#{{ and sorry for the late reply weekdays are never good to me ;; }}

[sluttynfemme]

𝗞𝗡𝗘𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗧

playboy butch x overachiever femme (pov)

You’ve been too busy to visit Miron Sikkari these last few weeks. When you finally see her at a party, jealousy gets the better of you.

Word count -> 9.1k

Contains: butch/femme(pov), jealousy, praise kink, derogatory praise, fingering, strap-on, slight D/s, stone butch/pillow princess, femme receiving all, substance use (marijuana, alcohol), intox kink if u squint, slight overstimulation, strap sucking, car sex, horny pining, useless lesbians, she/they butch, you is autistic femme

DO NOT INTERACT:

MEN, TERFs, ZIONISTS, and MINORS

Midterms chew you up and spit you out. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally, and you’ve never been so fucking needy in your life.

You’ve been neglecting yourself lately. It’s been two weeks since you last saw Miron. The first time you canceled on her, you’d lost track of time at the library. When she texted you at 10:30pm, asking if you wanted chicken or tofu in your noodles, you realized with regret there was no possible way you could meet her. You needed to work through at least half of your 16-page research paper before you could leave and you had just crested page five.

YOU: fuck i’m sorry, i lost track of time and i’m stuck at the library… order without me, i don’t think i’ll be leaving until the library closes :\

MIRON: no worries, i’ll just have them deliver to u. i know u haven’t eaten today, lol

You could have tried to argue about the takeout—you hate handouts—but you’re just too focused and too tired to fight. And she was right. You hadn’t eaten.

The second time you canceled, which was yesterday, you’d had the wherewithal to text them early in the day. You told them the truth, which was that your Advanced Calc II exam was in the morning and you were neurotic and anxious and needed the time to study. Miron had replied with something nice and bland and that was that.

But your dry spell has expanded past just Miron. In the last few weeks, you’ve hardly touched yourself either. When you have, it’s been brief and efficient, something to help you go to sleep at night after you’ve hit your dab pen a few times. You might take the time to make yourself wet, or you may just spit on your fingers and touch yourself roughly, rubbing your clit furiously. You think of her, though, oh of course you think of her, and it’s the thought of her head between your legs that gets you off both times.

(Shit. You’ve been thinking about that more lately—Miron Sikkari’s dark head of curls between your thighs, her mouth sucking in your clit, her tongue in your hole.

Maybe the distance has made your pussy fonder but the anxiety you normally have, the one that worries you’ll take too long, that you won’t taste good, just isn’t there.

You want it. God, you fucking want it.)

So, you haven’t seen Miron in weeks and you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of taking care of your own needs, sexual or otherwise.

As such, your diet has consisted mostly of iced coffees, McChickens and microwaveable mac and cheese. At night time, even if you were trying to sleep, the lesbian couple sharing the room above yours has been fighting all week. One of them had cheated on the other at a party last weekend and you and the entire building have been privy to the details of that infidelity all week.

You’re sober and horny and exhausted.

It’ll be three more days before you know whether or not you passed your Advanced Calc II exam. You spent all week studying, working through practice problems and old homework, and none of it felt like enough when you sat down to take it earlier that morning.

You remember the GPA requirement for your full-ride scholarship, the one you are barely meeting, and your gut twists with anxiety.

You’ve been trying so hard but life has you pulled in a million directions—you’re taking 6 three credit-hour courses and a 1 hour lab. On weekdays, when you aren’t in class, you’re at work-study on campus or studying in your dorm; on weekends, you work at the upscale steakhouse in town and sometimes you write for the university’s paper for extra cash. You have, on occasion, been known to donate plasma on Mondays.

Except for Thursday nights, you never make time for yourself. There are always better things to do with your time than self-care. Like the library.

You don’t go out. Ever.

But this time, you’re breaking your ‘no parties, no distractions’ rule. Your manager, Greg, gave you the weekend off after he found you sobbing in the cooler two hours ago. All you want to do is get drunk, maybe a little crossed, and forget that you are failing spectacularly in all areas of your life.

You call Tara, your best friend, from your car, hiccuping into the speaker as you drive home. She comforts you and promises to be your driver and babysitter while you get properly trashed. You deserve a break, babe. Tara is more than willing to give up alcohol for the evening if it means getting you to come along with her anywhere on a Friday night.

There’s a party going on at some house outside city limits and Tara promises it’s just the place to be. You’re not the only one with a plan to blow off steam after midterms.

The two of you currently meander down a gravel road in Tara’s newer-model sedan, eyes searching for a light in the dark.

You fiddle with your dab pen in your lap while a queer pop song plays through the stereo. Tara complains that the potholes are going to ruin her shocks—or maybe it’s the struts. You’re not really paying attention, truth be told.

Instead, you’re thinking about the string of text messages you exchanged with Miron only an hour before. While you’d waited on Tara to pick you up, you’d time to think. You were needy and you missed Miron’s attention.

YOU: are you going to party the basketball team is doing?

MIRON: wasnt planning on it, noor n ryan want to shoot pool downtown

YOU: oh ok

MIRON: why

YOU: tara is taking me, figured i’d say hi if you were gonna be there

MIRON: ur going out?

YOU: yeah, tara is taking me

Your phone has been painfully quiet since then and you wonder if you’ve made her mad. Things have always been good between the two of you but her lack of response makes you nervous.

Tara swears and you tune in. She’s complaining about her ex now, graciously reminded by the break-up ballad cued on her Spotify. “They’re a liar, Hamali. Two months we’ve been doing this online thing. Two months. And to find out they’ve had a girlfriend this whole time?”

You take a long hit of your pen and shrug, resting your head. The smoke tickles when you blow it out your nose. “That’s the problem with meeting people online. It’s easy to hide shit and get away with it. You never know if you’re getting the entirety of a person, y’know? It’s equally as easy to ghost them and avoid accountability, so people will say and do whatever they want.”

“Like she knew about me but I didn’t know about her, which is so crazy to me. They’d told her we were just friends, or some bullshit.“

You nod your head in agreement, the buzz making you feel bold. “So, fuck that guy and their girlfriend. You know what you should do? Date Noor. Noor is literally begging for a chance to take you out. You already know the sex is good, y’all fucked last summer, and Noor is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’re not gonna run the risk of being lied to and ghosted. Besides, you know where Noor lives so even if she did do something horrible—but she won’t because it’s Noor—you can just show up at her house and confront her there.”

You stare at Tara pointedly and she replies with some new detail she’s just recalled. You do the girl thing, hashing out the details of this massive relationship failure, passing the time as you drive.

You’ve already been traveling for twenty minutes so it only takes a few more for a beautiful country house to appear in the distance. Light pours from its windows, a colorful beacon in the dark. People mill around outside and their breath cloud in front of them in white puffs.

Tara parks in a grass field amidst an organized grid of other vehicles. There are a fair amount of people out tonight, you note. Your boots crunch over frost when you step out of the car and you shiver. The skinny jeans you fished from your closet and black corset top don’t do much to shield you from the wind.

Your best friend grabs your hand and you weave through the cars, making your way with the others toward the house. A neat stone path lined with solar lamps and small shrubs leads you to the front porch. The house is even prettier up close, all beautiful wood paneling and detailed carpentry, so pretty that you’re almost green with envy. Stylish but comfortable furniture and twinkling lights make the porch inviting; the front door feels like a portal to a world far away.

When you make the plunge inside, where you are so much warmer, you think that you’re not surprised this is the kind of party Tara brings you to. She’s never been one for the rotten underbelly of a house on fraternity row. But still, you feel entirely out of your depth. The house isn’t extravagant but everything you lay your eyes on flashes a triple-digit price tag at you like a neon sign. You feel poor and small and you would be overwhelmed if it weren’t for your friend.

People say Hi! and Omigod how are you? to Tara and wave and smile at you as you are absorbed deeper into the house. They… do not know who you are and you can’t blame them, really; you’ve been here a semester and a half and this is your second night out. You feel dumb and awkward and your social anxiety is screaming like a hoard of cicadas in summertime.

You need to adhere to your original plan: get shitfaced and ditch the anxiety. Ditch all of it.

In the kitchen, Tara opens the fridge and inspects its contents. Her mini skirt hugs her waist and hips, accentuating the softness estrogen has brought to her figure, and the glitter on her collarbone and shoulders sparkle in the light.

Hard liquor is already on the counter but space has been made inside the refrigerator-sized monstrosity for wine coolers, soda, and bottled water. Tara retrieves a bottle of water and a Coke and you watch, taking a long drag on your pen, as she deftly whips up a Jack and Coke for you. She’s heavy handed with the pour, which you appreciate.

You’re stumbling behind Tara, choking on the whiskey behind your hand, as she pulls you through the house. She’s always been a speed-walker lesbian you can never keep up with.

“What are we looking for?” you ask.

She grins over her shoulder. “You’ll see!” she sings in reply.

Tara brings you to a room on the second floor, large and spacious with a green-felt pool table in the center. Beer pong is next to a set of white French balcony doors; an L-shaped couch is tucked in the back corner where a group of people are huddled around a coffee table. As you approach, you see colored baggies, gummy squares, and pre-rolled joints neatly displayed. The cloying scent of marijuana assaults your senses and you could kiss Tara; sobriety has sucked and you think a blunt with your drink would fix you permanently.

The dealer is an obvious dyke with cropped brown hair and a T-shirt that says, Who ate all the pussy? Tara knows your tastes so you stand back, sipping your drink quietly, while she buys you two pre-rolled joints. You watch with amusement as Tara immediately snags the dealer’s attention and begins to flirt with him, playing with the ends of her dark ass-long hair. Tara walks away with a free edible square several minutes later.

No one gives a fuck if you light up down here so you find a spot near beer pong and watch as the women’s basketball team begin a bracket amongst themselves and divvy into teams.

Once settled, you light your joint and sip your drink and enjoy the haze that settles over you. Intoxication is sweet bliss. You find yourself laughing more than expected. Several of the players are good friends with Tara and she tells you about the intricacies of their social circle—who’s been seeing who, who’s been fighting and who’s been fucking. It’s all harmless gossip and you enjoy it immensely. You’ll admit, it’s a nice change of pace from all of the books and homework assignments.

It’s not long before you’ve both finished your drinks and you’ve smoked about half of your first pre-roll. Tara leaves you on your stool with instructions not to wander far. This makes you giggle. Where could you possibly go?

You feel her presence before you see her. Miron has a way with people that you find eerie and the room shifts to center its axis around her.

She comes up behind you and a hand brushes over the small of your back. You swallow. You know if you turn your head, she’ll be right there, waiting, watching; she’s close enough now that you can smell the musk of her cologne.

When you turn, Miron is grinning down at you. Her hair is a mess and a single curl lays over her forehead.

“Hi,” she says. You want to melt into a puddle where you sit. You hate how little it takes to grab your attention. Heat rises to your already hot cheeks.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” she says and arches an eyebrow. The scrutiny makes you squirm. “What, like I’d miss a chance to see you out in public? Did the restaurant burn down?”

You blink. Stammer. “I—No, Greg gave me the night off and Tara’s been wanting me to come out for ages.”

Miron’s grin is feral and canine. She’s teasing you and the realization frustrates you. You shut your mouth, flustered. She can talk, if she’s feeling so damn cheeky.

“Don’t pout. I just wanted to come make myself known.

“Well. Hello. And good-bye,” you say, even though you don’t really want her to leave. You cross your arms, feeling defensive and panicked. You didn’t expect to see her, you have nothing prepared. You want her to like you. But it’s Miron.

The hand at the small of your back disappears and you immediately wish she would put it back. Being around Miron is always like this. You want her close but the proximity makes you nervous. All you know how to do is bite.

Miron searches your face, brow furrowing for just a moment. You almost mistake it for confusion. The expression is gone as quickly as it comes, though, and Miron smiles at you once more.

“Well, alright then. Have a good time, sweetheart. Don’t get into any trouble.”

She brushes your chin with her thumb and forefinger, flashes a cheeky smile, and disappears back into the house. The world continues spinning like normal. Blood pulses in your ears and chest to the thumping baseline powering through the media room.

Miron is gone but now that you know they’re here, they’re all you can think about. They had lied about playing pool with Noor, then. Why? You bite your cheek, worry your bottom lip between your teeth—a terrible habit, really.

You cross your arms and slink to a corner where you find a bar stool to perch upon. You’d been lurking on the corners of this room, in the doorway, but your new vantage lets you keep an eye on the comings and goings. The basketball game featured on the wall-size flatscreen and the game of beer pong is now largely ignored so that you can watch for Tara—just Tara, no one else.

A few moments later, the dark-haired beauty returns to you with refills in hand. She hands you your cup and you swirl the contents around. Another Jack and Coke with an emphasis on the soda this time. You don’t blame her for slowing your light weight self down; you just grab the second half of your joint and light up.

“What’s up your ass?”

You grumble into your cup. The captain of the basketball team roars with victory, startling you. It seems she and her partner have won. Their prize is an edible, donated by the dealer. How kind of him.

Tara pouts. “Come on. Don’t play hard to get.”

“Miron’s here. Noor and Ryan probably are too.”

Tara immediately perks up. “Really? Where?”

You roll your eyes and snicker. “You’re so fucking easy. My god.”

“You have absolutely no room to talk. Where did Miron go? She didn’t leave, did she?”

“No, I told her to… I don’t know. She wandered off.”

“Then let’s go look for them, yeah? Come on, Hamali. They are our friends.”

Ryan, maybe. But you and Miron are fucking consistently and the sexual tension between Noor and Tara has been suffocating the last few months.

You’re happy to follow Tara around again. Your head is light and fuzzy and it’s nice not having to think about where you are walking or how you’ll get there. The music in the house beats and pulses around you, overwhelming your senses. Too much of this and you’ll be crying in a dark bathroom, overstimulated and overwhelmed. You’re safe for now though and content to trail behind Tara.

You find two of them in one of the many rooms downstairs. Ryan is fiddling with a deck of playing cards, dividing them up and shuffling them around, while Noor takes buy-ins.

“Are you playing poker?”

Noor is a bit on the shorter side and broad through the shoulders, with beautiful brown skin and hazel eyes that Tara likes to fawn over. She looks up at you and flashes a devilish smile. “Strip poker. Wanna buy in?”

You roll your eyes, barely suppressing a giggle. “God, no. But Tara might.”

Tara splutters. Her tan cheeks turn pink and you watch as a magnetic pull lures the both of them in. Noor says something charming, a bit cheeky, and you quickly tune them out. Not really a conversation meant for you.

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself looking for the dark head of curls that should tower over the rest of your group. It’s rare to see Noor and Ryan without Miron, especially with something as enticing as strip poker on the line.

“Where’s Miron?” you ask, leaning forward on your toes.

“Got distracted.” Ryan’s response is tight-lipped and your gut immediately drops. That can only mean one thing.

A deeply masochistic part of you wants to know who she is. You’ve always known this to be what it is: friends with benefits, casual, no-strings-attached. That doesn’t stop the deep sting when you’re reminded that Miron Sikkari is not yours.

Is she prettier than you? Does she give Miron something you don’t? No, it’s none of those things. You know that. Miron just doesn’t date.

No one stops you when you quietly slip away. It’s not hard for you to slip through the hallways unseen. All you have to do is search for her magnetic attraction in the house. People gravitate towards her. They can’t help it.

When you find Miron, it’s on the back patio outside. She’s sprawled out in a chair, her legs spread wide. In her free hand, she holds a smoldering blunt. None of that matters though. Because the girl sitting in her lap is Julia.

Julia. Julia. Julia.

Your brain goes white.

Both of her perfectly gorgeous legs are swung over Miron’s thighs, the slit in her skirt exposing an expanse of smooth tan skin. Only one of her perfectly manicured hands rests at the nape of Miron’s neck, playing with the short curls just above her fade; the other rests on Miron’s chest, fingers adorned with gold and stone rings.

Miron clearly enjoys the attention. You watch as she leans into Julia’s hand, as her eyes flutter when Julia tugs on the ends of her curls.

It’s hard to explain why you feel so strongly about the other woman. This isn’t who you are. You’re not the type to go blind with jealousy, but when you look at Julia and her perfect long red hair and her beautiful tits and amazing ass… well, maybe it’s hard not to compare. Next to her, you feel like a silly girl playing pretend.

You freeze in the frame of the sliding doors. There’s a blunt rotation going on and Miron has just passed to the right. You debate being bold, putting yourself right in the middle, and seeing if maybe you can overthrow Julia’s position in her lap. You entertain a fantasy where you coolly integrate yourself and Miron is awed

Ultimately, the idea of losing outweighs the rewards of winning and you begin to slink back into the house. All you want to do is return to Tara and drink more. You have a whole joint left, too, stored in your pocket for safe keeping.

You don’t retreat successfully. Miron, who has been lulled into a state of relaxation by Julia’s ministrations, spots you hiding behind the patio door. Her eyes, hooded with her high, widen with recognition as you backpedal and she opens and closes her mouth. You’re not quite sure what you’d call the look on her face but it makes you ache.

In the kitchen, Ryan, Noor, Tara and a few faces you don’t recognize have started a game. Noor is dealer and Ryan is already missing their shirt.

You’re not going to cry. That’s not what that feeling behind your eyes is. You just… feel a little sick. God, you could just turn fucking green. Envy is not your color.

Ryan notices you return first. Their smile is wide and inviting and they wave you over.

You try to smile back but you have a terrible poker face, game or otherwise. If they notice how forced it is, they don't say anything.

A few moments after you’ve settled down and lit up your second joint, Miron’s frame fills the doorway.

“Hey,” Miron says, a small salute at the forehead. Her grin is lopsided and she’s just so terribly handsome. You avoid looking at her, instead becoming increasingly occupied by the stickers on your phone case.

Ryan makes a noise. “What? Back so soon?” Their voice holds an edge.

There’s a pause and then you hear Miron say, “And pass up the chance to see you naked? Never.”

“You want me to deal you in?” Noor asks.

“Actually—‘Mali, could I borrow you for a second?”

Your eyes immediately snap up to Miron. Those fucking eyes of hers are burning into you, red and hooded from the smoking. Your stomach flips.

Wordlessly, you stub your joint out, place it in your case, and separate from Ryan’s side. You wrap your arms around your waist and follow Miron down the hall. Music bounces off the walls around you, echoing in your head. The walls are narrow enough that when she stops, leans her back against the wall, and slides down just a little, her legs eat up the entire distance.

You stand opposite to her, fidgety and restless in close quarters. Her head cocks to the side.

“What’s up?” you ask lamely.

Miron takes a second to study your face. “You just came outside and looked like you had something to say. What was it?”

Your throat feels dry. It’s so damn hard to think around Miron and you hate it. Her intensity always manages to throw you off course completely. You’re not used to being so noticed.

“I just came to find you because we were starting strip poker; turned around because you were busy.”

Miron makes a face that scrunches up her nose. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. And you were clearly enjoying yourself, so far be it from me to interrupt you.”

“Hamali, what are—“ Their eyes narrow infinitesimally, cat eyes in the dark. “Is this about Julia? Is she why you’re upset with me?”

“I’m not upset, Miron.”

“Bullshit. You’ve said fuck all to me tonight. I want to know why you came out there—the real reason. And I want to know why you turned around.”

You stand there gaping like a fish. Truthfully, you don’t have an answer for either question. Why did you go looking for Miron? You don’t know. So instead you say:

“I just don’t understand why Julia of all people. No one likes her, except you.”

