#waltz style yeah

[littlemissmiller]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑫𝒐𝒐𝒓

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: (au) (Joel is dad to a 9 year old Sarah) Joel has been your neighbor for some time and you and him have become friendly. In an attempt to spend more time to him (and a desire to show off your summer body) you throw a pool party…

Warning: 21+ (drinking), smut, fluff, friends to lovers, use of nicknames (babydoll, baby, darling), p in v, ass eating, cowgirl style, fingering, couch sex, porn with a plot

Work count: 4.1k

A/N: hi all! the official first day of summer is today and i got inspired by a pool party i went to with my mans so i just had to write this cute lil smutty, fluffy story. i have a billy request coming and hopefully i get ch 3 of Summer Highs out soon (i know i said it would be soon don’t trust me on a release date which is why i don’t do them) ok that’s it! much love and enjoy ❣︎

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It’s always a hot summer in Texas. It would feel weird if it wasn’t, but this year it feels like the earth is a legit bun in the oven. The whole neighborhood is feeling the heat, so given you have a pool in your backyard, you invite people over for a summer kickoff. Of course it has nothing to do with the fact you are desperate to see Joel Miller in nothing but a pair of swim trunks. From just his work shirts alone, you could see how tight his shirt hugged his muscles. How toned his back was whenever he would sweat through it doing yard work. You would always wave over to him from across the street, occasionally bring him water or lemonade while he worked. And today, your excuse for seeing him was to invite him to your pool party. You catch him outside after work, in his garage tinkering around under his truck. You stroll across the street and walk in. You knock on the side of the garage walls and Joel slides out from under his Silverado.

“Well hey there!” He beams, striding towards you

“What’s up cowboy.”

“Not much, waiting for Sarah to come home from soccer camp.” He informs

“Oh keeping her busy.”

“Well between so and the library reading contest she’s more or less keeping herself busy. Determined to get those Astro tickets. I promised we would do a road trip and she reaches thirty books by the end of June and wins the two tickets. She’s already at twenty five. She has a whole strategy.”

“Wow. Good for her. Well I hope she’s not too busy this weekend…” you state

“Oh yeah why’s that” he smiles, leaning his arm against the garage and above your head. You feel totally lost here with him looking at you how he is. His big brown eyes, so curious and pleasant, simply wondering what you have to say. He raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Well I sent out an evite a little bit ago, but I wanted to come tell you in person that I’m having a pool party Saturday. I thought we could all beat the heat ya know.”

“Yeah we‘ll be free.” He steps back, taking a rag from his waist and wiping his hands. He heads toward his garage fridge and gets out two bottles of water, offering you one.

“Thanks. So you do have your own water.”

“Yeah I always keep that fridge full. Especially with Sarah and her friends I practically always got Gatorade.”

“So you just like my water better?”

Joel smiles at you, combing his hair with his fingers. You watch his muscles flex and wish that you can be wrapped in them. He starts to look through his tool box and nods.

“You could say that. So Saturday you said? What time?”

“It starts at 12, but you can stay for as long as you’d like.”

“I’ll talk to Sarah, but I have a feeling she'll say yes. She loves you, so any excuse to see you, she’ll take.”

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll see ya Saturday then.” He winks and disappears back under his truck

You waltz out of the garage and back to your house. You trot inside gleefully and close the door behind you. You could jump, squeal, practically combust. Not only did you just figure out Joel had his own drinks on deck whenever he works, but always accepts an offer from you no matter what. God he must like you. He must. You hope you're not thinking too much into it but, you couldn’t help but think when he said “She loves you, so any excuse to see you, she’ll take…” he really was talking about himself. You bite your lip and roll your eyes. You want him so badly. So bad you feel like you are going to explode. You lean your head back against the door and sigh.

Saturday comes around soon enough, and you spend the whole evening and next morning preparing for the day. You clean your house, chop lettuce, tomatoes and onions for burgers, cut up a watermelon and make a macaroni salad. Even though you hadn’t explicitly asked for his help, you had a feeling Joel would want to help grill and you’d gladly take it. You prepare a cooler with a few beers and some water and put it in your garage fridge. Next you set up the pool area. You lay the cushions on the pool chairs, unwind the umbrellas and set out a few pool noodles. Everything looks perfect and your first guests start arriving around 12:08. More and more people arrive and at around 1:30, you finally see Joel and Sarah pulling up. He walks in with his own cooler and a swim bag. He approaches you while Sarah runs off to the other neighborhood kids.

“Well hey cowboy! Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah sorry we are late. Work called last minute and I had to help them order some more flooring for our site.”

“No worries. But these people are getting hungry and maybe you could help grill. I hate to put you to work…”

“Ain’t no trouble darling.”

“Ok I’m going to change. The patties are already formed, just in the fridge.”

Joel follows you inside and heads into your kitchen, poking his head in the fridge. You walk upstairs to your bedroom and change into your swimsuit. You had gone out that week and picked out a new suit. It was white, a two piece, the edge frilled, and it shaped your figure so well. You spin around and admire how it sits on your ass. The back had a cheeky build, and totally gave the viewer an idea of how your cute little ass looks. Not to mention the way it rides up, exposing your cheeks slightly, it’s perfect and you can’t wait for Joel to see you in it. You put your jean shorts back on and find one of your white, open-knit, pool coverup and a red, and a worn USA baseball cap. You pull your ponytail through the loop of your hat and spin around one last time.

Rushing down the stairs, only to find Joel already outside starting the grill. You sigh in disappointment. You take a beer from your fridge and try to open in on your own. Then Joel walks back inside. Even though your back is turned to him, he can tell you are struggling.

“Need help?”

You jump and turn around, your tits bouncing slightly as you turn, which Joel notices. He also seems slightly speechless as you turn to face him. His sentence cut off, face frozen, as if you stole the words from his mouth.

“Uh yeah, thanks.” You hand him the bottle and he takes it, uncapping it like it’s nothing. He hands it back to you and you take a swig.

“Oh hey so because I was so outta sorts getting out the door, I totally forgot to get sunscreen. You got any, Sarah is itching to get in the pool.”

“Of course” you run back up to your bathroom, find a 50 SPF bottle and head back down stairs. Joel calls out to his daughter and she comes rushing inside. At the sight of your face she enthusiastically calls your name and rushes towards you. You hold her in your arms.

“Hey sunshine!”

“We brought brownies!” She proclaims

“Oh did your dad make them?”

“Mhmm. Well he helped, I really was the baker!” She insists

Joel lets out a playful chuckle and rolls his eyes in amusement.

“Yeah, especially with all those eggshells you had to fish out?”

“At least I know how to preheat the oven.” She claps back

Joel smirks and then looks at you. He has always appreciated how loving and kind you are to Sarah. He appreciates knowing that when she’s with you, she’s in more than good hands. And you adored her as well.

“Hey! let her get that sunscreen on ya.”

“I’m fine! I’ll stay in the shade!” Sarah protests but before she can scurry off you’re already squirting it into your hand, applying it to her shoulders.

“You know you don’t have to listen to him. I thought you’re supposed to be the fun one!” She whines, and you smear her face. She scrunches it up in displeasure.

“I am the fun one. This is called fun in the sun, sunshine.”

She groans and pulls her face away.

“You know I think I saw a bomb pop with your name on it out in the garage fridge, if you can still hang in there for one more second.” You promise. “Ok there. Top shelf in the garage. Bring a few for the other kids. Ok?”

“Yes!” She states firmly and rushes off into the garage

“She just loves to keep ya busy…”

“Tell me about it.” Joel rolls his eyes “you uh…you look nice…” he swallows nervously

“Thanks, it’s new. I got it for today actually.”

“Oh really. Trying to impress someone?” He asks

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You quip back, smirking “how’s those burgers coming along”

“Grills still heating up, this is really nice of ya to invite everyone. Sarah hasn’t really had much pool time with soccer.”

“Well you two are invited over anytime.”

“Appreciate the offer. What else do you need for these burgers?”

“Here” you state, turning to the fridge and opening it.

You grab the toppings, cheese, and condiments and follow him outside. As Joel grills, you make your way around, chatting with your fellow neighbors. Eventually you get in the pool with a playful “go on sugar, I’ll holler at ya when they are ready” from Joel. As you strip off your top and shorts, Joel checks you out from across the pool. He can’t help but let his eyes linger on the curves of your body, the way your bikini bottoms hug your ass, and how nice and perky your boobs sit on your chest.

You notice him checking you out, your own eyes hidden behind your sunglasses. You try not to look so much, but with his back to you, it’s easier to admire his broad shoulders. And you have to admit, Joel is absolutely radiating domesticity. You could easily get used to this sight. Sarah splashes around you, pretending to be a mermaid looking for pearls and you throw sinking rings for her to dive for. Joel catches you playing with Sarah, and smiles. The smell of hamburger meat fills the air and Joel calls to you. You throw some more rings in to keep Sarah occupied and head out of the pool.

“How are these, little lady?” Joel asks as you approach

“Fantastic! Let’s put cheese on half of them.”

“You got it!”

People start to gather for food and you help Sarah dry off and get her a plate.

“Cheese or no cheese baby?” Joel asks Sarah as she approaches the grill

“Cheeeese!” She smiles, showing off her big smile to her dad

“What about you doll?” He asks you

“Same as her.”

After you eat, you wait a while to get back in the pool. You lay out with a few of the girls from the neighborhood Wine Club. As you chat, Joel admires the way the sun glimmers off your body. With most of the food served, Joel joins his daughter in the pool. You watch as he takes off his shirt, gawking over his bare chest. His shoulders cut into his neck so sharp and clean and you can help but want to feel how strong he is. And You smirk to yourself, happy to finally see him exactly how you wanted to. And he looks damn good in his turquoise-green trunks.

“I’ll be right back…” you excuse yourself, striding over to Joel, swaying your hips

“Can I get you a drink? I’m getting another beer, and maybe one of those brownies I heard about.”

“Oh I want one!” Sarah exclaims

“If you get out you’re getting more sunscreen on ya babe..” Joel promises

“She can bring me one and I can eat in the pool!”

“No, no baby. C’mon.” He argues, lifting Sarah out of the pool and onto the pavement.

“Awww!” Sarah whines, swinging her arms and legs.

You hold her hand and take her to the food, you grab a towel, wrap her in it and get her a small plate. You place a brownie on it and hand it to her.

“Can I have two?” She bats her eyes

“Go ask your daddy…”

She waddles over to Joel, squatting down to ask him. He rolls his eyes and nods and she trots back to you.

“He said I can!”

As the afternoon turns into evening, more and more people head back to their homes and pretty soon the sun is setting. You start to clean up, picking up plates and empty bottles and taking them inside the house.

The last few neighbors pop in to thank you and say goodbye and behind them is Joel.

“Hey…need some help?” Joel asks you

“Oh you’ve done more than enough. Y’all headed out?”

“I uh...sent Sarah home with the Adler’s. They said they’d watch her for the evening until I got back.“

“Oh! Well I would have loved to say goodbye to her.” You frown

“I bet she would have too, but she passed out on my knee even with everyone running around. Danny wanted to get his Ma home anyways…” he explains

He walks up to the kitchen counter and places a few empty beer bottles down. You smile and thank him. He helps bring in a few more bottles and follows you around with a trash bag as you pick up plates and plastic silverware. After everything is cleaned up and the pool is closed up, you and Joel head inside.

“Well I don’t wanna keep you from Sarah much longer.”

“It’s ok, unless that’s your way of kindly kicking me out, then by all means I’ll head out.” He smirks

“No no, you can stay if you like…”

“You sure?”

You nod and he closes the sliding door leading out to the pool, locking it.

“I don’t have much beer left, but you seem like a whiskey guy to me.” You imply

“I sure do.”

You pour him a glass and he leans over your counter. He smiles and he holds the glass to his lips and sips.

“I really appreciate ya Joel.”

“It’s no trouble.”

There is a brief moment of silence as you take a sip of your whiskey and gaze into his big brown eyes. You can’t help but feel he’s looking at you in the same way. A wave of desire washes over you and just as you're about to speak, possibly trying to make a move, Joel strides over to you.

“Ya know if ya ever need my help, I’ll always be willing. Whatever you need…”

“You’re too sweet Joel, I feel like I need to make it up to you.”

“Maybe you can, baby…” the words slip from his lips and steal your breath away. You gasp and move in closer to him.

“I’m sorry, can I call you baby?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Yeah? Well then baby, kiss me…”

You lean up, cupping his face and pressing his lips against your own. He holds your face in return, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks and moaning into your mouth. Your hands move to cup his neck as you move your face, deepening the kiss. Joel clutches your jaw, pulling you closer and raising you onto your tippy toes. You chuckle against him. This is finally happening. You’re finally kissing the man you’ve dreamed of. Ever since him and Sarah moved in, you have wanted him. It was no secret. Perhaps that’s why the Adler’s offered to watch Sarah. To give you this moment. And you’re ever so thankful.

Joel’s calloused palms move to your waist, slowly trailing down your body, feeling the sides of your bare skin. You hadn’t bothered putting your swim shirt back on after the pool and you were grateful. You welcome his fingers and let out a girlish giggle, his feather light touch overwhelming.

“How late do you wanna stay?”

Joel checks his watch. It’s 8:10.

“I told the Adlers I would be back by 9 so I mean…is that enough time for you…”

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” You smile against his face, kissing his cheek.

With that he returns his mouth to your own and he moves to cup under your shorts. He squeezes your ass and moves his hands under your thighs. In one swift motion he picks you up and is moving you both to your couch. You and him stumble into it and he sits down with you on his lap. You gasp and pull back.

“Ok that was fucking hot Miller, my god could you get any sexier.”

“You know what’s sexy…” he implies, pulling on the front of your bikini top, snapping the strap

“You like it?”

“You look like an absolute snack in this thing darling. And your ass, fuck I couldn’t stop looking at it by the pool.” he pants

“Glad you noticed. I was trying to impress you if you didn’t pick up on that when I told you.”

“Oh I did, and it worked. It definitely worked.” He sighs, sealing his words with another searing kiss.

You rock against him as his mouth moves with yours. You simply can’t get enough of him like this and he desperately wants to devour you. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. He moves to squeeze your ass again, fingers dancing underneath your jeans. He grabs and gropes you, causing you to whine and whimper into his mouth.

“I love those pretty little noises you make, baby. I can’t wait to hear what other noises you make for me.” He whispers

He pulls at the hem of your jeans, tugging on them until they slide down your ass. You stand up, pulling them down your smooth legs. He starts rubbing the back of your thighs, moving his hands up and down and settling them underneath the cheek of your ass. He pulls your waist close to his face, your pelvis practically grinding up against his nose and lips. You delicately place your hands on his shoulders as he admires you.

“Let me see that cute little ass of yours again, babydoll”

Then suddenly you are spun around and he grips the strings of your bikini bottoms slowly pulling them down. As he does, he kisses the bear skin that’s being revealed to him until his lips are consuming your ass. You let out a sigh, arching your back slightly as his mouth finds your core. He dives in, placing his hands on the meat of your ass and nuzzling into your cheeks. His soft lips began to kiss your folds, and you buck up against his face. He growls against you, groping your cheeks and diving in to taste you. His mouth and tongue finds your clit and he begins to lap at it. He’s so hungry for you. So desperate to drink up your juices like a sweet nectar. Your legs quiver slightly and Joel notices. He wraps his hands around the front of your thighs, steadying you , while simultaneously pulling you closer to his mouth. He pulls back quickly, replacing his mouth with his fingers. He rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves feverishly, cooing as you moan and whine.

“Tastes so good. So fucking good baby.” He whispers.

He mouths at your pussy, his saliva mixing with your juices, making you so wet. You’re throbbing into his mouth and he places a few chase kisses to your cunt, before pulling away. He takes his shirt off and tosses it aside. He gives your core a few more open mouth kisses then spins you around once more, and you take off your top. You slowly pull the dainty string, letting your bikini top fall off you and onto his lap. He moans, clutching the top in his hand. You move to straddle him and he tosses the top on the ground.

Before you can put your weight on him, he bucks his hips, taking his trunks off. His cock springs forward and he takes his incredible length in his hand. He slowly pumps himself and you lower your ass onto his thighs. You don’t quite sink into him yet, wanting to appreciate this moment with him. He cups your ass and you clasp the back of his neck. He leans forward to press feather light kisses along your jaw and neck. Then his actions get more aggressive as he starts to manipulate your breasts. You mewl and arch into him. Your entire body starts to slowly rock against his, teasing him with your wet core on his cock.

“Fuck I want you. I can feel ya. So wet.”

You nod, biting your lip and Joel loves his hand down in between your legs again. He plays with your clit for a moment, before sinking a finger in you. You buck up on him, and steady yourself on his shoulders. He pumps his finger into you, loving the way your heat and juices consume his digit. He adds another one, and you feel so incredibly full.

“You ready for me?” Joel murmurs against your neck.

“Mhmm, please Joel. I’ve wanted this for so long!” You gasp as he removes his fingers. He wraps his hand around his cock, guiding it to your entrance. The tip pokes in, then you engulf the rest, taking his full length in you. He lets out a staggering moan as he works his lips down to your collarbone and valley of your breasts. You move your hips, slowly grinding on his cock and your tits bounce in his face. He chuckles and looks up at you. He sits back, holding your hips as you ride him.

“Fucking look at you girl. So gorgeous my god.”

You giggle in return, feeling up your body and playing with your boobs.

“That’s it, put on a little show for me.”

You bounce on him, continuing to feel your body and then you touch your clit, swirling it around in between your fingers. You let out a long, breathy moan, tilting your head back.

“Mmm Joel, Joel Joel Joel….” You hang his name as he squeezes your ass harshly. He helps you move, shoving your body onto his cock and moving his hands to hold your hips.

“That’s it. Oh my god you’re perfect…”

You learn back slightly, rolling your hips and tummy. He splays his hands over your waist, his breath hitching. He loves watching you move. He loves how you feel and needs more. Joel moves expertly to stand up, keeping himself buried inside you and, placing you on your back, you yelp as he lays you on the couch. He dives in for your lips again. He crawls on top of you, wasting no time shoving his length into you. Cupping your face. He rocks his hips, his cock filling you up once again. He speeds up, drilling into you. Your legs fold up to your chest, giving him better access to your pussy. As he thrusts into you, his beautiful eyes meet your own, his gaze thirsty for more. He rests his forehead against you and pants.

“You close?”

“If you touch me again. Play with me a little then I’ll come… please Joel…”

“Yeah? Like this baby?”

He aggressively rubs your core, his hand in sync with his hips. You nod and let out a series of incoherent babbles. You move against his hand and cock, a pool of ecstasy filling your stomach and drowning your senses. Your heat builds and builds until you break. You clench down around him, your breath leaving you as Joel’s mouth falls onto your own. With a few more of his own pumps, his seed is spilling inside you.

“Oh shit” he curses “fuck baby it’s just you felt so good shit I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine I’m on the pill.”

“You sure it’s ok?

You nod and he kisses you deeply, lips pressing firmly on your own. You moan, holding his face.

“You just might be the most perfect thing on the planet, ya know that?”

“Whatever you say.” you chuckle

“I know this may come off as formal given what we just did, but I really wanna take you out for a drink sometime. Like an actual date. If you want?”

“Yes Joel, I’d like that very much.”

꧁•☀︎•꧂

[highvern]

Aphrodite

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: smut, friends to lovers, established relationship, fluff at the beginning

Warnings: bathroom sex, kissing, groping, fingering, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics but they’re both actually switches (Mingyu is a service top), cumshot, Mingyu is still obsessed with titties, hair pulling, choking (hand around throat but no breath play), doggy style, unprotected sex (not endorsed by author), praise kink and strength kink go burrrrrr, there's a little bit of fluff/angst at the beginning (care/comfort) because she had a hard day at work, porn with feelings

Length: ~3k

Note: Drunk Goggles couple's bathroom scene mentioned in Discovery! the first third is so cute i actually had to close my laptop and step away while editing it so please enjoy my brain rot lol. its implied reader is on birth control and Mingyu knows it but still wrap it before you tap it guys. This was drafted as "Champagne Confetti" but i couldn't post it with that title with a straight face

ALSO stream Mamamoo Wheein's new album In the Mood! Aphrodite was a huge inspiration for the sweeter parts of this fic

read more here

The knob of your bathroom cabinet is digging into Mingyu’s shoulder uncomfortably and his ass freezing on the hard tile, but neither register in his mind much. His sole focus is on listening to you vent about how shitty work was as you wash up behind the flimsy curtain only a few feet away.

“Oh and then she had the audacity to say I should have been more prepared for the meeting! As if she didn’t send me the info an hour before!” You babble, head popping out to look at him. 

Mingyu tries and fails to stifle the laughter bubbling at the sight of your shampoo Mohawk.

“What a bitch!”

“Right?!” You move back into the spray and out of sight.

“She’s just mad because you’re better at her job than she is.”

“I wouldn’t be if she actually did her job.” You sigh.

“I’m sorry baby.”

“‘s not your fault Gyu.”

“Do you want me to beat her up?”

“Yeah, because sending my gigantic ass boy toy after her is gonna get her off my back.” You call, closing your eyes as foam rinses from your hair down your skin.

“The correct term is boyfriend.”

“The correct term is baby daddy.”

“You’re fucking nasty.”

“You love me.”

God, I do.

But it’s too early to say those words with the level of earnestness he feels so Mingyu bites his tongue.

Steam and lavender soap tickle his senses as you wash away the evidence of your previous distress. Your manager is number one on Mingyu’s incredibly short shit list.

Mingyu had barely waltzed through the door of your apartment after work, excited to spend the evening cuddled on the couch with a movie like you do every Thursday. He nearly shit himself when he found you sitting at the kitchen counter, tears staining your face and eyes rimmed red. You dove into his chest and cried for an over hour, unable to speak as wretched sobs escaped your throat. He’s never felt so helpless as he sat there, stroking your back as he held you, whispering gentle affirmations into your hair. It was his idea for you to hop in the shower once you calmed down enough to assure him you weren’t injured and “no, no one died.” 

The entire time, Mingyu sat close by listening intently, chiming in occasionally with agreements. He hadn’t follow you into the stall, void of the desire to worsen your mood. Shared showers were not a favorite in this household. Either it ended after two minutes to move to the bed or one of you hopped out, annoyed that the other was hogging the hot water and leaving them in the cold. Mingyu wanted you to relax but the only way he could relax was to make sure you’re actually okay. Which is why he is planted on the ground near the door like a guard dog, keeping an eye on you in case the tears returned; numb butt and sore shoulder be damned.

The squeak of the faucet signals the end of your bathing, echoed by the ruffle of the curtain as you push it aside to exit the tub. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, a smile spreading at the glow radiating from the apples of your cheeks void of the earlier splotchy dullness. You already look a million times better than when he entered your home.

Mingyu is trying very hard to be a supportive boyfriend while you continue to rant; but it’s challenging when the actual woman of his dreams is standing only feet away, completely nude and soaking wet, skin flushed from scrubbing and glistening in the warm glow of the light above the mirror. It takes all his might to ignore the swell of your breast and gentle the sway of your hips, or the curve of your thighs as you stretch for your towel on the rack above the toilet. The movement sends droplets falling in staccato from your hair plastered against your head onto your shoulder before trailing down your front, tracing dizzying patterns across your skin. His very own Aphrodite, exiting the sea to fill his heart.

“I hope she gets fired soon. I know I didn’t look like an idiot in that meeting, it was all her.” 

“No one thinks you’re an idiot.” He looks down at his hands playing with the cuff of his sweatshirt to distract himself from how you start twisting to towel off, body bending and stretching suggestively as you concentrate.

“She definitely does but who cares.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually.” You smile, towel wrapped around you snugly as you step away from the tub and towards him. “But I could still really use a hug.”

