm not christian."

max sighs. he scooches over to you on the over end of the couch. though you squeeze yourself further into the armrest away from him.

he huffs, wrapping his arms around you. he pulls you in and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "of course, i have a thought in my head about the race. but if i let it get to me, darling, it can cost me the championship."

you hum, but there's a hint of annoyance. though, you give in. because you drop your head back on his shoulder and pout. "okay, fine. race your heart out, max. i just know you've got this."

he gives you a slight squeeze. a weaker one compared to others. honestly? he's terrified of screwing up tomorrow. he just wants that title so bad. all his life, he's worked for it.

he's simply afraid to let christian down. more importantly, he's afraid to let you down. though his handful of mental breaks about being so close to the final race of the season, you'd reassure him that you'll always be proud of him no matter what.

it's just not enough for him.

the movie starts to play again. you coddle up into his lap and he rests his cheeks on your head. i love you.

thank you, you're the best.

max has not been able to get the ringing out of his head since he crossed the checkered flag. he has not been able to think straight since then.

he just won his first world championship title. he's on his knees, his head resting on the tire. all 58 laps, all he could think of is how is he going to win? how will the season play out?

he finally lifts his head, dropping himself back to sit on the track of the abu dhabi track. he groans loudly, almost into a scream, as he unclips his helmet. he yanks it off his head, then his balaclava almost immediately.

he is feeling so many things.

then across the barrier, he sees you. eyes filled with tears, hair pulled back into a ponytail, in your very own red bull racing uniform. his stare down with you doesn't last long. christian is quick to yank you away.

and he spends the next 5 minutes scanning the crowd for you. sure, he wants to celebrate with the people that made it possible for him to even be there in the first place. but there is you.

"max!" your voice makes him whirl around. a sigh of relief slumps his shoulder. it's you.

his face lights up at the sight of you. just a minute ago, he felt so drained. he barely found it in himself to walk to his team for cheers. yet here he is jogging towards you.

"world champion, max verstappen!" you scream. you leap off the ground, legs quickly wrapping around his waist.

his arms wrap around your torso, just holding you close to his body. "i'm so proud of you," you cry into his already wet neck. you wrap your arms around his shoulders tighter. "i fucking told you."

he doesn't even know what to think. his mind is in a jumble of thoughts. it's undeniable that you had pushed him to his best this season. just having you there, reassuring him every single weekend. even when he crashed, even when he'd retired out of a race.

your legs slowly drop back down to the ground, and he finally gets a good look at your face. for some reason, you're just as sweaty as he is. the ponytail on your head is falling apart and the makeup running down your face almost makes him laugh.

then the excitement obviously hits you again. because you give him a firm and strong pat on his shoulder. "you proved them all wrong, max! you're a world champion!"

his chin is held high and his chest is puffed out. you'd never doubted him. it almost brings him to his knees how much support you had for him.

max is so full of emotion. the race, the title; you. you jump in your spot and clap, nose scrunching up in delight. "i told you this was your season! i knew it all along!"

and he just blurts it out. "(y/n), i love you."

you don't even hesitate. it's like you'd been waiting around to say it too. "i'm so fucking proud of you. i love you."

[onsomenewsht]

I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

About when she wants to win gold and you talk too much but don’t answer her questions

《 read part 2, 'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: + 1.7k

》 the mountain’s call [way of saying]: the irresistible pull or urge to pursue a challenging goal or adventure

“You look like someone who needs to see the best place in the entire Village”

Alexia looks up from the pass’ lanyard she’s fidgeting with, finding your open smile even before spotting your outstretched hand. Her eyebrow rises on its own accord, always sceptical around strangers.

The Olympic Village is big enough to welcome the egos of some of the best athletes in the world, but not big enough to avoid their clashing. It’s actually encouraged.

Within a certain limit, obviously.

The footballer sees you in passing almost every day, given that the Spanish Team rooms are basically neighbours with the Italian Team ones. Your outgoing attitude and friendly nature make you pretty popular around the village. The fact you’re easy on the eyes and quite the talk among the players isn’t lost on Alexia either – she likes good gossip like anybody else.

“Come on, Reina, don’t let me stand here like an idiot”, your teasing words take her back from her overthinking one more time.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere celebrating that?”, she points to the medal hanging around your neck.

A genuine smile rises on both your faces as you mindlessly hold the piece of gold to look at it one more time, feeling like this is some kind of dream.

Your gaze falls on Alexia, still sitting in a corner of a communal break room when her teammates are cheering all around for one more victory in their Olympic journey.

“I’m gonna celebrate for the next four years, I can spare some time for you”

“Congratulations, by the way, I heard it’s not the first one”, she takes your hand as you burst out laughing, helping her on her feet.

You may have hosted the closest thing to a party you can do in the Village when, just earlier this week, you won your first gold medal.

It’s not your first Olympics, it’s not even your first Olympic medal. But finally being a gold medalist? An Olympic Champion? You sure could not let it pass over in silence.

The short walk is filled with small talks and giggles, you do most of the talking but Alexia’s grin stays firmly on her face the entire time. You notice her rosy cheeks and more relaxed stance, holding yourself high with pride to finally see the blonde so carefree around you.

“How did you even find this place?”

The night lights of Paris really turn the city into some sort of fantastic dream, the view is easily able to take the breath away from the little balcony you open for her. You’re on top of the biggest complex in the Village, the usual chaos that fills the French capital is somehow just background noise.

“Fencing is an ancient discipline”, you start, barely avoiding Alexia’s playful hit on your arm at your documentary-like approach.

“Jokes aside, the Italian school basically created fencing, but then the French school redefined the system to what it’s like today and they will not shut up about it. It’s a long lasting rivalry between two countries that, sportwise, hate each other”

“Everyone hates the French, sportwise”, the Spain captain agrees, mimicking your move as you sit on the floor of the balcony.

“Fencing into the Grand Palais in fucking Paris is like playing every single game as a World Cup final against the host country in a stadium filled with their fans and colours”

“Dramatic”

“Of course! You’re putting Italian and French people in the same place, asking them to fight with swords, literally. It’s gonna be dramatic”, you let your gaze wander around as the blonde’s one tries to find something inside you.

Alexia waits for you, understanding just now how your cheerful and playful behaviour hides something more complex.

She has turned on your Team Final on her way back from the stadium, curious about it – about you – after the little party you put on for the entire Village following your Individual Final victory.

She got nothing about what was happening, not understanding how some hits were good and others were given away or not counted. She prides herself on being able to recognise good athleticism and quick leg ability though. The way you move on the piste, quickly but precisely in every single gesture, is mesmerising. The way your mind acts even faster than your body is even more captivating.

What surprised her the most is the way you hold back.

While your opponents celebrate any conceded hits and your teammates celebrate loudly all the successful points, you stay stoic and firm the entire time.

It’s something she doesn’t expected from you, usually so excited about everything.

That’s probably one of the reasons that brings her here with you in the first place.

“You don’t look dramatic when you fence”

“Oh, you watched me?”

“It was the bare minimum after your detailed commentary after our last game”

“I’m Italian, I’m a football fan from birth”, you say, rolling your eyes humorously, not ready to reveal that the Spanish team is the only one you care about keeping up with during this Olympic tournament.

Alexia Putellas just admitted she turned on your Final to see you win a gold medal.

“Wait, let’s just go back to you watching me fence”

She smile at your weak attempt to avoid her question, genuinely amused about you but pretty sure you’re gonna tell her everything she asks – eventually.

A comfortable silence between the two of you fills the air for some minutes, somehow guiding your bodies closer.

“How did you find this place?”, the Catalan winks when you turn to look at her.

“I hate fencing with the French”, you start to explain after a bit with a serious note underneath your voice, “I lost my last Olympic Individual Final against a reckless fencer with the most annoying Parisian accent ever”

Another moment passes, Alexia doesn’t pressure you but can feel you relax when she places her hand on your knee.

“Last time I was in Paris, I injured myself. I was out for nine months and lost two major tournaments. This Olympics being hosted here as I was supposed to redeem myself and prove to be good enough at the same time? Really took a turn on me at first”, you avoid her gaze as you sum up one of your biggest fears to a stranger on a balcony viewing Paris’ landscape.

“I needed a place to escape without running away”

“And here we are, facing Paris from a hiding spot”

How the footballer manages to understand you so well in such a short amount of time, in such an unusual setting, is really something that surprises you. Your eyes meet and you can distinctly feel your heart skip a bit.

“I befriended a handyman, this floor is for staff only as some sort of control room”

“This explains the private balcony”

“I should have started with this and not the unasked story of my life”

You can still feel Alexia’s hand on you, mindlessly caressing your leg as you try not to implode and hide the redness of your face. She smirks.

“We’ll play France in the semifinal”, she says with a hint of disbelief and irony.

“Fuck the French”, you state solemnly, “It’s basically a wanna-be repeat of the Champions League’s final, you’re going to be fine”

“If you just jinxed it–”

“I did not, I know an Olympic Champion when I see one”

The burst of confidence and the firmness in your voice, despite the easy way you’re both talking about Spain’s next game, are enough to subside the noises inside Alexia’s head – your voice is a good distraction and your presence is a welcoming discovery.

“How is it?”

“What?”

The blonde’s finger points at the piece of gold still hanging on your neck, you’re just glad it’s her other hand as you look back and forth between her and the medal.

“You won enough to know how it is”

“It’s my first Olympics”

“In Italian there’s a word, I don’t know if you have the same difference in Spanish. It’s olimpionico and it’s not like olimpico – olympic”

“You never go for the straight answer, do you?”, she interrupts you with a teasing smile.

“No, never done anything the straight way my entire life, now let me go on with my wise and deep talk”, you graciously – and quite bravely on your part, if you must say so yourself – drop your arm around her shoulder, releasing a breath as she smoothly adjusts her body closer.

“Olimpionico is formed from the Greek ᾿Ολύμπια, which means ‘competitions of Olympia’ so our Olympic Games, and the root of νικάω, that I don’t know to explain how but can be translated with ‘victory’ or ‘winner’ and you have to trust me on this one”, you’ve never been happier with your strict education and the Italian questionable school system.

“I’m still waiting for the point”

“I mean to say we have a specific word for an Olympic athlete who doesn’t just compete in the Olympic Games but actually wins”

“You won enough Olympic medals to know how it is”

“The last time we won bronze as a team and I lost the gold against the obnoxious Frenchwoman, Alexia, keep up”, you’re perfectly aware of her hand on your thigh and her eyes burning on your face – she definitely noticed your red cheeks and the cracks on your walls.

“It’s my first Individual gold and this is my first Team gold, it’s– I don’t know how to explain, but it’s–”

“It’s olimpionico?”, she indulges you, her accent around the Italian word is way more charming than the French one.

“You get it”

“Olympic Champion sounds so uncool now”

As the night turns into a darker shade of black and the Paris lights really do the city’s name justice, you feel like there’s something profound linking you with the athlete curled on your side.

It’s a shared desire to prove yourself to everyone, while wanting to make just a few close people proud. It’s a shared hunger to be the best among some of the greatest, but to make sure the ones around you shine as much.

It’s a shared feeling, deep inside, telling you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

[peachsayshi]

₊ ⊹ . ݁ MILLION DOLLAR BABY  ₊ ⊹ .

(sex worker!suguru geto x rich girl!reader)

⊹ tags: suguru geto x female reader; nanami kento x satoru; sukuna is reader's ex; character mentions: yuki, mei mei, shoko, toji; alludes to dd/lg relationship (very very mildly) with sukuna; a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; reader was in a toxic relationship; reader has daddy issues a bit lol; mentions of troubled past; mentions of death (parental)

:about: you grew up in a supremely wealthy household, but that came with a price. you’ve never had control over your own life, and now your father is set to marry you off. luckily, there's someone else who captures your heart. what does it matter that you pay him for his company?

:note: hi, everyone! this story is finally here, and it's one that's taken me forever to work but I actually loved this piece. I haven't been excited about something I've written in a while. I hope it lives up to all your expectations. comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3 - this fic is one shot, and I am willing to explore stories with the side characters. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding sex worker geto x rich girl reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.

wc: 14K+

The ceiling is covered with hanging irises, each one carefully handcrafted in paper. Edison bulbs dip down from between in staggering heights, illuminating the bar around you in warm light. It’s crowded tonight, clinking glasses and roaring laugher bouncing off the walls and clashing against the bass coming through the speakers. You scan the crowd, anticipation making your stomach flutter, but it quickly eases when you spot a head of golden hair among the audience. 

Nanami is at the bar, looking dapper as usual in a chocolate brown suit offset by a cream colored shirt. He’s drinking a whiskey when you approach him, the amber liquid mirroring the touch of bronze on his cheekbones. You sling your designer purse off your shoulder (the latest splurge of the week) and slide into the seat right next to him. 

“And how was your vacation?” you ask, greeting him with a question and noticing his mouth draw into a firm line. 

“Let’s not talk about it,” he insists, his eyes a little sad which only makes your stomach ache at the sight. 

He’s your closest friend - the only real friend you have. Kento Nanami doesn’t carry two faces. He sticks to the one that he has.  As one of the top investors in the country, he made a name by keeping the rich wealthy. He loathes his job and the pressures surrounding it - a walking hypocrite for despising the life that lines his pockets. 

He can’t find an escape no matter how hard he tries. 

And that's why you’re both two peas in a pod. 

He does, however, like you - not because of your background, but because you don’t try to be something that you are not as well. In a world where you are surrounded by parasites, Kento proved to be a nearly extinct butterfly, quietly fluttering by your side as you both drift across the harsh jungle around you. 

You concede, knowing better than to push his buttons. “Okay, I guess we aren’t talking about it…” 

“Tell me something else. Do you ever know how to walk into the room and not be the center of attention?” 