For once, Miron actually looks speechless. They blink a few times before saying, “What?”

Music and blood pulse in your ears. You’re pissed and you’ve been drinking. You ought to give Miron a piece of your mind. You do.

“Julia is just using you, you know that, right? She—well, she treats you like a piece of meat and it’s disgusting frankly. I hate her.” You feel petulant but you keep going. Miron doesn’t date but this isn’t about that; this isn’t about the fact that you desperately want her all to yourself. “She’s twenty-one but she acts like she’s thirteen, like she’s a goddamn child. You’re not a toy, Miron. Why, in the ever loving fuck, do you let her use you like one?”

“She was just sitting in my lap—“

“I haven’t forgotten what she said to you last month. You were so pissed too because she’s always resented the fact that you’re stone. What was it? ‘I could never date you but you’re too perfect of a lay to pass over.’ And now here she is in your lap, and I fucking hate her.”

Miron starts and stops a few times, stumbling over her words in a way that you’d never seen her do. Finally, they get out, “What does it matter, anyway?”

“What does it matter? You’re the one who fucking asked me! She’s a bitch! She’s a cunt!” You’re seething now, leaning in towards Miron as you make your point. You lift your chin indignantly. “I came out there because I wanted to see you. I didn’t know what to say when I first saw you. I didn’t expect to see you and I didn’t have time to think or get my thoughts straight, so I went looking for you later. And it’s Julia, who you’ve done nothing but complain about for weeks now, sitting in your lap. It’s Julia, playing with your hair, shotgunning smoke into your mouth.”

“What am I supposed to do, Hamali, follow you around like a lost puppy? I went outside to smoke and she was there. It’s not like I sought her out! Besides, what’s it to you if she uses me? Why do you care?” She takes a step toward you, inviting herself into your personal space like she always does. A wave of her cologne washes over you, something crisp and earthy. She towers over you and despite your anger, you can’t ignore the way your gut tightens. You kinda want to kiss her.

“Because it’s wrong and shitty of her.”

“Sure, but I’m a big kid. I know what I’m getting into with Julia. I don’t think that’s the entire truth, ‘Mali.”

“I—“

“Be honest with me: are you jealous?”

Another baby step. They’re standing close enough that if you took a deep breath your chest would brush them. She leans down, lips close to the shell of your ear and you fight a shiver.

“You don’t wish that was you sitting in my lap?”

“N-no, that’s not it, I told you, I—“

“Oh, I know what you said.” You feel her fingertips brush the dip of your waist before they curl around it entirely. You try your hardest to ignore just how far her fingers can reach around you. “I don’t think that’s the truth, though. I think the truth is that you are pent up and stressed and are using Julia as an excuse to rile me up. Come on, princess.” You feel her fingers slip under the hem of your shirt just barely. “You should know by now that you don’t have to play games with me.”

Your hand comes up to grip their forearm, your nails leaving crescent moon marks on their skin. Already you feel yourself growing wet. Your head swims; you sway just a bit on your feet. Fuck, she’s so right. You are pent up and stressed and her bare fingers on your bare skin feels so nice.

“Princess,” she says, teeth in your throat. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong? C’mon. Why don’t we go somewhere more private to talk about this?”

You know that wherever she takes you “talking” is not what she has planned. “Where?” you ask, voice a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Jeep,” they mumble into your neck.

You nod. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. You know you can be so much better than Julia. You know Miron can make the itch under your skin go away. Fuck, you’re just burning, wanting, waiting.

Miron takes your hand and leads you back down the hall. As you pass the poker game going on in the spare room, you see that Tara is missing her shirt and Ryan is out their socks and pants; a few others have joined and they’re all in various states of undress.

The journey back through the house is nothing like the one inside. Your world is full of bright lights and colors and everything blurs together as you blindly follow Miron outside. Her hand is so warm in yours as you slam the front door behind you and step into the cold.

The porch is empty and no one is around, so Miron takes the time to press you against the door and kiss you. It’s so sudden. One moment, you’re shivering as the cold turns your cheeks pink and your breath comes out in a fog. Next, Miron has you flush against them, lips moving against yours in a persistent, persuasive manner. Her leg finds its way between yours and with your difference in height, it’s easy to apply pressure to your core.

You keen into her mouth at the slightest touch and she groans. Her tongue in your mouth next, searching and exploring. She hasn’t tasted you in weeks and she kisses you like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

Her hand grips your jaw, thumb pressed in the delicate space between your ear and mandible. She tastes like smoke and mint, the faintest hint of alcohol.

Miron pulls away and leaves you wanting more. They take your hand, pulling you back through the pretty stone path and to the cars parked in the neighboring field.

You pass Tara’s sedan and then you see Miron’s Jeep on the other side of a massive truck.

You’ve heard of the Jeep. Of course you’ve heard of Miron’s fucking Jeep. You’re eighty-percent sure she keeps a collection of underwear in her center console, keepsakes from every fuck she’s ever had in there.

Miron’s hands are at your hips again, insistent as they hold you tight against them.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that? God, you have no idea how how fucking bored I’ve been.”

You sigh as Miron hones in on your neck. Her teeth and tongue assault you, turning you into a useless mess in her arms. She keeps talking to you, flips the button on your jeans.

“Feel me, princess. Go on. Feel how hard you make me.”

Miron takes your hand and guides it to her groin. Beneath the fabric of her Dickies, you feel something hard and long. Your breath catches in your throat and your pussy—goddamnit, you just throb.

“Miron,” you groan.

They laugh in your ear. Make no mistake—they’re mocking you. You know it. They’ve always given you shit for how easy it is to get you to take strap. It’s one of your preferred methods of fucking, honestly. You love how fucking wild it makes this stone butch of yours, how feral Miron grows when it’s just you, her dick, and filthy pillow talk.

Miron pulls the latch on the back door to the Jeep. It swings open, an invitation you’re eager to accept. “Get inside.”

You do and without being told you begin to remove your shoes and socks. The back seats are laid down a quilt thrown down hastily; a bit sourly, you realize Miron was prepared to get laid no matter who it was.

Miron climbs in behind you. The awkward manner in which she does so is almost enough to make you laugh.

She pins you with a single look. Pulling the door shut behind her, she says, “Take your pants off, princess. I won’t be able to do much with this,” they punctuate this by grabbing their cock, “if you’re still wrapped up so pretty.”

You shimmy out of the jeans, slipping your underwear off, and it’s a blur from there. All of this movement has you feeling almost sloppily drunk. The two of you somehow readjust, Miron settling below you as you crawl on top. The cool smear of lube on your thigh briefly grounds you and then you're being stretched and filled. You cry out and Miron hushes you, rubbing circles on your hips.

It hurts. The pain isn’t unbearable but truthfully the two of you hadn’t spent much time on foreplay before Miron put their cock in you. You can’t fault her; the lube helps. The stretch and pain you feel is a nice reminder as you whine and whimper in Miron’s lap.

You don’t fuck right away. Miron, you realize, has been staring at you rather intensely while you have your eyes screwed shut. Her hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and her fingers make her way to your head of curls.

She brushes a piece back, tucking it behind your ear. “You still have that joint on you, princess?”

You nod, trying and failing to squeeze your thighs together.

“Take it out. Light it. You deserve to relax.”

Getting crossed in the back of Miron’s car seems like an excellent idea, so you do as your told.

You smoke, and Miron quietly demands that you feed her smoke. Her lips meet yours more than a few times as you breathe each hit into her lungs. You feel spacey and sluggish and you realize absently that Miron’s hips have begun rocking up into you.

“Miron,” you whisper.

“Hmm?” she hums, smiling at you in her haze.

Mustering your strength you push her down, her back coming to rest on some pillows and blankets she’s used to prop herself up.

“I think I’m done waiting.”

Your hands rest on her abdomen, an anchor to steady yourself as you breathe in and out and adjust to her cock. You grit your teeth, hang your head. It hurts still,, but you have a point to prove and pain isn't something you’ve ever shied from.

Miron swears. “Fuck.”

Nails dig into your hips and a slight twitch in her hips nearly makes you keen.

“Can I—?” she starts and you cut her off by shifting one hand to her shoulder and rolling your hips.

This time, you don’t stop yourself from making the sounds you want to. Miron watches you, pupils blown, as you hold her down and experiment.

You’ve never had sex in a car before and god is it uncomfortable but you just don’t fucking care. You feel full and her hands are on you; the ache starting in your knees is nothing.

Miron rocks into you and that makes you gasp and sigh. Your grip on her shoulder loosens and she takes full advantage of that. Before you can push her down and play at being in charge, she puts her mouth on you, wrapping her lips around a nipple.

A hand slips from your hip to your ass, kneading the flesh and fat and muscle there. It guides the rock of your hips as you ride her, filled to the hilt. When teeth pull on the metal of your piercing, you whine.

Your hand slips under her collar and you drag your nails across her shoulder, leaving welts with the points of your acrylics. You lace your fingers through her hair, wrap and wind through it. In the far reaches of your peripheral vision, you can see her watching you through her eyelashes, a patient study.

When you pull, the groan she lets out against you makes your hips jerk. It resonates deep in her throat, an unbidden, unwilling sound of pleasure. You love doing that to her.

You think of Julia, again, and how she was playing with the curls at Miron’s neck when you found them. Jealousy spreads through you like a wildfire. You think of how she fawned over Miron, touching her bicep, swinging her thighs over her lap. It makes you possessive and you dig your nails into Miron’s scalp.

Teeth bite down on the swell of your breast and you instinctively pull harder. You feel yourself clench and the fresh smear of cum on your thighs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re in deep shit.

“Did you just bite me?” you ask.

She grins, arrogant and pleased with herself. “You liked it.”

You did, but you also like to argue. “Did not.”

She slips a hand between your bodies and her thumb finds your clit. Before you can stop her, an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder turns into a bite.

You cry out and shudder in her arms.

Your mind is hazy but you feel Miron laugh against you. Absently, you note that the car windows have fogged over with your breath.

Lips tug on your earlobe. “You got wetter, sweetheart.”

You did. You know you did. Fuck, you feel drunk and so very high and you are quickly losing the ability to talk back. The jealousy you choked on is hard to remember when she calls you pet names. With no dignity, you moan into her shoulder. The sharp burst pain is almost enough to send you over the edge and into your first orgasm—but not quite.

You’re still rocking against her, suffering through the pleasure you feel. You know you’re pitiful like this. Silly and stupid with need, you ride her in an attempt to stop whatever it is Miron pulls out of you. You’ve brought yourself to the precipice but you can’t push yourself over.

Miron keeps a hand on your hip and pays sweet, special attention to your chest while you try your best to cum. The thumb on your clit provides enough stimulation to make you whimper—but it’s still not enough.

If anyone walks by, they’ll find you falling to pieces in her lap. Your tank is missing and you know that when you look in the morning, you’ll see bites and hickeys all over your tits. She’s terrible like that.

You whine, exhausted and stretched full, and she hushes you.

She lays a kiss on your collarbone. “Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Your gut sparks and you dig into her shoulders, drawing a deep groan from her. You nod against her shoulder, a shuddering and panting mess. Close. So fucking close. You’re woozy with the need.

“You’ve worked so hard this week. It’s only fair you get to cum. Do you agree, princess?”

A hand cups the back of your head, a gentle soothing weight that presses you into her chest. You nod and melt into her, your cheek pressed against warm skin. Your whole body buzzes, focused in your clit as Miron rolls her cock into you. Embarrassment is the last thing on your mind, so you don’t care when you feel tears on your cheeks.

“There you are. That’s it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You shudder and your hips slow. You’re so tired as you cry into her shoulder. You can’t. You just fucking can’t. You need her, need her to put you on your back and fuck you hard.

The uninhibited part of your mind again thinks about what someone would see if they found you then. Maybe it’s Julia who finds you. They would see Miron and you having sloppy drunk sex in the back of the Jeep, her strap buried in you. You’re naked at this point, covered in hickies and bent over her lap.

“You want me to take care of you, sweetheart? Make you feel good, like I always do?”

Miron adjusts herself under you and you whimper as her cock moves inside you. The veining on the underside of the cock runs perfectly against your entrance as she shifts and you endure the exquisite torture.

She’s going to take care of you. She promised. Finally, you’ll get to cum.

With her grip on your hips, she lowers her center of balance, slipping further into the black leather seats to give herself some leverage. And then she thrusts up into you.

Your head drops to her shoulder and you gasp against her skin, sinking your own teeth into the skin of her neck. Groaning, Miron settles into a ruthless pace.

Her hips rise up against you, her cock pounding into your core. It hurts, bruising something deep in you that you nearly flinch away from, but the relief and pleasure you feel outweigh the discomfort.

Tears leak from your eyes as you tip your head back. “Fuck, fuck, Miron, I—”

You feel yourself breaking apart in their lap, a shattering that begins in your gut and spreads through your entire being. You thrash and scream against their body as you cum, experiencing the release in its entire violent glory.

Every muscle in your body contracts. You feel the gush of cum between your legs. You arch so hard against them that you feel the muscles in your feet begin to cramp.

And when the violence of your orgasm passes, you are left with the exhausting sweet relief in your body. The tension you’ve been holding all week is gone and you slump against Miron’s body.

She soothes you as you steady your breath, but you can hear the humor.

It doesn’t take much for you to laugh against her. Honestly, you’re not even sure what you find so funny. But she joins you and the two of you laugh together until you’re just two people again.

It’s quiet for some time, you wrapped around her torso, her cock still buried in you.

Her cock—that lick of heat races through you again. The things you wanna do to their butch cock.

“I wanna try something,” you blurt. You chomp the words out in an effort to ensure they’re said.

Your gut twists with nerves. You’d read about it being done to butches—femmes, too—but what if she doesn’t like it? The possibility of a No looms over you.

Miron grins at you and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You bite your lip. “Could I… Would you mind… Can I suck you off? Or like pretend I’m—“

A muscle in her jaw tweaks and she swallows. Hard. “You wanna suck me off, Karakuş?” Miron’s voice strikes you as a bit breathy but the tilt of her smile assures you of her confidence.

You immediately turn bright red. “I-I mean, yeah. Yes.” You can’t look her in the eyes.

“Alright.” Miron looks around the inside of the car for a moment. “Think you’ve got enough space?”

You blink and quickly nod your head a few times. What are you supposed to say? No?

You lift yourself off Miron’s cock and there’s some adjusting for her to find a comfortable position slumped against a few pillows and the back of the front seats. You tug at the bottom of her shirt. She always does this, strips you naked before you realize she’s still fully clothed.

Miron obliges quickly. They pull their black tee over their head and toss it into the passenger seat. Now you can see all of her tattoos, namely your favorite, the dragon curling under her sternum and over her belly.

You start by kissing her neck, swirling your tongue over the places you know she likes. You press her into the floor, bracing yourself over her as you begin your descent down.

“Fuck,” she says, more of a breath than a word. Her hips twitch in anticipation and you smile to yourself.

You kiss her stomach, following the curved tail of her dragon tattoo, journeying further south until you reach her hip bone. There are a few more smaller, hidden tattoos here—an armadillo on the outside of her hip, a zippo lighter on the V of her abdomen. You spend a few moments here, kissing the feather soft-skin of her hip; you suck a hickey just next to the zippo lighter and smile when they swear and jerks under you. Their cock is inches away from your mouth and you know they’re trying so hard to be patient.

It works out for her that you’re desperate to put her in your mouth. You turn your face in, brushing the strap with your nose. It smells strongly of you, pleasant and musky, if not a bit salty. Your tongue darts out, tasting the silicone, and you nuzzle into her cock, kissing the side and base.

Miron’s eyes are on you. You feel them burning into your face. This makes you want to squirm under her gaze but you double down on the task at hand.

You don’t wait long before licking up the side of her cock. She groans, says something foul that you don’t really hear, and slides her fingers through your hair. Her hands are rough on your scalp and they knot through your curls. Her thumb brushes the curve of your jaw. You hum.

When you reach the top, you look up at her. Of course she’s staring back. You keep eye contact with her as you curve your tongue around the head of her strap. In the dim lighting of Miron’s back seat, the shine of plastic and your own cum make her cock gleam oil-slick.

You keep eye-contact with her when you wrap your mouth around her cock and take her into your throat.

Miron’s eyes are blown wide. Her nostrils flare and the hand in your hair grips you even tighter. Your eyes flutter shut. You groan around her. Saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and you close your eyes, relaxing your throat as she gently bucks into your mouth.

“Fuck,” she says. “Look at you, princess. Fuck.” Her head tips back against the seat behind her. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You soak in the praise as you suck Miron Sikkari’s cock. Her hand remains on the back of your neck, guiding you up and down. Though you can’t see it yourself, you hope she appreciates her view: You, face down, ass up, the naked curve of your spine and waist on display just for her.

One of your hands digs into her thigh to support yourself. Her muscles flex and bulge under you, and you hear the stream of curses leaving her mouth.

You catch a—Fuck, fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you’re such a slut—and not too long after—God, look at you taking all of me like that, you didn’t even need my help, that’s perfect, you’re perfect.

You suck Miron off until she tells you to stop. You’re content down here, throat relaxed around her hard cock as you sleepily give her head. The position you’ve folded yourself into is rather comfortable and Miron’s hand on your head is heavenly. Compared to the urgency of your fucking, the blowjob you give Miron takes it’s time. You look at her occasionally and find her face buried in her hands or staring right back at you. One of her thumbs brushes under your eye, wiping away the tear tracks and smeared mascara.

Hands on your shoulders push you away before they pull you back up. A thumb makes its way into your mouth and you wrap your lips around it. Of course you do. A voice shushes you, pulls you to their chest, adjusts you just right.

Miron has placed the two of you flat in the back seat, both of you laid on your sides. You note that her legs seem a bit cramped, but she doesn’t seem to notice. If she does, she doesn’t care. A hand is busy stroking your stomach and lips are on your neck and that voice keeps telling you—

You’re so pretty. Think you can take my cock for me one more time, princess? Fuck, Hamali, you feel so good. That’s right sweetheart. Keep me warm. Let me use you.

The head of her cock presses into you, splitting you open again, and you groan. She slips into you with ease, filling you perfectly.

Fingers circle your clit and you jolt, an animal brought back to life. You suck in a breath and moan. Your head tips against her and they hold you even tighter.

Her arms pin you against her chest, not that you have the strength or will to fight back. A hand rests at your throat, a casual reminder of her physical dominance over you. The movements they make around your most sensitive point send shockwaves through you. You keen, whimper, whine. Your hips stutter to a rhythm of their own design.

Shhhh. Shhh. That’s it. You’re so sensitive right now. God, a fucking mess. This is. Fuck, ‘Mali. You have no fucking idea—

Teeth nip at your earlobe before they sink into the flesh of your neck. If there’s anyone nearby, they absolutely hear your moan. It’s loud and carnal and your eyes roll into your skull.

Your orgasm does not creep upon you in a gentle construction of pleasure and pain that transcends you. When Miron bites you, your orgasm rears its head inside of you and punches a hole straight through your gut.

You hear a distant scream (your own) and feel breath on your neck. Your pleasure burns through you, a wildfire that won’t be stopped.

Your body shakes and shakes and shakes. Miron wonders at you as you cum under her touch.

Any thought you’ve been holding onto evaporates. Right now, you’re just another girl Miron Sikkari has fucked in the backseat of her Jeep and you bask in its glory. You may be starting to see the appeal.