“I can do that.” 

Mingyu jumps up from his place on the floor, beaming at the soft look on your face as he tangles you in his arms. He plants peck after peck across the crown of your wet hair, nose filling with the scent of your shampoo as he squeezes you against him tightly. The remaining moisture on your body is wicked away by the soft fabric of his sweater, covering him in wet spots along his front and down his arms.

“You’re the best.” You sign into his chest as he leaves a kiss on your hairline.

To distract himself from what he really wants to say, Mingyu blows a wet raspberry against your forehead.

“Nope! Never mind!” You squeal, trying in vain to break out of his strong grip. “Get away from me!”

“But baby you just said I was the best!” He counters, arms tighten to prevent you from wiggling lose.

“No, you’re gross and I hate you!”

“GASP.”

You can only roll your eyes at your boyfriend's dramatics.

“You hate me? I wipe your tears, clean up your snot, order us take out, and you hate me?” Voice rising in pitch, he gapes at you.

“You ordered take out?”

“Focus on me! I’m hurt. Devastated!”

“Oh no, what will I do?” You deadpan, but the twitch of your mouth betrays your amusement.

It’s a dangerous game given you’re still locked in his arms and his penchant for being over the top.

“I’m deeply deeply wounded missy. So there’s only one way I’ll forgive you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss?” He says with puppy dog eyes and puckered lips that makes him look like a fish.

“Oh my god!” You cackle at his ridiculousness.

“Oh, there she goes again! Do you not care about me at all?”

His question is punctuated by him collapsing against you and fake crying. Laughter bubbles in your chest like champagne. Mingyu makes you feel better without even trying.

“Alright, come here you big baby. Let me give you a kiss.”

Matching smiles meet in a sweet kiss. In your relationship, one kiss frequently becomes ten or twenty so there's no shock when you keep planting pecks against his lips before moving to tickle them across his cheek, brow, and tip of his nose. Mingyu is all smiles and giggles under your lips as you move back to his mouth.

The short kisses become heated swiftly. You wipe the smile off his face easily enough, thanking the universe it takes almost nothing to get Mingyu started (not that you’re any better). You’re impressed he didn’t jump you when you stepped out of the shower in all your naked glory. Honestly, you’re a little disappointed he didn’t. But now with your towel unraveling from your tussle, pressed against his solid frame as you nip his lips, you know it’s a matter of seconds before Mingyu crowds against you and makes you feel a lot better.

Like clockwork, a simple hum in the back of your throat paired with your nails trailing down his chest sets Mingyu off. He turns with you still in his hold, lifting you up and depositing you on the cool marble of the countertop, pushing your legs apart to make room for himself. Clumsy hands push your towel away, giving him access to play with your chest. When the nail of his thumb scratches your nipple, you arch against him with a sigh. The shift breaks your lips apart and Mingyu wasted no time diving for your throat.

Apparently tonight is one of the few nights Mingyu wants to be a little more demanding with you. The hand not plucking your chest moves the tangle itself amongst the wet hair at the crown of your skull, giving a firm tug that has your spine arching, stretching your neck with a whine to give more space to bite along your throat. Teeth scratch against the cords of muscle, but his tongue soothes the abused skin immediately after; even when he’s rough, he treats you like a princess. You feel yourself clenching around nothing at the maddening combination of sensations.

“Please, Gyu”

“Please, what?” He asks, not budging an inch from where he latches to your collarbone.

“Touch me.” You whimper.

His mouth replaces the hand pinching your chest, sucking your abused nipple into his blistering mouth. The hand that was on your chest, skates down between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, letting your foot find purchase on the handle of the cabinet next to you to spread you wide.

He starts slowly, middle finger parting your downy lips to trace from your entrance to your mound. The calloused pad of his finger nothing more than a gossamer touch against your heat, maddening as it teases you. Curling your hips upwards, you give him more space to circle your entrance before he dips his middle and ring finger inside, thumb stretching to caress your swollen clit.

“So wet already.”

“If you had a boyfriend that treats you how you treat me, then you’d understand why.” You pant into his hair.

“Think I understand plenty.” He replies, moving your hand to caress his dick where it sits tented in his shorts.

The bathroom is filled with shameless whines and puffs of breath as you work each other up. You’ve successfully gotten a hand into his underwear, fisting the head of his cock in a tight rhythm just how he likes. The other busies itself scratching down his back as he preps you for what's to come by twisting two fingers inside you, heel of his hand grinding against your clit with every thrust.

“Need you inside.” You whisper into his mouth.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

“Mhmm,” your tone is verging on pathetic but his reaction washes away any embarrassment.

“Then be a good girl and turn around.”

Mingyu steps back, giving you space to quickly jump off the counter to turn your back to him. He busies himself with removing his sweater while you settle on your elbows, ass pushed out in front of him teasingly. It gives him pause, easily distracted by the arch of your spine and the subtle jiggle of flesh as you rock from one foot to another. You watch in the mirror as he blinks lazily, using one hand to push down his pants while the other cups a cheek, squeezing it in his palm. When his shorts are finally pooled around his ankles, he steps closer to let his length rest on your ass.

You can feel his leaking tip brush your tailbone, leaving a faint trace of dampness across your skin as you roll on to the balls of your feet to grind back on him. The rigid velvet of his shaft has arousal dripping down your thighs crudely.

You watch his face with rapt attention in the mirror. He’s hypnotized by how his cock looks pressed snug against your rear, resting hot and heavy in the valley of your cheeks. His throat bobs with a harsh swallow; hands wrapping around your sides, lazily tracing the curve between the bottom of your ribs to your hip bones. Mingyu’s hips move of their own volition, rutting across your ass as his cock continues to drool on your skin.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Come on baby, I had a hard day. Need you to make me feel better.”

Mingyu's eyes find yours in the mirror. You know the pout on your lips will get you everything you want. Mingyu knows it too.

“Condom,” he prompts. 

There’s a stash in the drawer to your left but Mingyu is fully aware he lacks the will power to reach over and grab one when his hands are filled with something so much more enticing right now.

As you shake your head with a mischievous quirk of lips, he’s pretty sure you’re playing a cruel joke on hum.

“Shit,” He curses. “Are you serious?”

“Fuck me, Gyu.”

Palming his cock, Mingyu recites a silent prayer that he doesn’t blow his load immediately. This is the first time he gets to fuck you raw and goddamit if it’s short lived. Tracing his tip through the mess between your legs, he collects your arousal to lube him up. He can feel how soaking you are at the idea of him fucking you without the barrier of latex, inner thighs smeared with your essence. Hopefully you’ll come as quickly as he probably will.

“You’re so dirty, letting me stuff you with my cock like this. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you gasp when he nudges your clit. “Your dirty girl.”

“That’s right, my dirty girl.” He growls as he pushes inside you.

The first inch has you both closing your eyes, vision filled with stars. As nice as he feels bare inside you, it’s the mental is getting you off more than the physical. Every time Mingyu stretches you out on his cock is a treat, but the knowledge that the flared head of his cock pressing deep inside is leaving traces of his seed along your walls has you breathless. You’ve never let anyone else fuck you like this and a part shielded in your chest hopes he’s that last to.

Mingyu is more or less losing his shit behind you. The scorching wet clamp of your silky inner muscles that he’s only felt on his tongue or fingers is better than he could ever imagine. Your pussy gushing to coat his cock as he splits you open has him on the verge of tears. When he’s settled in, your ass pressed firmly to his pelvis, you wiggle against him.

Mingyu responds by pressing forward, pinning your hips to the counter harshly to prevent you from moving again. You’re clenching around him so hard, it takes all of his self control not to cum. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You mewl.

You’re really not helping.

“Calm down.” He grits out, both to himself and you.

“Need it.”

“Oh you need it?” He chides, delivering a bruising thrust.

You reward him with a sharp whine.

“Calm down baby, I'll give it to you. Always do, don't I?”

One hand circles the base of your throat, not squeezing; just resting the curve against his palm as his thumb trails along the side of your neck. It stops your breath anyway. But then Mingyu leans down to press his chest with your back, face coming into view right over your shoulder to whisper in your ear while looking you in the eye through the mirror.

“But you gotta be a good girl and spread it for me.”

You heave at his words, afraid you might pass out. Hands scramble to grab your own ass cheeks, pulling the flesh apart so he has a clear view of your pussy sucking him in as he starts curling his hips inside you.

The way he’s fucking you is vulgar. Hand wrapped around your throat as the other moves back into your hair, your own brushing the tops of his thighs as he cants against your ass, balls slapping against your pussy with each thrust. Mingyu leans back to watch himself disappear into your cunt, pulling you up into an arch. The feel without a condom is melting his brain but the visual absence of latex is doing incredible damage to his psyche too.

You both are a mess of sweet whines and rough groans, bathroom echoing with the clapping of skin and wet squelch of your full pussy. Breaking his focus on the way your entrance stretches to accommodate his thick cock splitting you open, Mingyu looks in the mirror to watch the way your tits bounce in time with his hips; your mouth open in a silent scream, eyes misty with delirium as you watch him watching you.

“Feel so fucking good like this, shit.” He pants. “Hear how wet you are? Fucking love it don’t you?”

Your head falls forward pathetically, only stopped by the palm still resting around your throat. When Mingyu gives a tentative squeeze, you whimper a quiet agreement. He watches as you force a hand between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles to push you closer to the edge.

“Gonna come,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Mingyu asks, excitement clear as day. He tilts his hips to fuck deeper, stretching you just a little bit wider on his cock to send you home.

“Fuck!” You sob, tensing as your orgasm washes over you. 

Every muscle in your body ignites, squeezing impossibly tighter as electricity snaps through your nerves, licking your veins and exploding your field of vision in a blinding white. Like a taunt bow string being released, you curl in on your chest as you clench around your boyfriend’s cock, gushing down shaky thighs. Your free hand grips the edge of the sink, holding on for dear life as you twitch in his hold.

“Where do you want it?” Mingyu cries, two seconds behind you and using his last functioning brain cell to not piss you off by assuming he can finish inside despite wanting nothing more. “Gotta tell me where you want, Y/N.”

“On me, wanna feel you on me!” You cry, still playing with your clit as you pry open teary eyes to watch Mingyu from the mirror.

A bright red blush spreads across his chest and up his neck, glistening with beads of sweat and condensation from the steam clogging the air. His bottom lip swollen from where it's locked between clenched teeth, neck straining and biceps bulging from his harsh grip on your body. He has enough sense of reality to slip the hand around your throat into your hair, gathering the strands in a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of the way of the mess he’s about to make.

He pulls out with seconds to spare against a tsunami of pleasure that begins to surge through his body, beginning in his balls and crashing outward to swamp his nerves. It ripples across his skull, raising goosebumps in its wake as it ebbs through his blood stream. Mingyu’s abdomen flexes as he fists his cock still slick with your combined arousal over your ass; thick streaks of his seed rushing forward. You feel a hefty rope land between your shoulder blades, the sticky heat intoxicating as it trickles down your back. A few drops sputter on the dip of your spine and your hand still spreading you wide, decorating you in his own diamonds.

Mingyu can’t help the way he stares at your hole, obsessed with how you clench around nothing like you’re missing something. He wishes he was watching you squeeze around his dick, his cum dripping out of you with each pulse of muscle. Maybe someday he’ll get to.

As your orgasms subside, weariness circles on the edge of your senses. Two sets of eyes flutter shut, chests heaving and hearts beating in time. Unwinding his hand from your hair, Mingyu lets it gently rest next to your hip on the counter, preventing him from collapsing against you and into the sticky residue he’s left. He can’t feel his legs, head empty of coherent thought. Unconsciously, his thumb traces the dimple at the base of your spine, the gentle caress grounding him to his body. 

The quiet of the bathroom is only disturbed by the hum of the overhead fan. You both are spent, muscles weak and nerves fried. Occasionally a deep breath interrupts but it's peaceful as you bask in each other's presence. 

“Oh my god,” you pant, breaking his trance. 

“Hmm?”

“How did you get cum on the mirror?”

[shawnxstyles]

baby honey

OCTOBER 29, 2023

summary: besides being a friendly bartender at night, harry likes to get a little extra cash by doing porn during the day; and he’s successful. but who knew it was so common for two people who work at the same bar to both be secret porn stars?

request: @victoria-styles: “How about like Harry is a porn star who requests a video with Y/N.”

song: baby honey- harry <3

words: 11k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [masturbation], m-receiving [masturbation], mentions of porn, dirty talk) and language.

note: sorry for being off the world for so long… i’ll probably end up doing it again soon. but i had a day to write and i wanted to throw this out there. again, i apologize if it’s rushed or sloppy. it’s just the time i had :/ PART TWO

secret pornstar!harry x secret pornstar!y/n

—

“What’d you like, beautiful?” Harry smiles brightly, flashing his white bunny teeth at the lady on the other side of the bar. Her auburn highlights were curled romantically while she sported a tight black dress that was too small for her breasts. She was definitely a young college student while Harry was in his late 20s. Noticing his appearance, she bites her burgundy-painted lips. Her elbows lean on the slick counter, leaning forward to subtly show Harry more of her cleavage.

He didn’t indulge, but continued with his flirty attitude in order to get more tips. Charm was his speciality; it came naturally to him with no effort. After bartending for two years, everything became easy. Plus, it was fun to flirt all night long. He never got tired of the desire that flashed in women’s eyes as they looked him up and down. It made him feel confident and cocky, and he tried his hardest not to be arrogant when talking about it with his co-workers.

Being a bartender was like playing a role for some people, but for Harry, it was just who he was. And he got paid for it. In a nice paycheck and hefty tips.

“Mm, I don’t know. What do you suggest?” Her voice was high and hissy, trying to appear sensual. She slides a card toward him with two fingers. Harry doesn’t blink an eye or hesitate at this behavior; he’s seen this movie too many times to be naive.

With a smirk on his face, Harry works his magic behind the counter. His white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, giving the lady a perfect view of his forearm muscles and veins. The woman watches his every move, focusing on the way his tattooed hands grip every bottle with efficient skill yet delicacy.

In less than two minutes, a peach colored drink was placed in front of the woman. Her eyes visibly sparkle as if she’s never seen alcohol before she sips the liquid.

“Oh my God! This is delicious,” She practically moans out, causing Harry to smirk. He loves when people compliment his craft. “What is this?”

“Sex on the beach,” Harry winks and flashes his famous grin before snatching her card and waltzing away.

His parting was almost cool, almost movie-like until he ran into somebody holding a large tub of ice. The tub smacked him in his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He groans deeply, trying to catch his breath while clutching his stomach for a moment.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Your eyes wander over Harry’s face and body, attempting to recover. Hearing his voice made a flush spread across your whole skin, but you blame it on the warmth around the bar. Your white and yellow-painted fingers clutch around the handles tightly.

“Yeah, m’fine. Just knocked the wind out of me s’all,��� He smiles reassuringly, throwing his rag over his shoulder. His eyes scan over your figure, just like he tries to avoid doing every night.

You had your hair pinned up in a messy bun that was simple, yet so alluring. A classic white button up and a black vest adorned your body perfectly. You wore the same standard uniform as everyone else, yet you made it look so seductive to Harry; he assumed you got loads of tips by the end of the night. Even if you were in a garbage bag, you would blow people away in the bar–men and women. He was jealous of everyone who got to be a part of your flirtatious side, but not everyone saw the genuine side of you like he had.

Another flush cascaded your skin as his eyes drifted over you and the smallest smirk appeared on his lips. The sounds of music and people buzzing drunkenly weren’t nearly as loud as the heart that was thumping in your chest. You clenched the handles even harder before looking anywhere but him, too intimidated by his charming presence.

“I’ll just, um,” You suggested awkwardly with a half smile. Standing this close to Harry without talking made you think of things. Things that you dreamt about, or things that inspired your hand to drift between your legs. The ice in the tub was probably melting from the warmth radiating off of you.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry shakes his head and shifts in an attempt to move past you.

You adjust the tub as he slides next to you, bodies rubbing together. His hand gently rests on your shoulder as he wiggles by you. Butterflies soar throughout your tummy at the brief contact before his touch is gone way too soon. You watch as his smile grows, walking backwards before turning around and charming another customer.

You exhale and return to focusing on your job, the bubbly feeling never leaving you.

From the corner of his eye, Harry sees you walk around the corner until you’re completely out of his sight. The black slacks you wore made him tight in his trousers a countless amount of times, basically every night. Even though he tried to avoid staring, his gaze and curiosity was drawn to you, so he hopelessly stared at your body as you strutted away. When his greedy cock twitches, he bites his tongue.

Well, at least he knows what he’s thinking about later.

God, it was so wrong. To think about you while he was getting himself off. He couldn’t help himself. After working with you for a year, his attraction to you never ceased. He thought if maybe he just got off on the idea of you one time he would be freed from the attraction he felt for his co-worker. But that only created a routine.

Harry would hook-up occasionally, and yeah, it would be nice, but nothing satisfied him completely because they weren’t you. He consistently found himself masturbating with thoughts of you on your knees. Or you on his lap, straddling or riding him. He would imagine the way you’d whine, whimper, moan, and scream for him, and these thoughts made him come hard every time.

But that nagging, unsatisfied feeling haunted him. He wanted you so bad it almost hurt. So, he resorted to other, less practical options.

He had thought about joining the porn industry awhile ago when he was in college. He thought it would be great money, and it turns out it’s even better than what he makes as a bartender.

And he thought being a bartender would make him cocky and arrogant.

Harry started over half a year ago–a few months after you got the job. In order to distract himself from thinking of you or sleeping with other women, he recorded videos during the day. Surprisingly, he got more popular than he thought he would, gaining a few thousand subscribers in just three months. Now, seven months since the beginning, Harry would do videos, live streams, and personal requests for people who paid extra.

But he never showed his face. Ever.

At night, he would work his busy shift at the bar, flirting with customers just like he did on live streams. This way, he couldn’t allow himself to engage in the idea of having a crush on a co-worker. It was just unprofessional. But even if he tried doing all of this, it was impossible for him to deny the small crush he had on you. So, that’s all he labeled it as; a small crush. Nothing more.

He wouldn’t say you were his only reason for getting into the industry. He had thought about it for quite some time, so you were just his… motivator.

When the bustling night finally comes to an end, nothing but a few footsteps echo throughout the bar as Harry wipes the counter and tables clean. As he’s just finishing up his last table, he hears your angelic voice on the other side of the bar.

“Need some help?” You offer, with a slight head tilt and a show-stopping smile as you lean on the glossy, black counter. That was the smile that got you tips, and if it didn’t, Harry would sure be willing to give you some himself. “Please let me help.”

“Just finishing up. Go on home. Don’t worry ‘bout closing up,” He tosses the rag over his shoulder as he walks towards the back room where all the locker rooms are located. You sigh into the silent air as you follow him.

“Harry, you can’t keep doing this for me every night. I can close up by myself. I’m a big girl…”

Ever since you’ve started, Harry’s been intrigued by you. Out of curiosity on your first night, Harry stayed back and helped you close up. He was surprised they made you close so soon, especially on the first night. But you should’ve had previous training.

It was purely curiosity, just to see if you did it right and whatnot. But then he did it the next night, and the next. And eventually, he anticipated and looked forward to cleaning up the bar, knowing that it was just the two of you. It didn’t really help Harry with his little crush on you, but he didn’t care when he heard your laugh and saw your smile. You were refreshing to him after a long, busy night that crept into early morning.

“I know, I know. Don’t want you to be lonely s’all.” Popping open his locker, he shuffles through all of his belongings. You appreciated that Harry would stay an extra hour every single night just because he didn’t want you to feel lonely. It made your heart all warm and your stomach feel gushy every time you were alone together. For some reason right now, his words made your tummy tingle.

“And I appreciate that a lot! But I feel bad for making you stay here longer than you have to. I know Carrie doesn’t even know you work that late,” You cross your arms while talking about your manager. Harry rolls his eyes as he continues to mess around in his locker.

“You’re not makin’ me do anything. I’m doin’ it all on my own,” He rebuttals as you move closer to him as if he’ll hear you clearer.

“But Harry–” Harry cuts off your voice because it sounds too whiny, pathetic, and way too erotic for him to make any rational decisions with you standing this close to him. He slams his hand on the metal locker, making your eyes widen and freeze.

“But nothing. Stop your whinin’, Y/N. I thought you were a big girl,” Harry grumbles before unbuttoning his vest and shrugging it off. Even if he’s just removing his vest, his hands are a bit shaky, nerves flowing through him because you’re staying right in front of him, unmoving, while he’s undressing himself.

“What are you doing?” You ask anxiously as your eyes flash over at his movements.

“Taking m’vest off?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Well, now, you look fucking stupid.

You both bicker back and forth until Harry caves and you shine that bullet-proof smile at him. He swears he feels his knees buckle and heart jump in his chest, but swallows the feelings down.

“Fine, get the mop.”

Together, you wipe all the surfaces clean, mop the floors, restock any liquors that were empty, and lock the doors. When your job is done, you and Harry walk into the back room to grab your stuff.

“Thanks for staying,” You felt as though it was getting awkward, the silence of your footsteps and the creakness of the locker door.

“‘Course,” Harry replies gruffly and shuts his door. As he leads you out the backdoor, you both start heading in different directions without knowing. Harry usually parks in the same stall every day if he can. However, you don’t and just park anywhere you can.

“Oh. Well, goodnight, H,” You smiled softly as you drifted away to your car. It looked a little different to Harry, but maybe that’s just because it was almost pitch-black outside. Or did you get a new car and he just never noticed? Harry watches you carefully to make sure you get to your vehicle safely, and when you do, he makes his way to his own car.

You didn’t call him H a lot. The first time you did it was by accident when you spilt something on his slacks during your first week in training. He just laughed and cleaned himself up, and then said that nobody had ever called him that besides his mom. For some odd reason, a little spark ignited in you, so you started calling him H, but not all the time since it seemed special. Most of the time when you two were alone. You didn’t want other people saying H when it kind of became your guys’ thing. Besides his mom of course.

Harry loved when you called him H. His mom called him that when he was a little boy, but it’s been at least a decade since she’s said just the pure letter.

As Harry starts his engine and backs out, he inhales deeply with the thought of you in his mind. As always.

–

“Y/N, I need my car back,” Penny says on the other side of the phone, slight annoyance lacing her tone.

“I know, okay? I’m just trying to save up, and I almost have enough!”

“Fine,” Penny sighs. You can hear the exhausted pinch of her nose, “but I need it back by next Friday for that trip no matter what. Even if you have to take the damn bus. And if you don’t, I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

“Thank you so much!” Your voice is cut off by the sound of the call ending, and you sigh heavily into the morning air. She’s very mature for a thirty year old.

Last week, your car had broken down on the side of the road. It was an old, shitty car, but it got you from your parents’ house and through most of college. Your parents helped pay for a good chunk of your tuition, so you didn’t dare to ask them to loan you some money for a new car. You didn’t want them to know you needed help because they’ve already done so much for you two and you know they’re looking to retire at some point. So, you asked your older sister, Penny, to borrow hers for a few days while you came up with a better solution. She was fine with it at first, but you can tell it’s probably time to give it back.

However, even though you said you would have the money by next Friday and it’s Sunday, you wouldn’t. There is no way in hell you were going to come up with an extra two thousand dollars in twelve days.

–

You decided to open up to Harry as you were closing the bar on Tuesday night. He listened with care and nodded along to every complaint you whined. Even though it brutally killed him to listen to it. Gosh, he was so dirty minded.

“I can’t even get a second job because I wouldn’t get paid in time. And I really don’t want Penny playing snitch and telling my parents about my car,” You gasp, “What if they stop paying for my tuition because they think I’m irresponsible? Ugh, what should I do, Harry?”

“Relax f’me,” Harry reassured, and bit his cheek at his choice of words. Why is he the most sexual person ever? “I could always take you to work. And loan you some cash.”