You smirk as he calls the waiter over.  Your presence easing the twinge of disdain on his face.

“What are you trying to say, hmm?” 

“You look nice tonight. New dress?” 

“New dress, new bag, new nails...” you list off, showing off each expensive purchase as you check them off your list. 

Nanami shakes his head playfully before ordering your usual once the bartender approaches. He angles his body towards you and breathes out a heavy sigh. 

“How are you?” He asks, genuine concern masking his face. 

Your shoulders drop. “I don’t want to talk about it…” 

His expression softens, one hand moving to touch your thigh exposed by the slit of your dress. 

“When do you meet Naoya?” 

He’s the only other person who knows about the pending engagement. The only person who offered you a way out by proposing instead. Despite his stance within the social community, you know that it’s not an offer that you can easily accept. 

Kento wasn’t bred into this world, and that makes all the difference. 

Your father would never accept a man from such a humble background. Especially not one whose offer wouldn't benefit him by any means.

“A few weeks from now,” you reply, eyes shifting to the bartender who passes your drink towards you. “He’s given my father specifications on how I should be presented…” 

Your friend scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Pardon my vulgarity but he just sounds like the kind of guy who wants to swing his dick around. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up tonight…” 

The opening of the Ayame Lounge & Bar was invite only, exclusive to socialites and the elite. You know that Naoya must have received an invitation, everyone from the Zen’in family was here in attendance including the infamous outcast Toji. 

“He wouldn’t be caught dead here,” you inform, picking up your beverage and taking a small sip. “Naoya likes to uphold “tradition” but we all know it’s just a facade.” 

Kento’s thumb strokes your skin tenderly, worry ingrained in his gentle eyes. 

The two of you spend the night talking, catching up on the little things since his return from a two week vacation in Malaysia. He keeps the conversation light, telling you about his fantastic accommodation and all the food that he ate while he was away. In between you find yourself glancing over his shoulder, your eye on the crowd taking in the people around you. 

That’s when you spot him, standing just a few feet away, looking like a demigod among mere aristocrats. His hair is pulled back into a neat bun, a layer of his bangs kissing his forehead. His face is serious, jaw tight and eyes sharp as he focuses on his white haired counterpart. The black tee hugs his torso, his neat slacks cinched by the waist with a leather belt. You can’t help but bite your bottom lip, your mind drifting away from the conversation at hand. 

Your friend notices, of course. Kento is so tuned in to everything around him that he almost can’t help himself. He glances over his shoulder to see what caught your attention, only to instantly turn back around and stare at the whiskey glass on the table. 

The tips of his ears burn red. 

You register the response, knowing exactly what struck him to react in that way. 

Satoru Gojo -  former porn star, turned model, turned mega influencer. With a follower count in the hundreds of millions, he is the world’s hottest it boy. Nobody can deny his sheer beauty - whenever he walks into a room, he manages to steal a glance from every single person within his vicinity. Due to a rare genetic condition, his sapphire blue eyes and frosty white hair earned him the title of “The Prince”, and the people were desperate to share a place by his side. 

Suguru and Satoru were also the best of friends, a fact that Suguru revealed to you one night in bed. The two of them met on set, back when Satoru was still doing adult films. At the time, Suguru was just a camera man and it was Satoru who told him he could increase his earnings if he just performed instead. 

You remember telling Suguru: “it’s crazy how quickly his life changed”

“Some people are just lucky,” he responded, though you easily picked up the bitterness laced in his words. 

What most people don’t know is that Satoru Gojo is also involved with the man seated right next to you. You stumbled upon Nanami’s secret affair by accident when the two of you attended a resort opening by hotel heiress, Yuki Tsukumo. Everyone was invited to stay overnight for the weekend, and the morning after your first night there, you walked over towards Nanami’s room to grab some breakfast. He greeted you in a grey robe with his hair tousled, with hickeys trailing the side of his neck. You quirked a brow in his direction, your mouth forming into a blatant circle when you found Satoru Gojo fast asleep on his bed right behind him. 

The man in question looks away from Suguru towards you and Kento. His brows lifting in surprise when he spots your golden haired friend, but your eyes rest on Suguru who gestures that he will catch Satoru around. 

They both walk in opposite directions. 

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes shifting to Nanami. 

“You’ve got about five seconds to figure out what you want to say because Satoru is walking over here as we speak,” you inform. 

He exhales and straightens his back, his guard entirely up. 

You smile at Satoru when he approaches you, his pearly whites radiant as always. 

“Hi!” He says casually, though you can hear a touch of apprehension in his voice. “Mind if I cut in?” 

“Not at all!” you respond, “Can I get you a refill?” 

His cheeks blush a subtle shade of pink, the tiny gesture making you understand how easily it is to fawn over such a beautiful face. “It’s just soda, but sure” 

“Not drinking tonight?” You continue, glancing between him and Nanami as you wait for your friend to interject. 

“Actually, I’m three years sober,” he explains. 

“Good for you!” You cheer honestly, before turning to the bartender and ordering him another soda. 

From your peripheral vision you see him inch closer towards your friend. 

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he states, though his voice comes across as a little small. 

“I’ve been busy,” Nanami curtly replies, and your brows furrow at his unusual tone. 

“Too busy to even say hi?” Satoru continues, his voice low enough that only the three of you can hear each other. 

“Aren’t you here with a date?” Nanami chides, glancing up at him with a mocking eye. 

“Utahime isn’t my date, we both got invited together by our agency…” Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Besides, I was hoping to spend time with you. I haven’t heard from you since Kuantan…” 

Nanami’s face burns an even brighter shade of crimson, the intimacy of Satoru’s comment flaring his humiliation. 

“Come on,” the white haired prince teases, attempting to ease the discomfort. “Don’t be such a grump. Let’s go outside. Get a little fresh air.” 

You can see that people are starting to stare at the three of you. 

Wherever Satoru goes, eyes follow him. 

While he may be immune to the attention, you can clearly see that Nanami is not. 

“No, thank you.” 

“What? You going to make me beg?” Satoru presses cheekily, but there is a twinge of desperation in his voice. 

“Begging is not difficult for somebody like you,” Nanami bites, and you can’t help but glare at him in shock. 

“Kento!” you chastise, but the look on his face speaks volumes. 

Regret. 

Instantaneous Regret. 

In front of him is a visible hurt that breaks Satoru’s face, like paint slowly chipping away. His eyes gloss over, and he anxiously rubs his hand over the back of his undercut before excusing himself and turning on his heel. 

Nanami covers his face with his palm, while you can only stare at him in disbelief. 

“How can you say that to him? I thought you liked him!” You whisper. 

“I-I didn’t mean to-” 

“You act like you’re ashamed of him whenever he’s around you…” 

Nanami avoids your eye, “How do you think this makes me look? I can’t have people seeing us together. I don’t want the world to swallow me up just because he prefers being gawked at by everyone around him” 

“That’s his job - it’s how he earns a living. I can’t believe you would degrade him over it,” you shake your head, unaware of where your sudden defenses are coming from.

“I know that…” 

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about your trip? Did something happen?” 

The man grows quiet, a sigh escaping him. 

“I broke up with him” 

“You what?” You gasp. 

“It'll never work. Our lives are too different” 

“You didn’t even give him a chance, Ken. He likes you. He really, really likes you.” 

“What chance is there to give? My life would come apart because of him. He would never be truly mine. I would have to share him with the rest of the world day in and day out. And the worst part is that…what should be intimate between us will never be ours either. Do you know that he’s still the highest streamed porn star in the world-” 

“He’s just a person. A person like me and you. Neither one of us chose this life. I didn’t ask to be born into my family, and you weren’t asked to save yours from debt. Yet, here we are. Existing in a world that we had to carve out for ourselves. Don’t you think the same applies to him?” 

You take another sip of your drink, your cheeks warming with anger at your friend’s condescending tone towards Satoru. 

Although, you find your reasons for defending him to be far more self serving. 

“So what if he sells his body? That’s his choice to make. Does it change anything else about him? Does it change his feelings for you?” You lecture, “I can’t believe that you be this ungrateful over skewed morals. If you both care about each other, there is no reason why you can’t be together. Take it from somebody who’ll probably never get the chance. This isn’t something you want to simply let go of, Kento. You’ll regret this decision for the rest of your life.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Nanami downs his whiskey and excuses himself then, your words stinging the microscopic cuts on his heart. You find yourself a little flustered after watching him walk away, unsure of where that outburst even came from. 

The eyes surrounding you look away. 

You know you’ve given everyone within your peripheral area a story to gossip about. One that would be twisted and chewed until there is no morsel of truth left in it. 

Your drink gives you enough liquid courage to socialize and face the music instead. 

You steer your way through the crowd hoping to find one person in particular, but instead you are caught among the net of cliques, old faces, and fake friends. You manage to bypass any pointed questions, passing through each conversation with a forced grin and entertaining the discussions at hand with fluffy anecdotes and petty rumours. 

When you walk away, you know full well that there will be whispers behind your back.

That’s the give and take about this world. Everyone is a vulture secretly waiting to witness the rise and fall of those around them. It’s a vicious circle, which is why nobody ever reveals their true hand in the process.  

You glance around the room, honing in on the handsome dark haired boy you’ve grown entirely too attached too except you spot someone else in between who makes your spine seize.

Your toes curl in your pointed heels. 

Your heart stutters unsteadily. 

Blushed strands, a wolfish grin, and a broad build - Sukuna always takes up far more room than he needs. 

You personally believe it’s because his ego is so massive it requires that extra space. 

You haven’t seen the man in five years, not after the messy relationship that that followed your even messier break up. 

You should have known better than to get involved with him while still so young. 

You remember that version of you. When you first met Sukuna, you were a small rabbit who had accidentally hopped its way into a lone wolf’s den. Twenty one and just embracing the glitz and glamor of the world around you. The man was charming, flirtatious and most of all dangerous. You couldn’t help but return to his lair, especially when he would take the time and effort to approach you at every function, party and gathering that you attended. When you think about your relationship with Sukuna, it fills you with shame until you can only drown in it. There is a reason why you’ve kept it a secret for so long. Even staring at him right now, the dishonor hangs on your shoulder like a weighted sin that you’re burdened to carry for the rest of your life. Every time it hits, the memories play like a movie on hyper speed. 

How often you allowed him to spill his seed all over your body. How often he brought you to tears with his tongue between your legs. How often you would moan the words “daddy” over and over again while riding him. How often you let him manipulate your heart. How often you let him convince you that you were happy.  

That twisted relationship was testament to how broken you were. 

You didn’t even know about his wife who lived in Kyoto until it was far too late. 

Your instinct tells you to turn on your heel and walk in the other direction, but you catch Suguru just up ahead in the crowd and your courage outweighs your hesitation. 

You manage to stride past Sukuna,  a darting feline scurrying towards the safety of a shadow. Your hammering heart steadies itself when the trail of his strong cologne is a safe distance behind you. You nervously clutch onto the strap of your purse, exhaling a quick breath before marching up to Suguru. 

You tap his shoulder twice. 

He spins around, eyes lifting as a smile spreads across his handsome face. 

Like a full moon on a clear night sky. 

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.” 

“I sure hope so,” you remark, biting your bottom lip playfully as you glance at your own feet. 

Suguru chuckles, taking a step closer. “It is.” 

You glance up at him from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating with pure excitement. You think it’s silly to have such a schoolgirl infatuation over him, especially since you understood the terms that surrounding your relationship. 

You pay him for his company. 

You aren’t supposed to have a crush on man who you employ to have to sex with you. 

Yet, your gut tells you otherwise. Convinces you that the softness in which he speaks is reserved only for you. 

“Are you here with anyone?” You ask a little breathlessly, hoping that you weren’t interrupting him working. 

Suguru shakes his head. 

“Satoru invited me,” he clarifies, and it’s an answer that only makes you giddy. 

“Oh!” You squeak, “well that’s nice. It’s a really exclusive party, make sure you to take it in…” 

His eyes blatantly fall over you, cascading down your body like ink dripping over a canvas. 

Your cheeks warm. 

He’s not even hiding that he’s checking you out, and it triggers the wild desire within you. 

“Are you here alone?” He questions. 

You nod your head, knowing full well that Kento is probably in the midst of a heated conversation with his distraught lover and won’t be returning anytime soon. 

“Why don’t you join us then?” He adds, cocking his head to point at the table behind him. 

You glance over his shoulder, barely recognizing the crowd. 

A fact that seems ideal to you. 

“I’d love to,” you say with a pretty smile, all the while Suguru’s eyes continue sparkling. 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time you saw Suguru was a few weeks ago, where your heavy heart spilled the news of your pending engagement. 

“An arranged marriage, huh?” he whispered in the dark, his sharp eyes dipping to your naked chest while his delicate fingers carefully pushed the bedsheet further down to your hips.

You inched a little closer into his frame, soaking in the outlines of his chiseled torso and bringing one finger to trace little shapes on his broad shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with annoyance, “yeah, ever heard of the Zen’in family?”

Suguru scoffed, breaking character for only a second but it’s something that you’ve caught him doing more recently. He doesn’t hold his reactions around you as tightly as he used to. The front of this alter ego that he created faltering, which is probably why you find yourself drawn to the person existing underneath the mask of the seducer.

You sigh before continuing your explanation, “my father thinks Naoya Zen’in is a perfect match for me.”

An uneasy expression flickered across Suguru’s face, but he suppresses it before allowing it to linger. 

You lifted yourself up onto your elbow and rest your cheek on your palm. “What is it?”