In the true moments after, Miron holds you with a softer, more gentle grip. Her arms are still a vice around you, but her fingers stroke and smooth over whatever they can reach. She pulls the cock you’ve been keeping warm for her out and the absence makes you shiver. Sweat sticks to both of your bodies and the mixed sound of your breathing fills the car.

You’ve never wanted anyone to be Mine more.

“As much as I’d like to continue laying here,” her lips brush over the shell of your ear, “my legs are going a bit numb, love. Here, why don’t we sit up.”

You barely contain your whining. In another world, one where your claim to Miron is real, you might have thrown a tantrum; you ask to be taken home, swaddled, and held all night. You’d pout for a joint and her attention and you’d receive both for your efforts. She calls you something else, something intimate like baby or—

That claim is not yours. You have to remember that. So you shift into a seated position, wincing when blood rushes back to the cramped parts of your body. Your cunt is sore and will be for a few days.

Miron is quiet while you collect your clothes. You hear her removing her strap and the distinct sound of a zipper when she places it back in her backpack. Hickies have begun to bloom across your collarbone, larger bursts of purple forming where she bit you. Your top does nothing to hide them and your skinny jeans are a bitch to wiggle over your hips. You decide your boots are the worst part when you smack your elbow trying to cram your feet into the chunky platforms.

When you’re in a finer state of dress, Miron wordlessly opens the back of the Jeep and climbs out. She holds out an arm, letting you use her for stability. The world outside is cold, significantly less warm and humid than the vehicle. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a little wobbly on your legs, and shiver as sweat cools on your skin.

Your muscles are tired and you still feel more than a little drunk. Now that the moment and its intensity has passed, you aren’t sure what to say.

Maybe you should stick your hand out for a good shake and say, “Thanks for the fuck. Yeah, no, I know we’re not dating. I just hate when you flirt with girls you’ve had sex with more than once. No, I don’t wanna be just a hook-up but I also don’t wanna be nothing. Yeah, great, see you next Thursday.”

You don’t think that would go over well. Any claim you might have to Miron’s time and attention would disappear. You’re too selfish for that. Sex with Miron is too good to let go for something as inconsequential as feelings.

Miron has her hands in her pockets. Her eyes look wholly black in this lighting. “I should get you back to Tara,” she says. “She’ll be wondering where you are by now.”

You start to laugh but are surprised by just how dry your throat is. “Maybe. I don’t know. I would be surprised if Tara managed to keep herself sober while I was gone. She’s probably set her sights on Noor.”

“Where does that leave you?”

“I imagine they have to stop sucking each other off at some point. It’s a party… I’m sure I can keep myself occupied until she’s ready to go.”

Miron huffs. “You don’t sound so confident there.” You’re not. Parties aren’t your scene but your options are slim. “What if I just took you home?”

Your eyes snap back to her. “What?” You’re a little surprised.

Miron looks a little bashful and scratches at the back of her neck. “I mean, to be honest, I don’t really want to go back and you don’t look like you do either. We could just… get back in the Jeep. You can text Tara. I can take you home. To your dorm. Call it a night, yeah?”

You just look at her for a moment. The midnight sky is bright and washes Miron in a million shades of blue. They look so boyish in this moment, hands tucked in their pockets, earnest as they wait for an answer. Miron’s eyes are so dark, so bottomless. It would be so easy to let them swallow you whole.

This is why you can’t hate her, or any of the girls she shamelessly seduces, you think. When she looks at you like that, how can you say no?

“Alright,” you say.

As if you could have given any other answer.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

The Florist & the Baker (Florist!Nanami x Fem!Black!Baker!Reader 18+ One Shot) 

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Black!Fem!Reader (Meet Cute/Slow Burn)

Synopsis: In which you get a storyline straight out of a meet-cute romcom when Nanami, the quiet and stoic yet handsome florist who only comes into your bakery for coffee, asks you out on a date. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Non-Curse AU; Friends to Lovers; Slow Burn; Meet Cute; Cheesy, Fluffy Romance; Soft Dom!Nanami; Romantic; Public Sex; First Date Sex; 69ing; Nanami is an Eater; Big Dick; Facefucking; Missionary + Doggystyle; Cumshot; Creampie; Aftercare

Writer's Note: Nanami is WHIPPED in this one shot man. Like WHEN WILL THIS BE ME??? I’ve been having a brain rot over the concept of florist!Nanamj lately. It’s such a cute trend & I had to write some fluffy, Hallmark romance shit for it 😩 This one is also inspired by Nanami x Tiana (the Disney princess). It’s such a random ship but it’s so CUTE!! Go check them out!! -Jazz

********

It was a cool, rainy March morning when you met him for the first time. 

Your bakery, best known for its pastries and catering, always opens at 9 AM on weekdays to serve the sleepy-eyed crowd hurrying off to work or classes in the morning. You thought that day was no different. At the time, you were the only one working that morning when the bell above the door rang. 

So you turned around in your work uniform of sneakers and an apron over a warm sweater and jeans. “Good morning!” you chirped in your usual bright tone of voice. “Welcome to…”

The rest of your rehearsed sentence fell short when the man stopped to rub his boots against the rug near the door and take the wet hat off of his head. 

He was tall and extremely handsome like he just stepped out of a GQ Magazine to personally greet you. Under his hat laid a face card that could envy millions of men: a sharp jaw and cheekbones; a blonde undercut that somehow made him look older; brown eyes that twinged with annoyance before he looked at you, his expression softening somewhat. You had never seen a man so fine. 

He put up a finger and pressed the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear that you didn’t notice. “Pardon?” he asked, scowling at you. “Sorry, I was on the phone. Could you repeat that please?” 

And his voice! It was so deep and soothing. You could listen to him read a storybook or your bakery menu in that voice. Usually, you don’t thirst after customers, but you could admire them in secret, right?

Realizing that he’s waiting for an answer, you pretend to cough to stall yourself and act like you weren’t checking out the guy in the expensive wool coat standing behind the counter.  

“U-Uh, I was just welcoming you to Sweet Treats,” you quickly reply. “Can I interest you in our seasonal line of cookies and beverages for the spring?” You nod at the menu sitting at the end of the counter among a glass display of flower-shaped cookies. “I recommend the lavender latte if you want something refreshing.” 

The man’s face twitched a bit, his brows narrowing at the menu. “Um, no thank you. I don’t do too many sweets, especially in the morning.” He cleared his throat, his eyes skidding from yours for a moment as if he was too anxious to look at you. 

“Can’t argue with that,” you giggled. “How can I help you today, sir?” The man looked up at the menu overhead before choosing a medium-sized latte and the breakfast sandwich on a croissant with egg white and pepperjack cheese, hold the bacon. “Excellent choice, sir!” you commented. “Our breakfast croissant is one of our most popular choices. That’ll be $11.09, please.” 

He slipped his wallet out and you watched curiously as he took a gold card out. American Express. ‘Oh, he must have money,’ you thought, oozing with attraction for him instantly. 

You took the card and thanked him before swiping it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a card that looks like this before,” you chuckled. “It’s so heavy yet lightweight at the same time!” You read his name on the card: Nanami Kento. 

“Well, when you’re working the demanding job I do and own your own apartment, you need a card like that,” he wryly joked. “Everything I buy with it I pay it at the end of every month.” 

“I’ve never heard of such a card!” you said in awe. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you do, sir?” The man gave you a funny look as if you just asked him if he was pregnant. “Um…I’m a florist,” he answered. “Sorry, I’m just not used to people asking me what I do. Conversation is scarce out there.” 

You hummed in agreement, handing him back his card. “I completely agree, but sometimes, it’s nice to just talk to someone.” He reached out to take the card, his fingers brushing yours as he did. His fingers are long and calloused. Maybe he played piano? The idea made your stomach flip excitedly for some reason. 

You coaxed him to have a seat and wait while you got his order together, brewing the coffee before getting his premade sandwich out of the kitchen fridge to toast.

As you did so, you heard him on the phone again, sounding irritated and frustrated with his coworker on the other line. So you did something to cheer him up: without him looking, you snuck a daisy-shaped sugar cookie into his to-go bag and then called his name from the desk. “Nanami!” you called, smiling at him. 

His head shot toward you and he got up, walking ever so elegantly toward you in his red bottom shoes. He took the bag from you, thanking you. “Sorry, but I don’t remember telling you my name,” he said. Fear struck you at first, thinking you offended him, but then you see a playful glint in his eye. 

“That’s because you didn’t,” you giggled sheepishly. “I forgot to ask, so I may have peeked at your Amex card. Please come again, sir.”

Nanami’s orgasmic eyes looked into yours for a moment, his handsome face making it so hard to concentrate. “Nanami,” he corrected you. “Thank you, Ms. L/N.”

As he turned around to leave with his breakfast, you pulled a face, wondering how he knew your name…and then you remembered your name tag and squeezed your thighs together. “Come again soon!” you called as he walked out into the rain, putting his hat back on his head. 

The rest of the day was filled with thoughts of Nanami. While unbeknownst to you, Nanami’s head swam with tortuous images of the pretty baker with the beautiful skin, gorgeous smile, warm personality, and hip-hugging jeans as he ate his daisy-shaped cookie, shivering in delight at the taste. 

Since that day, he has come in often. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes on his lunch break, but he always orders a coffee and you always sneak something sweet as a pick-me-up in his bag. Sometimes he leaves and sometimes he sits to sip on his coffee, only chomping down on your pick-me-up once he leaves. 

One day, a month later on a beautiful April day, he comes in during a lunch break when you and Yuki and Mai, your coworkers and friends, are taking care of the lunch rush crowd while Todo, Megumi, and Yuji work in the kitchen. 

Yuki ogles him as he walks in, extremely obvious and not trying to hide it from behind the counter. “Damn, he’s fine,” she whispers. “Who the fuck is that?” Mai walks past her with a tray of eclairs to replace beneath the glass displays. “Y/N’s very loyal customer,” she giggles. “He’s been in here almost every day to see her.” 

You are busy washing glasses when you see Nanami and you give him a nod and a smile, acknowledging his presence. He nods back, patiently waiting while you set up. “Really?!” Yuki gasps, gaping at you. “Y/N, how come you never told me you have a boyfriend now?” 

The kitchen doors open, signaling the arrival of one of the boys. “Who’s got a boyfriend?” Yuji curiously asks. “Here’s the fresh batch of peach cobblers you needed, Y/N.” You look down at the delicious pastries. “Thank you, Yuji, and no, I don’t have a boyfriend. He just comes in here often because he enjoys the coffee and ambiance!” 

You glare at Yuki who gives you a knowing look, her lips pursed. “Mmm, I bet it’s the ambiance, alright,” she purrs, bumping her hip with yours as she walks by to tend to the coffee machine. 

Then Nanami comes walking up while the girls giggle among themselves. You quickly straighten up and smile at the blonde. “Nanami, it’s good to see you again! What can I get you today?” 

The stoic blonde gives you another nod of acknowledgment, his coat open today to reveal his suit and tie. “You as well, Ms. L/N,” he says in his smooth-like-butter voice. “Just the usual, please. I have a meeting so I have to hurry back.” He checks his watch, looking quite pensive. 

“Sure thing,” you say and begin to fix up his pastry while you give Yuki his drink order. While you do s, Mai walks past you, her apron replaced with a gorgeous red top and jeans, and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Headin’ out for the lunch date, hon? Just be careful, okay?”

The black-haired beauty turns and smiles at you. “Gotchu!” she calls. But then she pauses for a moment and smiles at Nanami. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mai, Y/N’s friend.” 

You could choke her as you watch Nanami’s ears turn red. With a giggle and a wink your way, she goes skipping out the door into the wonderful spring air. You sigh, busying yourself with heating up his sandwich. Nanami stands by the counter, the silence filled with the whistle of the latte maker and the hum of the microwave. 

He suddenly clears his throat, earning your attention. “Nice day for a date, I suppose,” he awkwardly says. He’s trying hard to make conversation. You giggle to yourself at his adorable awkwardness. “Agreed, but my date will probably be with my dog later. It’ll be beautiful weather for a walk.” 

The ding of the bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of another customer. You look at Yuki and give her a wink, hurrying to finish making Nanami’s drink while she takes care of the customer. “So there are no suitable bachelors lined up for you right now?”

Nanami curiously asks. You blink at him, shocked by the question. Quickly, he tries to backtrack. “I apologize if that’s too personal.” 

“No, you’re fine!” you hurriedly reply. “At least you’re not asking me what time I get off…which yes, that has happened before many times.” But if Nanami were to ask you this, you can’t say you’d say no. “Dating just isn’t in the cards for me right now with running a business and all.” 

Nanami nods, watching your hands move as you maneuver the foam machine for the top of the latte. “What about you?” you quip, smiling at him. “I’m sure a guy as handsome as you has a girl on his arm.”

You expect Nanami to laugh at this, but he doesn’t. Instead, his frown deepens and you feel like offing yourself. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasp. “That was so inappropriate to say.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts you. “That’s very sweet of you.” A light, pink blush lightly coats his cheeks, making your heart flutter. “And no dating for me either, I’m afraid. My life is just too busy and demanding for such.”

He pauses as if thinking and his eyes flick down to your hands. “But if anyone deserves a nice date in such nice weather, I’m sure everyone in here would agree that it’s you.” 

You stop and stare at him for a moment, shocked by his sweet words and game. You damn near burn his sandwich from spacing out because of his words, so much so that Yuki has to turn off the microwave because you don’t hear it beeping. You don’t know why Nanami’s compliment stuns you so much. It’s just a compliment! 

And then you realize it’s because of how genuine it is. You can tell he means it. You can’t deny the way it affects you as you finish his order. Your hands shake as you wrap up his sandwich and secretly place a sun-shaped sugar cookie into his to-go bag.

You give him a smile that you hope doesn’t wobble as you pass him his order. “Have a nice day, Nanami,” you softly say. 

He takes the coffee and bag, his hands lightly brushing against yours. You feel something explode within you from even the slightest touch of your fingers. You search his face, wondering if he felt it too. “Kento,” he corrects you. “You as well, Ms. L/N.”

You nearly melt beneath his gaze. “Y/N,” you correct him. 

He gives you a small smile before heading off to work, taking the intoxicating scent of his cologne and your head with him. Yuki is the one who brings you back down to earth, carrying two iced coffees. “Oooh, that was sexy to watch,” she giggles. “Y/N, your man is such a man.” 

“He’s not my man,” you grumble, glaring at her. “Quiet and take the drinks to my customers, please.” She just laughs, skipping away while you attempt to gather yourself. 

Yuki’s joke unfortunately sticks: “Your man is here, Y/N.” This is what your coworkers began telling you and teasing you with once Nanami started showing up more frequently. He sometimes shows up on his lunch, chatting with people on the phone about orders from his florist shop, but it’s mostly in the mornings on the way to work. 

And every single time, you hope that he asks you out. But he never does. But even so, you look forward to seeing him again. So when Yuki, your fellow coworker, and co-baker says it again–“Your man is here again, Y/N”–you turn towards her and react like she just told you that there is a hundred-dollar bill under your shoe or like you’ve got a great ass. The blonde woman smirks from the side counter where she is fixing the pastry displays, not even looking up when the bell above the front door rings. 

It is a beautiful day in May, blue skies and sunshine with a pleasant 70-degree breeze. You were happy to start your day this morning because of the weather, but now, it just got even better. Nanami has ditched his coat for a simple yet sexy blue button-down, his zany tie, and slacks. 

He looks much better than you in your flour-dusted apron after baking bread before the store opened this morning. “Hi, Kento!” you chirp. “Oh, is this a friend of yours?”

Behind him, he not only carries his briefcase but also an equally handsome, tall man with snow-white hair, blue eyes, and a kind of swagger you know has people’s undies dropping for him. The opposite of Nanami, it appears. Nanami looks like he dreaded you asking. “Unfortunately,” he sighs. 

The white-haired stranger moves beside Nanami and puts a hand out for a shake. “Hello, miss,” he greets. “Gojo Satoru, pleased to meet you. I’m a longtime friend of Kento’s. We go waaaaay back.” You look at Nanami who looks like he wants to die. “Nice to meet you,” you laugh, shaking Gojo’s hand. 

Gojo gives you another Colgate smile. “Kenny has told me so much about you, you know,” he teasingly says, earning a death stare from Nanami. “Oops, shouldn’t have said that! Here, Ken, you take it from here. That cobbler has my name on it.” He strides over to the glass display of pastries and baked goods, leaving you both alone. 

Nanami gives you an apologetic look but you giggle it off. “So how’s it going today? Can I get you anything?” You mentally prepare to get his usual order ready, but he shakes his head and fixes his tie, looking nervous for some reason. “Uh…it’s going well and no, I’m in a hurry, but…I wanted to give you these.” 

He then slowly takes his arm from behind his back and reveals a bouquet of the most beautiful and bright red, yellow, and pink tulips you’ve ever seen wrapped in paper. For you.

“Oh!” you gasp, placing a hand on your heart. “Oh.” He hands them to you over the counter, much to the prying eyes of your friends and other customers in the bakery. 

“They’re from my shop,” he explains despite you not even asking. “I wasn’t aware what color you liked, but I figured bright ones couldn’t hurt.”

He gives you a sheepish, nervous smile which is quite a sight from such a stoic and calm man. You gently stroke one of the tulips’ soft petals and inhale the sweet perfume of them. You can’t remember the last time a man surprised you with anything, let alone flowers. 

You are touched and absolutely floored for him. “I love them, Kento,” you whisper. “Thank you.” You give him a smile which he crookedly returns. “You’re welcome…and I also wanted to ask you something.” 

“Okay,” you say because what the fuck else can you say? He leans over the counter, giving you a whiff of his cologne. It has you thinking about him doing very naughty things with you over the counter. “I know you said before that your life makes dating hard and whatnot, and I’ll completely understand if you say no, but…my friend recently mentioned to me that I shouldn’t let good things pass me by, so…” 

His eyes shift to Gojo who is sipping on a lavender iced latte and giving him a thumbs up, not even trying to act like he isn’t listening. The florist turns back to you, his cheeks pink. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to have dinner with me one day?” It’s meant to be a statement, but it comes out as a question. 

You stand there stunned for a moment, your brain moving slowly. You’ve been waiting for so long for him to ask you out and now he is! Nanami takes your silence for a no and visibly withers. “Forget what I said,” he sighs. “Please. That was so stupid of me. I’m so–” 

“Nanami, I’d love to,” you quickly reply, breaking out into a huge, dumb smile that hurts your cheeks. “Is Friday night okay? I get off at 7 PM.” The florist looks shocked and then his face softens with relief and happiness. “Friday at 7 sounds perfect.” 

Your stomach flutters with butterflies as you stare at him, clutching his flowers close to your chest. “Did ya ask her yet, Nanami?!” Gojo shouts from the other side of the room. 

Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I have to go take him out back and shoot him. Is it okay if I call the bakery?” You giggle at his joke but then give him a crooked smile, staring at him beneath your lashes. “It would….but I think having my number would be better, don’t you?” 

The florist stares at you, shaken by the flirty little line you threw. But it works! You end up getting Nanami’s number instead and putting a little flower next to his contact.