“Absolutely not. We don’t work the same days and I don’t want you driving me when you could be busy—”

“Y/N, s’not an issue. The university s’not that far from ‘ere.”

“But—”

“No,” Harry ended the banter quickly with a strict tone. His voice made you swallow and submit without a second thought. Your stomach unconsciously burned and your heart beated rapidly as you blinked in place. “Go get y’things.”

“Fine, but I don’t want your money.”

So, you got your things. Harry walked you out to your car and then you went your separate ways. Even though he said it’s not a big deal, you didn’t drop it. Instead, you did excessive research on part-time jobs that pay really well. However, your options were slim to none.

Giving up, you fell dramatically onto your mattress in defeat. Suddenly, your phone pings and you check it, wondering who would be texting you at one A.M.

H: Send me your schedule when you get the chance. The new one hasn't been printed yet.

H: You’re probably asleep, sorry

Y/N: i’m not asleep

Y/N: *Image Attachment*

H: Cool thanks

Y/N: no thank YOU for helping me out you’re too kind H

H: Anything for you love

Is what Harry wanted to say, but he was too much of a chicken. That’s what Harry wanted to say in a perfect world, but nothing is on his side. He thought he had erased the message and exited the app. Instead, the message sent, and autocorrect changed the entire meaning.

H: Anything for your love

This is why punctuation and revision is important!

Your heart skipped a beat. Longer than a beat. You felt the organ get caught in your throat and subtly choke you as you read the four words. Why would he say that? You wait a few moments to see if he’s going to type something else, maybe realize he made a mistake, but he never does. So, you sit rereading the four words like a mantra in your head.

You turn your phone off after you realize how ridiculous you’re being. You place the device on your nightstand and try to go to sleep. But you can’t. You can’t stop thinking of Harry. His kindness, his voice, his body, his words… They’re infecting you and giving you insomnia.

So, instead of staring at the ceiling until you fall asleep, you snatch your laptop from below your nightstand. You pull up your private browser (not that it matters) and search your favorite website. Well, your favorite porn website.

If you watched enough videos, or maybe even fingered yourself, you would fall asleep.

You were a regular on the website. More than a regular. You were a… worker. A star, or whatever. Is that what the employees were called? At the beginning of college you started recording little videos of yourself just groping or rubbing hoping to earn a little cash. But when you got a little more confident, you would rub your clit and finger yourself until you came.

Crazy, right?

It’s quite insane how it all happened. It’s a good side hustle, but it’s still not enough to help you buy a car by your deadline. You get paid less than you do as a bartender, which kind of sucks. You thought about quitting, but it’s probably the funnest job you’ve ever had. How many jobs do you get orgasms from?

None.

Maybe you need to step up your game. Maybe you need to start using various toys that your viewers recommend in order to spice things up. Will that get you views? You didn’t know because you didn’t know a lot about the porn industry.

Scrolling past your profile to avoid obsessing over your insecurities, you look at who's live. That’s one thing you’ll never do; go on live. No matter how much the handful of viewers you get want you to, you don’t trust yourself. You never show your face in any of your videos and if you did by accident, you always blur it out. But on livestream, you can’t just go back and fix it. Your face will be on the internet forever, and your biggest fear is that it will haunt you for the rest of your life.

What if you can’t get a real job because your face is on some porn website? Or you can’t get married? Or you can’t look your friends in the eyes because they’ve seen yours on a livestream?

You couldn’t live with that.

When nothing seems at all entertaining, a video of a man with tattoos spawns on your screen. Your first thought was that it looks like Harry, but you know it wasn’t. The man didn’t have the cross tattoo on his left hand and was lacking in other spots.

You bet Harry was fit. The way he carried those tubs of ice or lifted something heavy off the shelves… You knew he had to have some type of hefty muscle under his rolled button-up. Speaking of, when he curls the white sleeves, you can’t help but ogle him every time you see him. You strain to look away because his forearms just look so delicious with his smooth, tattooed skin.

Nonetheless, you still clicked on the video. It was a solo guy simply just jerking himself off with loads of foreplay and dirty talk. Usually, this kind of scene makes you cringe. But as your mind spirals, you imagine it’s Harry; his voice, his tattoos, his body, his hands…

Every explicit word and sound that falls from the man’s mouth causes you to whimper as you translate it as Harry. Your hand easily shuffles itself between your widening legs, rubbing gently over the cotton of your panties.

The guy begins stroking his cock, slowly but surely as his tip leaks. You shut your eyes, not bothering with the video. All you wanted were the sounds—the grunting, moaning, and direct words spouting from this man’s throat that pushed you further. They sounded gruff, and you couldn’t erase how perfectly it aligned with your imagination of Harry.

A broken moan escapes you when you shift your underwear to the side and slot in a finger. You barely teased yourself, and thrusted in and out with purpose.

The man in the video was American, and some may say it’s hard to imagine a British accent. But when you were horny and had a ridiculous crush on your 28 year old co-worker who was 6 years older than you, your brain was relentless.

The audio spouted out his grumbled moan as your opposing thumb rolled over your clit. You couldn’t stop thinking of Harry’s hands on you, his fingers inside of you instead of your own. You imagine he’s good too. You can practically feel the way he sinks all the way into you and curls deliciously until his rings are teasing your folds. His smirk would hang over your face as you broke down, trembling as you came around his digits.

That wasn’t real, but your mind couldn’t comprehend that right now. As the guy loudly groaned one final time, he came with spurts of his orgasm landing on his chiseled torso.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came around two fingers that weren’t Harry’s. The remaining thought left you unsatisfied overall, but it would have to surfice for tonight. As you drained yourself of your orgasm, you trudged to your shared bathroom and quickly cleaned yourself up before anyone could see.

Your dormmates were always in and out. They both were in full-time relationships and jobs that caused them to be busy twenty-four-seven. Sometimes, you were glad because then you could have the whole dorm to yourself. That’s usually when you recorded your videos for your website, and then would edit them some other time.

Now exhausted, you flopped onto your bed and shut your laptop closed. You twisted off your bedside lamp as your eyes grew heavier by the minute. It wasn’t long before your mind dragged you into slumber, the thought of Harry still lingering.

—

When you woke up the next morning, you were glad you didn’t have work that night. Although you’ve selfishly gotten off to Harry before, you never did have to face him the next day. It’s almost like you planned it that way. You groggily rolled out of bed as you normally do and began your short morning routine.

You left the doom and walked to class, too tired to get a coffee, but too tired to go to class. Your head pounded, needing the addicting caffeine, so you forced yourself to walk down to the small coffee shop near your school.

Snatching the miniature paper cup, you skulked your way to class with half your brain on. During the lecture, you felt yourself slipping away into dreamland; one where you had a great paying job, a nice, working car, and a very, very comfy bed. You imagined yourself sleeping peacefully and then waking up to the sound of chirping birds on your windowsill and a handsome man by your side. For a sliver of a moment, due to your shenanigans last night, your brain envisioned Harry as the man beside you. But even the exhausted and delirious morning version of you knew you were being foolish to even think about Harry in the same bed as you. Boy, was that a fantasy.

It was too domestic and way too out of reach for you both. You merely closed with the guy and ranted about your own life. Pouring out your problems was definitely not attractive, and neither was a college girl that was six years younger than him without a working car. But he offered to drive you to work. What does that mean? Nothing. That’s just what friendly co-workers do, right? When you realized you were insanely delusional, you rushed to scribble the notes in your notebook before your daydreams got the best of you.

“That’s all for today,” were your favorite set of words at the moment. The second you heard your professor’s routine dismissal, you were shoving your supplies in your bag with more energy than you had all day. You were the first to exit class, but was that really surprising?

When you got back to the dorm, you dropped your bag and fell flat on your bed. Silence filled your room just as last night (or this morning if you wanted to get technical). But it was brighter and a bit stuffer due to the heat of the sun beaming through your window that you forgot to block with your blinds. Groaning, you do just that right as you get a message from your phone. Flopping back on your bed, you flip the device over with surprise.

H: Do you work today

You were shocked to see that Harry texted you because one, it was mid-day and two, he rarely ever texts. When his name pops up on your screen’s wallpaper, your heart jumps in your chest before reading the message ten more times in order to comprehend it. But this text specifically had you confused. You sent him your schedule last night, so he knows exactly when you work. Why would he need to be asking you when he has the information?

Instead of being a bitch, you just reply simply.

Y/N: i don’t. why what’s up

He responds quickly.

H: Carrie called and asked if anyone could come in to cover Allison’s shift tonight

Y/N: closing?

H: Yeah

Y/N: are you working?

Why would you ask that? You were probably going to pick up the shift anyway, so why didn’t you just say yes?

Maybe because your delusional ass wants to keep this dry, solely work-related conversation going!

H: Yes

Y/N: kk then i can cover

H: Need a ride?

Why did Harry ask that? He knows that you still have your sister’s car for the rest of the week, yet he still asked. Is there a little sliver inside of him that hopes you’ll say yes just so he can spend time with you? Yes. The real question was, is it weird that he wanted you to say yes?

Y/N: it’s okay i still have penny’s car until friday

Harry didn’t respond after that. He was hit with what he assumed was disappointment, but he had no reason to be disappointed.

You were the type of person to ask a million questions until you found out the reason behind something. Harry found that out early on. So, just in case you ask him why he reached out to you, his excuse would be that you needed the money because of Tuesday’s rant. Maybe it would sound a little harsh, but it was better than Harry admitting that he just wanted to work with you again. Or that he wanted to be with you alone.

God, he sounds like such a creep.

When the night came, Harry was impatiently waiting for you to come in. He had already been there an hour and every few minutes his head would look backward to see if you were walking in through the back door. When he realized how weird and obsessive he was being, he refocused on his work; smiling, charming, and getting tips. Some nights were harder than others to act all sexy and sweet because he didn’t always feel that way. But when he worked with you, everything seemed a bit easier. But it was also because he had the dirtiest mind in the world and couldn’t stop thinking about what was underneath your button-up. Okay, so maybe working with you wasn’t the easiest…

“Look at her.”

“Who?”

“That one. The one with the pinned up hair,” A burly man points. “I would not mind gettin’ some of that.”

“Oh yeah. Look at her tits. They are practically poppin’ out of that top–”

Harry’s never turned around so quickly in his life. When he turned, he saw exactly what the two bastards were looking at; you. You were wearing a little more makeup than usual and your top was missing the first button. Harry felt his blood boil, but not with rage. No, it was bubbling up with some intense need to push you into the back room and lock the door. He would pluck off every single button with his mouth if you asked him to. But he also hated that everyone could see. Every person in this bar, including the two perverts behind him, got to ogle your beauty. Harry felt like he couldn’t admire you the way that strangers get to, and he was right. He couldn’t. It was wrong. You were friends. You were co-workers. That had to be against some rule, right?

Once he got his head somewhat straight, he spun back around to face the two men again. Harry was not charming and he was not smiling this time. Before Harry even had the chance to speak, the man was already talking over him.

“Yo, you think you could hook me up with that one? The busty one?” Harry was going to beat the shit out of this guy. But he’s going to try his best to remain professional first.

“You’re not allowed to hit on employees. And you’re not allowed to talk about them in an inappropriate manner,” Harry clenched his jaw and peered over at you, “If you say another goddamn word about her I will kick your ass to the curb, yeah?”

One of the men wasn't even paying attention anymore, but the one who started it all merely snickered at Harry. He shook his head in annoyance before spinning around on his stool and hopping off. He could hear little grumbles coming from his bearded mouth, but he didn’t actually say anything else. Harry felt like it was a little victory in his book, but he still felt that drop of jealousy inside of him.

Control.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on anything else. He attempted to stay as far away from you as possible because he thinks tonight may be the night he loses control. You had your hair pinned up again, like usual, but the ends were sticking out. Harry thought about pulling on them until your hair came undone completely. Like he noticed earlier, you had on more makeup, but it wasn’t a lot compared to some of the women that waltzed into the bar. Your lipstick was a bold red while your eyes had that gold glitter eyeshadow stuff that made them sparkle. To say the least, you were attractive. You were a captivating magnet of beauty that people were drawn to. When you walked in a room, people stopped to look at you for minutes at a time because they were fascinated by you. Well, that’s at least how Harry felt. Every time.

At midnight, when the bar finally died down a bit because it’s Wednesday, Harry still tried to avoid you. You seemed extra smiley and extra bouncy for some reason too. It was physically hard to not walk over to you. When Harry wanted something, he usually got it, but his self-control was proving that fact to be false.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you all night!” Just when he thought you might leave his mind for the first time tonight–you weren’t–he summoned you next to him. You were as smiley and bouncy as you seemed earlier and he wondered how you weren’t exhausted.

“Hey,” he replied with some guilt in his tone. He coughs, trying not to peer down at your breasts. “How are you so…”

“Awake? I had four espresso shots before work.”

“Okay, well, that explains a lot,” Harry felt the need to say something about your look. He wanted to compliment you, but would that be weird? No, right? You probably got a hundred compliments and loads of tips because of your beauty alone. He has never thought twice about complimenting somebody before. He swallowed. “I, uh, like your makeup.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling the weight of your mascara on your eyelashes and the lipstick on your lips. Your heart was already beating quickly because of the caffeine, but Harry’s compliment made it much worse. The organ was thumping speedily inside of you like it was trying to win a race. Your ears were getting warm along with the nape of your neck as a tingle of something shot through your body. Like? Lust? Need?

“T-Thank you,” You bit your tongue immediately for stuttering. Harry ignited a flame of energy into you that no amount of caffeine could recreate. He was staring at you now, his gaze so intense you might melt from his invisible laser beams. When his irises moved, you swear they shot down to your cleavage for a millisecond before staring at your painted lips. You tried not to look at any of his tattoos that were visible because you knew that would end it all for you; all of your self-control that you have somehow mustered up this far would disintegrate into the lust-filled air. Did he feel this too? The intense attraction connected by a thick rope that pulled you closer and closer together?

“I’m going to go do…anything else.” As your body moved away from him in an urge to remain self-controlled, your eyes were the last thing to yank away. But your luck got the best of you, as always. As you walked backwards, your heel stepped on a half-melted ice cube that managed to make you slip on your ass. But not before Harry was right in front of you, catching you before you ass hit the ground.

He tugs you up a little too harshly, slamming you into his chest. Your hands immediately flatten themselves against it while he holds your elbows tightly. He quickly peers down at your chipped nails; white and yellow. His gaze on them made you tremble with sudden insecurity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and all your insides were warning you of their near death. Your vagina was melting away at this point, your wetness soaking your underwear until they were completely wet. You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your throat while his heart throbbed against your palms.

Maybe he did feel it too.

Hesitantly, you looked up at him, but he was already looking at you.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks quietly, his grip loosening just the slightest.

“I could ask the same thing,” You responded breathlessly, hands slowly sliding down his chest.

“I have no control around you.”

“What do you mean?” You knew what he meant because you felt it too, but you wanted him to say it first. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it before the words could come out. Once you are on steady feet, he releases his hold on you completely just as the bar doorbell rings. An older man walks in, Harry immediately fetching the guy’s order. He gets a beer while messaging on his phone consistently. Harry avoided you for the rest of the hour. Two more people came in and he busied himself with their orders and paid attention to only them. You wondered if he was going to stay and close with you tonight or if the encounter was awkward enough to make him go home early.

You take a deep breath before trudging away into the back room to start your close, careful to not slip on any ice because you knew Harry wouldn’t be there this time to catch you.

–

Once the doors were finally locked, you were able to start mopping in front of the bar. The chairs were all flipped and the tables and booths were all sanitized. You peered through the windows as a few people walked by, the mophead gliding easily along the floor. When you were finished, you tried not to think about where Harry was. You’re not sure if he had left for the night because you’ve been in the front and he’s been in the back. As you drag the mop into the back room with its bucket, you witness Harry unbuttoning his vest. Your traitorous heart thumped and your lady parts still ached, even if you were upset he’d been avoiding you without a valid reason. What did he not have control over? Himself? You wanted him to explain everything to you.

“I don’t like this, Harry.”

“What?” he croaked, voice seemingly dry from talking the previous hour.

“You avoiding me,” You took a deep breath, “What do you not have control over?” You saw his jaw visibly tense at the question, but that only made you more curious.

“I can’t do this tonight,” Once his vest was off, he was trying to push past you in the small room, but you shuffled to the side to block him. He was not walking away easily this time.

“No, you’re not avoiding me again. Harry, be an adult, would you?”

“You’re the one that’s blockin’ the doorway like a child so I can’t leave.”

“Well, if you just explained yourself maybe I would usher you to the exit myself,” You crossed your arms stubbornly over your chest. Harry hated that his eyes were attracted to your pushed-up breasts, practically calling out to him. This was his breaking point. This is exactly what he knew would happen. He knew you would ask him a million questions until you found your in-depth answer. He let one admission slip and suddenly he was being bombarded with questions that even he didn’t have the answers to. He was afraid he’d say the wrong thing, and then everything between you would be ruined.

Maybe he would just quit and become a full-time pornstar.

“Why do you stay an extra hour every night to help me close? Because I know you’re not getting paid for it.”

“Maybe I just like helpin’ out.”

“You only do it with me, don’t you? And now you’re avoiding me–”

“Fuck, ‘cause I’m drawn to you, Y/N! I can’t help it. I want to spend more time with you than a single shift. I’m selfish. Have you seen yourself? You walk around like you own this damn place and it has everyone fallin’ onto their knees for ya. You should’ve heard what these guys were sayin’ ‘bout you,” he laughs in the depressing, forced kind of way, “and tonight when you came in with your glitter and your makeup and your tits pouring out of your shirt, you made me think and feel things I can’t say out loud. It feels wrong. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

With a frozen body, you were speechless. The silence that surrounded you both was so deafening that you could barely hear your drumming heart beating in your ears. Your mouth was slacked open, your lips formed in a forever “o” shape. Harry’s words were rushed and tense as if he couldn’t quite get them out right, but he couldn’t have explained it better. While you were starstruck by his admission, he brushes past your still body and exits the back room. You don’t even turn around in time because when you do, you don’t hear the click of his footsteps in the lobby but the plush closing of the back door.

–

The next morning was awful. You could barely sleep due to Harry’s words echoing in your head like a wincing ache, so you were dragging yourself out of bed once your alarm rang at 6 am. Your morning routine felt more mundane than usual as your eyes threatened to shut every few seconds.

As you finally trudged to campus, the curious cat in you kept wandering back to thoughts of Harry. You wondered what he was doing right now in the middle of the day. Did he have another job? Was he hanging out with friends? Family? At one point during your friendship, you had assumed he had a girlfriend because how could he not? A handsome bartender with enough charm to swoon both men and women in a filled ballroom surely would be taken. But after his confession last night, you knew Harry was consumed in a different concept. Maybe Harry didn’t like to date. Maybe he just liked being with women (and maybe men) in an intimate way casually without settling. You weren’t like that. You liked commitment and routine and being steady. That’s why it was unbelievably stressful for your car to break down randomly; it interrupted your plans. So maybe that’s why you couldn’t respond to Harry after his acknowledging words last night–you haven’t had time to process the underlying meaning of his words. You also knew deep down that if Harry only wanted you for sex, you would get hurt in the end. You weren’t one for casual sex because you knew you would get attached. That’s why you have remained such self-control around Harry.

Did he feel that way too?

When you got to the doors of your lecture room, your thoughts became misty in your mind. You push open the door to an empty classroom. You blink away the fatigue in your eyes, thinking your deliriousness has you seeing things–or lack thereof. But when you rub them harshly, the room remains peopleless and you wonder just what you missed. You yank your phone from your pants pocket and tap open your email app. And of course, the most recent and unread email is from your professor last night. He mentions that class would be canceled tomorrow due to a family emergency that happened that evening. At that time, you were too busy drowning in your own overthinking to even check your phone the whole night. As a grumble mixed with a sigh leaves your lips, you plod back to your tiny dorm and hope that your roommates aren’t there. You needed to let off some steam. And you knew just how.

–

Out of all the days in the week, Thursday has always been Harry’s day off. He never works on Thursday or hangs out with his friends because they have work, so it’s just a nothing day for him. Some weeks he uses this day to film new content, but after last night’s incident, he can’t think straight. He hasn’t stopped thinking of you and your lack of words from his admission. And it’s killing him. He wishes you would have said something, anything, rather than just standing still with your mouth wide enough to slip his cock through. His mind keeps coming up with randomized scenarios of what-ifs and it’s enough to make him go mad.

And then there’s the dirty, animalistic part of him that cannot forget how good you looked with your barely buttoned shirt and your wild lipstick. He wanted to kiss you until you were both covered in the red paint. He wanted to tear your uniform so roughly that the buttons would break off completely and you’d never be able to wear that excuse for a shirt again. He wanted to corner you in the back room and show you how much he wanted you and how much he hated avoiding you. But he needed to. For his sake and yours.

Instead of filming one of his requested videos, he just scrolls through the website. Harry doesn’t feel guilty about it because he keeps telling himself that today is his day off and he deserves to take a break. But even with those reminders his brain is running a million miles an hour, chasing you and the what-ifs that lingered on your tongue last night. Even when he tried his very best, he couldn’t stop thinking about you in his subconscious. So as he deepened his search throughout the site, he didn’t even comprehend that he was looking for someone that resembled you.

He seeked various videos until he found an account that drew him in, similarly to how you do on a daily basis. With curiosity, he clicks on the profile before him, reading and watching bits and pieces before indulging. The username was babyh0ney and that alone caught his eye. The girl didn’t say much about herself on her profile, but based on the cover of the videos, she looked young. He couldn’t see her face, which he respected, but still decided to click on a video.

Indulging in her top video, Harry watches with an open mind. But he learns it is extremely difficult when he keeps relating things back to you. He swears at one point you mentioned to him that your bed was a light shade of pink, but he could be imagining it. The sight of the woman’s bare chest has Harry’s gaze locked because he swears that’s what yours would look like if he ever saw them. The peek of hair that rests on her shoulders seems to be the same as yours, too. As the woman drags her hand down her body and towards her panties, Harry starts to feel dizzy with arousal. No one has been able to turn him on as much as you since you’ve been working with him, so the fact that his woman is able to do just that surprises him. He takes the opportunity without questioning and immediately starts palming himself over his loose shorts.

The woman continues to tease herself by rubbing her delicate fingers over her red panties–of course they’re red, Harry thinks. Only the most seductive color. Temptingly, she nudges the tip of her finger into the lace, teasing the audience with her edging. But that draws Harry’s eyes more than he thought. Removing his hand from his throbbing cock, he pauses the video when the woman’s hands are in full view. He zooms in and recognizes the color of the woman’s nails; white and yellow. But not just any woman now, no.

It was you. Harry was sure of it.

As if Harry thought he was dizzy before, he was fully nauseous with shock and arousal now. His eyes can barely believe the sight before him, consuming the video as if it will flash away any second. He rips off his shorts quickly and has his bare cock in his hand in mere seconds. Milliseconds even. His tip was viciously leaking, the slit pulsing and pink. After what felt like ages you finally, slowly and cautiously, remove your underwear. You spread your legs wide enough so Harry (and the audience) can see your fluttering cunt, naked and needy.

God, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. Is it possible to die from a neverending erection?

“Fuck,” You moaned through Harry’s laptop as your painted fingers rubbed generous circles over your throbbing clit. The one word and Harry’s hand was gliding speedily over his cock, wasting no time in the world. Usually, Harry likes to take his time and even tease himself a bit, but with the sight of your gorgeous body straight in front of his greedy eyes, he couldn’t tear away. He couldn’t halt the dangerously quick movement of his hand going up and down on his shaft, chasing a high he’s wanted to for so long. Just as you slip a finger into your cunt, Harry spurts out his selfish orgasm, ropes of white splattering over his tattooed stomach. He barely comprehended calling out your name as he came, and even though it was heedless, he doesn’t regret it. That was one of the most relieving finishes he’s ever had, yet it still felt incomplete somehow, like there was something missing.