Suguru mirrors your position, his large hand gliding back and forth over the slope of your hips and waistline which sent goosebumps all over your body. “I’ve heard that Naoya…” Suguru stated, pinching the pads of his fingers lightly against your flesh before leaning forward to kiss the crease between your brows, “can be a handful to deal with…”

You thread your fingers around his neck, your lips finding his jaw where you return a kiss. “And who told you that?” you murmured as the weight of Suguru’s body rolls on top of yours.

You were staring at his devastatingly handsome face from below. The longer you spent time with him the more you began to wonder about his circumstances and a reoccurring thought crossed your mind once more.

Suguru could truly be anything he wanted, but instead he was here making a killing off of fucking lonely women and porn videos.

You don’t judge his choices, but you couldn't help but feel puzzled by the situation especially when you knew the trajectory of his best friend’s career path. 

One photo shoot at a mid-level fashion brand skyrocketed Satoru Gojo’s career and made him a household name. Yet, Suguru Geto was a taboo that was whispered behind closed doors. 

“I have a client who likes to gossip,” he admitted. 

That’s all you got because Suguru kept everything else about his clients confidential. You shivered when his mouth met your neck, his lips sucking along the tender skin that sent goosebumps all over your chest, but there’s an ache in your heart when you consider that if it wasn’t for the signed cheque in your purse, he wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Not a single man you’ve met in the world compared to Suguru. You’ve never known how sweet lovemaking can be until he fucked you for the time. Not only was he beautiful beyond comprehension, but he was charming and extremely smart. You found yourself enjoying his company beyond physical purposes, and conversations with him turned out to be one of your favorite ways to pass time.

“Think we’ll still get together when you’re a missus?” he teased, his lips trailing lower to your collar bones and hovering just a above your breasts.

The thought of you getting married only made you sick.

“Do you peg me as a terrible wife? a woman who would happily cheat on her husband?” you questioned, your voice trembling when Suguru circled his lips around your hard nipple.

He hummed, drawing out a whimper when he nipped at the bud lightly, his tongue gliding over the hardened nub. 

“No,” he answered, his voice dropping an octave and your mind swirled when you contemplate if that strange tone is actually jealousy. He rested his chin on your chest, his inky hair framing his face in a waterfall of obsidian. “I do, however, peg Naoya as a terrible husband.”

You sank your fingers into his locks, “it doesn’t matter who my father chooses. All these men are the same. Naoya is no worse than the rest. I’m trapped regardless…”

It was the first time you allowed yourself to think about Sukuna when in bed with Suguru. The first time you thought about the last four years and the many men who tried to weasel their way into your heart just for the sake of obtaining status. The discomfort is written plainly on your face. Suguru doesn’t know that seeking him out was your way of taking matters into your own hands, even in just the smallest way. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he responded sincerely, the kindness in his voice the reason why your eyes prick with tears.

You sniffled, using your free hand to wipe away a rogue droplet that freely falls down your cheek. Suguru adjusted his position so he was lying by your side. He didn't say anything but draws you into his chest for a hug, enveloping you in his warmth. You tried hard not to consider the reality of the situation, and accept the gesture freely as you cuddle him.

But the moment of peace is interrupted by a loud vibration. You and Suguru both perked up to stare at his phone buzzing on the side table.

Your heart sank.

Another client.

Suguru reached his arm around to grab the phone, and you closed your eyes to inhale his natural scent, trying to soak him in for as long as you can before he leaves you like he’s done many times before.

To your surprise he simply switched it off, before proceeding to wrap his arm back around you to return to his position.

“You sure you don’t need to take that?” you mumbled, trying to play off your disappointment as casually as possible.

“I’m booked out for the rest of the evening,” he answered nonchalantly, “there’s no reason to respond.”

A tickle in your belly sent sparks all over your skin. “but your cheque only covers the hours we agreed on…”

Two fingers touched the underside of your chin, and Suguru tilted your head up so you were both face to face again. “Don’t worry about it,” he consoled, his thumb lightly outlining your bottom lip, “this is on the house.”

What bliss it was to fall asleep in his arms that night. You recall waking up right before dawn to find him in deep slumber, his strong arm draped protectively across your body with the heat cocooning you from the rest of the world. 

Disappointment shattered you the next morning, when you were greeted by the sun and an empty bed.

You’re not sure when Suguru had snuck out, but you were puzzled to find that your cheque was still tucked away safely in your purse. 

It was the first time he walked away without any payment. 

You still vividly remember his reaction when he met you just a little over a year ago. 

“You’re young,” he blurted, his eyes widening with confusion. 

“We’re around the same age,” you replied defensively, already feeling insecure for having hired him after spending weeks watching his videos. You didn’t even know about his house calls until you heard it from a source within your social circle. "Is this how you greet all your clients?”

Suguru raised his brow in contemplation, “my other clients don’t look like you…”

Over time you learned that he catered to a specific demographic: older divorcees and cheating housewives.

The person you might turn into years from now if this marriage goes through.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

After that night you told yourself that you would schedule another meeting with Suguru to compensate him for his last session.

Right now, all you can think about is your heart hammering when Suguru subtly interlaces his fingers with your own, and leads you through the crowd until you both find a safe spot on the corner of the lounge chair. His group is far too engrossed in their own conversations to notice you both, drunk on the buzzing night and enjoying the many amenities of this exclusive party. 

“You look nice,” you compliment, catching Suguru’s attention while trying to ignoring his knees bumping against yours.

“As do you,” he replies, his voice smoother than velvet. “But you don’t need me to tell you that you’re gorgeous.” 

Oh but I do, you think, masking your excitement with a giggle and casual roll of your eyes. I could hear you tell me that forever. 

Suguru shyly looks down at his lap, hiding his own smile. 

It’s strange, you think, how the two of you are talking. Like this man hasn’t been inside you multiple times and made you cum until you can’t think straight. Like he doesn’t know your body in the most intimate sense.

Like you don’t fund a decent chunk of his salary. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” 

Suguru shrugs, “It’s not too bad. Though, I’m not one for big crowds if I am being completely honest...” 

“Makes sense. I don’ get a kick out of it as much as I used to.”

Suguru angles his body to face you, giving you his full attention. “Why’s that?” 

You sigh, your hands suddenly feeling empty without a drink. You sling your purse off your shoulder and place it between you both, before proceeding to fiddle with the fabric of your dress instead. 

You can lie, but you don’t know how. 

Well, you don’t know how to lie with him. 

Something about starting this contract with Suguru unveiled a level of vulnerability in you that you can’t seem to hide. The first night you both spent together you were a nervous wreck, stumbling and bumbling over words trying to find excuse after excuse as to why a woman of your age would even hire him. By your third appointment, you asked if he could be slow and gentle with you, the emotional scars of your previous relationship a stinging wound. You were desperate for tenderness, and Suguru obliged with your request. By the end you found yourself reaching your climax with tears in your eyes. 

If you were to list out more moments like this, you would simply go on and on. 

You can’t hide your truth with Suguru when it was the first thing you’ve ever shown him. 

“Because it’s a constant reminder that I can be in a room full of people I know and still feel incredibly alone…” you mumble, your gaze catching his. 

His hand finds your thighs, the warmth of his large palm burning through the fabric of your dress. 

“You’re not alone tonight, sweetheart,” he reassures. 

“You don’t have to be so nice…” you insist, suddenly self conscious over his flattery. The same sweetness he bestows upon you when you’re both locked away in a hotel room somewhere, but you didn’t sign off on any bonus transactions tonight. 

He squeezes your thigh and tilts his head. “But I like being nice to you” 

He says it so matter of factly it almost makes you faint. 

Your brows upturn with confusion. “Why?” 

His touch expands upward, grazing over the curve of your thigh, bunching the material of your dress between his fingers. He leans closer, the scent of bergamot wafting up your nose and kissing your neck. 

“Look there,” he states, and you follow the line of his gaze. 

“That woman has been married for fifteen years and her husband never got her off once. And that woman…” he continues, shifting his eyes from body to body, “has a birth mark just above her hip bone. And at the table right behind us,” 

When you turn your face you accidentally bump into the tip of his nose. 

“...are two sisters who pretend they get along well but are currently in a massive fight over their inheritance” 

Your stomach coils with jealousy. “Acquaintances of yours?” 

 Suguru leans back slightly, giving you both room to breathe. 

“Yes, clients…” he confirms, “there’s a few of them here tonight, but you’re the only one who acknowledges me. I’m just a dirty little secret to the rest.” 

Your envy dwindles into sympathy, and you can’t help but let the question slip. 

“How does that make you feel?” 

There’s a twitch in Suguru’s jaw, a hint of scarred pride. You know he has plenty of it, he just hides it well.

The man shrugs, averting his sharp gaze as he downs the rest of his drink. “It is what it is” 

Oh, but that response doesn’t nothing to help your heart, the muscle practically screaming at your brain to do so something and make him feel better. 

Mindlessly, you loop both arms around his bicep, casually resting your chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way...” 

You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but you’re hoping it’ll mean something to him. He turns to face you, and if he inched a little closer he could probably kiss you. 

“You are an enigma to me” 

“In what way?” 

He brushes his lips past your own, making you catch your breath for a moment. His mouth trails its way up to your ear, and he whispers a sentence that sends goosebumps running all over your body. 

“In the way that how a woman like you can fit in a life like this” 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The night carries on, the pulse of hedonism sending reverberations across the establishment. The crowd grows larger, the air a potion of liquor, expensive cologne, sweat and pleasure. The lights dim, inducing everyone into the trance of the ambience set around them, allowing them to indulge and consume. Your conversation with Suguru feels like minutes, but two whole hours pass with the both you concealed from the crowd. You’re almost mesmerized by him when he talks, cast under an entirely different spell that seems to effect nobody else. His touches turn more intimate the longer you speak, with Suguru securing his arm around your waist and leaning back against the chair as he keeps you tucked into his frame. 

That’s another thing you started noticing - how this man likes to hold you. 

He even did it when you were in bed together last. 

And the time before that. 

And the time before that. 

And the time before that-

If you weren’t surrounded by so many eyes you would simply curl into him, but you find yourself restraining while thinking of what excuse might work to get you both out of here because you just want to be alone with him. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Suguru offers, a wave of disappointment rolling into you as he untangles himself slowly. 

“Just some water...” 

Suguru kisses the inside of your wrist with the reassurance that he’ll be right back, but the public display only makes your cheeks bloom with endearment. 

“Got it” 

When he stands up and walks away is when you notice how the crowd around you has dispersed. Most of Suguru’s party were gone - standing either by the bar or caught in the middle of the dance floor. You can see that there were a few shifty eyes staring at you, and a lump forms in your throat when you realize that by allowing yourself to melt into Suguru it meant that you revealed your weakness to the rest of the wild. 

You take a second to readjust - fixing the hem of your dress before pulling out your pocket mirror and reapplying your lipstick. You fight off any anxious thoughts, sticking a big metaphorical middle finger to whoever was watching you with any hint of judgement. 

Your care for Suguru outweighed their own by tons. 

You just didn’t know how far you had let your guard down until a strange shadow veils over you. 

“Red still looks good on you.” 

Your heart doesn’t sink, it seizes, collapses into itself when you drop the mirror in your hand. His dark chuckle makes your spine tingle with unease. Sukuna kneels to pick up your mirror, his devilish smiling greeting you as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, huffing out another laugh when you snatch the pocket mirror from his hand and quickly throw your things back into your purse. 

“I have to go.” 

You bolt onto your feet, only to pause when his contact scorches your forearm. 

“What’s the rush? I’m just saying hi.” 

You shrug him off aggressively, eyes violent and full of fury. 

“I don’t want to say hi to you. As a matter of fact, I hope that we never have to speak again.”  

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that. It’s water under the bridge…” 

His nonchalance enrages in you ways that you can’t describe, but rather than make a scene you smoothly shove him aside before uttering “asshole” and storming off towards the bar. 

Your frantic eyes search for your solace, of the man who can suture any wound that’s in desperate need of healing. You spot him from behind, noticing that he is speaking to a friend, his shoulder leaning on the bar as he patiently waits to pick up the drinks like he promised. Refusing to look back because you know Sukuna is probably on your trail, you breathe out your apprehension to compose yourself and keep one hand securely on your purse before steadily making your way towards to Suguru. 

You hear the two of them as you draw closer,  unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation at hand. 

“Who’s the chick?” his friend asks. 

“A friend.” Suguru replies. 

“Which friend?” they press. 

“None of your business…” 

“Ah, one of your desperate clients I’m guessing?” 

You cease before making your presence known.

Stunned; your face boiling with embarrassment. 

“Shut up.” 

“It’s so obvious, Suguru-” his friend scoffs, “she’s practically crawling on your lap. It’s fucking pathetic, don’t you think?” 

Pathetic?

The word splits you into half.

Is that how Suguru sees you? 

Is that how everyone else does to? 

Something clicks then, every memory and act of kindness tainted with the thought the man was simply pitying you. That the root of his good-hearted nature was merely sympathy towards a sad, broken little rich girl. 

Suguru picks up the drink, mumbling a “fuck off” before turning on his heel only to find you standing there stupefied by his friend’s demeaning commentary. Only an idiot would assume that you probably didn’t hear a thing, but Suguru is far smarter than that. Whatever trace of the mask he’s been wearing dissipates then, and you see the genuine concern on his face. He parts his lips but you’re too wounded for an explanation, and you instantly dash past both of them, excusing yourself politely before speed walking your way towards the exit. 

You can hear him call out your name, but there is no way you would let that man see you crying after what was just said. 

Of course he doesn’t like me, you self-consciously deliberate, I pay him to fuck me. 

I pay him to fucking like me. 

A sob leaves you, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you rush past the bouncer and dart out the front door, leaving a crowd of people staring at you with confusion. All of them hoping to make their way inside.

“Must be drunk,” one person says, while another screams at the bouncer “hey, can you let us in?! Someone just left!” 