Just so he doesn’t waste your or your staff’s time, Nanami orders an iced latte and gives you a bashful smile when you take it from him. “I’ll see you Friday then.” You nod and watch him leave with Gojo. Mai comes up behind you along with Yuki, both girls having watched everything go down from behind you. “Smooth, Y/N,” Mai whispers. “Very smooth.” 

For the rest of the week, you anticipate Friday night for your date with Nanami. You plan your outfit according to the weather, shave your legs and kitty beforehand, and smile at your tulips every morning when you wake up, reminded every morning of what is to come. But then you get a cold. Spring is good for most things, but immunity? Fuck no. 

You go in on Friday morning anyway, snotting, sneezing, and your voice scratchy. Yuki and Mai scold you two hours into your shift, snatching your apron from you. “For God’s sake, Y/N, just go home!” Mai snaps. You sound awful! We can handle the bakery without you for a few days until you get better.”

Yuki nods, helping you get into your jacket and passing you an extra box of tissues for the road. “And no sucking faces with the hot blonde man till you get rid of this cold.” 

So you go home and immediately hit Nanami up while lounging on your couch in your sweats and slippers, your nose stinging from blowing it so much and your throat congested. This is the first time you’re calling him and you feel nervous. Your heart pounds with every ring from the other line, but when he finally picks up, you just about melt. 

“Hello?” He asks, his deep, silky voice filling your ear. “Hi, Nanami, it’s me,” you say, cringing at your sick voice. “I’m so sorry to do this, but you think we can take a rain check on that date? I’m sick.” 

“Of course,” he says, sounding concerned. “Just remember to eat and rest up, okay? I recommend lots of herbal tea too.” You feel your heart burst at his advice and worry for you. “You would recommend that,” you giggle, crossing your ankles on the couch. “Any ones I can use for medicine?” 

Nanami is happy to tell you. “I don’t think you’d need it, but honeysuckle flowers work for coughs and sore throats.” You nod and lay your head back against the couch, listening to him, falling in love with his voice. “Tell me more,” you whisper. “I-If you’re not busy.” 

His light chuckle makes you throb between your legs. For the next twenty minutes before he’s forced to leave due to his duties, he tells you all about plants and flowers which somehow leads to you talking about your favorite things to do, hobbies, foods, etc.

When you finally hang up for the day, all you want is to talk to him again, so you hurry to get better. Nanami checks on you every single day which only makes your attraction to him grow. 

When you return back to work a week later, finally free of your cold, you’re welcomed with big hugs and a gift package complete with a coffee mug, fuzzy socks, tea bags, chocolates, and a gift card to your favorite store. “It was my idea!” Todo proudly says. 

“Mine too, you big bitch!” Yuji snaps. 

“I bought the gift card since these two were broke,” Megumi says. 

You laugh at the boys, hugging each of them. “That’s so sweet, guys,” you coo, hugging the gift package close to you. You begin to walk to the back to set your things down in the employee lounge, but you stop. There, on the counter, sits a bouquet of beautiful, vibrant azalea flowers. 

You walk up to the flowers, your heart skipping a beat. “Did you guys get these too?” you ask, pointing at the gorgeous flowers. Yuki shakes her head, much to your relief and joy. “No, these were delivered this morning. There was no ID; just a tag that said ‘The Greenhouse on the Hill’.”

Nanami’s flower shop. 

You break into the biggest smile you have ever made. That afternoon when you return home with your gorgeous flowers, you set them on the kitchen counter and hit Nanami up, already anticipating the sound of his silky, sexy voice.

Four rings go by before he actually answers. “Yes?” he asks, sounding somewhat irked. Your stomach drops at his shortness. “Hi, Nanami…is this a bad time?” 

“Shit,” he sighs apologetically. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t even look at your contact. The shop has been so busy with Mother’s Day coming up and all of these fucking spring weddings, excuse me language.” 

“I get it,” you giggle, leaning against the counter. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss though.” And it’s fucking hot. “I got your flowers today. Thank you.” 

“I’m just glad they came on time,” he says, relieved. “I was so sure they’d get there later in the week…and you’re welcome. I was hoping it’d make up for us missing our date.” 

You gently fiddle with one of the flower petals, biting your bottom lip. “I also wanted to call you about that,” you shyly begin. “Since we didn’t go on our date and I’m still building up my immune system since my cold, why don’t I invite you over to my shop and I can cook you something?” 

Nanami is quiet for a moment and you begin to think that you may have suggested something dumb. “You haven’t been to my shop yet,” he states.

Not waiting for an answer, he continues: “Instead of me coming there, why don’t you come here and I can cook you dinner? As you said, it’d be better to stay away from other people since you’re building your immune system back up and…” He stops abruptly. “Sorry,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I’m rambling.” 

“It’s okay,” you giggle despite him blushing on the other line. You are just as bashful, feeling warm all over at the thought of Nanami cooking for you and visiting his shop. “I like that idea, Nanami. I’m good with this Friday night if that works for you.” 

“Perfect,” he sighs. “I’ll pick you up at the bakery at 7.” You hang up and giddily fix yourself some wine, unwinding after a day of business. 

As the week goes on, you wait impatiently for Friday to make its appearance. When it finally does, you hurriedly change in the bathroom at work, do your makeup, and slip into a sundress that makes your skin pop, flats, and a jacket for the pleasant May air. When you step out, Mai and Yuki gape at you. 

“Oooh, you look so good, Y/N!” Yuki exclaims. “Blondie ain’t gonna know what hit him! He’ll be dying to eat you instead of–” 

“Hush!” you bark. “This is our first date, Yuki. I don’t do that on the first date.” You turn away to apply some more lipgloss to your lips, making your lips look extra plump and appetizing. 

“Ugh, not that shit!” Mai huffs, giving you a sharp look. “If you two like each other and are attracted to one another, who cares?! You should see the way he looks at you, Y/N! It’s like he’d bend you over the counter and fuck you if we weren’t here.” She gives your ass a squeeze in your sundress. 

“I’m shutting this convo down now,” you firmly say, batting her hand away. “Nanami and I like each other, yes, but we’re taking it slow. I wanna get to know him until we–” 

A knock on the door cuts you off and you turn, finding Nanami standing there. The girls laugh among each other as you race to the door. “Both of you, shut up!” you hiss before opening the door. Your date looks absolutely fuck worthy in a black polo shirt, tan slacks, and dress shoes. Very casual yet still sexy. “Hi, Nanami!” you chirp. “M’ready now.” 

“Have fun, you two!” Yuki shouts once you fetch your work bag. “Y/N, be home before dark, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You ignore her and leave with Nanami, stepping out into the warm air. Nanami looks adoringly at you under the street lamps. “You look really nice,” he shyly says. You let the compliment wash over you, flattered. “It’s only a short walk from here,” he says. “Just follow me.” 

Greenhouse on the Hill really is a short walk from your bakery. You can’t believe you’ve never seen him around before with how close your places of business are. It is a quaint little white store with planted flowers blooming along its windows and along the steps you walk up with Nanami. In the back is a greenhouse to which he leads you to. He takes a ring of keys out and unlocks the door before flicking on the light. 

Your eyes widen at the dozens of flowers, plants, and herbs surrounding the large glass greenhouse. You step into the warm, toasty greenhouse, smiling from ear to ear. “Wow, Nanami!” you gasp in awe. “This is beautiful! You planted all of these yourself?” 

The florist closes the door and steps beside you, trying to hide his prideful smile. ”From scratch. I can give you a tour if you want.” He offers you his elbow and you waste no time taking it, his cologne making you dizzy. “Please,” you reply, soft and breathless from him being so close. 

For the next twenty minutes, Nanami introduces you to his many flowers and plants, telling you which ones are meant for which holidays and occasions; what colors go best with certain bouquets; what flowers match certain personalities, etc. You try to listen and learn, but you’re so wrapped up in how sexy his voice is that you find yourself thinking of other things. 

When he finally realizes how long he’s been talking for and blushes as bright as the roses you stop in front of. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I’m rambling again.” You shake your head, gently stroking his arm. “Don’t be sorry. I like listening to you speak. You’re so passionate about this and it’s obviously something you love.” 

Nanami’s gaze shifts and the way he looks at you now feels intimate and tender. It fills you with tingles all the way down to your toes. “What?” You exhale. He looks as if he wants to say something, but he decides not to. “Nothing,” he says. “We should eat before the food wastes. I have wine too.” 

He has you wait while he goes back to the shop and comes back minutes later with a blanket that he lays on the floor and a picnic basket. Inside lies two wine glasses, a chilled wine bottle, rice balls, homemade salad, and for dessert, one of your famous crème brûlées from your bakery. “I came in early before you got there,” Nanami explains as you gape down at the cake. “I wanted to surprise you.” 

You swear you could kiss him. 

The dinner is straight out of a Disney movie. The food is delicious, the wine is refreshing and loosens you both up, and the conversation is even better. You and Nanami sit next to each other on the blanket, shoes off and completely at ease. You chat about your likes and dislikes; your favorite movies and most embarrassing moments. You find that Nanami is very funny is an unintentional way and whenever you joke, you find yourself falling in love with his laugh. 

By the time you get to dessert, half of the wine is gone and you’re ready to jump him every time he dips his spoon into the sweet French dessert and wraps his lips around it to slurp up the treat. Once he finishes, he sits back and exhales, full. “Wow,” he sighs. “That has to be the best creme brûlée I have ever had. You have quite the gift, Y/N.” 

You make a noise between a grunt and a laugh, modest and shy from such a compliment. “You don’t think so?” he asks, looking honestly hurt by the idea. “You should. You make people happy with what you make them, even if it’s just a simple coffee. You put such love into your business and it shows. Your personality makes it even better. I would bet people keep coming back for that…such as me.” 

His eyes are tender and genuine, his smile even more so. You finally cannot fight off the effects of him or the wine anymore and move in closer to him. He watches you, not moving a muscle as you strip off your jacket to reveal the spaghetti straps and your bare shoulders underneath. “Kento,” you softly say. “I really want you to kiss me.” 

The florist scoots closer to you until your knees are touching. “And I really want to kiss you,” he replies. His eyes flicker to your mouth, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulps.

“So do it,” you whisper, barely speaking; just exhaling. And then, finally, his lips find yours. 

His kiss is just as magical, careful, and sweet as he is. He lets you take most of the lead, his hands settling respectfully on your waist. But you want more. Need more. So you make it known by placing a hand on his cheek and deepening the kiss, leading to a full-on passionate, heated makeout session that has your head spinning and toes curling. 

Nanami’s lips leave yours to plant feverish kisses on your neck and throat. You tilt your head back, welcoming the kisses and embracing him as you do. He does the same to you, your smaller body encased in his bigger, more muscular one. It feels good—so good that you can quickly feel your panties becoming uncomfortably wet. “Kento,” you whine. 

He gets the message and kisses up to your ear. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” he whispers. “I won’t go any further than you want me to. Just tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His teeth lightly nibble at your ear, drawing a soft whine out of you. 

“I want you,” you moan. “I want you to fuck me right here.” He pulls away, shocked at the dirty request coming out of you. You place a hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently. “Please,” you add, batting your lashes at him. 

Nanami places a hand on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your bottom lip. “How can I refuse a thing as pretty as you?” He asks himself. You nearly suck him off right there and then. 

Minutes later after agonizing foreplay, your spell works on Nanami and you find yourself out of your clothes and only in your panties with the handsome florist on top of you. His soft lips are attached to your nipples, sucking gently yet eagerly at the hardened, brown peaks while you moan and writhe beneath his touch.

His hands idly play with your sides while yours are sunk in his scalp. “Mmm, Nanami,” you moan, your fingers in his blonde hair. “That feels so good. I should’ve known a florist would be so good with his hands, but his mouth too?” 

Nanami loves how you sound moaning his name. You can tell by the hard-on you feel pressing against your inner thigh protruding from his slacks. He removes his lips from your nipple, greedy eyes staring up into yours. “You haven’t seen how good I can be yet,” he growls into your ear. “But only if that’s what you want.” 

You already know what he wants and you can’t express him how much you want more with your words. You hope your body––your hard nipples, labored breath, and wet pussy pressing against his thigh––say what you can’t. 

“Is that what you want?” you softly ask. The blonde shocks you by taking your hand and boldly placing it on his hard dick. You softly gasp at how big he feels in your hand, the shaft thick and pulsing in your palm. “What do you think?” He whispers, obvious, molten lust in his eyes. 

That is all you need to hear. Immediately, you grab him and kiss him passionately, emitting porn-worthy moans from his lips that travel into yours. I want your clothes off too,” you softly exhale, earning an agreeable groan from the blonde. Your hands yank and snatch at his clothes, helping him out of his shirt and pants. You work together to strip him, laughing as you do and sharing heated kisses. 

Nanami is truly a sight to behold naked. He is a beefcake but he isn’t a gym rat. His arms are big and toned, perfect for wrapping you up in. His pectorals are juicy and squeezeable, sinewy with a sexy cluster of blonde chest hair that matches his toned lower stomach that you want to lick and kiss. You do so, kissing up his luscious physique while he gives you encouraging moans and sighs like a touch-starved man. 

His lower half is just as impressive: a firm ass, toned thighs and legs that could crush some skulls, and a V-line that traces down to the promised land. You ogle at his hard cock print in his briefs, your hand moving to grab it. Nanami’s bottom lip catches between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your warm hand on his shaft. 

“I want somethin’ else to,” you whisper. He raises a questionable brow. “Can we 69?” You suggest, running one hand up his chest while the other palms his dick. The florist opens his eyes and gives you a shocked look like you suggested you do some crazy BDSM shit on the first date. 

Before you can take a breath, Nanami is lying down on his back and gripping your hips to force you on top of him. You squeal with laughter, delighted by his eagerness and his strength. “I’ll take that as a yes!” You laugh as you place your hands on his chest and situate yourself. 

You look back at him, finding his lustful eyes peering up at you from behind. “I’m not much of a man of words as I’m sure you know, darling,” he says. “I’m better with actions.” He then pulls your panties to the side and proceeds to slurp you up like you’re the first meal he’s had all day. 

“Oh, Kento, fuck!” You moan, unable to hold anything back. You grind your ass back into him as his lips and tongue dance across your clit and sodden wet pussy, taking his time getting to know you. “I thought you said you wanted to 69,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled by your cunt. 

His cock switches impatiently in his briefs and you giggle.  “Yes, sir,” you hum, already working to push his briefs down his waist. His cock pops out from its trap and gently slaps against his stomach, hard, thick, and veiny. You could stare at it all night, but all you want to do now is touch and taste it. So you wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke, pump, slurp, and spit to your heart’s content. 

Nanami grinds his hips up into your touch as you pump him in time with your mouth, enveloping him with your lips and tongue. You encourage him to do so, moaning out tiny “mmm-hmm”s while you eagerly bob your head, sending vibrations throughout his shaft that travel up his body. “Shit, darling,” he gasps. “That feels fuckin’ amazing.” 

Hearing him be so vulgar makes you gush into his mouth, excited by this calm man losing his shit for you. You don’t blame him. Seeing your pretty nails and brown skin contrast with his complexion while your fingers stretch around his cock shiny with your spit is doing things to you too. “Yeah?” You coo. “You like fuckin’ my throat, baby boy?” 

You put it on him once again, gagging all over his dick much to his enjoyment. “God!” he gasps, his toes curling and his hands gripping your ass. “That’s just not fair.”

He lets his actions elaborate on that instead of his words, going back to slurping down your pussy and distracting you from your work. Feeling your body shake and shudder makes him chuckle, proud of his skills. 

After a couple of minutes of enjoying this position, Nanami gladly spending time between your soft thighs and you giving him as much neck as he can take, you finally can’t take anymore of it. You throw in the towel and look back at him, mouth coated in spit. “I need you, Kento,” you whine. “I need you to fuck me please!” 

You feel his cock twitch at your plea. He doesn’t hesitant to remove himself from your pussy, instead giving you all of his attention. “How do you want it, darling?” he asks. “I’ll give it to you however you want.” 

You choose to be on your back first. Nanami obliges and helps you off of him to lay on the blanket. You wrap your arms around him, kissing him as he hikes your legs up around his waist. And gently, gently, places himself inside of you. The tiny act of his head sliding inside of you is enough to emit a gasp from the both of you. His eyes meet yours, concern in them. 

Though it is a stretch after not being with anyone for a while, it feels good and you let him know by grinding your hips up into him. His handsome face screws up like he’s in pain, his lips parting on a silent moan. “More,” you whisper. “Give me more, Kento.” 

How can he possibly deny you? Placing his hands on either side of you, he leans down onto his elbows and begins to slowly rock his hips into you, driving his cock into you inch by inch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as you take him, watching you react to his thick cock filling you up. “Look at me,” he demands. “Look at me while I fuck you.” 

You do so, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him despite the blinding pleasure you feel when he really begins to fuck you. He grips your hips to bring you closer to him as he drives himself into you, plunging his cock in and out, in and out. Moans and gasps leave your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders and your heels pressed into his ass. 

The more he fucks you, the more your pussy gushes for him. He must feel what you’re feeling too because his hips begin to stutter and his cock grows harder inside of you. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he huffs, his last threads of self-control leaving him. “But I can’t help but want to fuck you harder. You look too goddamn perfect bouncing on my cock like this.” 

The use of those lewd, filthy words coming from calm, cool and collected Nanami nearly has you gushing. “Do it then,” you urge. “Be rough with me, Kento. It’s okay.” You smile up at him, cupping his handsome face in your hands. “I trust you.” 

That’s enough to break him. Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he looks you dead in the eyes and slowly, agonizingly rolls his hips down into yours. “Tell me how you want it,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me how you want me to take this pussy.” 

You tell him just that and he gently pulls out of you before helping you onto your wobbly hands and knees. “Face down, baby,” he orders, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want you exactly like this.” You do as he desires, pressing your face against the blanket while your ass is tooted up in the air. 

Nanami doesn’t hesitant to slide home inside you once more and grips your hips as he begins to nail your shit…and I mean, nail it. The man hits that spot again and again, sending you careening into bliss over and over again, your pussy gushing and shuddering around his merciless, thick cock. 

“God, Kento, yes!” You whine. “Yes, give it to me just like that! Fuck yes, yes, yes!” Your moans mix with his, bouncing off of the greenhouse walls and creating a symphony of pleasure that only the flowers and plants are privy to. 

“You like it like this, darling?” He pants from behind you. “You like gettin’ fucked just like this?” You nod wordlessly into the blanket, your hands gripping the fabric while he uses your ass as leverage to pull himself forward again and again, pistoning himself inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before: so eagerly and greedily. He needs this just as much as you do. 

The fact that he wants you just as much as you want him just about makes you break. You can feel that knot in your core about to snap, your pussy shuddering and fluttering around his pistoning cock. “N-Nanami,” you whimper. “Baby, I’m gonna cum soon. Y-You’ve gotta slow down!” 

“Why?” Nanami pants. “Why slow down when I’m about to make such a pretty pussy cum all over me?” He does slow down enough to lean down to whisper in your ear. “I want you close to him,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “I want to feel you when you cum.” 

You smile, delirious with the pleasure but coherent enough to want the same thing. He pulls you flush against him, his front against your back, and begins to fuck you from behind again. His moans and grunts fill your ear while yours bounce off the walls the more intensely he fucks you, one hand on your breast and the other on your ass. “Play with that clit,” he demands. “I want you to cum with me.” 