He knew deep down inside that he would never truly be sedated until you were physically with him, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. At least any time soon. So for now, this was the best he was going to get.

But that didn’t stop him from going through your account. Harry watched two more videos–without touching himself surprisingly–before he got the courage to message you. His cock was plump and insatiable, wetness dribbling at his tip. He shakily clicked on your profile’s messaging box before asking for a request. He doesn’t second-guess himself because he knows he would never send it if he did that. So with lust as his guide, he hits send.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Hi I just saw some of your videos and I was impressed.

Impressed? That’s what he calls the incessant throb of his dick? Why did he start off like that?

Harry knows that he has more of a page than some small influencers on this site, including you. He hopes that you’ll be more inclined to respond because he’s verified. But he then realized that you might not even be online to see it. He knows that you don’t work today, but it is the middle of the day and you’re probably doing something much more important than–

babyh0ney: really? thank you so much. i’m a fan of your work myself…

Harry felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. You were a fan of him? You watched his videos? Did you know it was him like he knew it was you?

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Really?

babyh0ney: yes

babyh0ney: i wish i could attract the people like you do

DaylightDaddy [verified]: I’d be happy to help

What was he suggesting? Harry didn’t even know what he was typing. His fingers were moving faster than his logic.

babyh0ney: how do i become more attractive?

Harry nearly laughs at that. You were one of the more alluring people he’s ever seen or met, including all the celebrities he’s watched in movies. You were different. The best kind of different.

With the protection of his own screen and the chance you don’t know who you’re actually talking to, Harry responds with confidence.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Honey, you’re one of the most attractive women on here

Your heart skips an unexpected beat from the words on the screen. You weren’t naive. It was obvious this man was flirting with you, but why? To ask for a request for free? To do a collaboration? There is no way this man, a verified star with devilish talent and tattoos galore, would want to do a video with you. In a strange way, you were extremely attracted to him. You weren’t lying when you said you had been a fan of him. In the back of your mind and deep in your soul he resembled Harry in the slightest, mainly from the placement of his tattoos. Some tattoos looked just like Harry’s, but you refused to stare long enough to fantasize.

Unsure of how to reply, you deflect.

babyh0ney: thank you…but have you seen the women on here?

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Yes, that’s how I know I’m right

A heated rush flows through your skin and bundles in your cheeks. You never realized how touch-starved, horny, and lonely you were until some random guy on the internet made you blush. What has the world become?

babyh0ney: but you haven’t even seen my face

Without even trying, you confirmed Harry’s assumption. There was no way you knew it was him you were messaging. Should he spill the beans and admit that he’s seen your face? Or should he play it cool? Well, one is going to make him sound like a stalker, so he might want to go with the ladder.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: I don’t need to. I just know

babyh0ney: why are you really texting me? it doesn’t seem like you want a request…

It was so like you; to ask a serious question when Harry was trying to flirt. You always have to know every little detail. Harry had a love-hate relationship with the fact.

Suddenly, like a lightbulb over his head, Harry had an idea. Something that would benefit both of you, and something that might make Harry feel a little less selfish.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: I do

DaylightDaddy [verified]: But you said you wanted to appear more attractive and I can help

DaylightDaddy [verified]: So what is your favorite thing to do?

You blink at the screen before you. No one’s ever asked what you liked before. It’s always what they want, and if it was something that you refused to do then they just left the conversation. Simple as that. But this person was different. Maybe it was because he was in the industry himself and he knows what it’s like to receive random requests. Whatever his reason for it, you were slightly more confident.

babyh0ney: well i like to use my toys in my requests so the videos aren’t as long

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Favorite toy?

babyh0ney: my bullet because it makes me come fast

babyh0ney: but i haven’t used it in a video yet

Harry could barely type. The swelling of his cock was overwhelming. He couldn’t stop imagining you on your light pink bed sheets, all spread out and wide, with a small, vibrating bullet lodged into your sopping cunt. He roughly palms down on his bulge to ease the immense ache.

Before Harry even had the chance to respond, you sent another message.

babyh0ney: i sent you a video if you want

babyh0ney: and you could give me some advice?

Harry’s inkling of a plan seemed to be setting into motion, and he didn’t even have to roll the ball much. He’s glad that you’re the one suggesting the video more than he is because it proves that you want it. Maybe not as much as he does, but the desire is there. He feels that familiar tug of attraction between you both, and he wonders if that feeling is traveling through the technology.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Perfect. Just do exactly what you do.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Let me send you the money first

babyh0ney: but you’re helping me

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Honey, you know I got the money

DaylightDaddy [verified]: I asked for a request

babyh0ney: but this is different

You’re still not going to take his money? Are you just universally stubborn?

DaylightDaddy [verified]: Why are you so stubborn?

Harry doesn’t realize it until after he sent it that that message may sound a bit personal. How is he to know how stubborn you are if he didn’t actually know you as a person?

babyh0ney: you don’t even know me

babyh0ney: so i guess i can take your money lol

Harry sends the money with ease and no regret. He has been waiting the past week to be able to send you that money so you can finally get your fucking car fixed. But like he mentioned, you’re just too damn stubborn to accept the money from anyone. But when it’s a stranger that you’ll never talk to again on a porn website, it’s fine…

Harry knows that you won’t receive his money until after you send the video, so he waits impatiently. After a minute, he forces himself to leave the chat. He scrolls down your page, mesmerized by your beauty on the covers. But he’s also a little ashamed. He’s ashamed that he is doing this in order to talk to you because he’s afraid of what you will and won’t say in real life. He’s ashamed that he’s been avoiding you because he feels so strongly about you that it makes his insides nearly explode, but in the greatest way possible. It’s insane for him to admit that to himself, but it’s true.

He likes you.

–

Did you take a risk? Yes. Are you fucking insane for it? Yes with a side of fucking yes.

It’s been a half an hour since you texted DaylightDaddy. But you’re just so fucking nervous for some reason. At first, you tried to use the bullet like you would as if you were recording, but you could not concentrate for the life of you. Your fingers were trembling, your stomach was too tight, and your mind was a wandering catastrophe.

Because of your incessant craziness, you strolled through the man’s account. You should have been focusing on sending him his requested video that he paid for, even though he was supposed to be helping you. You could have at least given him a discount, but you didn’t feel like arguing for once. In that way, he reminded you of Harry.

Harry.

Even throughout the whole interaction with this random stranger, you were still finding subtle ways to relate them back to Harry. Some of the things the guy said seemed like such a Harry thing to say and you hated your mind for always resorting back to him like it was the only thing you knew. Why did he have to invade your mind and why did you want him to stay in it? It was the endless toxic loop that you were trapped in. It’s been one day since you’ve seen Harry, but it feels wrong after last night. Everything feels wrong and empty and unsaid. So much unsaid. You wanted him so badly to admit to you why he was doing what he was doing, and when he did, what did you do? Freeze up and panic? He was being vulnerable, and you just stood still and watched him leave.

A regretful tremble jerks your bottom lip and you feel the urge to cry. Not of sadness but of frustration with yourself. Harry is one of the greatest guys you’ve ever met and of course, you find a way to fuck it up somehow.

And although you want to push away the thoughts completely and focus on this requested video, the mystery man reminds you a lot of Harry. Like scary similar. Those tattoos were burning in your eyes, pulling you to look at them. Breaking some self-control, you watch one video. Just a short one. One where his tattoos are in full view, so your insatiable mind could be greedy and get off to this video of lookalike Harry for your flirty customer.

You fast forward until the man’s hands are on his cock, stroking all its thickness with precise teasing. As your waste of space panties start to get wet, your eyes immediately hook on the tattoos on his hands. A cross right by his thumb. You pause the video where his arm is in full view.

No fucking way.

There is no fucking way that’s Harry. What are the chances? Impossible, that’s what they are. Maybe this man just had the same under his index finger and near his thumb. Maybe he had the same anchor adorning his wrist like a large bracelet. Maybe…

Maybe you need to realize this is fucking Harry. And he found you somehow. Does he know it’s you?

–

With shaky fingers, you finally send the video.

You feel your heart plummet, the few seconds that passed already make you anxious. You had recorded the video, just like you were going to. Except you didn’t do it for DaylightDaddy. No, you did it for Harry.

What if you were wrong? What if it wasn’t Harry?

Is it possible to get sued for talking and moaning another guy’s name to a customer? You might just find out.

babyh0ney: *Video Attachment*

With shaky fingers, he finally presses play.

Harry’s head is dizzy with lust and his body is flooded with arousal. He watches intently as your body comes into view, nothing but panties on. Your camera is angled directly between your legs, so he can only see the underside of your breasts.

With lust bubbling in his eyes, Harry locks on your every move. Your hand massages all over your skin, exploring like Harry would die to do. Your nail polished fingers skim over the black laced panties, teasing your hidden opening. Harry is all for teasing and edging, but this is the most difficult thing he’s ever done. It’s physically and mentally hard to not orgasm on the spot. He will come when you come.

His hand drifts gently over to his own cock, which has greedily come once to your videos. When you go slow, he goes slow, so every minor and delicate movement you make, he replicates and it’s killing him. Finally, after what felt like a decade of torture, you shred your panties off slowly but surely.

Harry’s breath gets caught in his throat at the sight. He had already seen what your body looks like, but it was different knowing this video was just for him. Well, DaylightDaddy. The feeling in him was something primal. He loved knowing that this–all of you–was just for him. He wanted that all the time. He wanted you.

While Harry is copying your motions and lost in his own admissions, he barely notices you grabbing the small pink bullet and turning it on. You gently collect some of your wetness that was leaking out and cover the vibrator. Harry groans to himself at the lewd sight before him; he never imagined you would be such a dirty girl, but he never does know with you.

As you insert the bullet, a loud, breathless moan rolls out from your tongue. He’s mesmerized as your cunt clenches tightly around the object, body consuming the intense feeling. Based on your trembling body and echoing moans, you were going to come soon too. Your sounds were spurring him on, making his hand fly brisker up and down his shaft until his release was near. He didn’t want to close his eyes, but if he imagined your noises good enough, he could translate them as moans of his name.

“Harry…”

Yeah, that sounded like a dream. Like heaven coming from your pouty lips that he thinks about kissing way more than he should.

“Fuck, Harry.”

It almost sounds real. That’s how he knows he’s consumed in you too much for his own good.

“I wish you were here with me…touching me.”

Wait.

When he opens his eyes, you are still on his screen, moaning and falling apart in front of him just like before. But when he replayed the video a few seconds back, you really were saying those things. You were outright moaning his name, chanting it like a fucking mantra, while holding your legs wide open. It was a fever dream, a wet dream. You were lying on your bed with your cunt bare and soaked, whimpering his name and wishing he was there with you.

Losing all form of restraint, Harry fists his cock like never before. His thumb teases his leaking tip for a moment before jacking off with no regret. He feels his balls quickly tense, just like all the muscles in his body at the sight and sound of you.

Your dainty hand floats down to your throbbing clit, rubbing in tight circles in order to get to your high. The arch in your back becomes more prominent and your moans transform into airy gasps when the vibrations become nearly too much.

“I’m gonna come, H. Let me come.”

“Fuck. Let it go. Let it all go, Honey,” he didn’t even think about the words that were leaving his lips. The small nickname was cute. It matched your profile and the sweetness of all you were. You were talking to him as if he would say something back, so he did. He responded as if you were going to listen to him, and he didn’t know if you would, but you did.

Cum spurted from his cock intensely, splattering onto his breathless body and decorating his tattoos. He peeks at his computer screen and watches your orgasm spill out of you heavenly around the bullet. With big breaths, you eventually reach over to your phone and cut the recording, still hiding your face. Stunned to completion, Harry mindlessly reaches over to his nightstand to wipe himself down.

Somehow, some way, you knew it was him. He knew it was you. Harry had a feeling that you knew he knew it was you. So, with some sudden clarity, Harry finally messages you back.

DaylightDaddy [verified]: What are you doing to me?

—

i decide to leave for months, drop this chunk of writing, and leave y’all on a cliffhanger… sorry not sorry!! :D

part two

taglist:

@likeapplejuicenpeach @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @whoreonmondays @armystay89

[blondwhxrewrites]

Hello! This is my first time writing in and I just want you to know how much I love love love your blog!!

I was wondering if you’ve ever written anything about brothersbestfriend!Mattheo. I just imagine he’d feel super guilty at first, fooling around with his best friend’s sister. Maybe he’d try to break it off but reader would get all sad and pouty, insisting that her brother will never find out.

Whether the reader is biologically related or adopted is up to you. I also did not intend for it to be this long—ANOTHER ADDITION TO THE PRINCESS MULTIVERSE

Oh my god—You being Theo's pretty younger sister and Mattheo just being absolutely obsessed with you!!! He always thought you were interesting. You've always just kind of been there, kind of tucked in a corner, watching as he, Theo, and Draco played together. You were weird in your own little quirky way—quiet, introverted, but not shy. No, you weren't at all shy, just simply quiet. 

Mattheo always felt drawn to you in a way he really couldn't understand. You two just coexisted with each other, and it stayed that way until his sixth year, when you suddenly became 'beautiful' in the eyes of society. He always knew you were gorgeous, the most beautiful girl he had ever met, but now other boys and even some girls were starting to realize it too. The whole Slytherin gang becomes your impromptu guards on the orders of Theodore Nott. Suddenly, Mattheo is walking you to all of your classes and being forced to watch over you at parties—and that's when it really starts to go downhill for him.

You're the most wonderful being to ever exist, and holy shit, does it hit Mattheo HARD. You tend to ramble about the weirdest things like human anatomy, and your army of stuffed animals, and he's just nodding along admiring you like you're some sort of goddess. You give him little trinkets as gifts and he has a whole entire box full of them because he wouldn't ever dare throw them away. He's in love—there's no denying it. He'd done the one thing he swore he would never do...he fell for his best friend's sister. You immediately notice because, A, you've been watching Mattheo your whole life, and B, you know how to read people like a book. So, being the little shit you secretly are, you one day put on your prettiest outfit and waltz on down to one of the infamous Slytherin get-togethers, which is basically just a secret rave with how intense they can get. 

Of course, Theo is huffing and puffing while being forced to watch his little sister flirt with some random girl and Mattheo—oh dear lord he is FUMING. At that point, he knows you know because the whole entire time you're sending him little glances and faux innocent smiles.

You're strewn across his bed, crying and whining as he brutally thrusts into you not even caring if you're a virgin or not because you had the absolute audacity to be a brat and he made sure you were absolutely okay with him being rough beforehand. He's whispering just the NASTIEST things into your ear. 'yeah—you like being fucked by your brothers best friend? If I had known you were such a slut I would've done this a lot earlier' His hand is wrapped around your throat, he's got you in doggy style, pressing your head down against the mattress and watching your eyes roll back. Your cunt is just gushing around him and he knows if he doesn't stop he's gonna become addicted to your pussy—which isn't really saying a lot since he's already addicted to you. By the time he's done with you you've cum more times then you can count and you are one second from just passing out.

It's like his whole entire personality switches because he's suddenly cooing sweet praises as he cleans you both up. He's pressing soft kisses to your lips as he tells you just how much he adores you, and Mattheo just knows he can't let this go—he can't let you go. He eventually, and very hesitantly, lets you go back to your dorm after making extra sure nobody is around.

That night, he just stays up, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He's in a messy situation and he knows it, but honestly he doesn't really seem to care about how Theo would react if he ever found out about you two. In fact, the next day he pulls Theo into an empty classroom and locks the door. Theo doesn't even have time to react before Mattheo just spills everything. He could've ranted about his love for you for hours on end, and he's prepared to do that—that is, until Theo yells at him to shut up and is like, 'Mate, I knew this would eventually happen, so I've had years to prepare myself for this. My sister has been in love with you for years, and I'm sick of it, so please, for the love of Merlin, just take care of her and we are good.'

You are in your dorm reading about how bodies rot over time when Mattheo just busts in and grabs your book, placing it down, and kisses you silly. 'You're mine' he states as if you don't have a choice in the matter—and you really don't. The rest of your day is just spent in your dorm with him in blissful domestic peace.

Theo can finally rest in peace because HOLY SHIT—Mattheo is as dumb as rocks because how the fuck did it take him LITERAL years to realize he has feelings for you 😐

[me-and-your-husband]

body ink || e. williams

summary: you tattoo ellie's thigh. it's a bit of a compromising position, and it leads you down an unexpected road. female reader.

warnings: smut!, fingering (e receiving), oral (e receiving), tattoo guns, mentions of a needle, tattoos? finger sucking?? not beta read (i didn't even read tbis through once)

a/n: i've risen from the dead. lets chat, my inbox is open :)

e.williams

Hey! I've gone thru your page and I love your work. Especially your big pieces, they're sick asf. I was wondering if you had any openings for July?

y/ntattoos

hi! i'm glad you like my work, thank you for the kind words! i've got a couple openings in july, when can you come in?

e.williams

I can come in whenever. I'll make time for it if I have to...I don't care when, as long as you're the one doing it haha

y/ntattoos

how does july 13th at 1pm sound?

e.williams

That works!

y/ntattoos

perfect. what are you looking to get done?

e.williams

I was looking to get something kind of floral but not super...soft, yk?

y/ntattoos

so not super feminine? like no roses?

e.williams

Yeah, exactly like that. I don't have a design in mind...I kind of wanted you to design it? I'll pay extra for it I don't mind, but I saw your other designs on your page and liked your style lol

y/ntattoos

okay, tell you what: i'll draw up a couple designs and send them your way before the appointment. sound okay?

e.williams

Yes! Perfect.

y/ntattoos

cool cool. i'll send you the quote once we choose a design. how big were you thinking? and where?

e.williams

I was thinking on my thigh...? I know some artists won't do thighs so if you're uncomfortable w that it's cool!

I was hoping to cover most of my thigh tho

y/ntattoos

haha dw about it. i'm fine with the thigh. trust me, i'm sure i've had weirder requests.

e.williams

Oh yeah? Like what?

y/ntattoos

had a guy a few weeks ago who wanted a full portrait of his grandma on his ass.

e.williams

Oh my goddd. Did you do it?

y/ntattoos

...

$300 is $300...

e.williams

At least I know you're cool with a thigh 😭

y/ntattoos

absolutely. well, i've got some more dms to answer but i'll get to drawing up your design asap. i'll be in touch, thanks ellie :)

e.williams

Sweet. Have a good one :)

ellie walked into your tattoo shop about fifteen minutes early, to which the receptionist told her to take a seat as you were still finishing up with another client. "she shouldn't be too long."

you had reached out to ellie with five or six amazing designs, all of which she loved. she had such a hard time choosing between all of them, but you managed to rework her favourite parts of each design into one. you both finally came up with a tattoo design that she was obsessed with.

ellie half expected you to be a middle-aged woman with black lipstick and face tattoos, maybe even half of your head shaved and the other side bright pink. your page didn't feature any photos of yourself, just your work.

so when you came waltzing out from the studio and into the foyer, ellie thought you were the client.

"hey, your next client is here," jess said, gesturing to ellie in the chair by the entrance scrolling her phone.

"thanks, jess," you said before approaching ellie. "ellie?"

she looked up from her phone at you, completely startled by who was in front of her. a girl about her age, fucking gorgeous. there's no way you could've developed such skill in so little time.

"hi, yes, that's, uh, that's me," she said as she stood, shoving her phone in her pocket.

"nice to finally meet you," you said, holding your hand out for her to shake. her breath hitched slightly as she took yours.

"you too," she mumbled.

"i'll take you back into the studio now, i've just gotta wipe everything down from my last client." you started walking into the back and she followed you.

"cool, cool ," she said nervously.

this wasn't her first tattoo. she knew what it felt like. she wasn't sweating, stuttering, and shaking before she caught a glimpse of you.

her breath caught in her throat when she realized that you'd have to sit between her legs for most of the appointment.

she was so fucked.

she stood awkwardly playing with her fingers as you sanitized the tools and the chair, listening to you hum slightly to the music playing. she could hear the buzz of the tattoo gun from other artists in the space tattooing other clients.

in the back, an older man was tattooing a woman on the back of her knee. that had to hurt. next to them was a older woman tattooing a woman not much older than you two.

"alright, we're all set. i'm just gonna put this up," you said, unfolding one of those old-timey partitions that princesses change behind in the movies. "it's just to give us a bit of privacy, since you're getting tattooed in a bit more of an exposed place, you know?"

"oh yeah, that makes sense. thanks."

"don't thank me," you laughed. "okay, not to be too forward or anything, but if you brought shorts to change into, i'll give you a minute. if not, i'm cool with you just taking your pants off."

ellie laughed nervously, knowing it didn't even cross her mind to bring shorts. "take me out to dinner first, damn," she chuckled, starting to undo her belt buckle.

you pretended to occupy yourself with putting your gloves on and preparing your table as she took her pants and shoes off, leaving her in her black boxers, your mouth watering a little at her toned thighs.

"you can hop up on the chair when you're done. if you can just like, throw one leg over each side— yeah, like that. perfect."

ellie couldn't believe that she was borderline straddling a tattoo chair in her boxers right now. in front of you, especially. fuck.

without much warning, you slid your swivel chair almost between her legs.

"left or right?"

"uh, i write with my right hand, but i can do some things with my left?" she swallowed hard.

you laughed, "are you getting it on your left or right thigh?"

"oh, uh," god, she was an idiot. "left."

"cool. i'm gonna put the stencil on, then you can look in the mirror and see if you like it. 'kay?"

she nodded, watching you peel the film from the stencil, trying her hardest not to tense up when your soft fingers placed the stencil onto her milky skin, sending shivers straight to her centre.

when she looked at it in the mirror, she grinned, rotating her leg around to get a good look. "fuck, that's sick. i'd be content with just the stencil, you know."

you smiled at her through the mirror. "well hopefully you'll like it better once it's actually shaded."

once you had her back in the chair, you began prepping your gun. "okay, i know you've had a tattoo before, i saw that piece on your arm. so you know what to expect, right?"

"yeah. yeah, i'll be fine."

"okay. if you need a break, just let me know, kay? thighs can be sensitive." you switched the gun on.

"will do."

you began the outlining, humming to yourself over the buzz of the gun. she watched your face focused on the lines, keeping a steady hand.

"who did your arm piece?" you said as you wiped the ink away, making brief eye contact with her.

"oh, my ex-girlfriend did it. she bought a cheap tattoo gun when we were teenagers and i was her test subject i guess."

"cute," you said. "i was just curious." you went back to tattooing her thigh.

ex-girlfriend. that piqued your interest. i mean, it was kind of a given based on the fact that she was wearing boxers and looked like the idea of men repulsed her. and the way she took you in when she first saw you. like she was thirsty. and she was so fine, the way you could see her thigh clench and feel it under your fingers making you want to take her right behind that privacy partition.

"my ex let me tat her too. she was brave. let me do an entire leg sleeve my first time."

"oh?"

"yeah. it kind of ended badly though, so she probably regrets it."

ellie sighs, "that's the beauty of being into girls. they fuck you up."

"amen," you said, looking up at her again.

you made small talk as you worked. you found out that she was a university student studying astrophysics, that she works with her dad in the summer as a contractor to make some extra cash, that she teaches guitar throughout the school year, and that she's an artist herself (her media of choice being oil paints). she even told you that she missed work with her dad today specifically to come.

you quite enjoyed how she'd tilt her head back when you shaded some more painful areas, the cords in her neck more prominent and the column of her throat exposed.

four and a half hours later, the tattoo was finished, and you placed the second skin over her tattoo. you gave her all the aftercare instructions, going over the dos and don'ts. she held her breath when you didn't move your hand from her knee until you told her to go look at it in the mirror.