You strut down the street, desperately trying to maintain your balance as you dab your eyes lest your tears ruin your make up. You hear someone call out your name, half hopeful that it might Suguru but when you glance over your shoulder all you see is the dreadful sight of your ex-boyfriend. 

You keep walking.  “Don’t follow me.” 

Sukuna is quick to catch up, practically jogging down the street and you curse your choice in footwear for slowing you down. 

“Then don’t keep running away.” 

You halt, the man nearly colliding into you from behind. 

“What?!” you spit out as you glare up at him. “What do you want from me?” 

Sukuna arches his brow, the smell of whiskey sticking to him. “The fuck got you so worked up?” 

You wipe away any leftover tears, your indignation towards this man overriding all other emotions. 

“None of your fucking business…” 

Sukuna reaches for your elbow, “Let’s not be testy. My car is in front of the bar. Let me take you home.” 

You already caught that eye sore of a ridiculously expensive sports car when you stepped out of club. “I’d rather walk home barefoot on a bed of hot coals then go anywhere with you.” 

“Don’t be like that, kitten…”

“Don’t,” you snapped, “call me that.” 

“You know I still nothing but love for you, right?” He slurs mildly, “Let me take you back to my place and we can talk-”  

His thumb grazes your elbow gently. Once upon a time you actually believed that his affection was real, but you’re older and wiser to know the truth now. “You miss my pussy,” you crudely admonish, “you don’t give a fuck about me.” 

He pinches your elbow with mild irritation. “Why don’t you tuck those claws back. I’m trying to have a fucking conversation.” 

“If a conversation is what you want, then speak to your fucking wife-” you hiss, striking a cord that makes Sukuna furrow his brows which brings you an odd sense of satisfaction. 

His face falls. 

You huff with approval. 

“What?” your mock, “cat got your tongue?” 

“Is everything alright?” 

You and Sukuna both halt, your heads twisting to face whoever spoke with Sukuna letting go of you faster than you can even blink. You only catch a tiny glimpse of his fear, the terror that somebody caught him in the act. 

Thankfully, it was only Suguru. 

Your body hums with relief. 

One hand is in his pocket, the other keeping a helmet tucked under his wing. His stance is relaxed but his irises are piercing daggers sinking into Sukuna’s skull.

“Everything’s fine-” Sukuna insists. 

“Suguru,” you call out at the same time, instantly going to him and finding your place by his side.

The word pathetic hammers in the back of your mind but you need deal with one problem at a time, and right now you don’t care about looking desperate if it means escaping the shackles of Ryomen Sukuna. 

Suguru’s eyes don’t leave your ex-lover, but he inches closer towards you to assert his ground. 

Sukuna frowns, the expression on his face all too familiar. 

You clutch Suguru’s sleeve, “Nothing to fret over. Do you mind taking me home?” 

He turns to face you, a mixture of worry with a flare of anger on that handsome face.  

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.” 

“Tsk,” Sukuna grumbles with frustration, “Don’t cheapen yourself by fucking off with some whore…” 

A static shock trickles each point of the triangle where you all stand. The hair on the back of your neck stands upright, your attention moving to Suguru whose entire face darkens with a fury that you’ve never seen before. He steps forward, his helmet dropping to his hand like he’s ready to wield it as a weapon, and the target is the spot on Sukuna’s skull that he’s been carefully observing. Your vision goes white imagining the outcome of this blow out, and you can practically hear the crack of the impact if Suguru follows through. 

Despite how much he deserved it, you know just how powerful Sukuna is. 

He would ruin Suguru without any remorse. 

“Suguru,” you beg, stepping forward and clutching onto his shirt as you reel him away from the man before you. 

His nostrils flare, the intoxicating poison of wrath swirling in his irises which quickly diffuses upon finding you. 

“Take me home?” You softly repeat, earnest and sincere, all the while erasing Sukuna from your presence entirely. 

It only takes a few seconds for Suguru to register your request, but he complies by reaching for your hand and knotting his fingers between your own. He grips it protectively, eyes looking straight ahead as he leads you down the street and far away from the chaos behind you. 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The patter of your feet colliding onto the concrete surface echoes around you. A part of you is embarrassed, the other ashamed, a third grateful while a fourth shivers anxiously. You’re thankful that Suguru is at least allowing the silence to linger because it’s giving you a chance to settle from the roller coaster of emotions you just experienced. You try not to think about the pressure of his grip, or how the length of his fingers are wrapped securely around yours and instead piece together some semblance of an explanation worthy for him to listen to. 

You eventually decide that you’ll just grab a cab back to your place. That you’ll thank Suguru for playing the role of rescuer, and hand off the cheque that you’ve been holding onto. You won’t be a burden, bother him any longer or a do anything else to force his empathy. 

Suguru pauses in front of a jet black motorbike. The color itself blending into the darkness around you. You clear your throat ready to make your declaration, but you’re silenced when you feel the weight of his helmet press against your palms. 

“Wear this,” he commands. “I’ll take you to my place.” 

Your mouth goes slack, your practiced words shrinking to the back of your throat. 

His place. 

“Your place?” You find yourself whispering your thoughts out loud. 

Suguru reaches for the handle of his bike, tapping his index finger against it, his back facing you. “If you want.” 

He hops on before searching you for an answer. The look animates you back to reality and you nod your head before swiftly putting on the helmet. You find your place behind him, taking a second longer to adjust in your dress. You knot your arms around his waist, your eyes noting his exposed head. 

“You don’t have a helmet.” You point out. 

“I don’t live that far,” he answers back, “besides, I didn’t think I’d be traveling with precious cargo.” 

He taps his palm over your clasped hands. “Hold tight for me, alright?” 

You nod your head, covering your face with the shield visor before resting your cheek against his back. 

Suguru takes off. 

The wind whips against your bare arms, the pressure sweeping between your legs as Suguru swerves between each lane. The city blurs into vivid colors, only resurfacing when you come to an immediate halt at the traffic light. The adrenaline courses through your veins, the exhilarating sensation a thrill that you’ve never experienced before. Unfortunately, the journey was short lived and within twenty minutes you find yourself coming to a halt in an underground parking lot. 

Suguru parks the bike, hopping off before reaching his hand out to assist you. 

Your legs felt like jelly when it hits the surface, and you tumble on your own footing as Suguru reaches his other hand out to steady you by holding your waist. 

“You okay? Was I going to fast?” 

You take off the helmet, attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable. 

“No, no” you answer a little breathless, “that…that was actually kind of fun…” 

“First time?”

You nod your head. 

Suguru hums. 

He takes the helmet away from you and directs you straight to the entrance of his apartment building. He pulls out an electronic key, and presses it against the elevator door. The elevator pings, the panels sliding open as you both step inside. Suguru clicks the button to his floor and you both stand on opposite sides watching the numbers go up.

Suguru lived in a newer development, you could tell when you walked through the hallway as he stands in front of his apartment door, and uses the same key to grant you both entrance. 

As you enter the hallway, you’re greeted by a wall with mounted iron hooks. There’s five to be exact, each one holding a different helmet with one space empty. Suguru fits the helmet back onto the vacant spot, before glancing over his shoulder and finding you still by the door struggling to take off your heels. 

He returns and kneels before you. His hands carefully moving your fingers away. 

“Let me help with that” 

“You don’t have to-” but you’re interrupted with him patting his thigh in gesture. 

You bite your bottom lip and place one foot against him, careful not to dig your heel into him. 

He delicately unravels the straps around your ankle and slips of the heel with a brush to the back of your calf, making the muscle twitch. 

“Other foot,” he instructs, then repeats. 

After placing your shoes neatly by the door, he stands up and reaches for your hand once more. “This way” 

You take it warmly, and follow him while trying your best not to acknowledge the noticeable height difference with you two standing side by side.

You never paid much attention to it before, you didn't have too really considering you both spent most of your time together in parallel positions. 

Suguru leads you into the living room, and a small gasp escapes you when you are met with floor to ceiling windows. The horizon is of the city skyline, but it’s half blocked by a decent size balcony which is covered in greenery. The scene contrasts the inside of Suguru’s apartment, which is more minimal. To your right is a small dining nook, the light above an accent piece that added some detail to the decor. To your left is a small furniture set, the sage green fabric making you avert your gaze with shame because your recognized that very same couch in most of Suguru’s videos. 

You find yourself quickly staring at your feet. 

“Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?” 

“Tea would be great,” you answer back, returning to look directly at him from underneath your lashes. “Do you have anything herbal?” 

“Mhmm.” 

You follow him into the kitchen and realize that the man keeps his place meticulously clean. The back counter is what catches your attention the most. Suguru has a full serviced at home barista station set up for his own convenience. You pick out the coffee grinder, espresso machine, assortment of tea pots, jars of fresh leaves and coffee bags all neatly organized. 

Suguru pulls out one jar with a hand written label that reads "lemon balm and chamomile". 

You slip off your purse and place it on the counter behind him. “Did you make all these yourself?” 

“My parents used to run a tea shop in Hokkaido,” he answers back. 

“A tea shop?” You squeak, a little too excited from the morsel of information about his personal life that he just bestowed. “That must have been lovely…” 

“It was,” he answers, his voice growing small. 

You watch him fill the kettle with water, before placing it on the electric stove to warm up. He opens the jar, closing the gap of space between you both and lifts it to your nose. 

“Take a deep breath in,”

You oblige, and inhale. 

“Oh my,” you sigh out loud, your fingers subconsciously clasping over his own as your eyes flutter from the aroma of citrus, ginger, flora and subtle spice. It calms every firing nerve in your body. “That smells wonderful” 

When you open them again, you see that Suguru is looking at you thoughtfully. 

“It tastes good too,” he says proudly, and your heart glows at the reaction. “I was a terrible night owl as a kid. Still am, I guess. My mom used to make this to help me go to sleep…” 

“That’s really sweet,” you admit, wondering how lovely it must be to be looked after with such care. 

He slips away again, taking a spoon and putting a generous amount of the blend into a ceramic tea pot. You hear the tea bubble lightly, but your head spins as Suguru cages you in place while you both wait for it to reach the right temperature. Your back is against the counter, his arms by your side. 

“That guy you were talking to. Who was that?” He questions, cutting right to the chase. 

“Nobody important,” you confess, “he’s an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“I’m sorry about what he said to you. What he called you…”  

Suguru’s fingers dig into the counter, making the muscles in his arms flex with irritation. 

“Don’t apologize for him. Don’t apologize for any of them.” He firmly maintains. “Their words are empty to me...” 

“You almost bashed his head in,” you point out, a tiny smile easing the tension binding around the man before you. 

“I almost bashed his head because of the way he spoke to you-” 

Your eyes widen. 

Was he being protective? You think, but shake your head when you think of what kind of pitiful state you must have been that would cause Suguru to react in such a way. 

Pathetic. 

Your shoulders dwindle slightly and you shake it off to gather yourself once more. 

“He was a terrible mistake. I was young, and stupid. I thought I knew better when I really had no fucking clue…” 

You didn’t realize how bitter you sounded until two fingers press underneath your jaw.

His thumb taps your chin in a featherlight touch. “Is it over? Whatever it was?” 

“Of course,” you answer, the truth acrid on your tongue. “I’m to marry Naoya Zen’in, remember?”

Suguru frowns. “He’s no better. I told you that myself.” 

You circle your hand around his wrist. “I’ll take anyone over Sukuna. Even if that person is Naoya…” 

“Why can’t you just choose?” 

You press your lips together and sigh. “Because it’s a transaction. I’m a token in my father’s universe. If he weds me off to the Zen’in’s then it’s profitable. Good for business…” 

“I’m sure if you speak with him, he’ll understand-” 

“Don’t be so naive,” you answer as you return to meet his gaze. “My father doesn’t love me. He just owns me. I spent most of my adolescence alone while he was busy working or galavanting off with his mistress.  I think he assumed that if he kept shoving money my way, I wouldn’t notice his absence…” 

The kettle sings, making you both jump in place as the water bubbles aggressively and a small spiral of steam releases from the lip. Suguru returns to making your beverage. Picking up the kettle and pouring the hot water into the pot. He places it on a tray, along with a beautiful cup. 

“The tea needs a couple of minutes to steep. In the meanwhile, I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” He announces, “You want some spare clothes?” 

You look down at your designer frock, the material snug on your body. 

“Yeah, I’d like that” 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Suguru’s white shirt falls to your mid thigh, the material a little see through and revealing the bra you had on underneath. You eye the pair of worn boxers he handed to you to wear as shorts, but slyly tuck your bottom lip between your teeth before leaving it behind and walking out with your bare legs on display. 

You’re not quite sure what the plan is here, but you don't see yourself leaving anytime soon.

You head back towards the kitchen where you pick up your purse, your dress folded between your hands carefully. Suguru is opening the door to the balcony, having changed into a cut sleeve shirt that exposes his arms and a hint of his ribs, as well as a pair of loose shorts. When he hears you enter, his attention instantly falls to your plush thighs, a hint of crimson blushing his cheek. 

“Where can I keep my stuff?” You ask innocently, pretending to ignore his reaction. 

“Anywhere is fine,” he answers back, his voice thick. 

He tells you that he’ll wait for you outside, and in the meantime you put down your stuff onto the coffee table in front of his sofa.

You unzip your purse, Suguru’s cheque staring you at you with wide, scolding eyes. 

Pathetic. 

You furrow your brows at the voice inside your head, and swipe the payment before folding it and tucking it securely against your hip underneath the waistband of your underwear. 

You head outside, sliding the window close behind you. 

Suguru is sitting on a deck chair, the two of you camouflaged by the array of his overgrown plants. He pours your cup of tea, the aroma twirling between the current of the wind as he offers it your way. You pick it up, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. A heavy sigh escapes you, and you remain standing leaning back against the cool glass surface as you stare out into the distance. 