You whimper and whine as you do as he says, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit in time with his pounding. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to rise along with his. Your mouth falls open and you toss your head back, thrown into the throes of pleasure. “Kento!” You moan. “Fuck, I’m cumming!” 

“Me too,” he grunts, gripping you as close to him as you possibly can be. “Cum with me, darling! Give it to me!”

The desperate grunt he lets out as his own end nears throws you over the edge. You loop an arm back around his neck to pull him closer as you finally cum all over his cock. His own orgasm is triggered and he cums right after you, his body tensing as his orgasm zips through him. 

Moans of your release mingle in the air as you both climax, but then are silenced as you share a heated, passionate kiss with tongues included. Your pussy spasms against his cock, twitching and gripping him tightly until your orgasm finally fades, leaving you with a satisfied, beaming grin on your face. 

Once your high fades, Nanami pulls out of you with a soft moan, releases you, and slowly lays beside you on the blanket. You cradle one another, arms and legs loosely tangled with one another as you stare up at the glass greenhouse ceiling. You look up at Nanami, your eyes drinking in his body coated in sweat and the afterglow. 

You just had sex with a man on the first date. You find yourself not regretting it at all. Nanami, catching you looking at him, turns to you and gives you a crooked smile. 

“What a way to end a first date,” he breathlessly chuckles. 

You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to his knuckles. “And start many more,” you add, smiling up at him. The smile he gives you is one that makes you so happy that you met him and he presses a soft kiss to your hand as well. “Definitely.” 

THE END. 

[namisei]

KISS THE COOK

‧₊˚✩彡 scenarios about having bllk boys as your husbands

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ includes ; nagi, isagi, rin

‧₊˚✩彡 tags ; established relationships (marriage), endearments

NAGI SEISHIRO

“nagi!” you say with a small ouch, making your husband utter a sorry from behind you, the neat braid he was trying to pull off was getting on his nerves making him tug on it by accident.

“it's not bothersome.” seishiro adds, like he read your mind. you can't help but think it's getting on his nerves because it's bothersome (he found nearly everything boring, or bothersome which was kinda either funny or tiresome (which was also how he described doing everything but gaming and soccer))

your husband eyes the hair carefully, making sure that each section is braided nicely, so that he doesn't have to repeat it again. he ends it by putting a few soccer designed clips on the end, a reminder for you that your husband was a great (but sleepy) soccer player.

and once he succeeds, he grabs a mirror and hands it to you. “cute isn't it? now you can go.. i'll go take a nap.”

you laugh as he stands up, trudging to the couch and falling over, slumbering in a blink of an eye. his silvery hair scrambled all over the grey couch, and he laid there sleeping for an hour, drool spilling on the side of his mouth and onto the fabric. rushing to put a blanket over him, patting it over. you then stand up once more, only to be stopped by his hand grasping your wrist, "stay beside me.. it helps me sleep better darling.” and you sigh, staying beside his sleeping figure.

a much more pleased smile was on his face.

ISAGI YOICHI

“baby, i made you food. come sit.” yoichi says sweetly, patting the chair beside him. he wraps his arm around your waist before smiling, “you get more beautiful everyday mrs. isagi” he's been so sweet lately, not taking his few days of break for granted.

you sigh, “you didn't need to sweetie, you had training all day yesterday, let me do the cooking.” and isagi merely huffs, “well, you cook for me every weekday so it's natural for me to treat you to some food, yeah? eat eat, i don't like seeing you on an empty stomach.”

isagi yoichi watches you as you slurp down on the meals he cooked with a grin, “is it good? that's great, eat up.” his hand is massaging your back as you ate, eyes drowsily watching you. was he sleepy, or is he so deeply in love that he stares at you that way. isagi likes to think that the latter is the right answer.

after the meal, he hugs you tightly, rubbing slow motions into your back. “thanks for cooking for me the past few days, even put it in a nice bento box too all the time.” yoichi places a warm hand on your cheek, “thank you, my love.” he repeats, kissing you on the lips softly.

the two of you spent the rest of the morning eating the remainding food, until the last bite, where you uncomfortably bit on an egg shell that was stuck into his scrambled eggs, isagi apologized, “kiss the cook, so i'm sure that you forgave me.”

RIN ITOSHI

it was rare for rin to be affectionate but he always showered you with gifts, lots of gifts. he knows that money cannot buy love, and there was only so much he could buy. after all, his love language IS gift-giving, it never came to mind that he could make diy gifts...

and so, during night time, he would always sneak off into his home office for like 5 hours then come to bed looking absolutely exhausted. his hands were shaky and his face was painted with sweat, you had asked what he was doing, only getting a "arts and crafts project" as a reply.

the day of your anniversary came, and rin was almost sickly. he approached you from behind, tapping your shoulder as he wore a black suit. when you turned around and took your hands off your face, rin was holding a huge, like a huge 100-piece paper flower bouquet. he looked extremely tired, giving you a weirdly exhausted grin. “i told you it was an arts and crafts project.”

you took the bouquet carefully, counting it. “it's exactly 100, i made sure.” your husband said proudly, brushing off invisible dirt off his suit and proudly puffing his chest, “do you like it pretty?” and when you say you do, that you love it, he beams up at you.

“then from now on, i'll be making diy gifts for you. since you love them.” and in less than an hour of eating a romantic candle lit dinner, he slumps to the bedroom. waking up about 14 hours later. he sure was exhausted.

[dearanakin]

🐥 here ☺️

Ahhh spicy biker!Eddie - pleasant surprise I wont lie! 🫣 thank you so much for writing despite the writer’s block!!

I was wondering if you could write an alternate version with an established relationship including a shy!reader? She’s incredibly studious and stays late in the school’s library several times a week to study and Eddie ofc will never ever let her go home alone, so he always picks her up on his bike. The moments she’s holding on to him, feeling the wind in her hair are some of the few she actually feels free 🥹

Lots of fluff and Eddie worrying about her safety and wellbeing maybe??

Thanks for reading this!!! 💕💕💕 I hope you’re having a beautiful week angel

God I know I'm like way behind this request, but I promise I've been trying to make something pretty decent. Turns out I only had this small idea in my head, but it's kinda cute. I'm so sorry I took so long!!

Summary: You always stay late in the library most of the weekdays, and Eddie always makes sure you never go home alone. Sometimes he even makes you company, watching over while you study. (Fluff only. Word count: 972)

One evening, you found yourself in the university library, surrounded by towering bookshelves and the soft hum of fluorescent lights.

You had a significant research paper to complete, and the clock was ticking mercilessly towards eight o'clock.

You've spent all day at the campus and felt too tired already, but with the tests coming, you wanted to make sure you got good grades. In the room, there were only a few students, while the rest had already left.

Once again, Eddie made his way to a chair next to you, dragging it, so he could sit down. The noise it was making attracted the attention from the others, and you squinted, snorting.

He could never be able to be discreet. He sat next to you, watching as you read your papers.

"You couldn't be louder than that?" You joked, and he rested his legs across the table. Such a gentleman.

He fidgeted with his ringed fingers and smirked.

"Not my fault these damn chairs are too old, babe," He replied.

Shaking your head, you tried focusing on the remaining pages of your notes. You keep your attention on your notebook, while his face slowly reaches next to yours.

"Watcha reading?" Eddie whispers close to your right ear and you shiver.

"Just some philosophical theories" You reply, not taking your eyes off the papers.

"Sounds interesting. Is it about stoicism? Because I love that shit!" He sounds very into it, and it makes you chuckle at his sweet words.

"Oh, really? Tell me more about it then" You play along.

He looked at you, a little bit confused. He never seemed to actually enjoy whatever you would study. "Are you serious? Because I can go on and on about that shit".

You laughed again. "Yeah, babe. I'm serious".

He took a deep breath, fixing his bangs before starting to speak. "It's a philosophy that teaches us how to find tranquility and wisdom in life's challenges".

"You see, stoicism is all about recognizing what's within our control and what's not. It encourages us to focus on our thoughts, actions, and attitudes, and to let go of things beyond our control" He definitely looked so hot right now you would eat him on a stick.

"That's so profound. And so hot" You say it quite louder than expected, and he jerks his head back in a snorted laugh.

He places one hand on your thigh and squeezes it before looking back at you. "I could be one hell of a hot Philosophy professor, babe".

"Yeah, right" You squeeze his hand back.

He didn't say much later after that, waiting for you to finish reading your papers. But while waiting in the silent room, he was humming a song - which was probably Metallica - and it annoyed you.

"I'm going to need five minutes, but you need to be quiet" You started, lowering your voice, so only Eddie could hear you. "Or I will punish you later".

His brown puppy eyes widened in muse. "Well, then sentence me already" He said it too loud and earned a slap on his forearm from you. "Ouch".

"Just shut, please" You tried not to laugh at his playful demeanor.

Eddie loved the way you were so focused on school and your future. He knew he wasn't one to be too worried about that, considering he got held back twice before.

Now he's working his way up with his band, while making money at a record store.

He was fascinated by how you were so into every single thing you were interested in. He knows how much effort you have, even though he thinks you're a nerd. Which he's always joking about.

"You know you don't need to pick me up, right? I can get a cab" You said after a moment of silence.

He was trying to not make a noise, otherwise he knew you'd punch him. Supporting his chin on his hand, while resting his arm on the table, he huffed. "And you know I'll never let you go home alone".

"I'm a big girl, Munson" You retorted in a sweet way.

"I don't care, sweetheart. You're trapped with me. Eddie Munson can't let his darling go out there alone".

You laughed. "God, I hate it when you talk about yourself in third person".

"You actually love it, and you know it" He pointed out.

After you finished your studies, he helped you out with your books and papers, holding most of them for you.

You loved leaving the university in his company, because he would always pick you up with his bike and you loved how the wind always blows against your hair.

He secured your stuff inside the top case, giving you your helmet. Eddie helps you put the accessory on and makes sure the strap is perfectly set on your head.

He holds out a hand for you to support yourself before hopping in.

Eddie mounted the motorcycle, starting the engine with a satisfying rumble. He makes sure you're holding on him before pulling away.

With the wind in your hair and the open road ahead, you held on tightly, feeling both the exhilaration of the ride and the comfort of his care and guidance.

He pulled up by your driveway - you and Robin shared a house together - and helped you out with the helmet.

"Safe from the night dangers" Eddie wrapped one of his arms around your neck, giving you a peck on the jawline. You let out a light chuckle.

"Yeah, you're my true hero" You satirize.

He leans towards you, standing inches from your face, holding a sweet smile. "I love you, my darling".

"Love you too, Munson". You both kissed for a few seconds before he pulled back.

"I love it when you call me Munson" He melts down under your touch. 

[storiesofsvu]

Censured Ch 3

Warnings: Language.

**

You let out a gentle hum of satisfaction as you closed your laptop, looking up across your desk to Sonny.

“5’s are sent to Benson. We’re done.” You stretched in your chair, rolling your neck. Sonny let out a sigh of relief, copying your movements.

“Thank God.” He stood, moving to sweep his coat on, “You wanna grab a drink?” You pushed your chair back, pulling on your own coat, 

“I’d love to…but I have plans…” Carisi could see the glint in your eyes as you replied, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

“Girl from the coffee shop called?” He grinned as the two of you made your way into the elevator.

“Yeah.” You sighed happily, leaning against the back wall, happy for the moment of privacy. “Honestly, I think she might be straight, but I could use a friend who’s not currently wrapped up in the world of sex crimes.” That was half the reason you kept the job at the piano bar, it was a little sense of normalcy for you to lose yourself in the entertainment world that you’d spent so much time in before becoming a cop. Sure there were nights you had to pull the badge out, help the bouncers deescalate situations but mainly it was about having fun, getting some drinks in and losing yourself in the music. 

“Currently?” Sonny always the key listener, never missing anything you said. You let out a little laugh, 

“Yeah…turns out she was the A.D.A for special victims before she got suspended. She’s only in town for the summer, working on the Johnson case as a paralegal.”

“She tell you that already?”

“Technically…but I knew her story cause of Rita. When she introduced herself at the bar I simply…pieced things together. But we’ve been texting.”

“Well I hope it works out for ya.” Sonny was quick to give you a tight hug outside the building, “Call me if you need anything.”  You assured him you would before making your way to your separate cars, you were eager and slightly nervous at the evening ahead of you. You weren’t sure where things would land, and hoped that at least you’d end up with a positive relationship of some kind with Casey.

***

You found Casey sitting at the bar of your regular weekday watering hole, which also happened to be where Andrew spent his weeks bartending. He high five’d you before you sat down, yelling something about New York’s Finest, you rolled your eyes as he placed your regular drink in front of you, smirking as handed the two of you a round of shots ‘on the house’.

“Sorry if I’m late.” You turned to Casey after throwing back the shots.

“Oh not at all! I got let off early, figured I’d rather spend the free time in a bar than a stuffy hotel room.”

“You’re staying in a hotel?”

“Yeah, Johnson’s got a thick wallet, put us all up while we work the case. I won’t lie though, I absolutely hate it. I’m stuck in one room 50% of the day, and don’t even get me started on not having a kitchen, I’ve been surviving off take out and street vendor hot dogs for 3 weeks.” You let out a huff of a laugh, knowing exactly how she felt, 

“Well if you ever wanna use my kitchen, you’re more than welcome.” You took a hefty swig of your drink.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean…I barely use it, Carisi loves to poke jokes every time he ends up cooking dinner, claiming there’s cobwebs on my pans.” You rolled your eyes as Casey laughed lightly, “I’m either at the precinct or the bar, I’m barely home these days. I’m in Tribeca, not far from the courthouse.”

“How in the hell do you afford that?” You laughed outwardly at Casey’s response.

“If it’s a good weekend, I can make more in three days at the piano bar than I do with a week of my NYPD salary.” 

“Wow.” She was surprised to say the least. 

The conversation flowed freely between the two of you, there was a brief talk of the job, you admitting that you in fact, did work with her last department, but talk of her suspension was not the office gossip. She delved a little bit further into your life outside the precinct while you delved into her life outside of New York. The two of you melded together so easily Casey was actually surprised. It had been so long since she’d gotten along with someone both this well and this easily. Your experience in the justice system made you able to understand everything she’d come across in work, but your ease with the entertainment industry made you so drastically different from anyone she’d ever experienced. Her natural draw towards you simply increased as the night continued and you simply felt the same, even if this was just friendship, you knew it was going to be a good one. It was nearly 1:00 A.M. as Andrew settled in front of you, asking if the tab was together or separate, you insisted on paying, being the one who’d invited her out. You both briefly stopped outside the entrance as you waited for your cabs, turning to each other and you took the time to be bold, the vibe between you knowing that neither of you was a creep.

“You know…if you ever get sick of being trapped at a hotel…I do have a guest room…” You were slightly hesitant, you’d only known her for a couple of weeks but you knew how annoying it was to survive out of a hotel room for an extended period of time. You also knew that you and Casey fit together so incredibly well, you hadn’t felt a connection like this in a very long time, probably since Sonny had shown up at SVU.

“Really?” She questioned, Casey wasn’t completely surprised, aside from being so naturally drawn to you the first night, practically every word you exchanged encouraged her to find out more about you. There was no denying the chemistry between you.

“Yeah…I mean..if you need a break from the room service and taco truck life.” She laughed at that, knowing how comfortable the two of you naturally felt, and how much she despised her current living situation. She desperately wanted a different room to sleep in than the one she had to work in, and food that wasn’t take out sounded like heaven. 

“Honestly that sounds amazing.” She replied, you smiled, giving her a quick hug before your hand reached towards the door of the cab, 

“Well… you know where to find me..” With another flash of your smile you were gone into the night.

[rosenallies]

“Is that what you think of me?” Begin again au. Nali assumes the worst of Rose and hurts his feelings

Denali paced the kitchen, watching out the window carefully, hoping he'd find Rosé jogging up the stairs to their apartment, apologetic expression on his face for being back later than he said. He promised he'd be back by 8 and now it was nearing 8:30 and Denali hadn't so much as gotten a text explaining that Rosé was running late but he'd be home soon.

The later it got, the more Denali's brain spun stories of a secret affair or a terrible accident. He had a fantastic ability to conjure up stories so far from the truth from absolutely nothing, automatically going to the worst case scenario. He supposed it was a defense mechanism he held onto from when he was living in the worst case scenario. Even though things with Rosé were so good, he still couldn't help but feel stuck in his own ways.

Usually those thoughts went away when he saw Rosé coming up those stairs, but for some reason at a little past 9, the sight of Rosé struggling up the stairs with arms full of groceries didn't make the thoughts disappear, it only seemed to confirm them in Denali's mind.

Rosé didn't even have time to greet him, before Denali was jumping down his throat, tone accusatory as he spoke. "Where have you been?"

"What? I was getting groceries," Rosé replied in confusion, holding up his arms full of bags. "it was way busier than expected for 8pm on a weekday," he chuckled, attempting to lean over and press a kiss to Denali's cheek, though he quickly dodged it.

"Is getting groceries code for fucking somebody else now?"

"What?" Rosé was taken aback, in shock at his sudden accusation, "Nali, no, I'd never-"

"Don't lie to me!"

Setting the groceries on the counter, Rosé turned to face Denali. "Is that what you think of me? That I'd hurt you like that?"

It felt like a punch in the gut for Denali to accuse Rosé of doing things his ex did. Rosé knew deep down it was his intense anxiety and trauma talking, but it didn't hurt any less. "I would never ever do that to you," he whispered, eyed glued to the floor.

Denali remained angry until Rosé looked up at him, his green eyes spilling over with tears. Only then did Denali soften.

"Rosie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I think I'm gonna sleep in the guest room tonight-"

"Wait, please don't. I can't sleep without you."

Sighing, Rosé ran a hand through his hair. "Come get me if you need me, please, I just need some time, okay? Would you mind putting the groceries away too?"

Denali nodded, trying not to start crying himself as Rosé turned away.

[linkbuildersblog]

Room Salons: The real Moral Scourge on Korean Society

Korea takes morals certainly seriously. From Enes Kayas TV drop from grace beyond alleged adultery to pop star Yoo Seung-juns apparent dodging of his military dutykorea is unforgiving as soon as it comes to dishonorable behaviour. Christian groups protested neighboring the recent cheerful pride festival, claiming to protect a land of good moral value throughout its 5000 years of history. But they point of view a blind eye to underground room salons, where these moral values come crashing all along every further weekday and prostitution is carried out taking into account little scrutiny 홍대룸싸롱, 홍대가라오케.

Having recently been the guest of honour among Korean businessmen, I was treated to a night at the room salon in all its glitz and glamour. After a meal of barbecue and a lot of soju a designated driver came to pick us up, whisking us to the heart of Gangnam, the concern hub of Seoul.

A valet greeted us, and we were led down marble stairs surrounded by fountains. My boss winked at me, reminding me that there was to be No corporate checking account cards in here; accounts would be decided later. We were escorted to a room, the whiskey and snacks already laid out upon the table. The parlours overseer entered and called the girls in.

One by one, six surgically-enhanced women in their late twenties strutted in awkwardly in stilettos and lined up, presenting their assets. The governor enumerated them and said, Pick a number. Thoughts of the cheerful sauna sprang to mind, a meat shout out of lively flesh, where one must choose a prey for the evening. being the foreigner, I was unmodified the honour of first pick. I personally felt no attraction to any of the women and merely replied none. I saying my party recognition in satisfaction. They were thinking I must be a seasoned customer, for my taste buds are exquisitely expensive, a connoisseur that does not pick worn-out rags during the first round. My boss exclaimed to the girls, disposable by nature, to Get out!