"holy fuck!?"

"...is that a good reaction or a bad reaction?"

"it's fucking amazing! jesus christ, that's so fucking cool. oh my god. you're amazing."

you blushed and thanked her as you watched her check it out in the mirror, inspecting it and gushing over how detailed it was.

she put her pants and shoes back on and you walked her out to reception.

"i've got this one, jess. take a smoke break," you said, smiling at your receptionist. she thanked you and scurried into the back room.

"alright ellie, that's $200."

"what? you quoted me at $350?"

you just smiled and looked at her, leaning forward against the counter. "pretty girl discount."

her face turned red as she took out her wallet and grinned. she counted out the money, laying $200 in cash against the counter.

"you gonna give the next client who walks through that door today a pretty girl discount, or is it just me?"

"actually, you're my last. and for the record, you're the first to get the discount."

she smiled and returned to her wallet, folding up more bills. after you put the money in the register, she leaned forward and tucked a stack of folded bills into the front pocket of your shirt, pulling you in close. "pretty girl tip."

you bit your lip as you looked at her. her eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips, finally deciding on your eyes. "you said i'm your last client, yeah?"

"yeah," you breathed.

"what're you doing after this, then?"

"well, a pretty girl hasn't asked me to go home with her yet, so i guess i'll probably pick up a coffee and—"

"come home with me?" she breathed, leaning in slightly. "please."

you giggled, "like i could say no to that."

tired of her teasing, her breath eternally fanning over your lips, you grabbed her and pulled her into you over the counter. your lips met and she groaned into the kiss, pulling away after a few seconds. she held her car keys up and shook them, "you ready, babe?"

she had you pressed up against the wall as soon as she kicked her door shut behind her, hands all up in your hair, lips bruising against yours. you kissed her back fervently. your hand slid down to her core, feeling the wetness through her boxers and jeans. she whimpered into your open mouth at the feeling.

"fuck, you're so wet, ellie."

"then do something about it," she said, hiding her smirk in your neck as she sucked hickeys into it.

"then take me to your bed."

she led you to her room, closing and locking the door, just in case. you pushed her flannel from her shoulders and undid her belt buckle, undoing the buttons on her jeans and sliding them down her legs, being careful of her thigh. she groaned.

"this doesn't seem fair," she said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and sliding it off. she slid your pants down your legs and threw them onto the floor. "that's better."

she laid on top of you, caging you in, undoing your bra and sucking on your tits, trailing kisses down to your stomach. "fuck, so beautiful," she groaned. 

you pressed your knee gently into her core, "still want me to take care of that?"

"fuck, yeah."

you flipped her over so her ass hung off the edge of the bed and you got on your knees on the carpeted floor. she propped herself up on your elbows, watching your every move.

you began running your finger over her covered core, soaked so good that your finger was covered in her wetness when you took it away, bringing it to your lips.

"please, fuck, i need more, take them off," she said, bucking her hips up.

you hummed, "but i'm enjoying myself, el."

"please, i need you so bad y/n."

"what do you need ellie? tell me."

"i need your fingers, your mouth, anything. i'll do anything. just need you," she begged, shame gone.

"you're lucky you're insanely hot."

you slid her boxers off, watching the strings of slick that connected her pussy to the fabric. you laid your head against the thigh that wasn't freshly tattooed, tracing your finger through her dripping core.

"open up for me, honey," you instructed, gently spreading her thighs further apart.

she let out the most guttural moan when your tongue finally slid through her folds, collecting her juices on your tongue. her hands found your hair and pulled gently, making you moan into her cunt.

you sucked her clit gently, sending waves of pleasure up her spine. when your middle finger slid into her entrance she tried to muffle her moan with the back of her hand, but you yanked it away. "wanna hear you, el. don't do that."

"fuck, you're too good. fuckkk."

"you almost there el? can feel you clenchin' around me," you said, sliding another finger in and returning your mouth to lapping at her folds, paying special attention to her bundle of nerves.

she hummed and nodded fervently. with every thrust in and out, you felt her clench around you, a small white ring forming around the base of your fingers.

"fuck, fuck! i'm gonna— ohhhhh god—!"

you lapped up all of her release that you could, only coming up for air once she had to push your head away from the overstimulation.

you wiped her release from your face with the back of your hand and brought your fingers to her lips, "open."

she grabbed your wrist and obeyed, swirling her tongue around your digits and closing her eyes. "see how good you taste?"

she released them with a 'pop'. "i bet you taste better."

"i seriously doubt that."

"you've been between my legs twice today. i think it's my turn to be between yours. take your panties off."

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz

@pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

[grapejuicestyless]

People Pleaser

Harry Styles x fem! bandmate reader

summery: Y/n gives too much and Harry is the only one to give back.

Angst(kinda) to fluff!

If you were to ask the public, ‘Who embodies love on tour?’ The majority, if not everybody would be quick to conclude it was Harry. He was the front man, it was his tour. A man who grows flowers with his voice and encourages affection between even the most different strangers.

If you asked the people involved, they would say Y/n Y/l/n.

Y/n is a woman with so much empathy she walked in others shoes more than her own. She spends her free time devoted to helping her friends and family. Constantly doting on them despite how grave the situation seemed.

So yeah, if you were to define HSLOT, it would be Y/n, Y/l/n. The pianist who sat quietly in the back of the stage, tucked away behind Sarah and Pauli, quiet as a mouse.

——————————————————————————

The sun was high, burning into the black chevron of the HSLOT Wembley stage floor. The white and black paint radiating vastly different temperatures in the June heat. The backtracks boomed through the stadium, muffling the farther backstage you got. Humidity suffocated everything in a sticky wetness.

Harry was dancing in a black bunny shirt, sleeves rolled to his shoulders and shorts shorter than my own. Today the sun was more brutal than ever and the effects were obvious. Skin was redder than before and water bottles could be found empty and scattered beneath the instruments. The HSLOT band was huddling under the small amount of shade they could find over the small overhang mounted on the stage. Lucky for me, because of how tucked away my space was, I had full access to the cool shade and the slight breeze of the AC blasting through the backstage area. Mitch, however, due to his front and center stationing, was falling victim to the peak heat of the day.

Harry hummed into the microphone, lazily speaking numbers out of order to get a laugh out of anyone, though the heat seemed to be getting to him too as he seemed out of his usual pre-show element. The only thing there seemed to be more abundance of than Harry’s pitiful jokes, was the sweat drenching each and every one of us.

“Y/n/n?” A soft voice called from just in front of me.

Mitch stood just in front of Pauli who was stuck half in the sun and half in the shade, his body squished into the darkness. His hair was matted with wet and held up tightly in a man bun, his shirt drenched in sweat more so than the rest of us.

“Eh, Im sorry to ask but would you mind if we could just switch positions for just a bit? I’m overheating over there and need a small break.” He pleaded.

Ever the people pleaser, the urge to stay in the shade was pushed down and away as my body moved quicker than my mind. I was eager to make Mitch happy, loving the satisfaction helping a friend out gave me.

He traded me a small hand held fan for my perfect shady spot. Though the plastic wings barely moved and the air barely soothed the heat, the thought was nice enough of him to suggest.

So I stood in the sun, the rays casting down on me like a blanket that could only be described as hell on earth. Sweat collected more aggressively on my forehead but the quick look over to Mitch, who had a lazy smile on his face from the shade and the inconsistent AC gusts made it a whole lot more worth it.

By now we were on Satellite, Harry mumbling the song, waltzing over to Elin to make sure she was still feeling okay. It was moments like this that I believed we were soulmates. Bonded together by the environment that seemed to tug us together like some sort of gravity. His straightforward kindness and appreciation one of his best qualities that I loved.

I let myself marinate in my own wetness, my legs heavy from the heat and my cheeks growing sore from the sun. My eyes grew heavy and the fan grew weaker and weaker. Truthfully, I was struggling.

“Y/n..?” I heard a small yell from Sarah, who I was sure was boiling surrounded by all that plastic and metal, despite the shade. She was still blocked off from the AC air, so the heat might as well have been just as bad.

I nodded to her, making my way over cautiously, the floor slippery with the dew from the humidity and the sweat dripping off our noses.

“What’s up, babe?” I smiled, leaning against the edge of the platform her drums were set on.

“I’m struggling a bit here. I’m a little trapped.” I raised an eyebrow, ready to take a seat to listen to what she had to say. I wondered if it was about the baby or if it was a mental block. I was ready to be a good friend when she needed it.

“Do you think I could borrow that fan? Just for a second? It’s like a hotbox in here.” My eyes drifted to the soft vibrations rumbling through my palm, the soft buzzing sound from the hand held fan spinning softly in all its neon green glory.

Forming my lips into a thin line, I nodded, plastering on a smile and reaching up to hand it to Sarah.

She was thankful for my generosity, flashing me a smile and holding up a weak thumbs up. I reflected her gesture, hunching my shoulders as I spun to return back to the spot I’d taken in the sun.

Just now, I began to realize how much I took that tan for granted. Even the soft wind was able to move the still air that casted over the UK today.

My heavy feet turned into cinder blocks and my eyes became unbearably heavy. I seemed sway on my feet a little, every blink becoming stickier as my eyelashes bunched together more and more. It felt like hours going by. Realistically it had only been five minutes, but everything moved in slow motion now.

I think Harry was singing Matilda now, but it seemed to be silenced by the clogging of my ears. I felt faint suddenly, my body too heavy to hold up. I felt myself stumble. It was usually now I would focus all my attention in on his beautiful melody, but my ears seemed to reject any sound whatsoever other than shouts and belly laughter across the stage.

“Hey Y/n!” I heard loud and clear, the bubbly voice belonging to none other than my best friend. The man who I’d been stuck with since his very first show and the person in my mind that hung the stars and moon single handedly in my life. The closest thing I had to a home on tour, Harry.

I’m not sure if I was able to lift my lips into a smile or not, everything blurring together in a mushy mess. It was like I was on psychedelics while being totally sober.

Trying to remain polite, I tried to be more welcoming to him, reaching up to wave only to find myself stumbling back into the elevated stage platforms, hands slamming into the wood so hard the corners caused red lines to form, blood peaking in blots on my skin.

“Y/n!” He sounded more frantic now, not as light and airy like before. The sound of a microphone falling to the ground was ear piercing, if I could cover my ears I would. His feet sounded heavy, the sound echoing through the empty area like bricks. My elbows collapsed under the pressure of my body and my knees buckled.

I waited for the ground to come, braced for it even. Ready to bruise my face and bleed from the nose. But it never came. Instead I was wrapped in a wet body, my face smushing against a hard chest.

“Shit, can I get some medical help?” Harry. Harry had caught me. How quick he was to rush in to help.

I couldn’t quite make out his face with how jumbled up my brain was from the heatstroke I was almost sure my body was going through right now, all I saw was black dots and blurry pink lips moving quickly. I think he mumbled, “You’re okay, it’s fine.” But maybe that was an illusion I made up for some sort of comfort.

We met eyes, a worried shock painted on Harry’s face before I was met with the soothing darkness of sleep.

——————————————————————————

I woke up to a cooler climate. A buzzing sounding through the vent on the ceiling. Tassels of pink and yellow blowing in the wind. I had an ice pack taped to my forehead and one wrapped around my stomach with velcro.

My head was pounding with one of the worst headaches I’d ever dealt with in my entire life and my eyes were aggressively watering despite my excessive wiping.

I tried to sit up, but could only groan with how sore I was, my hand pressing against the ice pack quickly.

“Y/n, oh thank god.” I felt the couch dip by my head, Harry’s body kneeling on the ground in front of my face and his head hovering over mine as he hunched over me. The carpet ruffled beneath his knees as he settled into place. His breathing was slightly jagged, a little quick. Maybe in his panic it had picked up. Compared to mine, which was slow and steady. A good long sleep will do that to you.

“Did I faint?” My mouth was dry, so everything that came out of my mouth was strained and rough. Sandpaper scratching my vocal cords.

The question was obvious, I knew I had gone down before I even fell. I knew I was going down as soon as I handed away the shady spot and the fan. Maybe not directly, but that small tugging feeling that fought briefly with my body knew. I couldn’t help but let the smallest smirk grace my lips, trying to be funny and light hearted in a time of need.

“Gave everyone a proper scare, really did. Went down pretty fast.” He lifted an arm from his sides to gently move the ice pack from my forehead, sensing the slight discomfort it was giving me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. We watched each other quietly in the quiet of the communal dressing room.

His smile was infectious, always was. Harry had that kind of bunny tooth smile that made my stomach do secret summersaults and flutter occasionally. Despite the strict platonic relationship we’d established, it was hard to not fall for the other half who understood the urge to put others before myself just as well.

Lost in the dreamy thought of him, I snapped back to see the white smile slowly wipe off his face, eyebrows pulling together in worry and his gaze becoming less lighthearted and more serious.

“Was it dramatic? Could I win an Oscar for it?” I joked, lightening up the mood, or attempting to.

“Yes, and yes. Would’ve swept them, I think.” We laughed weakly, not finding the situation funny but the inability to stay so serious for so long amusing.

“We shouldn’t have had soundcheck outside. I knew it was too hot out, I’m sorry.” The warm bareness of his fingers engulfed mine gently, his thumb brushing my knuckles so light it almost barely ghosted over my skin.

“It’s not your fault, I made a couple bad choices that got me there.”

“Such a pushover.” I snorted, removing my hand from his in fake offense to his comment, though it was both true and not in any sense mean or bad intentioned.

“And to think, I had the perfect AC spot in the shade too!” We continued to joke, not finding anything about this at all serious. We probably seemed fucked in the head to the outside perspective. Who treats heat stroke like it meant nothing?

“I need to learn how to say no.” Harry silently agreed, eyes flicking up to mine slowly, almost like he was tracing my body in an outline in his head. Saving a mental photo of his best friend covered in sweat, melted ice and plastic icepacks.

“You do.” I smiled.

“I know.” He raised a brow.

“You do. Can’t have that happening. Scared me.” His sudden confession lacked any previous lightheartedness that we’d bounced off of each other just moments before.

I grabbed his hand again, now my thumb was the one to merely ghost over his skin smoothly.

“I know, I’m sorry. Don’t wanna worry you.” It was the most sincere thing I’d said all day. The only thing I’d truly meant really. All those “My pleasures” and, “Of courses” only being half hearted and made based solely on the idea that someone else could benefit from it more than I would.

“I love you.” Silence hugged the room around his confession. Not that we hadn’t exchanged the sentence consistently. Throwing it around so much it was a habit to tell each other before we left any room or made a joke so good it deserved the praise. But somehow, the words sat different than before. They held more seriousness and more honesty than the other times, and I couldn’t help the giddiness it gave me.

“I love you too.” Maybe if the situation wasn’t so dramatic and the heat wasn’t getting to both of us incredibly bad, maybe then it wouldn’t have happened. Some sort of forced confession out of the blue.

He showed no signs of having any interests in me. Other than the constant presence he seemed to enjoy having in my life and the fact that nobody knew me like him, he could have fooled me completely.

“Yeah?” He laughed through his teeth, breathy and light.

I nodded slowly, sure of myself but shy on the idea he could be playing with me. He would walk me to the door of hope and send me home crying. Maybe it was the feeling of giving so much and never getting anything back. Maybe it was the all too familiar feeling of being used because of the overflowing empathy I was dealt at birth and the nagging persistence in my mind ordering me to please the people around me that was responsible for the twinge of doubt I held to him. But his eyes held kindness and full trust, I couldn’t help but feel that fluttery feeling.

It could have been from the heat, but most likely from him rushing the blood from my heart straight to my cheeks.

“I hope you mean it in the way I think you mean it, because if this is the heat stroke playing with my feelings, I’m about to look really stupid.” My arms outstretched around his neck, pulling him to my lips. My fingers tangling between his puffy curls and damp with the sweat beaded on the back of his tanned neck.

His kiss was just as sweet as I expected it. It wasn’t an intricate make out with a long battle between our tongues. It was needy, but not in a rushed way. It was short, but did more than any sloppy kiss could possibly say.

“Is now a good time to say I only see you as a friend?” I couldn’t help but silently laugh at that. My chest moving up and down while my mouth was pulled into a large smile that broke out on my face.

Harry was still so close, yet to pull back completely as his breath fanned my nose and his forehead almost touched mine.

“Now that I’ve wooed you, does this mean you’ll let me play tonight?” His lips silenced mine, pressing hard and smooth against each other. He pulled away with a wet release.

“No.” For the millionth time, we laughed. We laughed, feeling happy. Content that I was okay, that this was okay. That we were whatever we were. Maybe we had crossed the line between strictly platonic. Maybe we were towing the line between lovers and best friends. But it didn’t matter because whatever we had was warmer than the June heat and bigger than any crowd Wembley could pull in our hearts.

It was all some sappy story of the girl who gave too much and the only man who gave back, very on brand for the HSLOT crew.

Maybe heat strokes could be good.

Read part 2 here!

[ddarker-dreams]

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005. 

8:02 a.m.

-

You don’t get it. 

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role. 

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport? 

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then. 

You go as still as a statue. 

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system. 

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?” 

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. 

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard. 

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh. 

“Just a bit.” 

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head. 

“Gonna come with?” 

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found. 

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?” 

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?” 

“It’s almost like a ghost town.” 

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point. 

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one… 

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says. 

You blink. 

“On… the first day…?” 

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.” 

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future. 

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious. 

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later. 

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image. 

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other. 

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth. 

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable. 

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience. 

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning. 

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away. 

The creature continued to sip. 

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way. 

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’ 

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel. 

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them. 

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’ 

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four. 

You hope you can befriend everyone. 

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book! 

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment. 

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines. 

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten. 

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself. 

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs. 

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground. 

Dodging isn’t an option. 

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone. 

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters? 

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can. 

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds. 

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest. 

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.  

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed. 

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares. 

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind. 

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.” 

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges. 

“Are you okay?!” 

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense. 

You inhale shakily. 

“Never better. You?” 

He sounds chipper. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over. 

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?” 

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.” 

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch. 

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells. 

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger. 

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. 

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan. 

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?” 

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely. 

How did he pull that off…? 

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go. 

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess. 

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?” 

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”  

You make a face. “Eh?” 

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?” 

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?” 

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes. 

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble. 

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.” 

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines. 

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.” 

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.” 

“That was the most egregious part!” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you. 

“By the way, how do you know my name—” 

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence. 

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison. 

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.” 

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up. 

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets. 

You introduce yourself as well. 

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?” 

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.” 

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.” 

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue. 

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color. 

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him. 

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Any spell you were under withers and dies. 

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say. 

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own. 

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him. 

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly. 

You wonder what everyone else is like. 

-

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class. 

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.” 

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.” 

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?” 

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly. 

“What’s up?” 

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.” 

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?” 

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.” 

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face. 

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun! 

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information. 

-

This has been the first proper school day. 

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking. 

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball. 

This guy really irks you. 

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up. 

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.” 

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha. 

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response. 

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite. 

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?” 

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.” 

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.” 

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums. 

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.” 

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.” 

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory. 

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back. 

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.” 

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually. 

-

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down. 

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high. 

“Need help?” 

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares. 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. 

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.” 

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out). 

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.” 

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon. 

You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?” 

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.” 

“...” 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known. 

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really really?” 

“Really really.” 

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow. 

“For you, madam.” 

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along. 

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.” 

Gojo gives a hearty salute. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

-

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.” 

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space. 

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.” 

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway. 

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose. 

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.” 

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?” 

Gojo furrows his eyebrows. 

Geto blinks. 

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?” 

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist. 

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.” 

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce. 

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?” 

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?” 

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate. 

He doesn’t. 

“Geto-kun, care to translate?” 

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…” 

Geto trails off and clears his throat. 

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him. 

You nod. 

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?” 

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.” 

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw. 

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask. 

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? 

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever. 

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.” 

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?” 

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor. 

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.” 

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear: 

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?” 

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes. 

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally. 

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.” 

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest. 

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance. 

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?” 

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach. 

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?” 

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal. 

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.” 

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.” 

“You do?” Geto hums. 

“He does?” You ask. 

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?” 

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment? 

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.” 

Geto and Gojo exchange looks. 

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.” 

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that. 

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.” 

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?” 

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—” 

You clap to redirect their attention. 

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.” 

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses. 

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.” 

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off. 

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon. 

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied. 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I get it now.” 

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.” 

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.” 

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?” 

“Are you?” 

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it. 

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that. 

-

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.” 

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on. 

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums. 

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.” 

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.” 

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say. 

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said, 

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.” 

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right. 

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed. 

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex. 

What could be better than learning from the best? 

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors. 

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children. 

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration. 

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment. 

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident. 

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time. 

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read. 

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight. 

Painfully so. 

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested. 

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life. 

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines. 

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location. 

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.” 

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?” 

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival. 

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak. 

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions. 

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?” 

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.” 

You shiver. 

“... Oh.” 

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.” 

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.” 

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out. 

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something���s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different. 

This cuts and it cuts deep. 

Are you that incompetent to him…? 

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building. 

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument. 

Leaving no room for you. 

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day. 

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” 

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru. 

This is destruction in its raw, purest form. 

This is what it means to be the strongest. 

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant. 

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description. 

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed. 

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage. 

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace. 

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—” 

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack. 

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else. 

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating. 

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him. 

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.” 

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby. 

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown. 

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…” 

You hear a sniffle. 

Then a whimper. 

And a gurgle. 

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—” 

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources. 

All is still. 

All is silent. 

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain. 

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon. 

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions. 

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.” 

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise. 

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them. 

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit. 

The appendage plummets down. 

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name. 

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe. 

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable. 

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge. 

You dismiss your cursed technique. 

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run. 

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in. 

Is that really the only way? 

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up. 

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing. 

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?” 

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—” 

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.” 

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back. 

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.” 

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—” 

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.” 

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession. 

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?” 

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.” 

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures. 

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks. 

“Just a few sprains.” 

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.” 

You exhale shakily. 

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?” 

How does he know that? 

You’ll worry about this oddity later. 

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?” 

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you. 

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse. 

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.” 

Seventeen sources? 

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says. 

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?” 

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.” 

“Seriously?” 

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?” 

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all. 

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant. 

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind. 

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage. 

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well. 

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is. 

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers. 

“Cursed Technique: Null.” 

Your ability is versatile if not simple. 

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth. 

There’s an additional application beyond this. 

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within. 

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds. 

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer. 

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood. 

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast. 

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them. 

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you. 

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down. 

Time to leap across. 

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you. 

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two. 

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too). 

Three. 

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops. 

…

So does your breathing. 

-

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse  ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

-

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design. 

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping. 

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud. 

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh. 

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?” 

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp. 

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups. 

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking. 

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his. 

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”  

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.” 

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter. 

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.” 

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.  

“What kind of suggestions?” 

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.” 

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?” 

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.” 

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed? 

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?” 

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation? 

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children. 

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.” 

The tips of his ears turn red. 

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.” 

“I’m getting this over with.” 

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.” 

“... Oh.” 

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat. 

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.  

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward. 

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?” 

He nods without hesitation.  

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?” 

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self. 

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down. 

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain. 

It stops you from shattering. 

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.” 

… Is that what you meant? 

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace. 

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back. 

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage. 

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace. 

-

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day. 

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.  

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak? 

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side. 

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway? 

-

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed. 

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still. 

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down, 

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.” 

“Eek!” 

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure… 

“Satoru? You’re back?” 

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic. 

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning. 

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!” 

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything. 

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable. 

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though. 

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility. 

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.  

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs. 

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless. 