“Like it?” Suguru asks, and you only notice then that he has also brought out a second cup for himself and is pouring his own drink. 

“It’s divine,” you respond. 

“I’m glad” 

The two of you sit in silence once more, mindlessly sipping your tea while contemplating the other person. You’re both at a clear standstill, carefully tiptoeing over the boundary that has so been strictly set in place. 

A reminder of that is the folded cheque digging into your skin. 

“How did you find out about contacting me?” Suguru randomly wonders. 

You look towards him and he shrugs before adding on, “I never asked. I find myself curious.” 

You thrum your nails against the glass cup, taking another sip of your tea before replying, “I saw you at a party with Satoru. I was with a group of friends, and one of them noticed me recognizing you. She asked if I was…familiar with your work. And when I told her I was she informed me that you both were…intimate.” 

“Was it Mei?” 

Your face falls at the blatant disregard of confidentiality. 

“How-How did you know?” 

Suguru huffs, and sips his tea. 

“She’s the only other client I had close to our age. Wasn’t hard to make the connection…” 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Go for it,” he replies. 

“I’ve always been curious as to how you wound up doing what you do,” you bite your bottom lip nervously, your hands trembling slightly holding your glass and you hope that Suguru wouldn’t notice your sudden unease. 

“Ah,” he acknowledges, his free hand moving to rub the back of his neck and you can’t help but sneak a peak at his abdomen from the side. “Well, I told you how I wound up making the videos. For a long time I just did solo work, but I knew I could make more money if I had on-screen partners to film with. I had a few good connections with some actresses and hired a friend to make a video with me…” 

You knew exactly which one he was talking about. 

The actress in question was well known, and the video was an amateur clip that was filmed on the very same couch that you walked passed earlier. 

You clench your thighs together. 

You don’t even want to admit how many times you came to that particular video. 

“I didn’t know it would blow up in the way that it did. Shoko and I made a killing off it. We both saw the potential and we wound up doing six full episodes - trying out different techniques, roleplaying in a few…” 

“But you stopped posting after that…” 

Suguru pauses. “How would you know that?” 

You swallow a big gulp of tea. 

“I might have been a big fan of your work before we met.” 

“Really?” He answers with a slight tilt of his head, clearly very amused. 

“I wouldn’t have reached out to just anyone, you know. But I was really interested in...your work, and when I learned about your little side gig. I couldn’t resist…” 

“Well, color me flattered, sweetheart.” 

You swirl the last bits of tea in your cup. 

“So, why did you stop posting?” 

“I kept the videos up. They’re good and I still make revenue with every ad or view. Satoru’s career was picking up around that time, and he had just gotten clean. He needed somebody to hold him accountable so I started tagging along at his events. I didn’t realize how many people would recognizeme. My first client wasn’t even "a client", he gestures with air quotes, "she was just some woman I met and slept with. I woke up the next morning to an empty hotel room. All that she left behind was an envelope of cash…” 

He pauses. 

“I didn’t know what to feel. A part of me was insulted but another part had never seen that much money handed over so easily. The videos were great but what I earned in a day, is what I got in just a few hours. I was in my mid-twenties, just left the brink of making ends meet and desperate for security. I deposited the cash and kept going. Somehow it snowballed into…” he gestures his arms out, “this.” 

He pours himself another cup of tea. “At first I was a little reckless. Took on too many clients it damn near gave me a health scare. So, I started spacing them out. Keeping to a set number a month and maintaining a high price. I didn’t think that so many people would actually pay for my services, but they do...and I'm comfortable.” 

“Does it ever overwhelm you?” 

“Not anymore. Keeping my partners to a minimum helps. I’m safe and get tested regularly, as I mentioned when we first met,” He lifts the teapot your direction to offer you a second cup, and you accept it by approaching him and allowing him to fill your glass. 

“The thing is I went from never knowing when I was going to eat to having three meals a day. I don’t think I’d change that for the world…” 

“What about your family? Your friends?” You find yourself mindlessly asking. "How do they feel about this?"

“Satoru and Shoko are the only ones who know. Everyone else thinks it’s porn that funds my life. As for my family,” Suguru stops, his voice scratchy as he quickly clears his throat. “Well, they don’t have to worry about it. My parents passed away when I was fifteen. It's just been me ever since”  

The tea burns your lip  and your body trembles at the statement. 

“I’m so sorry…” 

He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. 

There’s a heaviness in the air, and despite how hard he’s trying to hide it you can see how the memory tears him apart. 

“My mom passed away giving birth to me,” you find yourself disclosing to even the scale, “I think that’s probably why my father resents me so much. He never got a son, and lost his wife in the process” 

“I’m sorry to hear that too…” 

You mirror his shrug. “It’s weird. I find myself curious about her - but there’s a detachment when I look at her. Sometimes I think about how different my life might be if she was still around. Or, if she was just like my father and everything would still be the same…” 

“Well, since we are speaking of hypotheticals,” Suguru moves on, shifting the topic as he angles his body more in your direction. “If you had the freedom to whatever you wanted, what would you do?” 

“Me?” You gasp, shocked by his pointed question. 

He smiles an easy smile, “I don’t see anybody else around.” 

You hum thoughtfully. “This might take a minute…” 

He places his cup of tea on the tray by his side and then pats his free hand on his thigh. 

“C’mere and think.” 

Your heart flies up your throat, pulsing just at the base. “You want me to sit on your lap?” 

Suguru nods his head. 

You gulp down the vessel, returning it back to its place. You glide your way towards him, placing the tea cup just next to his own, before settling down onto his lap. 

Suguru wraps his arm around your waist, securing you close into his frame. 

“Do you hold your other clients like this?” 

He shakes his head no. 

“So, you like holding me…” you bluntly point out, “why’s that?” 

Suguru’s face is directly in front of yours, so beautiful you can almost faint right here in his arms. He fingers dig into your waist, his other arm curving over your thigh and gently drawing circles on your hip. 

“Because you fit nicely against me” 

A swarm of butterflies take flight, making you feel lighter than air. You swear he might kiss you then but instead he returns to his question. “So, tell me what would you do?” 

The answer comes to you far easier than you think. From the moment you saw him tonight, you know the truth in the depths of your heart. “I’d like to run away with you,” you confess before stuttering out, “or-or at least somebody like you. Someone who is kind and sweet and thoughtful...”

Suguru leans back against the chair, lifting up one leg and adjusting your positions. He’s careful not to kick the tray with the tea. 

“And where would we go?” 

You sling your arms around his neck, “anywhere - anywhere but here.” 

Suguru slides his palm over the slop of your rear, slipping it underneath the fabric of his shirt and tracing a line over the dimples on your lower back.

“What would we do?” 

“We could lay outside just like this and watch the stars.” 

He hums, “we don’t get any stars out here in the city...”

“No, we don’t.” 

“What else would we do?” 

His other hand starts to unbutton the front of your shirt, revealing the details of the lace underneath. He cups your right breast, his lips shifting to find your neck. 

“We’d do this too,” you sing merrily. 

“Look at stars and fuck our brains out?” He teases, his teeth nipping at your skin. “Sounds like a dream to me…”

He gropes the fat of your breast, unknotting every single secret. “what else?” 

“We’ll sleep all day, and kiss until we’re bored of one another…” 

The hand on your breast moves to circle your neck, Suguru’s thumb massaging the column. 

“I’d never grow bored kissing you-” 

Your body renders against his touch. “Suguru,” you moan, your lips seeking his own. 

Before you can even meet for the kiss, he mumbles your name and follows up with the claim: “you should run away with me.” 

You giggle, still living in the proposed fantasy. “I’m trying to…” 

“I’m being serious” 

The tone of his voice is the reason why you stop to kiss him, pulling away to face the man before you. 

There's no denying the truth on his face - he is actually quite serious about the declaration. 

You hear the dreaded word once more: pathetic. Pathetic because this man is an expert at fulfilling fantasies, is a professional when it comes to healing the hearts of the lonely.

Pulling yourself out of this delusional imagination, you push off him before standing up straight. 

“That’s not funny, Suguru” 

“Who says I’m being funny?” He responds sincerely. 

“What is this? What are we doing? What am I doing? You can’t just-” you lament, pressing your forehead to hand in disbelief as you enter the confines of his apartment, taking a second to breathe. “You can’t just say things like that-” 

He calls out your name again, but the kraken has already been released. 

He follows, tracking into his abode right behind you, all the while watching you stand in the middle of his living room with your quivering hands reaching for the waistband of your underwear.  

“This was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have-I shouldn’t have gone through with all of this,” you yank out the cheque, showing it to him. “You don’t have to take pity on me. I know I’m just another desperate, pathetic client, alright? I promise you don't have to keep putting up with me and my drama after this. And you sure as hell don't have to keep giving me these mixed messages which only confuse me. I can’t have things getting complicated right before this engagement is about to happen. So, here. Take this cheque and let’s just forget everything else about tonight.” 

Suguru stands there, pensive. His eyes look to the folded paper in your hand, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Instead of reaching for the paper, he simply walks past you, making you spin on your heel as you follow his movements with sheer bewilderment. 

He heads towards the shelf behind you and pulls out a tiny box. He removes something from it, before walking back and facing you once more. 

“Shit got complicated about eight cheques ago, sweetheart,” he negates, holding the thin stack papers between his two fingers as he brings it to your face. His eyes fall to to the crumpled one you are currently holding, “Well, counting the one in your hand, I’d say nine...” 

You can’t believe it.

You pick up the wad and sift through each paper; each cheque one of yours, the date issued a reflection of your last nine meetings with Suguru. 

None of them cashed in. 

“Why do you still have these?” 

Two hands find your waist, your forearms fall into Suguru’s chest as you stare mindlessly at the cheques fanned out between your fingers. 

“I didn’t have it on my conscious to deposit them once I realized my feelings for you. I'm sorry about what you heard earlier, but what Mahito said doesn't apply to you at all,” he responds. “You stopped being a client to me for quite some time...” 

You look up at him. 

His touch tightens around your waist. “You can’t marry Naoya. Or, you shouldn’t. But if you do, I don’t want us to stop seeing one another. We can work something out…”

“Suguru,” you pine, dropping the papers in your hand, each one twirling onto the ground, thousands at your feet. 

His lips catch yours in a subtle peck, all before circling over your bottom lip and sucking on the plush base. He slides his tongue between your lips, feeling yourcrumple into him as the paper crinkles beneath your feet. You moan feeling the sensation of his tongue slide across yours - he tastes like running across a field of chamomile flowers, like you’re holding a basket of fresh, ripe lemons. 

Like you're savoring the most beautiful sunrise. 

His hands return to finish unbuttoning your shirt, shrugging the material off your shoulders and exposing your expensive lingerie set. He grips your hips, your ass - his touch hungry before pressing his pelvis closer to your frame so you can feel his aching member beneath his shorts. 

You squeak into another kiss when he swiftly picks you up from the back of your thighs and carries you across the living room. 

He places you onto his sofa like you’re made of porcelain, keeping you on the edge as he kneels to the ground, his knees sinking into the rug. Two hands find your inner thighs which he pushes apart to reveal the pretty triangle fabric covering your sweet cunt. He kisses your clit over the material. Once, twice, three times…until you’re sighing into the pillow behind you. His tongue drags up, pressing your clothing against your sex, one hand drawing upward to find yours which he holds lovingly. His index and middle finger hook underneath your underwear, and he tugs it aside to reveal your slick coated pussy. 

He kisses your clit again, leaving a path down your damp lips which only makes you moan angelically. 

“This is why I’d never get bored kissing you,” he coos, “You sound like heaven whenever I do...”

Your only response is a vowel, your hand holding onto Suguru’s for dear life as he returns to eat out with such devotion it almost brings tears to your eyes. You pant softly, his wet tongue making you weep between your legs and he gathers your essence and swallows it to parch his craving. You whine feeling the snap of your underwear pinch into your skin when Suguru lets go of the material to mold his palm over the slope of your pelvis. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, his tongue sinking between your wet folds, lips suckling on the petals of your cunt. 

Your hips arch off the sofa, desperate for friction, but Suguru pins you firmly back down. 

“Easy, easy…” he appeases, “don’t cum just yet. Hold off f’me, just for a little bit…” 

He’s never asked because there was never a reason to. For the most part, he was always there to service you. Allowed you to use his body to get you off as many times as you so desired. 

Your voice breaks, “okay,” you answer, drawing out a long exhale when he dives back in. 

The hand on your pelvis climbs up the steps of your ribs, reaching for band of your bra right at the middle. He curls his finger over the boning, and tugs the material allowing your breasts to spill free. He finds the bud of your nipple and tweaks it between his finger, pinching and pulling the aching nub until your writhing beneath him. 

He slurps and sucks, while you moan and whimper, forcing yourself to hold off for as much as your can but you find that it’s far harder to do when your lower belly quakes as it sits on the brink of release. 

“Suguru, Suguru…” you beg, reaching your free hand to your breast and clenching over his fingers. “Suguru, I can’t-m’gonna cum if you don’t stop…” 

He groans against your cunt, pulling away from your pulsing core and letting go of your hand to wipe the dampness off his chin. 

He licks his lips, drunk off lust and of how you taste. 

He keeps his body upright, drags your legs to secure them around his waist as he straightens your back. His hands unhook your bra from behind, the scent of you strong on his lips as he leans up for a kiss. Your hands fall to his shoulders, your belly fluttering as your sex begs for more stimulation. 

Suguru loosens the bra, allowing it to fall to your elbows before kneading your breasts - his thumb swipes back and forth over your nipples. He devours your cry, wolfs down every panting breath as he moans into the kiss. Your hands slip underneath his shirt, taking in the lines of strong abdomen.