The second work came in. In stomach of my drooling colleagues, I arranged to choose the least plastic girl. The get out of of the party furthermore picked one female companion each. Drinks and chit talk aside, one business was clear: for my married colleagues, there was absolutely no moral dilemma in here. There was no hesitation, let alone systematic as to why we were here: to have sex like a beautiful girl.

Beer, more whiskey, little talk, hand feeding, fumbling, karaoke. Our session drew to a close, but not in the past the special minister to that awaited us. No sooner after we left the room, each of our girls took her designated companion upstairs, into a motel-style room. At this tapering off of intoxication I had no siren in stripping down, as did my partner. We showered and proceeded to the bed. But maddening to make me cum served no purpose. She was sorry and tried as hard as she could. I told her cordially there was no use, and left it at that.

Being gay, I locate the overall experience amusing in hindsight, knowing that I was never actually there to have sex gone the women. I dont vibes guilty for going. I accomplish even though feel regret that I successfully performed what was usual of me, feel a precedent for highly developed visits. The next-door daylight in the office, I am now friends in the manner of my boss. Female colleagues admiration why we have become as a result chummy. every I can attain now is be wary of dinner in the manner of the boss invites.

Korea is self-repressive. From office environments to pressures of marriage, creature yourself in the log on is frowned upon. The room salon illustrates how Korean men allow it every out in the comfort of other world, in the costly basements of Gangnam, a dark underside of Korea where everything goes. As one of my managers married puts it, I am a single man upon weekdays. This seems to be the unspoken announce in male-dominated company vigor which exempts them from qualms approximately unprincipled behaviour or adultery. thus pervasive is the culture of money for sex that I have still to listen of any male Korean office worker friend that has not participated in after-work sexual gratification.

Last week, previously the annual Queer Parade, there was significant enemy to homosexuality, mainly based on moral grounds. One pastor argued that one of the main issues taking into consideration homosexuality in Korea is that the average cheerful person has 1,000 sexual buddies and are at risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases. Either he is ignorant of what is taking place in these salons, or he is turning a blind eye to the real moral dilemma facing the country. Homosexuality apparently threatens the moral fibre of the nation, but men frequently cheating on their wives bearing in mind prostitutes get barely any attention from these righteous groups claiming to defend relatives values.

The similar little far-right groups follow a selective and fundamentalist reading of a religion brought to Korea by Western missionaries but at the thesame grow old label homosexuality a risky Western import. But the genuine hardship these groups should focus upon takes area in the basements, highrises and put up to alleys of Seoul and beyond: Prostitution, adultery, and deception embraced by straight men are the genuine moral scourge upon Korean society.

[butterflyyeo]

drunk in love

pairing - yeosang x fem reader

genre - fluff, angst (?)

tw - lots of alcohol consumption, swearing

wc - 10k

side ships - seongjoong, yungi

a/n -- was meant to be angst but turned into fluff... im trying my best to get better at writing angst aaaah. but please enjoy this for now <3 thanks for letting me tag you @iminchaosnow !!

------------------------------------------- you had known kang yeosang for nearly two years now. two, dreadfully slow and exhausting years.it was your final year of high school when he transferred to your school, he was a close family friend of wooyoung's. his parents had spoken highly of the school, insisting that yeosang transfers in order to excel for his last year of schooling. as far as you were concerned, he had decent grades, but he preferred to spend his time hanging around the skatepark after dark, when everyone else had left.

and in all the two years you'd known him, you had never once had a full conversation with him, despite being in your group of friends. his side of the 'conversation' usually consisted of monotonous 'yeahs' and 'mhms'. wooyoung constantly assured you it was because he's shy and that he'd eventually open up. but you weren't convinced. you tried so hard for him to like you, but your efforts were fruitless. it was infuriating, feeling like you were constantly doing something wrong whenever you were around him.

you currently found yourself in the backseat of yeosang's car, wedged between a drunken yunho and mingi while a chaotic wooyoung was singing along to his chosen playlist. (though, it sounded more like wailing.)

you and the eight boys had all decided to take a gap year, spend every last cent you earned on adventure and alcohol to make lifelong memories, before your careers became a blockade in your friendship. but the year was coming to an end soon, it was already mid november. on the bright side, that meant your favourite holidays were just weeks away.

yeosang was always the designated driver. that was something you had noticed about him over the last few years. to be honest, you weren't sure just how he coped with a screeching wooyoung, because you sure as hell weren't dealing very well with yunho and mingi who were playing a very intense game of rock paper scissors to decide who would be crashing on the couch in your apartment.

"i win!" mingi cheered, waving his hands excitedly. "you're on the couch, man."

yunho frowned, "damn."

you laughed, "it's okay, yunho. you can share the bed with me if you'd like."

"hey! that's not fair y/n! you said i could this time." wooyoung whined from the front seat.

"sorry, woo. you know i keep my promises, but you're going back to your apartment. remember?" you tried to reason.

wooyoung looked as though someone had switched a lightbulb on behind his eyes, "oh yeah! i forgot."

the four of you burst into laughter, mainly caused by the alcohol and partially because of wooyoung's realisation. and still, yeosang didn't crack a smile, hands just gripping the steering wheel tighter as his knuckles turned white.

soon, you arrived outside your apartment block, quickly stepping out the car after yunho. wooyoung wound his window down and you poked your head in, attempting to hug him goodbye.

"bye woo!" you said, giggling at your faltered farewell.

"good night y/n, thanks for the drinks!" he shouted, exclaiming a bit too loudly next to your ear.

"thanks for the lift as always, yeosang!" you yelled, pulling away from wooyoung's tight hug.

he nodded, "no problem." before putting the window up and driving away.

you pouted, turning around to face the two boys. "i just don't understand what i'm doing wrong." you buried your face into your hands, "why doesn't he like me?" you groaned.

"y/n." mingi began, "its nearly 1am, its way too late for this 'why does yeosang hate me?' crap." he shook your shoulders, literally trying to shake some sense into you.

"yeah, mingi's right. we've had this discussion a thousand times." yunho said grasping your wrist and pulling you up the stairs, stumbling along the way. (because lets be real, stairs are difficult enough as it is, let alone when drunk.) "now, let us into your apartment so we can eat your food and crash on your couch!" he joked, nudging mingi in a playful manner.

you reached into your pocket and fumbled around with they key for a moment before unlocking the door. the boys practically pushed you inside and made a beeline for the fridge.

"help yourselves! i'm going to shower." you called, dragging yourself to your bedroom.

once you'd finished showering you went back to the living room to check on yunho and mingi. not so much to your surprise, they had fallen asleep on your couch already, cuddled up into each other. it was cute, even picture worthy to show their sober selves. you reached for your phone which typically lived in your pocket, though you began to panic when it wasn't there. hurrying around the apartment, you searched every possible nook and cranny for your phone, but it was nowhere to be found. you collapsed onto your bed, snuggling into the soft sheets, too tired to worry about your phone anymore and content with the assumption that you'd left it in yeosang's car.

shortly, your heavy eyes fell shut and you began to sleep away the tequila.

————————

the next morning you awoke to mingi and yunho's deep, hungover voices, discussing their plans for the next week.

you reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed and dawdled down the hallway.

"ah! there's our favourite karaoke partner!" yunho greeted, jokingly.

you laughed, "shh, don't let wooyoung hear you say that."

"she's right, man. he'd be so offended." mingi said, stretching out his sore limbs. "how are you feeling today, y/n?" he asked.

"not the worst hangover i've had. what about you guys? you're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like, until you feel better." you replied, knowing them well enough to know that they'd need at least a few painkillers and a good meal before they went home.

yunho chuckled, "i feel like crap, but nothing a sandwich and glass of water can't solve."

"i second that." mingi said, raising a hand.

"okay, well in that case, i'll go to the store and get something for breakfast. sound good?" you reasoned, running a hand through your hair. you loved these boys, and making them breakfast was just a nice way of showing you cared. drunk or not, they knew how to make you smile and laugh, which they loved to see.

"sounds amazing!" yunho said, breaking into a sincere smile.

you quickly changed out of your pyjamas and slipped some shoes on.

"i might be a bit longer, i need to stop by yeosang's. i think i left my phone in his car." you explained, picking your keys up from the kitchen counter. "see you guys soon! feel free to take a shower if you want." you said, waving goodbye and heading out the door.

"okay, bye y/n!" the boys called from behind you.

the first stop was yeosang's apartment, he only lived about ten minutes away with wooyoung and san, in the same building as jongho. both yunho and mingi lived on the other side of town, which is why they so often crashed at your place after parties. seonghwa and hongjoong were fortunate enough to live in a house, just outside town, they had actually been the hosts of last night's party.

it didn't take long to get there. you pushed open the lobby door and made your way over to the elevator, disappointed to see that it was out of order for maintenance. instead, you took the stairs and began spiralling upwards. less than a minute later you looked up, only to bump into the man you came looking for.

"oh, yeosang! i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to." you quickly apologised, worried about creating another reason for him to dislike you.

"it's fine." he shrugged.

you both began to talk again at the same time, "ah, sorry, you go."

"i was just gonna say, you left your phone in my car. actually, i was about to bring it back." he pulled your phone from the pocket of his jacket, handing it to you. as he did, your fingers brushed against his. he spun around suddenly and began to walk away, "i'll see you around."

he had left before you even had a chance to thank him. slightly confused and frustrated, you turned back around and traipsed down the stairs.

you gathered what you needed for a hearty breakfast at the local convenience store before heading home and spending the rest of the day in the enjoyable company of yunho and mingi.

yeosang had entered back into his apartment and sat down on the couch.

"back already?" wooyoung asked, rummaging through the fridge.

"she was coming to get her phone and i ran into her on the staircase."

wooyoung sighed, "when are you gonna stop hating her?"

"i don't hate her." yeosang said, not looking up from his phone.

"then why do you act like you do?"

yeosang pretended to not hear that question and continued to scroll through his phone. see, he'd rather not dwell on things that he couldn't understand.

————————

to fill up your weekdays during your gap year, you had picked up a job at a hotel in town as a receptionist. to your dismay, your boss had asked you to work night shift all week, which is how you found yourself here on thursday night, sitting alert and waiting for the slight chance that someone might check in at this time of night. it was a pretty fancy hotel, and the job payed well enough, so really, you had nothing to complain about.

the nights seemed to drag on for an eternity. to keep yourself busy, you often wasted time counting the cars that drove past, or tried to count the number of crystals that hung from the chandelier. so far, only a few people had checked in during your shift, having come from overseas and recently arriving at the airport. honestly, whenever someone walked through the front door, lugging a suitcase behind them, you got excited as it gave you something to do.

the clock was creeping up to 4am and you let out a quiet yawn, feeling drowsy as your body clock hadn't yet adjusted to the change of sleeping patterns on such short notice. taking a sip of water, you shook your head, trying to stay awake. your head suddenly jolted up at the sound of the front door opening.

a man stumbled forward, and you'd seen enough zombie movies to become instantly paranoid. you quickly pushed the thought out of your head, feeling ridiculous for even considering it. but as the man got closer, you could smell the cheap, potent alcohol lingering on his body.

he leant against the desk, peering down at you. "i need a room for the night."  he grumbled. "my stupid wife kicked me out." he said under his breath.

you forced a friendly smile, despite feeling uneasy, "of course! i just need you to fill in this form with some simple details." you said, sliding across a clipboard and a pen.

he huffed, picking up the pen and scribbling onto the sheet of paper before pushing it back to you. "can i go now?"

"just a moment, sir." you replied, eyes skimming over the form as you copied the information into the computer in front of you.

the man was growing impatient, stepping from foot to foot with his arms crossed.

"uh, sir, you missed a part of the form. could you please provide your phone number here." you pointed to the empty space on the sheet.

"for fucks sake." he muttered, "i don't have my phone on me and i don't know my phone number." he said, annoyedly tapping on the desk.

"i'm really sorry, sir, but—"

"can't you just find me a fucking room?" he snapped, hands balled into fists and slamming against the desk, making you jump in fright.

before you had time to try and reason with him, he continued to shout.

"you're as stupid as my wife! i'll just find a different fucking hotel." he yelled, swiping the clipboard and pen off the desk. "useless bitch." he mumbled as he kicked over a chair on his way out.

you chewed your bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears. with shaky hands, you picked up your phone and dialled the first place that came to mind. after a few rings, the phone answered.

"woo?" you croaked, trying hard to not cry.

"he's asleep. this is yeosang." he replied, evidently having just woken up by the sound of his voice.

"oh." you began, instantly feeling guilty for waking him up, "i'm sorry i didn't mean to disturb you."

"did you need something?" he asked.

"i just, i was..." you let out a sob, wiping at a tear falling from your eye.

this didn't go unnoticed by yeosang, "are you crying? what are you doing awake right now anyway?"

"i'm at work." you managed to choke out.

"at 4am?"

"i'm on night shift."

"why are you crying then?" he asked, feeling something slightly tug at his heart, but choosing to ignore it.

you began to ramble, "a man came in and he was really drunk and complaining about his wife and then he yelled at me because i asked him to give his phone number and—"

"i'm on my way." yeosang cut you off.

"what?"

"i'll be there in ten." with that, he hung up the phone.

exactly ten minutes later, you were sat in the passenger seat of yeosang's car. he was dressed in sweats, clearly having come straight from bed. you'd left a note on the desk, explaining to your coworker why you wouldn't be there when she arrived to take over your shift. a silence filled the car, and you felt the need to talk, but chose not to, worried about giving yeosang another reason to hate you.

once you arrived outside your apartment building, you were surprised that yeosang got out the car too and trailed closely behind you up the stairs to your apartment. when you reached the door you spun around to face him.

"thank you for bringing me home." you said, voice quiet and still rather shaken up.

"it's no problem. good night, y/n." he replied, sensing that you were still upset. he suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around you tightly and not let go until you stopped crying. he wanted to protect you from every drunk idiot on the planet. he wanted to make you feel safe.

but instead, he watched as you closed the door behind you and locked it from inside.

————————

you arrived at work the next morning, instantly feeling more comfortable with cleaners, employees and people coming and going. immediately, you headed for your boss's office.

"good morning, sir. i just wanted to come and apologise for leaving my shift early last night. i can assure you it won't happen again." you said, feeling nervous as to what your boss might say.

he shook his head, "i should be the one apologising, a man came in this morning and spoke very sternly about the safety problems here. i realise now how stupid it was of me to make you work night shift, alone, at such a young age. we've hired security guards and have also made sure that two people will be on desk at all times. i'm sorry that you had to deal with that."

you were at a loss for words, you didn't think that there would be such drastic changes just from the once incident. "thank you so much." you replied.

"for now, take the rest of the day off. you'll only be working day shifts for next week and can return to doing night shifts whenever you feel ready to do so." your boss said, motioning for the door.

the rest of the day you spent in deep sleep, catching up on some much overdue rest.

———————

weeks passed and you found that work was much more enjoyable. you still hadn't returned to working night shifts, but at least now you had someone to run the front desk with you and keep you company.

this weekend, you were going to visit hongjoong and seonghwa. hongjoong was sick and so you decided to go help out since seonghwa couldn't always be there to look after him.

you knocked on their front door and was surprised to be greeted by san.

"good afternoon! come in." he gave you a hug before ushering you inside.

"what are you doing here?" you said, following him down the hall.

in the living room, you saw all eight of the boys gathered around a couch-ridden hongjoong.

"jongho was already here when me, yeosang and woo arrived." san explained.

"yeah, and then mingi and yunho turned up." wooyoung continued.

"y/n! i have never been more glad to see you! you gotta save me from them." hongjoong laughed, arms open, signalling for a hug.

you went over and embraced him in a hug, "good thing i brought an excessive amount of cookies." you said, placing the box of cookies on the coffee table next to the couch. the table was covered in empty mugs and bowls, you could tell seonghwa had been busy and hadn't had the chance to clean up. you opened up the box and handed him a cookie before offering them around to the rest of the boys.

"you're the best cook ever." mingi said, taking a big bite.

"i made you spaghetti last night!" yunho countered, feeling offended that his roommate didn't think he was the better cook. mingi just laughed and took another bite.

"jongho get off the counter, please." seonghwa said, coming through the front door. "don't be so comfortable, you were throwing up in my toilet like a month ago." he joked.

yeosang glanced your way, his eyebrows furrowed like he was contemplating something.

"lets head off and give these two some space." yunho said, dragging mingi behind him.

wooyoung stood up, "yeah, lets get going."

yeosang pulled his keys from his pocket, "okay, bye guys." he said, heading down the hallway.

"can we get some food on the way home?" you heard san call as they left.

"bye hongjoong! i hope you're feeling better soon." jongho said, "bye seonghwa, i promise i won't throw up in your toilet any time soon." he joked, leaving through the front door.

"seonghwa, how are you? don't forget to take some time for yourself as well." you frowned.

"i'm tired, but i'll be okay. i just gotta clean up and—"

"why don't you go rest a while? i can keep hongjoong company for a few hours." you reasoned, wanting to help as much as possible. there was nothing you hated more than seeing you friends in distress and upset.

he looked between hongjoong and yourself, "i couldn't."

hongjoong let out an audible huff, "hwa! will you just let her help please, she clearly wants to."

you grinned, "exactly, now go read or sleep or watch some tv or something." you said, gently pushing him towards their shared bedroom.

you spent the afternoon tidying up and talking with hongjoong. you managed to do all the dishes and put them away before scouring their kitchen, deciding on what you could use for dinner. you found everything you needed for a decent meal and began cooking it up. hongjoong had dozed off mid conversation, surrounded in a pile of tissues, you chose to let him sleep so he would recover quicker.

about an hour later, you placed two steamy hot meals onto their dining table next to two full glasses of water. you quietly knocked on their bedroom door, finding seonghwa asleep amongst the covers.

you gently shook him awake, "hwa, i made dinner for you guys. you can wake joong up, i'll head off now." you said with a smile.

leaving the two of them to enjoy their dinner, you headed home and cooked yourself something to eat. it was nice having some time to yourself, but saturday nights were becoming more and more empty as winter grew closer. december was only days away and the year would soon come to an end. you reached for the phone, suddenly desperately missing your friends despite only seeing them hours ago.

"hey woo, are you free next weekend?" you asked.

he paused a moment, "i think so, why?"

"you wanna go out with the others? it's been a while since we have all caught up for drinks."

"count me in!" wooyoung cheered.

you called everyone else up and they all agreed, even hongjoong promised to come if he was feeling better.

————————

you found yourself surrounded by wooyoung, san, yunho and mingi as the music blared. it was a less popular club on the far side of town but it was a comfortable place for you all. you often came here for drinks and the staff members knew you, quite well, a little too well. san grabbed your hand and spun you around a few times with the music.

you laughed, leaning against him, "maybe spinning around isn't the best idea right after two shots of vodka."

"what?" san yelled into your ear, struggling to hear you over the music.

you laughed louder, pulling him closer to you, "i said, spinning is not a good idea after drinking vodka!"