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp, 

“Welcome home, Satoru!” 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out. 

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.” 

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that.  “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

(He holds up two). 

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“Funny girl.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath. 

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being. 

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier. 

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch. 

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off. 

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.” 

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?” 

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.  

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—” 

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.” 

You blink. 

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow. 

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?” 

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane. 

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught. 

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric. 

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since. 

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.” 

That sounds like your mentor alright. 

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?” 

You point to yourself and he nods. 

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation. 

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.” 

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now. 

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?” 

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.” 

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.” 

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.” 

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection. 

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done. 

“It’s—” 

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.” 

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?” 

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.” 

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!” 

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight. 

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—” 

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—” 

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication. 

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.” 

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in. 

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.” 

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you. 

“And that happy medium is…?” 

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it. 

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.” 

What is he, a member of the mob?! 

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe. 

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff. 

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.” 

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?” 

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.” 

Wait, what? 

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish. 

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!” 

“But I did.” 

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.” 

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning. 

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.” 

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you… 

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere? 

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.” 

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum. 

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs. 

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out. 

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder. 

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?” 

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight. 

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”  

-

December 23rd, 2017. 

8:02 p.m. 

-

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him. 

Or so you thought. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.” 

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!” 

“I’m not laughing, am I?” 

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take. 

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching. 

“Is that genuinely what you think?” 

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record. 

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future. 

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate. 

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends. 

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?  

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not. 

“... It isn’t.” 

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.” 

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo. 

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell. 

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion. 

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.” 

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. 

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?” 

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t. 

“I know.” 

“... Could you?” 

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through. 

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile. 

He quickly abandons the farce. 

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out. 

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.” 

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition. 

He whispers your name. 

“You trust me, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then do this for me, baby.” 

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?” 

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.” 

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice. 

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you. 

“And this is all based on a hunch?” 

“Mhm.” 

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you. 

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth. 

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available. 

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school. 

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up. 

His explanation upon answering the phone? 

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!” 

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm. 

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.” 

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile. 

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

undercover bait | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

tw: criminal minds type case. use of the words (killer, rapist, whore. mentions of killing and blood) 3K

it was weird for spencer to see you fashioned in non-work attire. dressed in a baby pink mini dress that hugged to your figure with ruffles at the bottom, your back was open and you had a plunging neckline. sparkly heels that gave you a few extra inches and a small pink clutch, your hair was styled along with your usually bare face that was now dolled up from jj’s help. your eyes were smoky and seductive, a more than natural blush to the apples of your cheeks and your lips were glossed and shiny. spencer’s eyeline kept bouncing between your lips and lower, he wanted to fight his brain.

“well hot damn,” derek stood beside him. he gave a low whistle as you waltzed into the conference room of the local las vegas police station. there was a string of assaults and murders along a street of packed clubs, there was too many bodies so the bau was sending in unsub bait, and you happened to be picked.

“i wouldn’t be able to tell it’s you. looking like any other pretty girl partying the night away.” spencer saw how you rolled your eyes at the compliment. probably in a friendly teasing manner.

crossing your arms over your chest, oh gosh, and cocking a hip you tilted your head, “i wasn’t deserving of that nickname before, morgan?” asked with a fake pout. spencer doesn’t bother diverting his eyes, you pulled him into a trace. your beauty was something he wished could be for his eyes only.

he heard derek click his teeth, “oh we know you were, this one wouldn’t dare disagree. ain’t that right, pretty boy?” a nudge to spencer’s arm caused him to blink back to earth.

“what?” a deer in the headlights, his eyes were wide and he was frozen. derek smirked smugly at him while your sculptured brows furrowed in worry, “you okay?” stepping closer to him, your heels clicking on the linoleum.

his neck and ears felt warm, “uh yeah. yeah, just worried for you. not- not that something will happen, just that you’re usually away from the field and- and you’ve never done an undercover.”

spencer eyed your smooth lips as you rubbed them together, “it’s definitely new and nerve wracking, but if it’ll help the case that’s all that matters.” shrugging it off.

the way you tossed your life off made spencer frown, “your life comes before the case. if you feel unsafe, we’ll pull you out.” wanting you to understand that none of the team would put your life at risk, spencer especially. he’d keep you within reach of him if possible but he’s supposed to stay in the stakeout van.

you smiled prettily, it was extra nice with the blush, “i know. i trust you.” he hoped he wasn’t imagining the way you emphasized you. putting the trust of your wellbeing into his hands, it made his heart race.

“ready?” hotch entered the room and stopped beside you. his stone face nodding as you confirmed, “i’ll drop you off and pass over your earpiece. emily is already waiting at the bar, she’ll be your look out, when she locates him try and discreetly engage. flirt, be touchy, anything that’ll want him to draw you away.” you nodded along to the information. spencer felt his insides twist.

“when he leads you away, say ‘i’d like some fresh air’ and emily will also confirm. we’ll have all exits secured, no one comes or goes without us knowing.” he made sure that you knew you weren’t gonna be on your own. not a single hair on your head was gonna be harmed trying to take down this killer.

that thought made acid rise in spencer’s throat, they were sending you to a killer and a rapist. just one simple slip up and you could become another victim, spencer had to restrain himself from keeping the both of you locked away.

as everyone was walking to their respective cars he stopped you by taking ahold of your hand, his larger ones enveloping yours and it made his heart beat faster. “if- if you need some type of company just ask about a random fact. i’ll provide the answer.” he wanted to be with you every step of the process.

your fingers squeezed along his comforting, “thank you, spence.” you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, not needing to press onto your tiptoes. spencer closed his eyes and let his head lean into the touch, wanting to savor this moment.

a loud coughing pulled both of you from the safe bubble to see hotch with his arms crossed, “can we be professional?” his eyes mostly set on spencer, probably thinking about having him sit out.

“yes sir,” speaking for you both. you gave spencer’s hand one more reassuring squeeze before slipping free with hotch following a moment after.

-

“if you’re not comfortable, emily is fine doing it alone.” hotch spoke after ten minutes into the drive. the surveillance van drove the other direction and he’ll meet up with them after dropping you.

you fidgeted with his blazer that was thrown over your lap, “why does everyone keep telling me that?” mumbled to yourself. “do none of you believe i can do this?” eyes honed in on hotch’s side profile.

he looked to you briefly then back to the road, “it’s not that. we’re just worried, this wasn’t your training.” you barely passed self defense training, staying in the shadows was more your thing.

you scratched at your thumbs knuckle, “i just- i just feel i could be more valuable to the team. i- i don’t want to be the extra liaison then have you realize there’s no point for two.” you flattened your palms over your clothed knees.

“you may not see your importance for this unit, but you’re a glue helping us stay together. you’re more than an assist or liaison, your family and a beloved friend.” he rolled to a stop a store from the bar.

he held your earpiece in his open palm, “we just want to make sure you understand that it’s okay to put yourself first. there’s nothing wrong with changing your mind.” he spoke softly, a full sincerity dripping in his words.

you picked the small device from his hand, eyes meeting his shaded ones, “i can do this.” a slight hardness in your tone.

hotch just nodded in understanding, “just remember the code phrase for when he’s taking you outside. emily can jump in if needed.” back to ssa mode.

you took a deep exhale and grabbed your clutch, “is it okay if i have one drink on the job?” joking but also a bit serious. you need something to calm your nerves.

hotch raised a brow, “kidding. kidding.” you passed him back his suit jacket and pushed open the door, putting yourself in character as you stretched your bare leg out and pretended you were in a music video. shutting the door behind you, shimming your shoulders you strutted to the bar entrance.

“show time.”

-

“calm down, pretty boy. she’ll be fine.” derek’s words did nothing to comfort spencer’s racing mind. they only had access to one security camera and emily’s own eyes, you could easily slip through the crowd without any of them knowing.

spencer’s knees bounced, “just wish i could be in there as well. be back up.” his eyes stayed focused on your static figure near the end of the bar, leaning your chest in as you curved your back and kicked a foot in the air. he felt his mouth pull into a frown as he saw different men and women looking in your direction, a couple walking over to you at the bar.

derek hummed, “sure does look like she needs a man like you to protect her from those tipsy bar crawlers. you could split the free drinks she’s gonna accumulate.” he nudge an elbow into spencer’s bicep, “oh lighten up man. we all know your the only one on her mind, those chums don’t stand a chance.”

spencer kept his eyes focused on the screen. you had an arm propped up, pushing into your cheek as your head moved to survey the space.

“tell me about seahorses, spence.” your voice a whisper but clear enough to be heard over the loud music. spencer perked up, ignoring the judging eyes of rossi and morgan.

“well two most common facts are that male seahorses are the ones who carry out the pregnancy and they mate for life, one of the few species.” a hum was heard on their end. “also seahorses are the world's most uncommon species, and they have to eat all the time.”

it went silent on your end, they could see you turning your back to the bar with a drink in hand as you scoped out the room. then emily’s voice crackled to life, “leather jacket with the guns and roses shirt. twelve o’clock.”

spencer’s eyes made quick work to spot their unsub. he stood a bit off to the side of the crowded floor, a beer bottle in his hand that he lifted to his lips for a minute then back down. he stuck close to the shadows, bits of him being highlighted by overhead lighting, even through the fuzzy imagine spencer was able to spot the moment his eyes landed on you.

“he’s heading in your direction, y/n.” derek reported over the mic so you could prepare for the approaching man. the monitor showed your back straightened as you curled your body into a more provocative stance, the unsub sliding into the open space between you.

spencer and derek could hear your end of the conversation, the flirtatious tone sweetening your words mixed together with a soft feminine laughter that stirred butterflies in spencer’s stomach. he took a deep swallow when he saw you place a palm to the man’s bicep, he had to clench his hands into fist on his lap.

“your girl is doing good out there,” derek praised your show. spencer proudly took that title to heart, his girl. “i know, just don’t like having her within reach of a killer.”

“i’d love some fresh air.” the code phrase causing everyone to hurry to position. spencer went with derek to a back alley exit while hotch and emily were stationed for the front, local cop’s canvas the block.

“everyone in position?” hotch’s voice echoed over the radios. derek radioed back, “ready,” and now they just had to wait for the both of you to exit the bar.

after five minutes they knew something went wrong in that quick exchange. “anyone have eyes on, l/n?” hotch’s stern voice wavered just a bit through everyone’s earpieces.

“i lost her in the crowd,” emily’s worried tone as her breath sounded just a bit airy. spencer could feel his heart crawling up his throat, ready to spill onto the ground.

you’re mia with a killer rapist.

-

everything was in a blurry haze, a sharp pain stabbing behind your eyes all the way to the back of your skull. your eyelids were weighted down, it took so much concentration just to peel them open so you can find your surroundings. your limbs were heavy, you could barely lift a finger.

the space was dark except for a single hanging light in the middle of the space, a harsh yellow glow only highlighting a small circle of area. it looked to be a basement of sorts, barren of furniture except for the bed you were laying on and a wooden table off to the side. you tried rolling off the mattress but stopped short by the chains wrapped to your wrist and ankles.

“finally awake. worried i used a bit too much before i could have my fun.” a deep voice hidden in the dark corners.

the chains clinked together, “wha- where are we?” your flight or fight starting to activate, and you can’t even choose either option. “jason, what is this?”

it was silent for a beat, just your heavy breathing then you heard deep footsteps that carried the unsub into the fluorescent light. “your team must think i’m real stupid to not notice what this was. a fucking trap, well jokes on you, you’re my next victim.” his hands jumping out to grab your throat in a tight hold, restricting your airway. your body twisting unlessly in an attempt to escape his hold.

“you’ll just be another dead whore that i rip and shred to pieces, not a single piece of your body left behind for the fucking fbi to find. just another unsolved case, another hole to-“

jason was cut off by someone yanking him from behind. you took gulping inhales that brought a harsh coughing to your damaged throat. a shadow loomed over you and you whimpered in fear, “no, no, no. ple- please.” starting to sob in terror of whatever horror will be brought to you.

“it’s spencer, love. it’s just me, i’m gonna uncuff you now.” you kept your eyes squeezed shut as you hear the small click of the cuffs being undone and peeled away from your irritated skin. you immediately curled into yourself, needed to be as small as possible.

“we have emts coming right now.” a soft, gentle voice spoke near you, it brought a warmth to you compared to that icy chill from earlier. a touch to your bicep caused you to flinch and cause more tears to fall.

“it’s spencer, he’s gone. we need to get you checked out.” he kept his voice low, tucking his arms close to his chest in fear of startling you more. your eyes slowly peeked out and stared the doctor down, “spence…” his name weak on your tongue.

he smiled shakily, “yeah, love. it’s me, he’s in custody now.” spencer shook off his fbi jacket and held it open for you, “you must be cold. why don’t we go upstairs?” he helped your arms through and zipped you up.

spencer protectively led both of you out into the red and blue lights surrounding the property, he tucked you closer when swat and officers walked past or stared at the both of you.

one of the emts greeted you both and asked for you to lay down on the bed in the back, she shined a light over your eyes causing you to groan at the sharp pain it caused. “looks like you have a concussion and your throat is gonna be sore for about a week with bruising to follow. keep an eye on her, take her to the hospital if she starts vomiting or passing out.” giving the advice to spencer then leaving you both alone.

“why don’t we head back to the hotel? they can handle everything from here.” spencer’s thumb rubbed softly against your makeup rosy cheek. you nodded, “pro- probably best.”

-

the shower was scorching, you needed to rub yourself raw to rid his filthy touch from every inch of skin. the running water was cloudy and muddy from dirt and your foundation then finally turned clear with bubbles of body wash circling the drain.

a knocking on the door snapped you from your spiral, “you doing okay?” spencer’s concerned words made you swallow harshly to reply back, “yeah. almost done.” you could feel a few tears mixing with the running water.

the small hotel bathroom was well steamed up, the little fan barely doing anything. you toweled off your hair then quickly wiped your body down before throwing on your giant sleep shirt and plaid shorts. you wiped a hand on the mirror to see your red eyes watching you, judging you.

why’d you think this was something you could do? you’re a media liaison, not a fucking behavior analysis agent. sure you want to be more involved with cases moving forward, but this taught you that field work wasn’t something you were cut out for. if it was emily or elle they would’ve been able to find a way out and save themselves, but you just laid there and pleaded for your life, just like those other girls before.

numbly you exited the bathroom, strands of damp hair wetting your cotton. spencer sat on the foot of the bed, his head bent and hands folded into his lap. he looked up just as you moved to sit beside him, your back was rod straight until you just slumped into yourself and leaned your head onto his shoulder. everything just poured out.

“i- i- i could’ve di- died.” you felt spencer shift and wrap his arms behind your shoulders while yours held tightly to his waist. “i- i don’t want to do- do that to you.”

“i know you don’t,” he whispered beside your ear, “and i’m sorry he got past us, luckily hotch sewed a tracker into your dress and garcia found it quickly.”

“i- i didn’t want to be his next victim. is- is that selfish?”

“no, absolutely not. those other girls didn’t know about him so they couldn’t properly defend themselves, but you didn’t. you know what he’s capable of.” spencer placed a kiss to your temple, “and i selfishly wouldn’t want you to be another victim. i’d never forgive myself.”

you leaned your head away to look into his soft brown eyes, “it wasn’t your fault. i agreed to doing it.”

his large palm caressed your cheek, “but i should’ve tried harder to- to be a second watch or- or something. i should’ve done more.”

“hey,” your fingers circled his wrist, “don’t blame yourself. let’s- let’s not go back and forth on what we should’ve done. i’m alive and in your arms, i love you and we have another day together.” turning to kiss the heel of his palm.

“okay,” spencer whispered. he leaned in slowly, wanting you to take the lead for your comfort. your lips touched gently at first, a small lingering peck before you pushed in and let your lips wrap around spencer’s more firmly. you let yourself melt into his touch, feeling at peace for the night.

you gave him one more solid kiss, “why don’t we get some sleep?” spencer nodded and the both of you quickly made yourselves comfortable in the bed, spencer’s back to the door as he pulled your back close to his chest with his arms keeping you secure. “i got you, love. i’m always here for you.”

-

a/n: be honest, when i write longer fics do they seem messy halfway through?

[myfandomrealitea]

"Why don't you tell the people you know in real life what you read/write/draw and see what happens!!"

Because its the equivalent of waltzing down to the breakfast table and telling my parents what porn I watched last night. Because if I told my boss I touch myself to Captain America fingerblasting the Winter Soldier into the 22nd century he'd send me to HR regardless of the finer details. Because when you talk about filthy, dirty, messy sex at a two-seater in Olive Garden they tend to ask you to leave and never come back.

My boss doesn't need to know that I get off to thinking about a werewolf using me like a cum'n'go because that is simply not relevant to how well I can type up a draft document or operate a printer.

My parents do not need to know that I would tongue-dive Harry Styles' batootie so deep I touch teeth because. They're my parents. Frankly, no parents want to know what their child does or doesn't like in bed. Have you ever asked your parents how they fuck? What porn they get off to? Is that your sunday dinner conversational topic?

Talking about any form of sex or kink or personal habits in a place where it is not appropriate, and when the other conversational party has not consented, is not okay regardless.

So like. Yeah, I'm not gonna go tell my boss that about my fictional pornography habits and interests. But that's not because I'm ashamed of them or because they're wrong.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Can I request Spencer (later seasons, post prison era) gifting his gf an initial necklace, but the pendant is his initial?

i.e.

"This is nice, Spence, but my name doesn't start with an 'S'."

"Yeah, but mine does, and you're mine."

Feel free to take it as far as you like 😏

A/N: ehehe yes ofc, i love thissss, but also a lil funny bc my name DOES start with an S :P so imma change the dialogue a bit. keepin dis sweet- there is a lil steamy moment for like two sentences however mostly this is fluff, hope you enjoy it, my love!

Fluff, no warnings (?), gender neutral language (im p sure, lemme know if i missed something!), 2.5k words

Spencer’s apartment is flooded with the music of joy; light jazz pours from an old style radio in the living room, your shared laughter tumbles into the rest of the place from the small kitchen, the sound of knives and forks scraping decorated ceramic plates signals the end of a well-enjoyed meal.

It was date-night for the two of you, a rare occurrence as of late due to Spencer’s teaching commitment. Initially, you were excited, thinking you would be getting more of him to yourself. You kept that thought to yourself, though, seeing how upset he initially was at not being able to help his team in the way he wanted to. That exhilaration was shut down particularly quickly as Spencer had begun bringing his work home with him. When he was working only as a profiler, sure he’d be away from you most of the time, but when he came home he’d spend all of his time present and in the moment. Now, at times, having him home almost felt worse than when he’d be away.

In the moment, however, everything was perfect. This is how you wished every night could be. The two of you bumping shoulders as you both prepare dinner; glasses of wine clinking with a cheers; old love songs serenading your flushed ears as Spencer pulls you into his arms to delicately waltz around the kitchen; his balmy eyes peering down into yours, speaking words of love and comfort. This serene feeling of domesticity was addicting. Life had been a whirlwind the past year, with it only being about six months since Spencer came home from prison. Things were jarringly different at first, both of your lives changing the way being wrongfully imprisoned changed Spencer, but you didn’t care. You could fight every battle life threw your way as long as your beautiful boy was by your side. Some days were more difficult than others, when Spencer would be reminded of the atrocities he witnessed in jail or what he had to do to survive. He’d isolate himself, snap at you, or push you away; but this evening was a good night- it almost felt like you had your old lover back.

“Dinner was delicious, angel.” Spencer beamed at you from the other side of his compact dining table, using his cloth napkin to wipe at the corners of his lips. 

“Well,” you chuckled, pushing out of your seat to collect both of your plates, “you helped me, that’s probably why.” 

Spencer quickly followed your movements, whisking the dishes out of your hands with a sweet kiss pressed to your cheek before taking them to the sink. “It was all you, beautiful.” he had whispered against your skin while leaving your side. 

You silently shook your head, picking up your wine and water glasses to be washed. “Should I dry?” you questioned as he turned on the faucet, pulling a tea towel from the cabinet below you. 

Spencer shook his head, “It’s okay, they can air dry.” he spoke with a little shrug.

“Okay!” you responded bright-eyed, throwing the towel down onto the counter next to you, a bit too excited at the prospect of not doing anything. Your reaction peeled an infectious laugh from Spencer's beautifully cerise lips, his nose scrunching involuntarily. You could stand there and just watch him exist for the rest of eternity. 

And you did just that for a minute, took in the sight of him humming along to the jazz standard wafting in from the other room, engrossed in scrubbing the food stuck to the pans you cooked in. His jawline and upper-lip were shadowed in scruff, trailing down the sides of his Adam’s apple. His hair was long now, wavy and pushed back from his face, exposing his strong forehead and giving you unrestricted access to gaze into his gentle cinnamon eyes. The years passing changed his appearance in so many ways, and you loved every bit of it. Your eyes trailed down to graze over the top of his chest, exposed by the first few buttons of his deep cerulean shirt undone; they moved over the slopes of his broad shoulders, and down to his arms working steadfast to clean up the remnants of your meal. It didn’t escape Spencer how you were drinking him in without a care in the world, paying no mind to his elbow occasionally bumping into your torso.

“You having fun there?” he teased with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes never leaving the task at hand. His words spurred you forward. 

You simply hummed in response as you moved to stand behind him, your front pressing firmly into his back. Spencer’s eyebrow arched questioningly, but he kept his mouth shut, simply letting you do as you pleased. Your head peeked over one side of his arm, hands sliding down until they reached the cuff of his sleeve. Deftly, you began folding them up, “Just helpin you,” you mumbled as a throwaway explanation, moving to his other side to do the same. Fingernails scratched at his newly exposed forearms, your muffled giggle turning Spencer’s smirk into a wide grin. “Done!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his abdomen before nuzzling your face into his broad back. Over the barrier of fabric, the running water, and the sound of his scrubbing Spencer barely heard you ask, “Didn’t I help so much?”

His chuckle sent vibrations into your cheek, “Yes, honey, you were a big help. Thank you.” Content, you pushed your face further into his shirt. 

The two of you stood like that for a few more minutes, Spencer trying his best not to move too much in order to keep you comfortable. You haven’t back-hugged him like this since before he was framed, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it until this moment. He washed the dishes a bit slower than normal, reveling in the heart-warming scene. Soon, however, he was done. 

As soon as he turned off the water, you were off him, moving to pick up the once-forgotten tea towel and face him, leaning against the edge of the sink. “Thank you for your service, soldier.” you unseriously saluted before taking each of his dripping hands in his and patting them dry. 

A titter broke through his smile as Spencer reverently gazed down at you, the way your eyes twinkled under the soft-yellow lights of his old kitchen, your beautiful hands turning his own over to attack any remaining droplets of water, your eyebrows twitching reflexively here and there in focus. The first time he laid eyes on you all those years ago he was shot in the heart by Cupid’s arrow, and it has stayed there, firm in place, ever since. 

As soon as you were done, Spencer softly cupped your face in his palms, your fingers wrapping around his wrists as he tilted your head up to look at him. He leaned down, pushing a passionate, yet gentle kiss onto your mouth. Before you could deepen it, he pulled away just enough to mumble, “I have something for you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you looked up at him in confusion as he pressed one more peck to your lips before moving into the other room, your hands chasing after him. Once his words processed in your brain you perked up, excitedly following behind him.

“You got me a gift?” You question, reaching where Spencer stood at the side table by the front door, right in front of the intricate, gold trimmed mirror you hung up just last week. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched Spencer pick up the weekly newspaper, “Uh, you got me the…local paper?”

With a roll of his eyes, Spencer wordlessly pulled you to him by the waist, mimicking your earlier actions by pressing his front into your back. You stumbled a bit, catching yourself by grabbing onto the forearm wrapped around your torso, holding you up, Spencer’s fingers digging into your waist. You peer at him curiously through the mirror before he whispers in your ear. 