“Take if off,” you plead between breaths, “Take it off, please…” 

Suguru listens, breaking apart from the kiss to toss his shirt to the side while you slip off your bra. Your lover’s hand finds your waist, his fingers pinching into the soft flesh. He leans forward to kiss the side of your neck, making a path down the curve and across the field of your décolletage. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your breast, his lips snagging your nipple as his tongue rolls over the bud.

Your fingers curl around the back of his head, loosening his bun as you untie the knot. His hair falls like waterfall, the strands tickling your bare skin. Suguru’s hand slips between your legs, his middle and forefinger meeting your clit. You hiss at the contact, sinking your teeth between your bottom lip when Suguru sucks on your breast while simultaneously drawing circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. 

Your breath grows heavier, your hips bucking into him from the sensation of his touch. 

“Feels good,” you mumble, “feels so good with you…”   

He shivers, relieving your breast as his lips search for your own. 

He adds more pressure between your legs, increasing the speed while your tongues dance. When your thighs noticeably quiver he slows down, pinching your clit between his fingers as he softly pecks your cheek. 

“The condoms are in my room…” 

Your sharp nails scratch the back of his neck lightly, “I have one in my purse.” 

Suguru nods feverishly, reaching back to the coffee table and rummaging through your purse. He picks out the shiny wrapper, and stands up to take off his shorts. 

“Wait, can I?” You request, gazing up at him with glittering eyes. 

Suguru swallows hard, and nods his head. 

Your eyes dilate rolling his shorts down, focusing on the tent in the fabric and watching his cock spring free and lightly smack his lower belly. Suguru brings the condom to his lips and rips it open with his teeth, but his eyes flutter when your perfectly manicured hands glide up the length of his shaft. 

You trace the prominent vein, your thumb swiping over the pre-cum beading over  the angry tip. You lick your lips, leaning closer to kiss the base and listening to Suguru sigh. 

You’ve only given him a blow job once before, and that was because you asked if you could. Suguru sets no expectations for himself when it comes to work, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t fantasized about giving him head countless times. 

You wrap your fingers around his length and stroke mildly, your lips fanning over  his cock before reaching the tip. 

“Sweetheart, don’t-” Suguru murmurs in an attempt to stop you, but you’re already enclosing your lips around the head and pressing your tongue over the slit. 

His head falls back as you suck, a curse leaving him. 

You move slowly at first, dragging your tongue back and forth as you stroke the base. Sukuna was far rougher with you when you went down on him, but Suguru is allowing you to take him at your own pace. Inch by inch, until you were bobbing your head back and forth, strings of saliva webbing off his cock and sticking your lips. 

He thrusts once, not rough enough to hurt but the jerk catches you by surprise. 

You carefully release him, mindlessly wiping your bottom lip and the sight makes his cock twitch. 

Suguru pulls the condom out, and rolls it over his shaft. 

He settles onto the empty seta by your side, and you crawl over the expanse of his gorgeous, chiseled body to kiss him once again. 

His circles his fingers around his cock, his other hand guiding your hip as he aligns the tip to your entrance. Your nail nicks his pec when he pushes against the hole, your mouth circling over his own as you lower down his shaft. 

He fills you up so, so good. Makes your body vibrate with unshakeable desire. 

He groans until he bottoms out , the hand on your hip dipping down from your pubis to your lower belly like he’s trying to outline how deep he actually is before returning it back in place and securing his other hand on the opposite hip. 

Your breasts flatten against his chest, your hands holding on to his strong shoulders for support as you roll our hips.

Suguru works in tandem with your rhythm to fuck you passionately. 

His lips find yours once again for a final kiss, before the two of you get caught up in the moment when he swiftly picks up the pace. 

His hips arch violently, while yours sink - your bodies moving silk. 

“Unghh, oh god, yes-yes-yes~” you moan. 

Suguru’s grip almost feels painful, you know for a fact that he’ll be marking your hips with a few bruises. “Gonna cum-” he rasps, “s-shit, I’m fucking close-fucking close-” 

Your pussy tightens, practically holds his dick in a death grip that makes release a broken moan. His cock contracts upon his release, the sensation bringing you to the edge of yours as the muscles in your lower belly and inner thighs spasm around him. You leave crescents on his skin, your bodies shaking as you both take a second to breathe coming down from your climax. 

You collapse into him, his arms circling behind you, with his racing heart pulsing into your own. He moves so you’re laying side by side, your body sandwiched between him and the couch since he takes up most of the room. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling him grow soft inside you.

Your stuttering breath finally finds a resting poin when he brings your hand and holds it against his heart. 

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper with a kiss to his neck. 

“Whatever you decide, we’ll figure out.” Suguru answers sincerely. 

“I can’t marry Naoya,” you admit out loud, shocked for actually saying it for the very first time. “And I can't share you with anyone else - it already kills me having to do so.” 

Suguru looks down at you, a reassuring smile resting on his lips. “There won’t be anyone else.” 

“I can't just...leave. I can't just drop everything and walking away. It isn’t going to be easy-” you add on, “It’ll take me some time.” 

“I can wait” 

“It might get messy…” 

“When is it ever not?” 

“But we’ve never been in a relationship-” you insist, logic breaking through the barrier of your happiness. “How do we know if this will even work out properly? What if this thing between us fades?” 

“I guess we’re both taking a gamble here…” 

You both stare into the other’s eyes. 

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” You ask. 

Suguru’s face softens but he leans forward to kiss your forehead. 

“I think it’s worth a try.” 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

TWO YEARS LATER

“You running out on Naoya on your wedding night is still the hot topic.” Kento explains over the phone, “People kept bringing it up, and for whatever reason they just can't seem to get over it.” 

The guilt in your stomach twists into a very small knot, over time the size of it has shrunk to a point where you not longer carry any remorse regarding your scheming behavior. 

You had a plan, and the plan worked. 

"Let's not forget who was there to help..." you contend, disregarding the negativity surrounding your decision.

After you and Suguru spoke, you decided to carry on the facade, agreeing to the engagement and soon after the wedding with Naoya Zen'in. All the while you and Suguru were busy planning your way to cut and run. He cashed in your unsigned checks, and you pilfered a decent amount of the wedding budget which you kept into a seperate savings account.

You played the role as obedient daughter well, and no one was the wiser. 

“Besides, I maintain that it's still the best decision I ever made,” you reply, stepping out of your room and into the kitchen where you are greeted by the sound of clinking dishes.  

Your eyes shift to Suguru - his hair far longer now, flowing beautifully down his back, the front layers tied into a small bun. You smell dinner in the air, and your stomach grumbles with anticipation. 

Nanami doesn't reply, but you can hear that he's distracted from the television in the background. 

“What are you watching?” you ask your friend. 

The man simply sighs. 

“Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing with that reaction. Is it Satoru’s new drama show?” 

At the mention of his best friend you notice your lover glance over his shoulder, quietly tilting his head to direct you towards him. You smile his way, your feet pattering against the hardwood floor as you move closer to him. He bundles one arm around your shoulder, keeping you close while continuing to sauté the vegetables in the pan. 

He kisses the top of your head. 

“It’s all the rage,” you add on to your phone call, “Suguru and I plan on watching the next episode tonight.” 

Kento remains quiet. 

You release yourself from Suguru’s grasp, and instead hop onto the kitchen counter right next to him.

He reduces the heat and picks up the lid before covering the pan. 

“I’m guessing you two haven’t-” 

“No,” Kento curtly replies. “Not since that night…” 

“I’m sorry” 

“Don’t be,” he responds with frustration. “I screwed it up” 

“You know I could just ask Sugu too reach out-” 

“ Don’t,” Kento sighs regrettably. “It doesn’t matter. I heard he’s moved on” 

You quirk your brow, your eyes shifting to Suguru who was back to chopping some fresh herbs. 

“Oh?” 

“It’s for the best I guess,” Kento reassures. “He should be happy with whoever-the-fuck he chooses.” 

“You deserve happiness too, Kento.” 

“You can be happy for the both of us,” he replies, gulping down a drink. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my lawyer for dinner.” 

“When are you going to visit us next?” 

“Probably around November, December. I just need a few things to ease up on my end-” 

You bite your bottom lip, “I look forward to it.” 

“Take care, love” 

“You too, Ken.” 

You hang up the phone and lean your head against the cupboard as you watch Suguru rinse his hand, a trail of crimson spiraling down the faucet.  

“I cut my finger” 

You pick up a clean towel by your side, and gesture him towards you. 

Suguru extends his thumb out, and you curl the fabric over to keep pressure on the small cut. 

“You ought to be careful” 

“Your legs are a distraction,” 

You stare up at him playfully, and he leans down to kiss the corner of your lips. 

“How’s Nanami?” 

Your lover is indebted to your friend. If it wasn’t for Nanami, the two of you wouldn’t have been able to set up this comfortably. He’s the one who found you the humble two-story abode in Hokkaido, and was also the person who set up your personal bank accounts while ensuring that you would both have a safe and quick getaway on the night of your almost-wedding. 

“Fine, I think-” you reply, before removing the towel to check the damage. Thankfully, it wasn't anything serious. A little deeper than a paper cut.“Licking his wounds over a broken heart, but fine.” 

Suguru reaches for the drawer next to you, and pulls out the emergency band aids. You reach for the box in his hand, taking out one and removing the plaster from the back. You secure it around his cut, and Suguru holds your fingers between his. 

He arches down to kiss your brow. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

“You’re welcome, handsome” 

“Dinner will be ready in a few if you want to set the table” 

You nod your head in acknowledgement, and drop down onto the ground before proceeding with your task.

You set the place mats down, a bowl for the soup and another for the rice and cooked vegetables. Your finger traces the rim of the one in front of your seat, a tiny chip from when you accidentally dropped it in the sink while cleaning it a few weeks ago. 

Fragments of these blemishes are all around you - making you almost forget that you once lived in a perfect, curated bubble. But you would take these flaws over everything else. These markings may be worn, but they are a reminder of the home you've been building.

A home that is entirely yours. 

“Baby, you want a drink?” Suguru calls from the kitchen. 

“Melon soda, please” you reply, placing the bowl down. 

“We’re out, I’ve got to pick some up tomorrow.” 

“What are you having?” 

“A beer,” he chuckles, and it sends a tremor of joy between the valves of your heart. 

“I’ll share yours” 

Suguru pulls out the bottle, cracking the cap off as he pops it using the side of the kitchen counter to do so. 

You two meet each other halfway in the space that you've been nesting in. Suguru’s eyes never leave yours when he takes the first sip, and once done he passes the chilled bottle towards you.

“Am I ever going to have you back in the kitchen helping me with dinner?” 

You shake your head no, and bite at the lip of the bottle before taking a sip. “I thought we agreed I was a hazard after the raw chicken fiasco and the almost-fire debacle…” 

He laughs, “no, you agreed. I said it wasn’t a big deal” 

“You just said that because you love me,” you respond, pressing the bottle into his chest as he takes it from your hand. 

“That goes without saying…” he answers, slinging his arm around your waist and pulling you into his frame. 

You lift yourself up on your toes, and kiss his nose. 

“Do you think it’s worth the risk of me attempting to cook for you again?” You whisper against his lips. 

Suguru smiles, a hand cupping your cheek as he leans forward to seal his reply with a  kiss. 

“I think it’s worth the try” 

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

tag list: @rottiens @an-ever-angry-bi @mononijikayu @brownskinnedgirll

[grabattheseballsss]

Ass or tits post but they barely answer the question

NSFW text !!!

Btw if yawll have any headcannon ideas do send them in pls !!! Smooches !!

John price

this is absurd, to think you would ask him such a disrespectful question, I mean if you weren’t dating this is a huge HR violation, plus he won’t just pick like you’re some object he gets to use to his pleasure (thighs and fupas)

Simon Riley

Ass…. No wait he likes tits

Actually he likes ass… but maybe more so the thighs… nah nah it’s just ass … actually here, go wear these outfits and come back to me, I need to make my mind up for sure, you know, for research purposes.

John McTavish

Couldn’t choose, had to go run a few laps to clear his brain

Came back and just held your shoulders and said

“Yes”

You’d be confused and ask him the question again and he’d just look at you with sad eyes and whimper out

“Please don’t make me chose”

Kyle Garrick

Tits, absolutely tits, this man has a thing for milfs, my darlings with big or small tits, if he sees you in a blouse or a tank top that shows your cleavage, he’s running the nearest bathroom to relieve himself.

You had to go undercover on a mission once, having to dress up as a server at a strip club, you needed to have ears on the inside, and he had to save all the footage he was watching… for safety purposes of course, what if he didn’t notice a very illegal bad thing happen to you on his 89th rewatch ?!

Rodolfo parra

Tits, but also into necks, he also loves your back, and the curve of your hips, and how your rolls show when he has you in a weird position, and he loves watching you change or slip into your everyday clothes, how some tights fabrics tug at your pretty plush skin, he loves it when you lay your feet on his lap, silently asking him to rub them for you, watching you stretch, watching you walk, how you interact with others …

Wait sorry what was the question ?

Alejandro Vargas

This whore…. Ass.

He’d slap your ass ever time you’re walking by, if you’re leaning on a counter, on your phone, he would stand behind you and slap your ass bongos, laughing and kissing your temple as you try to smack him.

If he sees you sleeping on your side he will crawl lower and cuddle your ass, it’s just such a nice cushion  :(

One time the team all went out for drinks after a successful mission, and you changed into a white tank top, low cut bell bottom jeans and Rudy handed you a cowboy hat as a joke, but all Alejandro could think about is which bathroom is the closest for him to take you.