"oh!" he joined you in laughing before trying to twirl you around once more.

hongjoong and seonghwa sat at the bar, holding hands and being intimate as always. yeosang was sat next to jongho at a booth, quietly talking with him, but from the corner of your eye, you saw jongho stand up and walk away. your eyes watched him worriedly and you couldn't help but run after him. you followed him as best you could, stumbling every now and then. he'd gone to the bathroom so you patiently waited outside until he came back, looking slightly pale.

you practically leapt at him, doing a quick scan to make sure he was okay, "jongho? are you alright?"

he smiled at your overwhelming concern, "yeah, i just drank too much as usual. i'll be alright, you can go back to dancing."

"let me just get you some water first. i'll be right back okay?" you patted his shoulder. "don't go anywhere i'll be back in a second."

you made your way back to where jongho had been sitting with yeosang. as you approached, yeosang eyed you up and down, taking in your drunken state, though, it wasn't the first time he'd seen you this way. you nearly tripped as you reached the table, struggling to walk in heels.

"i need a glass of water, do you have a glass of water? jongho needs a glass of water." you mumbled to yourself, reaching for the jug in the center of the table.

"are you okay?" yeosang asked, quickly pushing your hand away from the jug.

"i'm okay, but jongho needs water. can i take this cup? he's waiting for me, i told him not to go anywhere, i need to get back to jongho—" you tried to pick up a glass but yeosang pressed your hand back down once more.

"i'll take it to him, you stay here." he said, filling the cup full with water and heading towards the bathrooms.

your brain suddenly felt fuzzy and your eyes became blurry, it was like the alcohol hit your system all at once. your head spun round and round and you leaned forward, resting your hands on your head. you'd never felt this sick from drinking, maybe you'd had too much too quickly, maybe it was the spinning. there was no way to tell, all you knew was that you felt like you were about to fall from the top of a very high roller coaster.

your eyes felt increasingly heavy, you allowed them to slip shut, head falling to the table with a not so gentle thud.

"y/n?" someone shook you, "y/n wake up!" it was wooyoung.

"shit, is she okay? should we call an ambulance?" jongho said, reaching for his phone.

"is she breathing? has anyone checked?" seonghwa gently lifted your shoulders and sat you upright, relieved to see the rise and fall of your chest. "we should call a taxi and get her home."

"are you crazy? she's unconscious, she won't be able to get up the stairs to her apartment! what if the driver is dodgy? she's already had to deal with shitty men while working night shift, imagine if something happened while she's drunk!" yeosang blurted out. the boys were shocked over his sudden concern for you. yeosang had never once shown any interest or care for you in the presence of them.

"well, what should we do then?" mingi asked, worriedly running a hand through his hair.

"i'll take her, you've all been drinking." yeosang concluded. "she'll be fine, don't worry. enjoy the rest of your night, okay? i've dealt with woo passing out before remember?"

"that's true." san said, throwing a light hearted glare in wooyoung's direction, who showed a rather sheepish expression.

the boys went back to their drinks, taking it a little slower now and yeosang carried you to his car. it wasn't easy, but he managed to sit you upright in the back seat of his car with his rear view mirror aimed directly at you so he could make sure you were okay.

he was able to lift you up the stairs and get your house key from the pocket of your jacket, which would've looked questionable to anyone else, but he had the best intentions. he sat you down in a dining chair, watching as your head lolled forward and your body slumped. he quickly filled a glass of water and came back to you.

"y/n." he whispered, resting a hand on your shoulder. "y/n." he said again, louder this time.

the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but you weren't waking up and that was becoming concerning. he shook your shoulder, as gently as he possible could in a moment like this, and to his relief, your eyes hesitantly opened.

your head felt like a bowling ball and you groaned quietly. "yeosang?"

"here." he said holding the cup to your lips, allowing you to take a small sip.

"how did we get here?" you mumbled, head rolling to the side.

he caught your head and carefully pushed you back upright, "i drove you, this is your apartment."

"oh." you said, eyes drooping shut again. "oh." you repeated.

"y/n, i really need you to stay awake right now." he said, bringing the cup to your mouth again. "lets talk."

"we never talk!" you exclaimed. "this is the longest conversation we've ever had!"

"i know." he said, pulling up a chair to sit directly in front of you. yeosang felt that slight tug at his heart again tonight, the way you sounded so excited just to talk with him.

"no, no, no." you whined, "this is so bad!"

"what is it?"

you pouted before nervously biting your lip, "i'm really sorry."

"for what?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair.

"for ruining your night and making you stay here with me! now you just have another reason to hate me." you sighed, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i could never hate you." he said, voice barely above a whisper.

but you had fallen back asleep, so yeosang sat you upright once more and monitored you closely all night. with every minute that passed, he wished more and more that it was easier for him to show his emotions, to you especially. he wondered if maybe he wasn't so closed off that things would be different between the two of you. but it was hard for him, to let people in, he was afraid. afraid of people judging the real him, afraid of what might happen if he lets himself become vulnerable, afraid of facing his feelings about you.

you awoke hours later with a raging headache and extreme nausea. you headed straight for the bathroom and hunched over the toilet, feeling the sickest you'd ever felt. yeosang waited patiently outside the bathroom door with a glass of water and painkillers.

when you came out, he held his hand out, "take this."

you looked down at his hand and then up at him, slightly confused, "what are you doing here?"

"you passed out last night, and i drove you home because everyone else had been drinking." he said, passing the glass of water.

"oh my god." you ran a hand through your hair, "yeosang, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to be any trouble! you must of been here all night, i promise it won't happen again, that was so stupid of me—"

"it's fine, don't worry about it." he said, shrugging, "i'll get going now, but make sure you take it easy and drink enough water." his eyes carefully scanned your body one last time, making sure you were really okay. he headed for the door and you followed.

"i'm really sorry." you frowned, feeling as though no amount of apologies would make it up to him.

he let out a slight chuckle, "it's okay, seriously y/n." he said before leaving. you heard the all too familiar jingle of his keys as the door closed behind him.

he'd stayed with you all night, eyes watching over you closely. ready at your side whenever you stirred in your sleep. he'd been there in the morning prepared with water and painkillers. this was never how it was, usually this was your job, taking care of the boys. it was your way of showing you cared, helping out wherever possible.

this wasn't like yeosang. at all.

————————

as soon as yeosang got home he was greeted by a very concerned san and wooyoung.

"is she okay?"

"are you tired?"

"did she wake up?"

he was bombarded by questions.

"she's okay, she fell asleep after a while and i made her take some painkillers when she woke up." yeosang said, collapsing onto the couch.

"so you really don't hate her then." wooyoung thought aloud.

"he can't, he spent the whole night looking after her!" san said, hitting wooyoung like it was obvious.

"owww," wooyoung rubbed his arm, "even she thinks you don't like her!"

"i know, she said last night. but she probably won't remember saying that." yeosang said, feeling increasingly drowsy from his lack of sleep.

"maybe you guys should like, talk things out?" san suggested, taking a seat next to him.

"maybe." yeosang said, drifting off into sleep.

you had spent the day curled up in bed, wondering how you could make it up to yeosang, and there was nothing more you wanted than to get to know him better, but what would he want? you called up san on that thought.

"hey sannie," you said, "i need your help, actually, is woo there as well?"

"oh my god she's alive!" you heard wooyoung call from beside san.

"what do you need help with?" san asked.

you paused a moment, "is yeosang there?"

"well yes, but he's asleep."

you groaned, "i feel so bad that he stayed up all night looking after me. i really wanna make it up to him but i don't know how. plus, it's not like he's that fond of me. maybe i should just thank him by staying out of his space."

"i don't think he'd like that." wooyoung interjected. "i still think he just needs time before opening up to you."

"i think its just me." you sighed, worriedly chewing on your bottom lip.

"hey! don't be like that! there's no reason to not like you." san scolded you for down talking yourself as he always does.

"agreed." wooyoung said, chiming in.

"i'm sure i'll work something out. thanks guys! enjoy the rest of your day!" you said.

"good luck!"

"bye y/n!"

————————

you had been staring at your phone for at least an hour, typing and retyping the message to yeosang. wooyoung gave you his number so that you could contact him when you'd finally worked out how to make it up to him. in the end, you decided that you would let him decide.

you drew in a sharp breath and squeezed your eyes tightly shut as you pressed send.

you: hey yeosang, i still feel really bad about the other day, i wanna know how i can make it up to you !!

yeosang: did wooyoung give you my number? T~T

you: yes he did.. i hope thats okay !

yeosang: of course yeosang: how about you make it up to me over a cup of coffee? >.<

you: that sounds great !! you: when are you free ?

yeosang: does tomorrow morning work for you ? i can pick you up ^_^

you: of course ! i'll see you tomorrow :)

yeosang sat in his room, facepalming. why was it so easy to be more open over text?

you on the other hand, felt your heart swell in a bizarre way. maybe it was the way you hadn't expected him to use such cute little emoticons. maybe it was the way that you'd be able to have a full conversation with him. whatever it was, excitement had taken over you.

————————

a knock pounded at your door and you rushed to open it.

"ready to go?" he asked, leaning against the door frame coolly.

"yes, lets go!" you said, sounding a little too excited.

the two of you made your way down the stairs and into yeosang's car. you found yourself smiling as you looked out the window.

your excitement hadn't gone unnoticed, "you seem awfully excited."

"i really wanted to make it up to you," you beamed. "it must've been boring to watch over me all night."

"i didn't mind so much." he said, shrugging.

you frowned, "you shouldn't of done it."

"and leave you passed out in the club?" he quirked an eyebrow up at you.

"well..."

"exactly." he said, parking the car outside a small cafe nearby his apartment. "come on, lets go inside."

you followed him in and took a seat across from him at a table close to the window. you both ordered coffees and resumed conversation.

"so, where were we?" you smiled, taking a sip of coffee.

"talking about how you wanted me to leave you passed out in the club." he said. you were almost convinced you saw a teasing smile pulling at his lips.

"right. i'm so sorry about that."

this time he actually chuckled, and you were taken aback. it was like the wall yeosang had surrounding himself was crumbling before your eyes.

"you need to apologise less." he laughed, bringing his coffee cup to his mouth for a sip. "half of the time we talk its just you saying sorry to me."

"i'm so—"

"hey!" the two of you broke into laughter.

his laugh was loud but warm and you couldn't help but notice the way his nose scrunched up cutely, the way his eyes looked full of stars and the way he brushed his hair out of his eyes after, revealing his beautiful birthmark. from that point on, you wanted to be the one to make him laugh every day.

he felt that familiar tug at his heart, the one he'd been feeling every moment he spent alone with you. the one he felt when he first met you. the one he couldn't make any sense of. it was as though his heart was a violin and you were the one playing it. (which would explain the tugging feeling.) but you were playing the sweetest song and he never wanted it to end.

the two of you laughed the morning away, gradually making up for what you'd missed over two years in a matter of two hours.

you'd discovered that even after getting him to open up more, he wasn't one for words. you found yourself talking his ear off while he listened intently, occasionally sharing his opinions and stories. in all his honesty, he didn't mind listening to you talk. he could've sat there all day, drinking countless cups of coffee, watching the way you bit your bottom lip whenever you paused to think or the way your eyes filled with sparkles when you talked about something that made you happy.

you insisted on paying for the infinite cups of coffee, as it was your way of making it up to him. he reluctantly agreed, but promised that he would pay if there ever was a next time, which he secretly hoped there would be. he'd finally had the chance to let his walls down. (it was actually more like you'd climbed the walls and torn them down with your bare hands.) but he was thankful for it.

he drove you back to your apartment, even after you persisted on walking home, seeing as it wasn't that far. he refused, insisting that he drive you. he even followed you up the stairs to the door of your apartment.

you turned around to face him, "you know, you're not so bad when you actually wanna talk to me."

"you know, you're not so bad when you're not drunk." he countered, his lips breaking into a playful grin.

you glared jokingly, "hey! don't make me apologise again."

"okay, okay. i won't." he said, raising his hands in defence.

you smiled, resting against the door, "alright, well, i've really enjoyed hanging out with you today. maybe we should catch up more often."

"maybe we should." he said, bearing a coy smile, "bye, y/n. i'll see you around."

————————

it was only about a week later he showed up at your work, at the end of your shift. you were pleasantly surprised to see him, and at first thought he was just someone coming to book a room.

"hello, are you looking for a r— yeosang?"

"when do you get off work?" he asked, glancing over to the clock.

"five minutes."

"i'll be waiting in the car, okay?" he said, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

on his way out, you saw as he ran into your boss, the two of them beginning conversation.

"it's good to see you've made those security changes." yeosang said as he nodded, extending his arm for a friendly handshake. "i'm very thankful."

your boss shook his hand, "and i'm thankful that you suggested them."

just over five minutes later you got into the passenger seat of yeosang's car.

"it was you who told my boss about the safety problems." you said, in near disbelief.

"hello, to you too." he joked sarcastically. "well, i would hate to think that the situation could happen again, so i just suggested some possible improvements. thats all." he shrugged like it was nothing.

"suddenly, i feel the need to make it up to you again." you smiled shyly.

"you can do that by accompanying me to the skate park." he said, motioning to his skateboard on the back seat.

"ah, so thats why you came."

"well yeah, i wanted to bring you to the skate park."

your heart swelled once again, feeling joyed that he wanted to share one of his favourite places with you. (despite him never telling you directly, you knew he loved the skate park as he spent majority of his high school time there when he wasn't studying.)

when you arrived, the sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon, causing the sky to glow a rosy pink. there were still a few kids, probably high schoolers, hanging around the park. you took a seat at a bench and waited for yeosang to come over, who was getting his skateboard out the car. you felt oddly out of place since you were still in your neat work uniform and didn't know the first thing about skateboarding.

yeosang rolled over with a grin plastered onto his face, you'd never seen him so happy, and it made you happy to see him this way. it was strange how all it took was a few cups of coffee for him to become a completely different person around you.

he didn't need to ask you to watch as your eyes were already glued to him as he dropped into the bowl, showing countless tricks and flips.

the truth was in fact that yeosang was grateful for you 'making it up to him'. he'd never been able to comprehend his feelings for you, if they were even feelings at all. he hated the confusion and decided it was easier to ignore it, and to an extent, ignore you, to make it go away. it had been working for the most part, until every time the two of you were alone together, he couldn't ignore the slight tug at his heart, that was becoming more of a pull over the last few weeks.

"you're amazing!" you cheered as he sat down next to you, out of breath.

"thanks." he smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair and out of his face. he leaned back, looking up at the sky. "do you sometimes wish you could see the stars from within the city? hongjoong and seonghwa are so lucky they can see them from their house."

you pondered a moment, thinking about the last time you actually saw stars in the sky. "i see stars in your eyes sometimes." you said, absent minded.

he felt warmth burning in his cheeks, "you do?"

"do what?" you turned to him, "did i say that out loud?" you gasped, covering your face in embarrassment. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say that it was just a thought and—"

"what did i say about apologising?" he laughed. "it's getting cold, right? you ready to head home?" he asked.

you smiled, "if you are."

he drove you home and said goodbye, feeling happy about spending time alone with you once again. he couldn't stop thinking about what you said and you couldn't stop feeling like a fool for saying it.

————————

the weather got colder and colder and soon it began to snow as the days of december passed. you had spent the day helping jongho move some new furniture into his apartment. it was a difficult job, but easier with the two of you, even san and wooyoung came to help. you couldn't resist wondering where yeosang was and why he didn't come, seeing as they lived in the same building. maybe he was busy, you thought.

"hey, where's yeosang?" you asked, lifting a box and placing it on the kitchen counter.

"at home, i think he's been feeling sick or something, he hardly comes out of his room lately." wooyoung shrugged, assuming it was all good.

"if he's sick i'll bring him over some food and painkillers, maybe keep him some company." you explained, not wanting yeosang to be unwell.

"i think he'd rather be left alone, to be honest." san said, giving wooyoung a side glance that you couldn't miss.

you pulled out your phone and sent yeosang a quick message.

you: are you feeling okay? san and woo said you were sick :((

he didn't respond right away and you just figured he was asleep. but as you finished helping out at jongho's house a few hours later, he still hadn't responded. when you were sitting down to eat dinner at home, he still hadn't respond. just before you were going to turn the lights out and go to bed, he still hadn't responded.

something was up. this wasn't like yeosang, not anymore. not since the two of you had been spending so much time together. maybe it was like the boys said, and he was truly very sick, but in that case, why wouldn't they let you help?

————————

days passed and you went to work as usual, repeating the same few lines, asking people if they want a room, asking them to fill in a form, then directing them to the right room. days passed and you still hadn't heard back from yeosang, you wondered if he was still sick. days passed and you began to think maybe you should go over there to see if he's okay.

but if there was one thing you'd learnt about yeosang recently, it was that he was the quieter type, and probably wouldn't appreciate you going over there to keep him company and would rather be alone. so that evening when you got off work, you didn't go visit him like you so desperately wanted to, instead, you went straight home.

you cooked and ate dinner for yourself, before picking up your phone, only to see still no messages from yeosang.

you: hey woo you: is yeosang feeling better ?

wooyoung: yeah he is

you: well then can i come visit tomorrow ?

wooyoung: i think he's busy wooyoung: sorry

you: its okay woo you: its not your fault !!

you switched your phone off and headed for the shower, trying to wash away the stress and worry for yeosang that had built up over the last few weeks. you had really grown to like him and there was still so much about him you wanted to learn, like when he learned to skateboard or how he got the small scar on the back of his hand, that you'd noticed when ever he brushes his hair out of his eyes.

two years he'd spent, not interested in holding conversation with you and two years you'd spent, wondering what you'd did so wrong. but lately, you felt like you were doing something right around him, getting him to smile and laugh, share his own stories.

you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he still didn't like you, and had just been trying for wooyoung's sake.

or maybe he was genuinely starting to like you, but you went and fucked it up by weirding him out and telling him about his starry eyes.

or maybe he'd just had enough of you already. decided that a few weeks was enough time spent trying to change things between the two of you.

as you finished showering and changed into comfortable clothes, you glanced at the clock which read 10:56pm. you switched on the television to watch some youtube before going to bed. as you felt yourself dozing off, a faint knock sounded at your door, so quiet you almost missed it.

when you opened the door, you were shocked to see yeosang standing there, leaning against the door frame for support. he looked up at you, his normally starry eyes were dulled with tears.

you rushed forward to him, smelling the alcohol as you got closer, "yeosang are you okay? what are you doing here? i thought you were sick. are you drunk? you never drink, come inside." you gently pulled him inside, closing the door behind you. when you turned to face him, he was staring at you, tears about to spill over the brim of his eyes.

"i hate you." he breathed out, voice barely louder than a whisper. he didn't seem angry though, he looked fragile, like a glass vase balancing on the edge of a table.

you felt the urge to cry, finally hearing those three words that confirmed your biggest concern, yeosang disliking you. "yeosang, i'm so sorry. i never meant to—"

"i hate you." he said, louder this time before running a hand through his hair hastily. he let out a frustrated groan, dragging his hands down his face. "i hate the tugging feeling in my heart whenever we're alone. i hate the way you put yourself before others. i hate the way you ramble on when you're nervous. i hate the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. i hate the way i don't drink around you because i feel the need to protect you and make sure you're safe. i hate the way i tried to ignore you for two years because i was scared and confused about my own feelings. i hate how it only took one cup of coffee with you for my walls to come crashing down!" he paced from side to side, waving his hands around crazily.

yeosang looked scared and lost, like he'd never felt this way about anyone before, and that was the truth. he didn't know how to comprehend these feelings and it terrified him.

you watched as he spiralled, seeming as though it would never stop. you weren't sure what to do, so you just listened to that swelling feeling in your heart once again, the one that had led you to develop feelings for yeosang, and you pulled him close into your arms. he clung onto you tightly, scared to let go, like if he did then he'd lose you forever. you ran your fingers through his hair briefly, trying your best to comfort him.