“Look,” he motions down with his chin, and you do as you’re told. Spencer moves the haphazardly folded newspaper to the side, revealing a glimmering deep emerald velvet box. From the size of it, you could tell it was some jewelry other than a ring. You gasped in shock, not even having seen its contents. “Spencer…” your voice was meek and unbelieving. 

He watched you through the mirror, his cheek pressed against your temple as he opened the box before you. Your alluring eyes widened to their limits, hands flying up to cover your mouth. Your gaze whizzed to meet your lover in the reflection, “You got me a necklace??” your words dripped with incredulity. Spencer had gifted you generously in the past- rare books, handmade accessories, clothing you had your eye on, tickets to see your favorite artists live- but never before had he bought you jewelry. You never minded, content with wanting the first piece he gives you to be an engagement ring. That being said, this surprise moved you immensely. You took in the gorgeous necklace shining proudly up at you. A dainty chain in the metal you wore the most, in the middle sat a heart-shaped locket, no bigger than the tip of your pinky-finger. Before you could speak again, Spencer shifted to open the locket for you, revealing two pictures. One was older, taken at JJ’s wedding; Penelope had been going around taking photos of everyone and as soon as she neared the two of you, Spencer scooped you up into his arms as if you were the bride. The moment frozen in time showed you in the midst of a bellowing laugh, clutching to Spencer’s shoulders in shock, with your boyfriend looking upon you as if you were an angel incarnate, an equally wide smile plastered across his face. The second photo was more recent; you had invited the whole team out to a picnic brunch shortly after Spencer was released and this time Emily was the one taking candid photos. The two of you were cozying up at the edge of the yellow gingham blanket, Spencer's arms wrapped tightly around your figure rested between his legs. In the photo, his hand was cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to bring your lips close to his, the snapshot proudly showcasing his grinning mouth just centimeters from your own with the sunlight stretching out in the background. 

“Oh, Spencer,” you were at a loss of words, your fingers hesitantly tracing the silhouette of the pendant, “It’s so beautiful, my favorite pictures…” you murmured. 

Spencer hummed and nodded in response, setting the box down to take the necklace out of its confines. He straightened behind you, stretching the necklace out in front of your face, “Let me put it on you, baby.” he whispered, mouth barely moving. 

You happily obliged as he brought the chain closer to your neck, moving your hair to one side to better allow him to clasp it behind you. Spencer watched you the whole time through the mirror while your eyes were fixated on the necklace. The cold metal of the locket hitting your warm skin caused a minuscule gasp to part your plump lips, but Spencer noticed it all. The way your chest rose and fell faster, chasing after your quickened heart; the way you drew your bottom lip in between your teeth; your uncertain hands grasping at his trouser legs behind you. Once the chain was secured, the locket resting perfectly in the dip of your collar bones, Spencer placed soft, warm kisses to the exposed skin of your shoulders and neck, holding eye contact with you with each; even as he moved your hair to dutifully pepper the other side. You sighed as his arms returned to engulf your waist, tighter than before, your hands moved to rest on top of his. He noticed your eyelids flutter close just for a moment, taking him in, before they opened again and your gaze shifted back down to the reflection of the necklace. Your eyes glinted with uncertainty upon noticing the engraving on the locket you hadn’t fully processed earlier. 

“‘S’...” you spoke, reading the letter dangling from your neck. You kept your inflection steady, trying to make it seem like you knew exactly what it stood for, but Spencer knew you better than that. Before you could make any assumptions, he spoke up.

“For ‘Spencer’.” he stated matter-of-factly, his face moving up from your shoulder to rest against your temple again. 

You smiled at him, more confused than before, “But aren’t you supposed to put my initials on it. You know, cuz it’s my necklace?”

“No,” he murmured sternly against your hair. Spencer’s left hand slipped down to grab onto your right hip, his right hand traveling up your sternum to thumb over the locket before splaying out to rest just below your throat, the heart pendant resting on the back of his hand.

Another, louder gasp sucked through your lips as Spencer tugged you closer to him, your back arched a bit as it stretched, bum pushing into his groin. 

“I put my initial,” he started again, heading dipping down to mouth against the shell of your ear, his eyes looking at you in the mirror through his cocoa lashes had you biting your lip, “Because you’re mine. And now everyone will know it.”

Suddenly, you whipped around in Spencer’s arms, throwing your own over and around his neck, hugging his body close to yours. He stumbled back a bit in shock, grabbing onto your lower back to steady himself before a laugh shook through his shoulders. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you enthusiastically repeated, pressing kisses along his stubbled jawline with every word. “I love it so much, Spencer.” you pulled back all the way to stare up at him, gaze filled with genuinity. One of your hands remained on the back of his neck, the other coming down to fiddle with the locket, “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

His previously mischievous demeanor melted off his back as Spencer drank in how you dripped sweetness. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, honey.” His hands rubbed up and down your back. “I know things have been…complicated lately. I’ve been distant and cold, which I want to apologize for, but you’ve been beside me through it all. You’re my rock, and I just wanted to show you a bit of my gratitude.” 

You shook your head as you pushed up onto your tippy-toes to kiss him again, the hand on your locket moving to lightly scratch at the side of his neck.

“I’m all yours,” you muttered against his lips, tilting your head to the other side to slot yours upon them again. You pulled away after a couple seconds, “You don’t have to thank me, my love. I know you would do the same for me.” You pressed a few more kisses to Spencer’s supple lips before pulling back again, causing him to huff. “Are you mine?” you whisper.

Innocent doe-eyes coupled with a small pout had a quiet groan dragging from Spencer’s throat. He brought a hand up to trace your bottom lip with his thumb before tangling his fingers in your hair, 

“I’m yours, baby.” he nodded. “Only yours.” With that, he pulled you back in for a sensual kiss.

A/N: omg sorry if this sucks im so sleepy right nowwwww it took so long to write this for some reason i cant process words properly but i wanted to finish this! i loved writing this piece, and i hope y'all like reading it. ANON! how'd i do?

[roseyodditea]

Dance Practice - Diluc x gn! Reader

Summary -> 800 ish words (probably). Diluc attempts to teach you how to waltz.

Warnings -> None

A/N -> You know the drill: Not proof read and self indulgent. Also feel free to send in requests. I'm trying to think of ideas that aren't just for Wriothesley and Boothill. Can't show my favoritism too hard

Your fork fell against the nice plate, the loud sound echoing through the halls of Dawn Winery. “What?” Diluc looks up from his own dinner, a confused look in those big, red eyes. “It’s rather customary. It’s just a small celebration for the top investors. My father set the standard that they be ballroom style with some hors d’oeuvres, some nice wine, nothing too extravagant.”

“And I will be expected to go?” “Why yes, you’re my partner. There have been plenty of rumors about you and the investors would love to meet you. Quite frankly, I’d love the opportunity to show you off. It makes the idea of hosting one of these parties worth it..” He said with nothing but pure adoration in his voice. But it did nothing to soothe the way your heart dropped in your chest, nerves turning your blood ice cold.

“Big party huh? Tuxes, dresses, all those prying eyes?” “Hardly prying. They’re so self absorbed they’ll barely remember what else they talk about during the party.” He shrugs and takes another bite of his food. 

“‘Luc… Darling.” You try to hide the way your voice quivers. “You really want me there?” “Of course I do, why would I not?” He places his hand on top of yours, rubbing a thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

“I want you to think really hard about the differences of our upbringings.” You always try to gently remind him that your childhood was nothing like his, and he always seemed so slow to remember. 

“I don’t… oh.” A flash of guilt crosses his face. “I suppose I should have told you about it more than a weekend in advance.”

“Yeah. Probably.” You could do nothing else but offer a soft chuckle. “I don’t know the first thing about any fancy parties. I don’t want to embarrass you.” “Nonsense. I’ll have Adeline take your measurements tomorrow and you and her can pick out your outfit of choice tomorrow. I’ve got a good tailor who’ll rush the alters.” He responds casually and continues to eat his dinner, yours now going cold. It was hard to have an appetite with the sudden rush of nervousness. 

“That’s not all I’m worried about. It’s the whole… behaving properly, the dancing, the not knowing which fork goes where-” “It’s not a dinner party, love, there won’t be any forks.” “That’s not my point and you know it.” You sigh, defeated.

Diluc places his fork down and moves to sit next to you, rubbing his hand across your back. “You’re right. I need to be taking this more seriously. I can’t say I understand how nervous you are right now, but the least I can do is help you through it. May I ask what’s stressing you out the most?” His voice held emotion he dare not show in front of other people. 

“I think… The dancing. They’re going to expect me to dance with you at least once, I assume?” “Yeah. They will. But it’ll be okay.” Diluc hums softly. “Just follow my lead, relax, and only pay attention to me, and you’ll do great..” He places his lips against your temple. 

“I’ve never ballroom danced before. They always make it look so… complicated.” You pok at your food some more.

“Not at all. Come here.” He took your hand and pulls you out of your seat. He moves to put on some classical music. 

“Diluc we don’t have to do this right now-” You try to protest but he steppes in front of you, tying up his hair… Your greatest weakness. 

“Relax.” He said softly. “Just a simple waltz.” He takes your right hand in his. “Just place your other hand right beneath my shoulder blade.” You stood chest to chest with him, his hand resting on your back. 

“Seems rather close.” You chuckle and ignore the way he always made your heart race. 

“It’s supposed to be close. Just relax and follow my lead.” He steps slowly, letting you mirror his every move. 

You were starting to get the hang of it, eventually allowing the two of you to step in time to the music drifting softly in the background. “This is it?”

“It would be it if you stopped looking at your feet, darling.” You look up into his eyes only to realize how gently he was looking down at you. His movements are fluid and practiced, allowing him to focus all of his attention on you. Even with your clumsy movement, he looks at you like you are the most graceful thing in all of Teyvat. “You know… I’ve always wanted to dance with you like this.” 

“Diluc…” Your voice was soft, mirroring his loving tone. You move to rest your head on his chest, your hand sliding down from his shoulder blade down to his lower back, pulling him even closer as you continue to follow his steps. 

“I love you.” He whispers against the top of your head. “I love you too…” You nuzzle further into him. “I’m not too good at this, am I?” “Absolutely abysmal. We’ll work on it.” 

[jaiden-zhou]

(1) casual iso <3

contents: headcanons, reader is a uniqlo employee for plot purposes

not a writer but,, iso is so.. sigh, imagine this reserved uniqlo wearing hitman acting like an absolute puppy for you. yeah this is self indulgent and yeah maybe its based off of my experiences but hey, content.. its long.. i.. the things this man does to me

part 2, part 3

.

.

iso whose closet is practically all uniqlo apparel, from core basics to limited exclusive collabs, anything else is like expensive tech wear/street style clothes, he likes his quality

iso who always grabs heavy oolong milk tea with tapioca pearls, a classic predictable drink (his friends call him basic for it, but he doesn't mind), every afternoon he gets the chance to

iso who ends up being an employee there with how much he visits, the owners are a chinese elderly couple who like gossiping with him in mandarin (he has fun listening to their stories and such)

iso who likes having music playing of his own whether it be from his headphones or speakers, even at work his music is playing loud enough for only him to hear from his headset hanging around his neck

iso who works evening shifts part-time and gains a lot of eyes from admirers where he gets at least three numbers given to him a month like "you're really cute, text me <3 (XXX) XXX-XXXX"

iso who's never interested, none of them catch his eyes like how he catches theirs, and ends up tossing whatever number scribbled onto a receipt away

iso who goes to uniqlo on his day off for a collaboration launch consisting of outerwear jackets and trousers that match his style only to not find his size on the racks

iso who takes his time trying to comb through the racks, desperate to find it on his own and take it with him before giving up, pulling down his headphones, and reluctantly asking you

iso who, at a reasonable distance, looks over your shoulder as you look up the product listing with the desired size and color, hearing faint rap music playing through his headphones slung around his neck, finding that there should be three units left and listens in quietly when you radio your coworkers if there are any in the back before going to look for yourself

iso who waits patiently at the same spot for quite a while before you go jogging up to him with the jacket he has been wanting, the plastic and paper still wrapping it up signaling that it has been unprocessed and untouched

iso who still is patient with you with an expectant look, not the impatient kind, it's the anticipating excitement kind, as you're still a little out of breath from running around finding the item for him unwrapping and removing all the excess packaging and giving it to him with both hands, garbage tucked at your arm

iso who looks at your earnest expression, sweet eyes, and genuine smile and feels his breath hitch before taking the coat and doing a little head bow while muttering a quiet 'thanks'

iso who leaves an anonymous compliment to you, conveying his gratitude for going out of your way to find him a limited quantity jacket and sub-consciously thinks of your cute expression of when you gave it to him every time he throws it on

iso who was asked to pick up a morning shift, no one else could and so he decided to just wake up early enough and suck it up but boy does he not regret it

iso who opens up the shop for the first time ever and lo-and-behold, you waltz in as the first customer and immediately he recognizes you, and apparently so do the owners

iso who listens quietly as, whom he likes to call granny, greets you with a warm voice asking if you're ready to go to work

iso who once again patiently waits for you to walk up and order, finding out that you're also a regular here, always grabbing a drink before your long shift at the japanese clothing store he met you in

iso who's still a little quiet, shy even, when you greet him noting that you recognize him from a while ago, your friendly exterior giving him a fuzzy comforting feeling inside

iso who after making your drink, bids you goodbye and continues on (not before asking to switch to morning shifts.. for some reason hehe)

iso who starts seeing you most mornings before you work and then with some time, working up the courage (it was very hard, he was very nervous you just didn't see it) to ask you for your number, nothing romantic just being friendly, right?

iso who starts getting a little closer to you, learning what day and times you work, your hobbies, your favorite things, the music you listen to <3

iso who sometimes drops by your workplace to give you a drink or some food and simple yet subtly sweet encouragement that always seems to lift your spirits to push through the day

iso who even starts to see you near or at the end of your shift to take you home, you've worked long enough, and it's dark out.. :(

iso who likes to ensure your safety by accompanying you home, his friends like to say (tease) that it gives him an excuse to see you more. it's dangerous out at night, what are they talking about? nonsense. (denial is a river in egypt)

iso who as time goes by, slowly craves your presence a little more than he'd like to admit, you're always on his mind and he often flusters himself with his thoughts of you, his cheeks donning a light-pink blush. maybe his friends are onto something.. ugh

yeah i'm definitely writing more iso content hehe

------

"don't have to take me home every time, zhao yuuuu." you whined next to him. "i've done it before and i can do it again."

you only get a short scoff in return, iso's hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

"it's dark, you're more at risk when you're alone." iso states matter-of-fact. his headphones at his neck with no music playing. "you know this too, so you shouldn't be complaining."

"yeah but," you pause for a moment. "i don't want you to have to make the trip each time to pick me up.."

iso takes in your dejected tone, his eyes soften.

"and i don't want you being in potential danger where i could've been there to deter it." iso chides softly. "please, for my peace of mind.."

"whatever you say," you comply, your shoulder bumping into him jokingly as you share a quiet laugh. "thanks, yu. it means a lot."

"always," he replies, a certain warmth sets in when he hears you say his nickname.

[chlorinecake]

What kind of lingerie would enha legal line like on you? You can add photos 😁

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Laced With Lust | 18+ REACTIONS

༉‧₊˚ PAIRING ⑅ enha!legalline x fem!reader

༉‧₊˚ WARNINGS ⑅ established relationships, language, kissing, unprotected sex, teasing, thigh riding, handjobs/fingering, dry humping, hair pulling, boob and light bondage play, overstim, not fully proof-read

༉‧₊˚ WORD COUNT ⑅ between 200-250 per member

𓊆이희승𓊇 Lee Heeseung 232

Heeseung’s a gamer, so it comes to no surprise that E-girl inspired lingerie would be a huge YES for him. Your boyfriend was probably busy playing computer games when you decided to pop around the corner dressed like THIS, instantly grabbing his attention… Trust me when I say this man almost drooled—

Your wrists were cuffed to each wooden post of the bed, securing your hands above your head as Heeseung drew you closer to your high. The speed of his thick fingers increased with your moans, making you feel dizzy.

"Hee," you moaned, craving more than just his fingers, but also wanting him to release your hands from the restraints.

"What is it, baby," he grinned, spitting on your pussy before stimulating your clit with his free hand, "didn't you get all dressed up so I could play with you? Don't tell me you wanna cut our fun short?"

"Fuck, don't stop," you nearly begged, balling your fist as your gummy walls clenched around Heeseung's fingers.

"You're so desperate to touch me, aren't you, baby?"

"Yes, Heeseung. Wanna touch you so bad," you whined, wrestling with the hand cuffs before he finally took them off.

For the next hour or so, you and your boyfriend did it in all your favorite positions, losing count of how many times you came. Let's just say, your neighbors could probably take a good guess.

𓊆박종성𓊇 Jongseong Park 220

I could totally see Jay being that one kid who had a crush on every animated bunny he saw on TV. So when you decided to dress up like a playboy bunny to surprise him when he came back from work one day… GURLLL!! I can already see him cumming on his little fuck bunny’s back, gripping your hips as he whispers filthy nothings in your ear ahhhhfcbhrfbch Whatever tf bunnies say, I’ll say it for Jay—

“You can take all of this, yeah?” He asked with a smirk, fucking his release back into you as he hit it from the back in doggy style.

“F-fuck,” you whined into the pillow, your toes curling at the sensation of Jay’s thickness rolling in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace. Mostly because that's all your cunt could handle...

“I wanna see that pretty face of yours as you struggle to speak with my dick inside you,” he grunted, grabbing your hair into a ponytail so he could meet your teary eyes. “Now use your words, baby.”

You let out a breath that you’d been holding in for a few seconds, feeling him twitch inside you as your pussy continued to swallow him, “I can take you, Jay,” you whimpered, kissing him on the lips, "all of you."

“Good girl.”

𓊆심재윤𓊇 Sim Jaeyun 218

Jake admires both your tomboyish and feminine side, as it reminds him that you’re not just his girlfriend, but his best friend, too. He would honestly prefer you to just (a) go braless, (b) wear a pair of his boxers, and (c) one of his oversized tee's. It just makes him feel all soft on the inside and hard on the outside when you wear his clothes—

“Babe, have you seen my Calvin Klein boxers?” your cute boyfriend called as he searched through his drawers.

“And why do you need those specifically,” you asked, waltzing up behind him with his back still turned to you.

“I have a photoshoot tomorrow, and you know how my agent feels about underwear not matching the brand,” he said with a sigh.

“Well, since you need them so badly, they’re right here,” you smiled, sitting on the bed in a seductive position.

“You want me to fuck you in exchange for MY underwear?”

“Please?” You asked shyly.

That must've been the magic word, because Jake met you on the bed like an excited puppy, snaking his hands under your shirt to fondle with your tits, "My schedule's a bit busy today, but this shouldn't take long," he smiled as you wrapped your legs around him, melting into each other's touch and kisses.

𓊆박성훈𓊇 Park Sunghoon 236

I think Sunghoon would be into the classic lingerie vibe: the kind of stuff you’d expect to find tucked away in someone’s closet on a pg-13 movie? Yeah, that. He prefers black over any color, simply because he finds it SEGGSY as hell, and if you wore heels TOO? RIP—

“Didn’t I already pay you this week?" your boyfriend asked playfully as he paced around the bedroom.

“Stop, Hoon, you know I’m not with you for your money.”

“Then all that leaves left is sex,” he smirked, taking in the black lingerie set you wore, “this is for me, isn’t it?”

“Only if I can be on top.”

He chuckled to himself, “you’re a brat, you know that?”

“And you’re mean,” you pouted, tugging at the waist of his pants before he abruptly changed his mind.

The way your heart skipped a thousand beats at this opportunity—

Sunghoon sat at the head of the bed, patting his lap for you to come closer. You started to take his pants off before he grabbed your hands, pulling your face to his, “not just yet,” he smirked, kissing you.

“Over the clothes first, princess, and if you do a good enough job, I might let you ride the real thing.”

You whined in the crook of his neck, grinding your hips against him in desperation as you craved his dick more and more with each grunt he made.

𓊆김선우𓊇 Kim Sunoo 220

I think Sunoo would be into lingerie with lots of lace and silk textures. Soft hues of pink or ivory are a plus, too, as he loves how gentle you look in those colors. To be honest, he’d probably find more pleasure in the dress up aspect of you wearing lingerie versus anything too sexual. Think of it as a couple bonding experience where you guys just drool over each other’s beauty while half-naked— SIKE

“That looks amazing on you, sweetie, but I have to fix this one thing,” Sunoo smiled, reaching his hands under your lace skirt to toy with the hem of your panties.

“Hey, this is supposed to be a dress up session, not show and touch,” you moaned, feeling his delicate fingers graze your sweet spot.

He giggled at how flustered you appeared, “I know, baby, it’s just that your underwear’s on backwards.”

“Yah, Sunoo, I can fix it myself!” You whined, feeling your face grow hotter as he pulled your panties down and past your ankles.

“Looks like someone thinks I look pretty nice, too,” he smirked, observing the wet patch at the seat of your underwear.

It didn’t take long before you ended up riding your boyfriend’s thigh while jerking him off, soiling your cute outfit after the first *of many* orgasms you shared.

𓊆양정원𓊇 Yang Jungwon 232

Finally, we have Jungwon, my comfort place… 🤧

Definitely a firm believer in less is more. He would probably feel a bit overwhelmed if you wore anything too revealing, so he prefers to stick with just a few peeks of skin here and there. Just don’t tease him if he blushes when you wear a cute lace bralette or high shorts, ‘cause he’ll make you regret it later—

“I’m so sorry, baby!” Your boyfriend yelped, observing your now red stained shirt, thanks to the cranberry juice he just dropped.

“It’s okay, Wonie, I know you’re clumsy,” you returned warmly, using a few napkins to clean the floor.

“Here, do you wanna wear my hoodie-“

“Nah, you’re good,” you said, taking off your shirt to reveal the white bra you wore beneath.

He couldn’t help but to blush at the sight, which led to you teasing him for it.

“Gosh, could you be any more easy?” You mocked before Jungwon pinned you against the fridge.

Your eyes wandered from his piercing gaze, and then to his broad shoulders that caged you in.

He took your face in his hands, passionately kissing you as his delicate hands grazed your waist. It didn’t take long for him to break from the kiss, looking back at your burning face with a smirk.

“Aww, you look so pretty when you’re flustered like this,” he cooed, walking away, but you grabbed his hand.

“Can we take this upstairs?”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Thank you so much for reading this fun request! Make sure to check my enhypen bookshelf for more interesting reads!

Taglist:

@fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @j-wyoung @rickysblkgf @bambangan @wonbyf @4imhry @zhangyi-johee @naddii  @valhrts @lisaaannna @lovelycassy @addictedtohobi @gardenwons @nikipedia07 @tubatusoobs @03sunoos @clarisabutterfliescupcake @yevene @j-wyoung

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

love lies licky

~masterlist~ wc: 2k reader: afab!reader — reader is supposed to be like kristen stewart in love lies bleeding. you get the picture warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut; also mentions of crime/drugs/violence but no real specifics, just a backdrop; bad relationships with fathers summary: 80’s crime/city noir AU — reader is the owner of a seedy but successful gym and prettyrichboy!ricky walks in one night inquiring about a membership -- inspired by 2024 film love lies bleeding starring kstew and katy o'brian devastated by how long it too me to post something. truly sorry about that. i literally love you all so much!! enjoy.