Also steals your panties after every quickie

Valeria

See….. here’s the thing, Valeria loves one thing, and that thing is seeing you all submissive and ready for her to take, she loves sitting in a meeting with some dealers, her legs spread, you by her feet, hugging onto the lower part of her legs, humping on her dirty boot, your tits pressed against her knee as your clothed pussy rubs in messy motions as you try to get some sort of release, she loves holding a gun to your head, asking you to only make eye contact with her, in a room filled with judging eyes.

She needs everyone to know what’s hers, and what would happen if they even dared to speak of what’s hers.

König

Listen, I see könig as a little weirdo, a lil freaky boy. When he’s infatuated with someone, he won’t be able to find a single flaw in them, seeing your skirt riding up at bit too high that shows your ass that’s covered in opaque stockings, and if there’s a little rip in those stockings, even if the rip is like, down near your ankle, he’s gonna pop a boner.

If you’re a fashion girly that likes to show their body off oh baby he’s buying you anything you want if you just give him a show, tops that barely hide your nipples, about 90% of your tits out on display, one slip and you’ll be flashing him.

Seeing you in his clothes, seeing his hoodie bunched up around around waist as you hold it up a bit, fixing your pants, oh he’s going to jump that hoodie later.

Horangi

Tits, or so he thought, he’s always found your chest gorgeous, what he wouldn’t give to be able to suck on your nipples day and night, that is until you were sparring one time, you had him in a chokehold… with your thoughts pressed against his neck, his head resting on your lap as you look down at him, animalistic fire in them as you grin down at him, all he could think about was how your eyes gazed down on his, how the pressure of your thick thighs pressed against his neck felt like heaven, like the pain in his neck was cured (it wasn’t)

After the sparring match he just had to collect his thoughts, he needed you to be on top of him, preferably with your crotch right on top of his face with your soft sweaty thighs caging him in .

Laswell

This lady……… she’s the hard dom price wishes he was.

She’s so calm and collected on the outside, at her work everyone sees her as this no nonsense lady who refuses to listen to some old fart tell her what she can and can’t do, she’ll always do what’s right

And so when her pretty girl, in a gorgeous dress she got for you, comes to her job, holding a tiny bag filled with her lunch, hair done, makeup looking flawless, and a bright smile that makes her coworkers envy her.

She loves her sweet girl that’s too innocent to notice how promiscuous she looks in that form fitting dress, how her tits press together when she hands her the bag, Kate would simply thank you, kissing you briefly before giving your bum a smack as she tells you to get back home and get ready for her tonight

What? The woman is stressed at work and her girl comes in looking like a goddess in a tight dress, plus it’s not like any of her coworkers blame her.

[allbark-no-bite]

don’t write checks you can’t cash.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 3.6k)

summary: jake seresin is under your skin. or maybe you’re under his. either way you’re going to eat each other alive. jake isn’t about to take the fall

warnings: mentioned age gap, heavy sexual tension (the smut is coming i promise)

author’s note: back on my topgun bullshit bitches (respectfully). i’m not usually one for multi part fics but i actually wrote something with plot for once so please just bear with me. loosely inspired by Zach Bryan’s ‘nineball’. please note this fic title is subject to change bc i hate it

(you can read part 2 here!)

————————————————————————

You don't believe in love at first sight. You think the whole concept is some foolish idea that people who have already fallen in love have the liberty of saying they believe in. Then people who have been through failed relationship after failed relationship are convinced that they're never going to fall in love because it just doesn't happen. The whole idea pretty much just sets the rest of the population up for failure from the start.

Even the concept of finding the right person one day and growing to love them is hard for you to grasp. Because how can you love someone that much? How do you know you love them enough?There are some days that you don't enjoy the presence of even your closest friends for very long, friends who you would do anything for. Even family, you only tolerated so much.

Your high school boyfriend hated that about you, the fact that you realistically needed so little of him—or anyone for that matter. You have always been violently independent, able to provide what you require, and therefore having to maintain a simplistic relationship became nothing but a monotonous task. Even most of your closest friendships faded with time.

Eventually, you prosed the question: what can someone else give me that I cannot give myself?

The answer was companionship. Because when you strip away everything from a person and all they have left to offer you is themself, you have to be willing to choose them. And sometimes that's not the most appealing quality.

Something did happen, the first time you made eye contact with Lt. Jake Seresin, but it was far from love. It was something terrible in your chest, like an aching. Like you knew in your gut that he was going to change your life. Good or bad, you didn't know, but it was certain to happen.

You don't even believe that you two were destined to meet — you just happened to, and in that moment, the damage was done, it was your fate to ruin each other.

——

You like the way he says your name. You like that he says your name on purpose, like he is intentionally seeking out reasons to say it. It's not as harsh sounding coming from his mouth.

"You from around here, [L/n]?"

You're wiping down the glass hatch of your F/A-18 when he approaches you from behind. You swivel your head to catch sight of him behind your back but he's already making a wide circle around you, his chin tipping up then down as he inspects your plane from behind his tinted aviators.

As you watch him scrutinize your aircraft, you regard him with a certain level of apprehension. Jake Seresin was nothing short of gorgeous. He was six feet of bronze skin and lean muscle, withbright green eyes, and a movie star smile. Not to mention the southern accent that had girls drooling over him.

"Austin," you correct him. "Austin, Texas."

You'd been transferred over to Miramar a little over a month ago, becoming the newest addition to the Dagger squad. California was a nice change of scenery, and everyone you had met so far had welcomed you with open arms. That is, everyone but Lt. Seresin— Hangman as they called him. You were still trying to find your footing with him.

You genuinely don't know what his problem is with you. The guy had hardly even given you a glance since the moment you'd arrived. Your first guess would have been that he was one of those dickheads who didn't like women working in the field, but his relationship with Phoenix disproved that theory.

Your answer seems to warrant his attention, and he looks up. His expression twitches at the correction but he doesn't say anything in response. For the first time since you arrived at Miramar, still, unsmiling green eyes catch yours from across the aircraft.

You hold his gaze. After a moment, your stomach twists in an unsettling way, like even it doesn't know what to do with itself. Your first instinct is to look away. Your brain is telling you that if you do, you can avoid any sort of confrontation that may happen as a result. But it's like you can't.

This is the first time he's looked at you, and now you don't dare to look away.

Even from behind the tint of his perfectly polished aviators, you can make out the distinct color of his green eyes. They're so distracting that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

After what feels like eons of uncomfortable staring, he breaks your gaze —surely it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Flustered, you glance around to see if anyone else has picked up on the affair. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you're not quite sure which, it's nearing 6pm and the base is on the better side of empty. It's a Friday evening and everyone is eager to head out for the weekend.

Someone clears their throat. Hangman is still standing there, hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't have anywhere better to be. You want to say something but your gut is telling you that there's some sort of game going on here and you're not sure of the rules.

Finally, he faintly nods his head, as if to excuse himself, and turns to walk away. You watch his retreating back and relax a little, breathing a bit easier.

As you're turning back to your plane, relieved that the interaction is over, you hear him call back over his shoulder.

“The team is heading to the Hard Deck at nine. Don't be late."

And then he's gone, disappeared between one of the hangars.

——

For nine thirty on a Friday evening, the bar isn't nearly as busy as you'd expected it to be. You don't have to fight for a parking spot out front and there's not even a line at the bar. Other than a rowdy looking gaggle accumulating at the pool table, the atmosphere is pretty laid back. Looking around as you walk further in, there is a handful of people in civilians, but the majority of the crowd is composed of off duty aviators in their summer khakis.

You're about to head over to the bar top, where you were sure you had spotted Captain Mitchell, when someone shouts your name.

"Hawk!"

Your head swivels at the sound of your callsign, and you catch sight of Rooster beckoning to you over at the pool table. Immediately you recognize the familiar faces of the Dagger squad around him. You acknowledge him with a smile and head over to join them.

“And here we thought you were going to be a no-show," the brunette pilot chirps, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as soon as you're close enough. You lean into his embrace while touching his chest with a friendly pat of your hand. Bradley is by no means close to drunk but most definitely more than a little buzzed if you're going off of the smell of beer and lime on his breath and the occasional involuntary twitch of his mustache.

"I thought about it, but I can't keep letting you guys have all the fun," you laugh, holding out your other arm so that you can greet Natasha with a hug as Rooster releases you.

After hugging you, she presses a sweating bottle of beer into your hand. "Coyote bought everyone a round so I figured I'd save you one before the boys wiped them out. Sorry if it's a bit warm, you did show up fashionably late."

You playfully roll your eyes at her, taking the beer anyhow. "Thanks, Phe."

Payback places a large palm on the top of your head, diverting your attention towards him as he returns from the bar. "Don't let her fool you, we're just getting started over here. Rooster isn't even drunk enough to get on the piano yet."

Laughing, you glance over at the brunette aviator. "Now that I've been waiting to see. I hear you're quite the show, Bradshaw."

Since you transferred over to Miramar, you had been hounded nonstop to go out drinking with the team for weeks, and Rooster's infamous performance had been one of their key selling points. That and the fact that the owner, Penny, often gave them free drinks. Apparently she had a thing for Captain Mitchell.

Rooster grins, leaning against the pool stick in his hand as he waits for Fanboy to take his shot. "Let me get a couple more beers deep and I promise you won't be disappointed."

As you go about making your rounds to greet everyone else, you can't help but notice that there's someone missing. After you take a seat beside Bob to watch Rooster and Fanboy play, you glance around the bar a few times, convinced that you've somehow overlooked him despite the fact that the place isn't busy enough for that.

An almost disappointed feeling pulls at you despite how ridiculous the realization makes you feel.

After spending the better part of an half hour trying to push the feeling away, you finally spot a familiar head of blonde hair over at the dartboard. He's by himself, about three darts in and half a bottle of beer down. So much for the personal invitation, you think.

You watch as he throws a dart, practically without so much as aiming whilst contemplating whether or not you even have it in you to muster up the courage to face those green eyes again.

Without giving yourself the chance to back down, you swallow back the rest of your now warm beer and head over.

He tosses another dart just as you reach him, and it finds itself dead center with the previous three.

"With a hand like that, you should be kicking Rooster's ass over there in pool," you say as you come to a stop behind him.

Walking away from the dartboard, Jake turns to grab his bottle of beer from the table beside you.

"I'm not much of a betting man," he huffs, leaning back against the table. The muscles of his biceps bugle distractingly against the sleeves of his uniform.

You look back over your shoulder, watching from a distance as Fanboy's cue clips the eight ball and sends it ricocheting off the sidewall. He groans, and Rooster whoops triumphantly from behind him.

"It wouldn't be much of a bet. Even with his winning streak, I think you'd give him a run for his money."

Hangman takes a sip from his bottle, mouth lingering on the rim before he sets it back down and crosses his arms. "Rooster's all luck and no skill. The table's got a lean."

You raise your eyebrows at the confession, half laughing at his lax confidence. "Oh? And you would know this how?"

"C'mon, son. Fuckin' hit it in."

Body tense, his arm quivers ever so slightly and the pool stick bobs shakily in his hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in.

"I haven't got all day, kid."

He breathes out and breathes back in. The smell of cigar smoke and cheap beer swims in his head.

"What're you doin'?! Quit wastin' time."

He exhales, opens his eyes, and hits the pool stick forward. The white cue ball shoots out to the left, bounces against the eight ball, and sends it hurdling towards the side pocket. At the very last moment, it veers off to the left and falls into  the back corner pocket instead.

The man standing on the other side of the table curses, his pool stick dropping to the ground, but Jake pays little mind to him. He straightens, looking around eagerly for the only set of eyes that matter. The grin falls from his face when he realizes the old man isn't even watching, too busy counting out his prize money and yanking out a ten to hand to the bartender.

Jake looks up at the clock on the wall over his shoulder.

12:57 am

"Dad, I wanna go home."

"Not yet, son. I've already got fifty put down on another round."

"Want me to show you?"

His offer makes you pause, and you can't help but cock your head a bit as you try to weigh out just where this is heading. For weeks he has acted as though you barely even existed and now you're engaged in the longest conversion the two of you have had since your arrival.

Jake finishes his drink and sets the bottle down whilst walking over to you. "Final offer. Take it or leave it."

You laugh a little before stepping back so that he can make his way to the pool table. "Lead the way then." But before you can make it too far, his palm finds the flat of your back, pressing you forward so that you're in front of him. You're glad he can't see you because your face flashes hot at the unexpected contact.

"I'm not the one playing, kid. I'm just going to show you the ropes."

"Oh, I didn't-"

Any objections you have about the situation are ignored as he pushes you firmly in the direction of the pool table and asks Payback for his cue. "Look alive, Bradshaw. Hawk is about to show you how this thing is done."

Straightening his wide shoulders, Bradley grins, smug and easy as you and Hangman approach the opposite side of the table. "And here I thought you were here to reclaim your throne now that I'm intoxicated."

Jake grins back. "You don't need to be drunk for me to do that."

Bradley's mustache twitches, but he's still smiling. "Sure."

Jake turns back to you, placing the pool stick in your hand. You can't help but think that his expression is all too confident for someone who has never even seen you play pool.

"Nervous?" he asks as you take the stick from him.

"Should I be?" you ask back, turning your head to watch as Rooster takes the liberty of breaking the rack.

He shakes his head, his green eyes glowing with a warmth that you've yet to see from him. "Not as long as you don't totally suck."

Seeing that it's your turn, you brush past him to stand at the table. "I guess I'll let you be the judge of that."

Thankfully you've played your fair share of pool and so you're able to hold your own for most of the game. Jake remains criminally silent as you play, arms once again crossed as he leans against a nearby stool, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back the entire time. It isn't until the end of the game and you've missed the same ball multiple times that he steps in.

"Shift left," he directs you. When you glance over at him, he nods his head as if to insinuate where you should move but doesn't move from where he's planted himself since the beginning of the game.