EXPLICIT 18+ SMUT WARNINGS: oral (reader receiving), public sex, a little bit of stalking/watching, mentions of crime/drugs/violence, etc. but not overly dark— just a fun backdrop

—

three.

two.

one.

it’s the kid across from you that just finished his set, but somehow you’re the one out of breath. black hair pushed back except for a few strands that have fallen into his eyes. a heart monitor band around his growing bicep as he places the free weights back onto the rack. veins popping from his slender wrists.

it’s at this moment you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror— jaw dropped as you recline back on the leg press. how long had you been sitting there?

you stand up, wondering if he’s noticed you yet. wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck a glance in the past week. and it’s not like he’d called you out on it before.

and even if he did, you had a pretty good cover. you own the gym. as far as a legal defense, you’re just an extra attentive fitness manager.

keeping an eye out for your most interesting patron.

you make your way over to the front desk, reminded of some new member paperwork you’d been neglecting to file for a few hours. you should probably finish that before closing.

and you have every intention to do just that. but a particular exhale suddenly comes from the other side of the room. and it’s just out of your hands.

you set your stack of papers aside, walking back out onto the gym floor. you spot him instantly: on the leg press you’d previously been watching him from. he’s got a good amount of weight on it.

you’re actually concerned it might be too much.

when he’d first signed up for your gym a couple months ago, you’d actually fought the urge to laugh straight in his face. not to be misunderstood— he was a handsome kid. a tall, thin figure dressed in a designer coat with a pretty face to match. one that didn’t like to get roughed up much. he could be a runway model. or one of those cute teeny bopper boys that your niece likes.

buy your gym had a bit of reputation. it wasn’t really a place for boys like him. it was rough around the edges. maybe even a little seedy. but it’s where every bodybuilder went to get the best winning physique. results guaranteed.

“hi,” he’d said quietly with a polite smile. you frowned, removing your headphones off of only one ear.

“we don’t have a public restroom,” you’d replied, popping a mid-size bubblegum bubble in his face. “sorry.”

“oh no, uh,” he stuttered, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “i wanted to sign up for a membership.”

wide eyes was an understatement. you couldn’t believe what’d just come out of his mouth. this little rich boy thought he could just waltz into your gym and join? did he really think he could survive that?

“get lost, kid,” you said, smacking your blue bubblegum. “you’re in over your head. how ‘bout you try one of those luxury gyms around the corner? probably more your style.”

he shook his head fervently. “no, wait! i—... i wanna join this gym.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “yeah? and why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“because i want to do this,” he replied, brow furrowed in determination. “i wanna prove that i can do this.”

you stared at him for a long moment. you’d had a lot of people beg to join your gym before. and you’d had no problem showing them all the door. but there was something about this kid. you couldn’t tell if you wanted to watch him fail or succeed.

an exasperated sigh left your lungs as you pulled open your desk drawer and threw a booklet of paperwork at him. “fine. but i am not responsible for any injuries— physical, emotional, spiritual, medical, or financial— that you incur while at the gym.”

“financial?” he repeated warily.

“take a look around,” you said, gesturing to the worse-for-wear gym. “padlock your belongings all you want, but if someone here wants into your locker, they’re getting in. and if you walk around looking like that, you might as well just tattoo a giant target on your back.”

he looked down at the ground, swallowing nervously before meeting your gaze again. “understood.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. maybe he was just some rich shit looking for cheap steroids. he’d find that and more at your gym. you didn’t really care. but as you picked up a pen and handed it to him, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“what’s your name, kid?” you asked, taking a sip of the warm beer you’d left out on the welcome desk.

he looked up from the paperwork he was rapidly filling out, smiling as he answered...

“ricky.”

—

you hadn’t paid much attention to him at first. you figured he’d last a week at your gym at best. and you’d predicted accurately how that week would go. he was mugged three days in a row, approached to buy drugs persistently every half hour, and even took a pretty nasty punch to the gut from one of your best patrons: a heavyweight world champion powerlifter named steve.

but when monday rolled around the next week, you were taken aback to see ricky walking through the doors at 10 p.m. sharp.

he gave you a little wave. you nodded at him confusedly.

and then he went straight to work. just like he did the next night. and the next night. until two months had suddenly gone by.

and wouldn’t you know it— all of that hard work had begun to actually pay off. his arm muscles had grown significantly and his chest had broadened as well. of course, he was never gonna be the size of the regular bodybuilders in your gym. they were all on lethal amounts of steroids anyway.

but he looked... good. and you found his dedication to be kind of admirable. he was tougher than you ever could’ve imagined.

so after a couple months, you’d started moseying over from your welcome desk or whatever machine you were using to offer some help. maybe it was form correction or a spot or just some lackluster encouragement, but he seemed grateful to receive whatever it was you were willing to give him.

“if you don’t keep those fucking knees bent,” you’d corrected, lit cigarette in between your fingers and blue bubblegum twisted around your tongue.

“sorry, sorry,” ricky apologized, correcting his form immediately. “it’s just harder like this.”

“i bet it is, kid,” you’d replied, shaking your head. “thought you’d gotten stronger, but i guess not.”

“i have and you know it,” he protested, rolling his eyes. you smirk at him as he catches your eye in the mirror. “and i’m not a kid. i’m three years younger than you.”

“you’re a kid as long as you’re still living on daddy’s money,” you said, clucking your tongue disapprovingly. “some of us don’t even have a dad.”

the weight dropped from ricky’s hand, crashing onto the floor with a bang. he looked around awkwardly, picking it back up and mumbling, “sorry.”

“what? did that make you uncomfortable?” you asked, taking a drag. “figures. why’d you even sign up for this gym in the first place?”

ricky finished his set, placing the weights down on the ground carefully. “this is the gym you go to if you want the best results.”

“it certainly is,” you agreed with a smile. “but i assume you’d never been to a place on the wrong side of town like this before. like a baby deer in headlights, is what i’d call it.”

he shook his head. “you’re right. i guess i hadn’t. but i wanted to prove i could do this. and i thought this was my only shot.”

“you said that before,” you remarked with a frown. “‘prove i could do this’. why would you of all people have anything to prove to anyone?”

ricky shrugged. “just because i have a father, doesn’t mean he was happy to have me.”

after a moment, you huffed a laugh. “alright, kid. i get it.”

“and i also heard the owner of this gym was a total smokeshow,” he added, walking over to the water fountain and leaving you behind.

you fight a smile. “and?”

“and i wasn’t disappointed.”

—

you sit down on a raised utility bench, straddling it as you observe ricky at the leg press. it might be your fault he’d increased the weight so much— you’d been telling him to put some more emphasis on growing his leg muscles for a few days now. not that he didn’t already have good legs, but it’d be a shame if all the upper body work made him unproportional.

he’s handling it surprisingly well. good enough form to get him through a set. you watch as a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face.

and gasp softly when you unconsciously grind into the bench your straddling.

you’d like to claim you couldn’t help it. that it was a little mistake that you’d never make again. that you cared at all about being professional.

but you can’t. because you’re pressing yourself back into the cushion of the seat in a matter of seconds.

blame hormones. blame the time on the clock. blame the two beers you’d chugged within a half hour of each other or the adrenaline from the fight you broke up earlier in the night.

but the truth is, it’s his fault. it’s all him.

you look up from the cushion beneath you, expecting to see him completing his set, but instead, he’s sitting reclined on the machine— an amused expression on his face as he stares back at you.

“what muscles are you targeting over there?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “pelvic floor?”

your mouth hangs open, not really sure what you could possibly say to deflect this situation.

ricky stands up, walking over to you carefully with his arms folded across his chest. “you know, that’s why i like this place so much. a lot of gyms are run by some corporate fuck who’s never even touched the equipment. but even the owner of this gym’s dedication to fitness is truly inspiring.”

“it was my dad’s gym,” you admit suddenly. “he willed it to me when he died.”

ricky looks at you thoughtfully before snorting. “i bet he’d be proud to see you using the equipment to its full potential.”

“i don’t care what he’d think,” you replied, shaking your head. “he’s dead.”

ricky smiles at this as he sinks to his knees in front of you. “lucky.”

he raises his brow quickly, asking for permission as his hands hover over your thighs. you nod slowly until his palms sink into your soft skin, kneading then gruffly. you push yourself closer to him, spreading your legs to show him where you really want him.

“a little desperate, hm?” ricky asks with a smirk, pushing his long fingers up the gaps of your short-shorts all the same. “don’t let any of these meatheads ever take you for a spin?”

“s’unprofessional,” you answer as he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs— discarding them onto the gym floor.

you were never wearing any underwear.

“oh yeah? well what would you call what you’re doing right now?” he asks, pushing you gently down until your back is flat against the bench. hands gripping your thighs, he inches in closer until his lips finally connect with your core. “you know there’s still people in here right?”

you look around at the lingering gym members still pushing through their workouts. fuck ‘em, you think as you sigh contentedly. “i’d call it understandable.”

he grins before diving into you, lapping at all the wetness that’s already gathered at your opening for him. he takes it on his tongue, bringing it to your most sensitive area and swirling persistent circles around it.

you’re whimpering and you couldn’t be more surprised. the pretty boy gives good head? you thought guys like him usually used their money as foreplay instead.

your hands reach instinctively for his biceps, admiring up close how much he’s improved his own physique. they look even better wrapped around your legs, though.

you give them a squeeze and ricky’s lips pop off of you with a smack. the corner of his lips upturns cheekily, your juices dripping from his chin.

“not too bad, right?” he asks, eyes shining as he seeks your approval. “for a guy like me, i mean?”

you smile, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots. “not too bad at all.”

the reassurance lights up his face as he continues lapping at your heat with renewed passion. your climax approaches rapidly as he switches to sucking— the steady, quick suction on your clit sending you over the edge.

“fuck, oh my god,” you whine, your grip tightening around ricky’s arm as your thighs squeeze him closer to you. “i—… m’cumming.”

“fucking gorgeous,” he moans into your cunt as you ride out your high. a few deep breaths and you sit up, looking at the mess dripping from you and onto the bench. you can guarantee it’s not the first time thay bench has been covered in someone’s cum.

ricky hands you the container of sanitary wipes on the bench next to yours.

“don’t you think we should wait until we’re all done?” you ask with a smirk, eyeing the bulge that’s grown in his shorts.

but to your surprise, ricky shakes his head and stands up from the floor— walking back over to the leg press.

“back to work,” he says with a grin. “these hamstrings aren’t gonna build themselves. maybe you should get some work done, too.”

why that little shit—

you grab your cutoff denim shorts off the ground, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket.

if this kid wants to play…

you’ll just have to play, too.

[kteezy997]

the director's daughter-part one//t.c.

this is going to be a revision of the story I originally wrote and posted on Wattpad but got deleted. Luckily, my Beta has it saved for me<33

Warnings: cursing, yearning/sexual tension

While shooting a new movie, Timothee Chalamet was staying at the home of the film's director, Colleen, along with his costars, Florence Pugh and Zendaya, as well as Zendaya's boyfriend, Tom Holland. After getting off their plane, Colleen's driver brought them to a massive, modern-styled mansion.

Upon entering the house with their luggage, they were all greeted by the lovely Colleen, who gave them a quick tour of her large home and assigned them their bedrooms.

Later that evening after everyone settled in, the director and the cast met in the living room to go over the shooting schedule. As they spoke of the coming weeks, they eventually heard some footsteps.

In walked a young woman wearing a white tank top and some trendy striped boxer shorts. She was seemingly so preoccupied with the AirPod Max headphones on her ears and the iPhone in her hands, that she didn't even notice the group of people sitting on the couches.

"Oh yes," Colleen piped up, "I almost forgot I had a daughter." she joked, speaking louder to get the attention of the young lady. "Y/n!"

Y/n was startled and jumped slightly at her mother's yelling voice. She removed her headphones, smiling awkwardly.

"Honey, you probably already know all of these people already, but, Timothee, Florence, Zendaya and Tom, meet my youngest child, y/n. She's twenty-two and she is also visiting me for the summer along with the rest of you."

"Wow, thanks for the marvelous introduction, Mother, but hey everyone, I'm y/n." she smiled kindly now to the other young adults.

The actors all raised from the couch, greeting y/n with hugs and sweet words. But it was different when Timothee stopped in front of her. She could see why the world, especially females, were so taken by his boyish good looks and his curly hair. She felt like those green eyes were seeing into her soul.

"Y/n." he said, giving her a soft smile and then hugging her.

She hugged Timothee, feeling the softness of the shirt on his back and taking in his sandalwood scent. As they both backed away from the hug, she said, "I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just going to grab some water and head up to my room. Goodnight everyone, it was great meeting you all." She parted to the kitchen with a wave of her hand.

Timothee could not get y/n out of his mind for the entire evening, not even as they all dispersed to go to bed. He laid awake for two hours that night, just letting his brain wander to repetitive thoughts about the mysterious young woman who just waltzed into his life.

The next morning, y/n took it upon herself to make breakfast for everyone, to kick off the summer. The cast members were in awe of the yummy smelling spread on the kitchen island she had put out for them. The entire household sat in the kitchen and had breakfast together.

"So, y/n, are you in college or..?" Florence asked, taking a piece of bacon from her plate and biting into it.

"Oh, no, I'm actually, well I was an Olympic diver." y/n answered.

"Oh that's so cool!" Tom said, "So do you have like medals and all that?"

"Yes, I've got three Gold and two Silver." she said, taking a bite of her waffle off of her fork.

"We never could keep her out of the water when she was little. And we are so proud of everything she's accomplished." Colleen said, the pride evident in her tone and she smiled.

"Hey, I knew I'd seen you before." Zendaya exclaimed looking at y/n, "You were in those Nike ads, right?"

"Yeah, they sponsored me for three years." y/n blushed, wiping her mouth shyly with her napkin. She wasn't used to being so recognized, especially not by someone as famous as Zendaya. As they continued the morning meal, y/n couldn't help but notice that Timothee was being much quieter than the others.

After breakfast, Colleen made an announcement: "Okay guys, we are heading to set today. I want you all to see the work being done and have an idea of what it is going to look like." She then looked at her daughter, "And I am trusting you to stay here by yourself and not break anything or burn the place down."

"Mother, I am twenty-two years old, I think I can handle it."

“Yeah, she did cook us breakfast and the house is still immaculate.” Florence pointed out, making the others giggle.

.......

Once everyone else had left, y/n showered and put on a little bit of makeup to go with her white lacy top and black jeans with the knees ripped to catch the summer breeze outside. She ventured out of the house to go to the art supplies store. She wanted to indulge her painting hobby.

It was a quick little shopping trip, the movie gang was still gone when she returned to the house. She went to her room upstairs and kicked her shoes off. She turned on her music, letting it blare through the speakers in her room as she set up her canvas.

After seeing the set, Zendaya, Tom, and Florence made plans to grab some food and then go grocery shopping afterwards. Colleen had a meeting to go to.

Timothee, however, opted to go back to the house instead of dinner, claiming that he didn't sleep well the night before and just wanted to relax.

Upon entering the mansion, he could hear the muffled music coming directly from y/n's room. He smirked to himself, shaking his head. He decided to get a shower and freshen up. It was one of those summer days where you started to sweat just by stepping outside.

After getting out of the shower, Timothee wrapped his towel around his waist. He stopped at y/n's room when he left the bathroom, intending to greet her and let her know that he was back. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. The music was so loud, she didn't even hear him enter her room. He stopped to watch her for a moment, she was painting, but also swaying her hips to "In the Night" by the Weeknd.

She slathered a bit of paint onto the canvas, did a twirl and squealed when she saw someone in the room with her. She nearly jumped out of her skin! "Timothee! What the fuck?! You scared the hell out of me, dude." She put her hand to her chest to still her raving heart.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to let you know that someone else was home, I didn't mean to scare you."

"How long have you been standing there, you creep?"

"Hey, I'm not a creep,” Timothée put his hands on his hips, “I only stepped in here for a second."

Y/n found herself distracted by the water beads streaming down his naked chest. "Um, okay. Where is everyone else?"

Timothee smirked, noticing her eyes scanning his chest. "Out."

"mm." she hummed, nodding.

"Is there anything you want from me?" he asked, daring.

She then shot her gaze up to his eyes, "What do you mean?"

"Look, we're both adults here. I see the way you're looking at me, and honestly, I want you too. Everyone else in the house is going to be out for hours. If you want me, I'm yours."

“But,” she shook her head in disbelief, “you didn’t say a word to me this morning.”

Timothée shrugged, “Yeah, I felt kind weird because I wasn’t sure if you were in to me. But now I’m pretty confident you are.”

She grinned, giggling, “Hmm, what makes you so sure?”

“Because you were just looking at me like you wanted to fuck my brains out.”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Lucy Bronze x Reader

Camera Doesn’t Lie

Prompt: Could you please do something about Lucy in the new Lionesses photoshoot? She looks too good! - anon

Since Papper Snapper had left the England squad after the Euros there was an opening for club photographer. You’d been working your way up the ranks within the women’s football community for the last few years and after one too many drinks in the pub, your friends finally convinced you to press the send button on your application. You never imagined that you would get an interview, let alone the job and was soon following England Women all around the country. When the World Cup came around the staff had to wait for a call up from Sarina exactly like the squad did and you had never been so nervous in your life. You’d never even been out of the UK, let alone a country the complete other side of the world!

You’d now been with the squad for almost a year and had become close with the team, it was your job after all! If you didn’t have a good relationship with them then you could kiss goodbye to the amazing photos the club expected to receive every evening. Your job role included squeezing genuine smiles from them after a tiring day at training, managing the adaptions to clothing to be photographed just right and needed the banter to pull off some candid laughter from the players. You soon became known for your jokes that although awful, always got a authentic chuckle out of them.

Even though your time with England had been short, you soon learnt that there was one player you didn’t have to direct - Lucy Bronze. She just knew exactly what to do every single time there was a camera lense pointed in her direction. Your photo of her won the Sports Picture of the Year 2022 and she was your go-to whenever you received special requests from newspapers and magazines. Lucy’s photos were the hardest to choose between which ones made the cut because they were all stunning - there were never any bad ones to delete because she just doesn’t do bad!

Today was new kit photoshoot day and one by one the players came in ready for their pictures to be taken. The lighting had to be just right as these would be displayed during the line ups and squad list for the upcoming tournament. Every photoshoot was a long day but especially long when done singularly. Seeing on your list there was only one person left, you were relieved to find out it was Lucy, knowing her shoot would take 3 minutes max then you could get to bed - finally!

Waltzing into the room wearing this season’s England kit already pinned at the back to make it taut, hair scooped back military style with not a single strand out of place and a huge grin on her face ready to be captured. Lucy needed no direction at all, she loved the camera and the camera loved her. “Your favourite client has arrived!” her cocky demeanour always intimidated you, Lucy knew how to make your job easy but she also knew how to make your heart flutter with unease. She was just so fucking hot and she knew that too! More recently her flirtatious ways had started to eat away at you, wearing you down until you were weak and flustered over any communication with the defender. “Make sure you make me look good, yeah!” she smirked while striking different poses without having to prompt her. She’d done this so many times before that the brunette could do it in her sleep! “You know you don’t need me to make you look good Bronzey!” chuckling nervously at her comment. Everything she does she does it with confidence and that intimidated the fuck out of you. “Flattery never hurt anyone though!” her smug look through the camera made you wince. “Okay, we’re done here!” you announced quickly closing the camera lens to stop her penetrating eye contact getting to you through the screen any longer. “Nice, see ya tomorrow lil’ darlin’!” she said in her sensual deep tone of voice as she hopped down from the platform and sauntered out of the room, watching her leave she pulled her hair out from the bun as it dropped down past her shoulders. Snapping you out of your intense gaze at the name on her back when she swiftly turned around to ask if you needed any help packing up your equipment. “Nope, I’ve got it!” yelling across the hall as you fumbled over the camera cases at your feet making everything topple over and crashing sounds echo around the room, hoping she didn’t notice you watching her leave. She most certainly did because when she continued to walk away you heard a soft laugh exit her mouth as she went.

Today was the last media day before everyone left for Australia, it was the team photo day so shouldn’t take as long as the last shoot. Although these ones didn’t take as much time, they took a lot more patience because as the photographer you had to make sure everyone was looking the same way, all eyes were open and everyone was visible. Trying to direct 30 people at once was a lot harder than one at a time, it was a lot like a child’s birthday party except they were all hyper adults instead. A few small group photos took place while the rest of the team got ready. Strolling into the room looking half dressed Lucy claimed she was ready for the professional shoot. All the girls had picked their outfits from a range of smart monotone suit options but Lucy decided to skip the entire shirt rail completely and chose to only wear a waistcoat to cover her torso, showing off her toned arms and chest. “Errm, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” the exasperation could be heard in your voice, ‘do I really need to help them get dressed too?’ you thought to yourself as if your work load isn’t already enough to handle. “Had to get your attention somehow didn’t I?” shrugging her shoulders and trying her best to look innocent but failed at covering up the smirk on her face. “You really do fancy yourself don’t you” reluctantly setting up your tripod for the photos she desperately wanted. “Well that’s one thing we have in common!” Lucy quipped, quick to hush her knowing that fraternisation amongst the squad and crew was strictly forbidden. “Did you do this on purpose?” you asked the taller brunette as you clicked away on your camera buttons. “You’re always complimenting my arms” pulling a pose with her tensed biceps like Bruce Forsyth on a 80s tv game show. “It’s my job Luce, don’t flatter yourself” laughing nervously at the eye contact she was giving you through the camera, noticing she was stepping off of the platform and edging towards you, you lowered the camera to face her. “When are you just gonna admit you fancy the pants off me, I’m bored of chasing” she said raising her eyebrow. “You literally chase a ball for a living” replying sarcastically trying to neutralise the conversation from overly flirty to just workplace friendly. “Yeah but I’m chasing you for fun, there’s a difference” her smug face coming closer to yours. “If you’re not gonna change let’s get this shoot over and done with so I’m not here till midnight, yeah?” reluctantly turning away and changing your lenses, you didn’t have to but it gave you an excuse to break away from the intense encounter. “Anything for you sweet cheeks!” the brunette winked before going off to pester someone else.

Packing up your things and heading for the door Lucy collared you “have your been waiting for me this whole time?” you asked as she startled you out of your business brain of all the editing you had to look forward to tonight. “Yeah, gotta be sure you make it to your car okay haven’t I?” draping her bare arm around your shoulders, “unless you wanna stay with me tonight?” raising her eyebrows and pulling a teethy grin. “You know that’s not allowed Lucy” shrugging her arm from around you and telling her off for still wearing the loaned clothing. “They’re gonna notice yours are missing!” tugging on the threads. “Trying to take my clothes off now are you?” she acted playfully making your eyes roll. “Give it a rest woman!” pushing her softly before walking away. Lucy quickly rushed in front of you to act defender in the doorway so you couldn’t leave, finding yourself trying to dodge past either side of her as she continued to block your exit. You were tired, hungry and getting more annoyed by the second, “I just want to go to bed!” whining and stomping your foot in frustration. Stepping towards your body you backed away from her not realising the wall was so close behind you. She had you right where she wanted you and placed one arm above her head, leaning on to the wall above you in a sexy manner. “Well why didn’t you say that?” gesturing to her hotel room door with her eyes and displaying a large cheeky grin. She was so close to your face it made your bottom lip tremble from being in such a close proximity to the brunette. As she bowed down to make your heads level your breath became shaky. “My boyfriend will be waiting for me” you blurted out, making your relationship status known while looking towards the exit, yet making no attempt to push her away from you. A cocky laugh left her mouth, “I guarantee I can make you feel better than he does” her eyes flickered between your facial features, looking down at your lips and back up to your eyes. “Is that a bet?” your voice now sensual too, your eyes copying her movements with anticipation, with every breath her face was edging closer to yours that you practically said that into her mouth. With very sudden motions Lucy wrapped her arms around your body pulling you into her, picking you up and throwing you over her shoulder like you weighed nothing causing a squeal of excitement as she carried you into her room. “You can tell me I’m right after” she smirked, kicking the door shut behind her.