Hesitantly, you shuffle over a half step and take the shot. The ball comes closer than you have been but still hits the sidewall just short of the pocket. You huff in frustration, and Rooster steps forward to take his turn, sinking his second to last ball in the same pocket.

"I hope you're ready to buy the next round, Seresin. Looks like Hawk is losing her nerve," Bradley goads, unable to keep himself from boasting a little at your expense. When it comes to Hangman, he can't resist the chance to taunt him.

You roll your eyes at his comment, not bothered so much by it as compared to the fact that you're losing. When it's your turn again, you line up the ball and lean down to assume your position when Jake stops you.

All the sudden he's right beside you, palm pressing into your hip to scoot you to the side. "Move over." When you look at him like he's crazy, he huffs. "C'mon, do you want my help or not?"

It isn't so much of a question as it is a statement and the press of his hand against your side doesn't leave you much of an option and so you shuffle over to the far right side of the pool table.

Before you can even comprehend what's going on, he's leant over you, his impossibly tall frame pressed to your back so that he can reach around you and guide your hands. One wraps around your hand on the stick and the other cups your opposite elbow.

It takes everything in you not to jerk away, overwhelmed by his sudden proximity. Instead you try to focus on controlling your hammering heart and pray he can't tell how clammy your palms suddenly are.

"Hey, that's not allowed," Rooster complains. "Is that allowed?"

Coyote shrugs. "It's not not allowed."

Distracted by their bickering, his voice in your ear nearly makes you jump. "Hit the cue ball. Hard."

The lean press of his body is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he's done a god awful job of lining up the shot. There's not one alternate reality where you make this shot.

"You can't be serious."

He's so close that you feel him smile beside your ear. "Dead."

"Any day now," Rooster prompts, as if you aren't aware that Jake Seresin has been pressed against you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. And if Hangman has noticed the fact that your heart is fluttering erratically inside your chest or that your skin is flushed hot to the touch, he doesn't let on. 

"I'm waiting," he reminds you, his voice placid in your ear.

Against your better judgement, you take the shot.

The white cue ball hurtles into the black eight ball with a hard clack and sends it flying across the table. It smashes against the sidewall, exactly as you had expected it to, and you release a breath of defeat. And then something unexpected happens. The ball slows, but instead of bouncing to a stop, it continues to roll left across the table. You all watch as it rolls directly into back corner pocket of the table.

"Well I'll be damned," Payback mutters aloud.

"Hell yeah, [L/n]!" Phoenix shouts, her loud and robust voice ringing out across the bar. "Shots are on Bradshaw!"

"Thanks buddy," Coyote laughs, teasingly grabbing the back of the brunette aviator's shoulders as he heads off for the bar.

Bradley waves them off, looking a bit miffed but still good naturedly accepting his defeat.

"How about it? You're a cold blooded killer."

Like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head, the sound of Hangman's voice coming from behind you jerks you back to reality. You haven't even noticed that he'd stepped away. Something inside you twinges at the loss of his body pressed against yours.

You turn around to face him, your brain still trying to comprehend what just happened.

"How'd you do that?" you ask incredulously, your tone almost accusing. A deeper part of you wants to ask 'why did you do that' but the smile on his face stops you.

His top row of pearly white teeth that you glimpse is pristine, however brief, before his pink lips come back together in a more subdued smile. It's an expression that is so very genuine and carefree that it sends a spark straight through to your heart. You've never seen him actually smile before, and especially not at you.

"You're smiling," you accuse before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, half giddy at the discovery yourself.

Jake looks slightly away, turning his head briefly in order to suppress his smile before looking back to you. “Yeah? So?” His green eyes are twinkling as he says it, like he knows he’s been caught.

You jab the short end of the pool stick into the center of his chest, but he’s quick to grab it before it can find home.

“Up until yesterday, you could barely stand to even look at me,” you say.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not true.”

“So you’re saying that I’m seeing things.” You try to tug back on the pool stick but Hangman doesn’t release it.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be seeing things.”

With that, a larger portion of the previous smile is gone from his face, a more sober look replacing it.

Just like that the spark fades. Even though you want to shut down, turn your back to his face and just walk away. You force yourself to keep talking, holding your voice steady. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

Inside you know exactly what he means.

His eyes flicker up over your shoulder but the Dagger squad has already moved on to crowd around Rooster at the piano.

You clamp your jaw together as he releases the pool cue and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes him look more relaxed than he is.

"Look, whatever this is—whatever you think I am, I'm not." He says this with the realistic conviction of someone who knows that even if it is, you can't. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

You’re not quite sure how old he is—barely thirty if you had to guess— but he’s older. Too old. Not to mention fraternization is deeply frowned upon.

"I know," you answer firmly. Because you do. Because even if it isn't, you want it, whatever it is.

He stares down at you with those green eyes, his pupils pinpoint sharp. After a moment he heaves a sigh and releases it, nodding his head. “So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We’re in agreement.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

[specshroom]

hello hello, I stumbled across your writing and wanted to say how much I enjoyed “Blood In The Water” I was curious about how reader struck that deal with all the mer-creatures in the first place?! did they try to eat reader too? or did one/many have an attachment or attraction since reader grew up around that place? the whistling was soooo cool, like they were dogs trained to a command! does that mean they had struggles with communication at first? do the mer-peeps understand language or just body language? I’m full of questions 😂❤️ it was just so enthralling and love a good morally grey character! is reader struggling to make ends meet and that’s why they do this? or is it more of ‘it’s either me or them’ type scenario? OR reader is just like this is the easiest way to get money?! 👀 oml lemme stop here this is getting quite long— LOVE UR STUFF 😚

I'M SO GLAD IT INTERESTED YOU SO MUCH (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

I like to keep things up to interpretation cus I think it's more fun BUT I can answer a few of those.

- They definitely struggled at first lol. The merfolk can't speak human language and don't understand it. Humans can't speak mer-language either because it's mostly high pitched clicks and chitters. Reader figures out that the closest they can get to making sounds the merfolk understand is by whistling because it's loud and high pitched enough that they can hear it easily even through the water.

- They do share a lot of body language and mannerisms with humans (like kissing👀) so that made things easier.

- The merfolk do recognise Reader as a local and that made them more trustworthy. (Later on they marked the bottom of Readers boat so they know it's them🥺)

I wrote a little drabble to answer the "How did this happen?" question.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You sigh as you row your way out of the canal and into the open waters.

Your new patron lounges in his seat on the opposite side of the gondola, staring up at the clear blue sky. You preferred doing business at night when it's quiet, few braved these waters at night. Alas dwindling funds force you to suffer the business of the day. There's just too much comotion in the daytime, too many tourists.

Its been like this since the first rich fool "discovered" that your relatively small and unimpressive lake town actually boasts some magnificent and horrific monsters in the depths of the decievingly calm waters surrounding it. Now flocks of fools come to "test their bravery" by crossing the dangerous waters.

Conservationists and locals convinced them that hunting down the monsters in the lake would lead to environmental catastrophe and the snobs decided that it would be a better investment as a tourist attraction.

"Don't you get bored of this?"

Your patron slices the silence in half. You blink out of your thoughts, releasing the iron grip you had on your oar.

"I could give you a different job."

The well dressed man's tone is almost convincingly sympathetic. You keep your gaze locked onto the familiar waters ahead of you...until you hear the distinct sound of coins being jostled against one another. That changes things.

You hesitantly turn to where the stranger sits comfortably, grinning with pride.

"I thought so, it's always the same with you locals."

The tourist opens his money bag and takes out one gold coin. At least enough for a small meal.

"What would you do for it?"

He plays with the coin in his fingers before tossing it out of the boat and into the water. The carelessness with which he tosses his gold makes your blood run hot. Through the thick permanent fog that hangs over the waters, you can just barely see the gold coin as it sinks into the abyss and your stomach growls pitifully.

He holds out the pouch over the side of the boat, dangling it over the water.

"Would you dive for it?"

The sick thing is that you actually consider it. You stare intensely at the stupid pouch that could keep you going for a good while.

The man suddenly drops the pouch and you jump forward to catch it but he yanks it back up by the drawstring before it can touch the surface of the water. He laughs at his cruel humour and your blood reaches it's boiling point.

You don't know why it was that patron in particular that made you snap or why that bad day in particular made you finally put the knife skills your father taught you to good use.

But before either of you know it his laughter turns to bloody choking. You scramble off of him, panic clear on your face. He reaches for the knife in his neck but it's useless. His body sags over the edge of the boat and his blood mixes with the water. You watch with wide eyes as he takes his last struggled breaths.

It's silent for a while before you take your eyes off of the man Infront of you to look down at your red stained hands. You look around as if anyone could've seen your crime through the fog anyway.

After a while of just staring blankly at the still body Infront of you, you try to compose yourself and lift him off the side of the gondola. You manage to tip him over and watch his body sink down.

You stare at the corpse fading deeper into the water. Just as you ready yourself to leave the scene something rocks the gondola slightly and you fall on your ass, gripping the side of the boat.

You feel a breath on the side of your cheek and jump when you look over and see two big pitch black eyes staring at you from over the side of the boat. Your skin turns to ice, unable to move.

You hear chittering from the other side and jump again as another one peers over the furnished wood of the boat. The first one takes your frozen hand in their cold clawed hand and inspects the drying blood covering it.

They stick their tongue out and slowly lick all the way up your shaking hand, licking away at the blood as if cleansing you of your sin. The other makes a clicking sound that sounds oddly like laughter.

Once all the blood on your hand has been licked off, the creature looks up at you for a moment before disappearing below the surface once more. The other one doesn't look like it wants to go but a few clicks from the water convince it to slowly lower back into the depths.

You lean over the side of the gondola trying to get a better look at the creature before it leaves. You deflate when you don't see so much as a ripple in the water.

Suddenly, just as you were sure they weren't coming back, the same one from moments ago bursts from the water. In a second it cups your cheek and kisses you. It's hard and deep, more passionate than you'd ever had before. The creature releases you and this time before it leaves it gives a little wave with its strange webbed hand. You wave back, a little dazed, as the monster dives back into the water.

You have to sit there for a good while staring at the pouch of coin the tourist left behind and then back to the murky waters, touching your lips while contemplating what the hell just happened.

[rninies]

✮ matching hoodies

౨ৎ veritas ratio x reader. fluff, gn!reader, ratio is so in love w you, modern!au — wc: 733 | tags: @rosequarzo @fairykazu

notes. hai im back w another ratio fic

"remind me why we are here again?" veritas asks, watching you look through the hoodie section of the store.

"i’m here to buy a hoodie, veritas. you’ve asked that question ten times now," you sighed. turning your head to face him, you see a pronounced frown on his face. "why are you frowning? do you not like accompanying me shopping?"

"no it’s just- our closet is already full of your hoodies. more than half of the closet is filled with your stuff. why do you need more?" veritas answers.

you give him a sheepish smile in return. "well, i happen to be someone who loves hoodies so deal with it. besides, i know you love borrowing my hoodie from time to time."

veritas's face actually turns a light shade of red hearing you expose his actions. "you- you didn’t have to say that out loud, idiot."

you gasped dramatically. "veritas ratio, language!" and you dodged an incoming balled-up scrap of paper. "what was that for?!"

“for being annoying.”

"oh you wound me," you placed a hand over your chest for dramatic effect and couldn’t help the laugh from escaping your lips as you see veritas's disgusted look. "okay, how about you sit over there while i find the perfect hoodie for me to wear, yeah?" you pointed at the small seating area and veritas agrees silently, taking the other shopping bags with him. 

as soon as veritas sits down and busies himself with his phone, you scavenged through the pile of hoodies, racks of sweaters, basically anything that fits the category ‘long-sleeved and keeps us warm’. hoodie hunting wasn’t your favorite pastime as it not only takes up so much of your time but you also have to let go of the other cute hoodies you find along the way.

when you reached the last pile of hoodies, you find a white hoodie with a small brown dinosaur holding out a finger heart while winking and facing the right. looking below that was an identical one, it being a black hoodie with a green dinosaur doing the same pose except it’s facing the left. putting the two hoodies next to each other, it makes it seem like the dinosaurs are shooting hearts at each other.

your eyes light up as soon as you find these two pairs of hoodies, grabbing both and ran to the cashier (veritas fortunately did not see you). as soon as you paid, you basically skipped your way back to veritas, which caught his attention. "why- when did you pay for the hoodie? i could’ve paid for you."

"just now!" you replied and took out the black hoodie from the bag, showing it to him. "look, isn’t it cute? especially the dinosaur!"

veritas nods, not really paying attention to the hoodie. "it’s cute, yeah- what are you do-" he gets cut off when you basically force him to wear the hoodie.

taking out the white hoodie, you wore it, and smiled at him. "look, now we match!"

veritas looks at the mirror in front of him and true to your words, you both were indeed matching. "what the hell?"

"don’t you dare take it off," you warned, seeing veritas about to reach for the hem of the hoodie. "i paid for these hoodies and you’re keeping it. it’s cute, okay? look at the dinosaurs! just like you and me."

"very funny, y/n," veritas grumbles, holding you by the waist as he leads you out of the store. "this is embarrassing!" though the way his hands tightened around your waist says a different thing.

"be glad i didn’t end up picking one where it was super obvious that we got matching hoodies." you say, poking his cheeks. "besides, we don’t have any matching items! the closest thing we have to something classified as matching is that keychain we bought on our first date."

"and do you not like the keychains?" veritas asks. "it’s two cats and when you connect them with each other it looks like they’re cuddling with each other.”

"okay, i did not ask for your inner cat lover to come out when we’re discussing the keychains," you pointed out. "yes i love the keychains, but i want something more, hence the hoodies."

veritas groans, looking at his hoodie and yours. "be glad that i love you."

"that’s such a cliche thing to say." you giggled.

"shut up."