"i'm sorry." you repeatedly whispered to him. you'd never meant to upset him or confuse him.

yeosang let out a quiet sob into your chest, "i hate the way i've fallen in love with you." he croaked out.

he didn't hate you. never did. never will. your heart swelled completely in your chest, feeling as though it would burst through. but it couldn't be true. he's totally drunk out of his mind.

"you're not in your right mind, yeosang, you need to get home. you're drunk and talking nonsense." you embraced him tightly one more time, and you could've sworn you felt the beat of his heart through the hug. "come on," you urged, steering him towards the door, "wooyoung and san are probably worried and waiting up for you."

with much effort, you led him down the stairs of your apartment block and walked him home. the street lamps led you in the freezing city night air. you held his wrist lightly, guiding him up the stairs to his own apartment. he didn't speak a single word the whole time, instead, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. it hurt you so much to see him this broken, but you knew he wasn't saying the truth under control of the alcohol in his veins.

you knocked at his apartment door, hoping that one of the boys were still awake. luckily, they both were and quickly they flung the door open.

"y/n? yeosang?" san questioned, his eyes wide open with disbelief.

"we've been so worried about you!" wooyoung said, pulling yeosang away from you. "hang on, are you drunk?"

san had noticed his tired, tear stained eyes, "you look like you've been crying! are you okay?"

you let out a quiet sigh, knowing you didn't need to be here anymore. you gave a small wave goodbye and headed home, utterly exhausted.

and though you were so drained, you couldn't seem to fall asleep. those words yeosang said to you kept running through your mind busily.

did he mean any of it?

————————

yeosang felt bad. he felt terrible. like he wanted to vanish into thin air and float away with the breeze. though he couldn't, no, he desperately wanted to apologise to you. but he didn't know how, he wasn't good with words or expressing his feelings, and you wished he knew that was something you loved about him.

wooyoung and san tried to ask him what happened the night he drunkenly confessed to you, but he couldn't have them know that he'd been harbouring feelings for you for all this time, they'd never let him live it down. he could imagine the continuous teasing they'd give him, nudging him whenever you were together or giving him side glances after talking to you.

yeosang gave it lots of thought. he mulled it over in his head repeatedly. it was only after hours spent hidden away in his room that he decided to go back to where it all started, a text. a text that said how much he wanted to make it up to you for having to deal with him drunk, just like the one you'd sent initially.

yeosang: hey y/n, i feel really bad about the other day, i wanna know how i can make it up to you! T^T

your heart leapt a mile seeing his name appear on your phone. you grinned upon reading his message, realising it was scarily similar to the message you had first sent him.

you: hmmm you: that sounds familiar

yeosang: >.< yeosang: seriously though, how does dinner at my place tomorrow night sound? i'll cook

you: you can cook?

yeosang: there's a lot you don't know about me x_x

you: okay, i'll be there !!

————————

yeosang wasn't lying when he said he can cook. as you traipsed up the stairs of his apartment block you could smell something delicious laced in the air.

the usual swelling in your heart had instead fell to the pit of your stomach, you were feeling slightly nervous as to what would happen when you entered yeosang's apartment. you inhaled deeply before knocking at the door of his apartment.

"hey y/n, come in." yeosang greeted, holding an arm out, signalling for you to come inside.

"you must've been working hard cooking! it smells delicious." you said, feeling a sense of comfort just from the smell of food.

"yeah, lucky i sent wooyoung and san over to jongho's place, otherwise i doubt there would be any pasta to serve." he joked. "you can take a seat, i've just gotta serve up."

you sat down in front of a neatly laid table, it had somewhat surprised you how much effort yeosang had put into this dinner tonight. he placed a steamy hot plate of pasta in front of you and one where he would sit.

"so." he began.

"so." you copied, teasingly.

"i guess, i really just wanted to say i'm sorry for how i behaved the other night when i was drunk. you shouldn't of had to deal with that." he frowned, poking at his dinner.

you furrowed your brows, "it's seriously fine yeosang." you took a bite of pasta, "i was just surprised to see you drunk, since you never drink."

he chuckled, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, "actually, i do. i just never drink when you're there."

"really? why?" you questioned, eating another mouthful of pasta.

"because..." he paused. "no, it sounds dumb out loud."

"it's okay, you don't have to explain yourself." you smiled warmly, "but that does remind me to ask... do you remember anything you said to me while you were drunk?" you leant forward, genuinely curious.

he sighed, "i remember.. enough."

"you don't really hate me, right?" you asked, playing with the food on your plate.

"of course not! that's why i invited you here tonight. to show you that i don't, and to make it up to you." he had to refrain from reaching across to hold your hand, just to show how much he cared that little bit more.

you nodded, "well, thats good. i was kinda worried that we'd gone back to square one."

comfort settled within you. it was relieving to know you weren't hated by the one person whose love you wanted most. a tiny thought crept into your mind, maybe, just maybe, now would be the right time to tell him about your blossoming feelings for him. or would that confuse him more? now you were the one feeling conflicted.

"are you finished eating?" he asked, reaching for your empty plate.

"yes, thank you! it was delicious. you're a good cook, y'know."

"ah, thanks y/n." he turned away to hide the blush appearing on his cheeks.

"would you like me to do the dishes? since you cooked." you offered, standing up. but he quickly opposed.

"don't be ridiculous." he shooed you back to your seat. "can i get you a coffee? water? wine?"

"a coffee sounds good, i think you and i have had too many drunken situations lately." you laughed.

yeosang pulled out two mugs and put the kettle on. he felt your eyes carefully watching him. once again, he hated the feeling that was pulling at his heart. the way you could say nothing, yet he felt everything.

"can i tell you something?" you asked, voice now quieter and more hesitant.

"sure, what is it?" he said, placing a warm cup of coffee in front of you.

you took a sip, humming in delight. it was exactly the way you liked it. when the two of you went out for coffee, he had unintentionally remembered just the way you like it.

"well," you began cautiously, in case you brought this situation into flames again. "i just... i always wondered why you didn't like me. if i was doing something wrong, if i said something once that really upset you. and then after we started spending time together, i finally felt like i was doing the right thing." you groaned, frustrated with yourself for not getting to the point quicker. "what i'm trying to say is that i have feelings for you. it's okay if you don't feel the same way. i wouldn't expect you to, i just thought you should know—"

yeosang basically choked on his coffee, eyes widening in shock. "it's okay, y/n! in case you hadn't noticed, i'm crazy about you."

you had continued to ramble nervously before hearing what he said.

"wait. you are?"

"basically ever since you said that thing about stars in my eyes, yes."

you cringed, remembering how you had said that so absent minded. "yeah, sorry about that."

"it's okay, it was cute. and what did i say about apologising?"

you shook your head and smiled, "i know."

————————

ever since the two of you confessed to each other, you had been almost inseparable, except of course when you had work. but he dropped you home most nights, even though you insisted it was okay and that you could walk. he came over every weekend just to spend time with you, even if the two of you just sat and talked, enjoying each other's company. you'd been dating for a few weeks now, but kept it undercover, not wanting to suffer the incessant questioning that would come if you told your friends.

it didn't go unnoticed either, wooyoung and san were constantly nagging yeosang about why the two of you spent so much time together, and each time he just shrugged it off.

christmas was just around the corner, so you were spending the evening at seonghwa's and hongjoong's house, who of course, were throwing an unnecessarily large house party to celebrate.

you were sat between a very drunk yunho and mingi, who were trying to talk to an also very drunk jongho. you eyed your boyfriend from across the room, as if asking for a way out and he just laughed at the situation you were stuck in.

after at least ten minutes more of having your ear talked off, yeosang came to pull you away to the dance floor.

"care to dance?" he asked, extending his hand to you.

you immediately jumped up, latching onto his hand, "i would love to!"

he chuckled, pulling you close to his side and leading you to the makeshift dance floor that seonghwa and hongjoong created.

the two of you laughed at the boys' reaction. they were completely shocked to see the two of you so close together and yeosang being friendly.

he twirled you around a few times with the music, before settling his arms around your waist. he brought you near to him as you placed your arms behind his neck. you swayed back and forth, engulfed in your own little bubble of comfort in each other's arms, completely out of time with the loud thumping music that blared around you.

you felt content, and yeosang no longer felt confused. he found his home in your arms and his happiness.

you reached up to place your lips on his, capturing the moment surrounding you. yeosang melted into the kiss, discovering that your lips were soft and sweet against his, just as he had imagined, which caused his knees to feel weak and his heart to skip more than just one beat. he never wanted to let you go, he wanted to compensate for every second that he didn't spend with you since the two of you met.

he leaned forward and whispered softly, just so you could hear above all the music and singing, "lets stay like this forever."

[xnchxntmxnt]

Emerald Eyes

Fandom: Kuroko’s Basketball

Character: Midorima Shintarou

Warnings: the end cold be taken a tiny bit suggestive but its really not meant to be. not proofread

Notes: second one tonight bc the other one was stress writing this one was something ive been working on for a few days. this is the namesake of my theme <333

gn!reader!

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I've spent a thousand nights Lost in your emerald eyes Lost in a place where I know you can see my soul

Midorima has never been one for romantics.

It’s not in his nature and he’d never found any interest in it. There was no point.

You changed that.

The longer he knew you, the more time he wanted to spend with you. There were some days you were his lucky item, even if Oha Asa didn’t say so. He was always better around you. Lighter, more carefree, less feeling like he had to be perfect. Takao joked that he was less arrogant when you were around, too, and he’d never admit it, but he agreed.

He found himself with a nervous feeling in his stomach when you brushed hair out of his face and a tightness in his chest when you smiled. It was a good tightness, though. He almost liked it.

You made him smile. That was a feat few achieved, but you managed to do it easily. A simple text, a phone call, an offer to study together, it all mattered to him more than anyone ever had before.

So when he (very messily) confessed these feelings for you, he was terrified. And when you admitted you felt the same way, he couldn’t believe your words.

Nearly a year had passed since then. You were both in your third year of high school and with your busy schedules, you’d barely had time to spend time together. He always made sure to text you good morning—5:30 every weekday morning, 7:30 every weekend, like clockwork. It was the first thing he did each day. Other than a quick good morning, goodnight, or hello in the hallway, you rarely got to talk.

After weeks of this, it got frustrating. He never got a chance to see you and he should be able to spend some quality time with his partner, no? So a Saturday night when he didn’t have anything going on the following morning (and hoped you didn’t, too), he called you and woke you up.

“Shin…?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. “Shin, it’s late, what’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“You’re not doing anything, are you?”

“Not at…what, after midnight? No, I’m not doing anything.”

“Ok, good. Get dressed and meet me outside your place in 20 minutes. I have a surprise for you.”

He hung up after that, not waiting for a reply. He knew you’d listen…or at least, he hoped. It was a good surprise after all, one he knew you’d enjoy.

Just like he said, about 20 minutes later, he showed up outside your place, getting out of his car to meet you. He smiled slightly when you walked outside, pulling a sweater (that he recognized as his) over your shoulders.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why this late?” you complained while he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek. “But…I did miss you, Shintaro.”

He loved the way his name sounded when you said it—something about it was so special, and he was sure it was because of you. “I missed you too. And I’m sorry about waking you up so late, but I promise there's a good reason behind it.”

“So what’s this surprise?”

Midorima walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. He wasn’t going to tell you until you got there, and soon you’d figure that out.

You smiled at him as you walked past him, getting in the car. He did, too, a moment later. His hand took its place in yours, just like always, as he drove down the dimly-lit street.

The two of you arrived at your destination; he stopped at a park just outside town. He got out and opened the door for you, leading you to join him sitting on the hood.

“Why’re we all the way out here?” you ask, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re not usually one for random trips like this, Shin.”

He shrugged and pressed a gentle kiss to your head. It was out of the ordinary for him, sure, but sometimes a little surprise was nice. He surprised himself, too, with this. Everything he did was planned and precise, usually with the advice of Oha Asa, but this was…new. Nothing was scripted, nothing was planned, and it felt a little more natural.

“As I said,” he replied, taking your hand. “I missed you. It’s been too long since we’ve done this.”

“Well we’ve never done this, but I like it.”

It was quiet. For a while, actually. It was a comfortable quiet for the two of you, though—it was never awkward between the two of you. He felt you turn his face, ever-so-gently to face you. Your touch was always like that—soft and utterly exhilarating. Whether it was a simple hand in his or you playing with his hair, it was wonderful.

He leaned towards you mumbling, “kiss me,” against your lips. You closed the gap between the two of you, and he felt like you were trying to kiss his breath out of him. He’d gladly take his last if that’s how he could go out. There was so much to leave unsaid behind that one action—there was love, longing, that feeling of craving the other one’s touch. It made his heart race.

When he pulled away for air, he pulled you closer, turning so you could face him more. He took a moment to remove his glasses before kissing you again. This kiss was deeper, stronger—more held behind it. He smiled as you played with the short hair at the base of his neck, and then even wider when you made a noise of surprise when he pulled you closer.

You moved back briefly and leaned your head against his, his eyes fluttering open slowly. You still sat together in a mess of limbs: one of your legs over his, his arm around your waist, your hand playing with his hair. It was one of the most wonderful feelings he thought he could ever experience, holding you like that.

“I love you,” he whispered, punctuating his promise with another quick kiss. Because he did—he loved you with everything he had, and there was nothing that could change that.

Make me lose track of time You and your emerald eyes Finally found a place that I can call my home

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@emswordss + @kodzukoi you arent on my taglist for knb however i feel like you might like this. idk if you like shin tho lmao

[yan-senna]

Snape’s Birthday (SS)

By yan-senna

Other links to the one shot: Wattpad / AO3

One shot schedule list

The Keeper of the Diamond series

Want to be tagged when I post a fanfic?

Introduction:

This is a one shot of The Keeper of the Diamond series. It contains Severus Snape x reader. I only own Y/N who is 19 years old.

It’s the ninth of January - Severus Snape’s birthday. How will he spend the day? And how will he react when someone knocks on his door?

BTW: Happy birthday to the Potions Master🥳🎁🎂

I hope you enjoy!

PS: You can send requests!

Word count: 1.4k

Published: 1/9/2022

Today, Sunday the ninth of January, is a very special day. It’s Severus Tobias Snape’s birthday.

Of course, the man himself doesn’t think much of it - he never celebrates his birthday. In fact, he never has celebrated it before.

He usually spends the day teaching if it’s a weekday. Otherwise, he spends the day by hiding in his private chambers while reading a book and drinking a glass of firewhiskey.

Dumbledore and McGonagall usually hand him a present in the morning - it’s often lemon drops or a new cup for his coffee.

The Malfoys always give him firewhiskey - Snape does like their extraordinary, fancy, expensive sort. If he had the money, then he would definitely buy it himself.

Right now, he’s in his private chambers, lying in bed. He woke up quite late as he decided to sleep in today - he usually gets no sleep, so this was a nice change. Even if it was only six hours of sleep, it’s definitely more than he usually gets…

Sighing, he decides to levitate his enchanted notebook over to him. If he can avoid it, then he won’t be leaving the bed today.

He’s really not in the mood for breakfast in the Great Hall among all his colleagues and students.

As he opens the notebook, he sees that Y/N has written him a message.

“Dear Severus; Happy birthday! I hope you’ll have a fantastic day with no students bothering you, a good book and a nice glass of firewhiskey. You deserve it *hugs* (heart) (heart) (heart)” the message says.

Snape chuckles as he reads it. She definitely knows how he prefers spending his day.

He thinks it’s rather adorable that she wrote “hugs”, as well as all the hearts she drew for him.

Just as he’s about to reply, there’s a knock on the door.

He growls at that. What dunderhead would dare knock on his door in his private chambers - on a Sunday?!

He hasn’t had any coffee yet, so they better be prepared for some yelling…

Sighing in irritation, he puts down the notebook and strolls towards the door. He yanks it open, ready to shout.

However, no sound leaves his mouth as he stares at the person in front of him. It’s Y/N. He didn’t expect that.

The girl shyly smiles at him, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Hi, Severus. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday in person. I should probably have let you know I was coming. I can come back later-“ she says before he gently grabs her arm and drags her inside, closing the door behind them.

He smirks as he sees her flustered face, either from being dragged in here or from finally noticing that he’s not wearing any trousers.

She didn’t notice it before as his cloak was hiding that. She wonders if he just woke up.

“Oh, um… Were you sleeping? I’m sorry if I woke you up” she apologises, her cheeks still red. She’s looking at the nearby wall, trying not to look at him.

Still smirking at her, he gently grabs her chin to make her look at him.

“I wasn’t, I woke up not too long ago. I was just about to reply to your message when you knocked on my door. I thought it was a dunderhead student, so imagine my surprise when it was you” he says, caressing her flustered cheek.

Y/N gives him a shy smile, almost blushing even more. He chuckles at that.

“It amazes me how you always seem to blush in my presence, no matter how long you have known me” he says, looking amused.

Y/N gulps, ignoring her burning cheeks. Snape then leans close to her ear.

“Well, if it’s too distracting, then I can just put on some trousers for you” he whispers.

The girl shivers, no words leaving her mouth. It is quite distracting, but does she really want him to get dressed?

Chuckling, Snape turns around to put on a black pair of trousers as well as a clean black shirt.

He then faces her again, gently grabbing her hand. “So, you came all the way to tell me something?” he questions, gently squeezing her hand.

Y/N shyly nods. “Yeah. Happy birthday, Severus” she says, smiling before hugging him.

Snape immediately returns the hug by wrapping his arms around her protectively.

“Thank you, princess” he says, kissing her cheek.

They stay like that for a while until Y/N remembers something.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she says as she lets go of him, retrieving something from her shoulder bag. It’s a present wrapped in black gift wrapping and a green ribbon.

“Here you go” she says as she hands him the present.

Looking surprised, Snape grabs the offered present as he opens it. It’s a cloak.

“I have noticed how your current one is starting to look worn with a few holes in it, so I thought you would like a new one. It’s big and billowing, just how you like it” she explains, giggling.

She then urges him to take it completely out of the present to show yet another item.

“I also bought you a new cauldron. Harry, Ron and Hermione told me how you have kept muttering something about needing a new cauldron these last few days. And,” she says as she retrieves a letter from inside the cauldron.

“The message I wrote you this morning? I decided to write it as an actual letter for you. I hope you like it” she shyly says, handing him the letter.

It seems like she has designed it herself, with cauldrons and potions on it.

Snape looks at the three items in front of him. He loves them.

He has indeed been needing a new cauldron as his current one is not as good as it used to be, and his cloak does indeed look rather worn.

He tries his best not to cry - happy tears, of course. Y/N however notices.

“Severus? Are you okay?” she asks, looking worried as she fears he doesn’t like the presents.

Snape puts down the items on the bed before hugging her tightly, kissing both her cheeks, the tip of her nose and her forehead. She blushes at that.

“I love them, I love them so much. Thank you, Y/N. You always seem to know what I like and what I want” he tells her, resting his forehead on hers.

Smiling, Y/N nuzzles his nose with her own. “You are welcome, Sev. I’m so glad you like them” she says.

Just then, a knock on the door can be heard.

Huffing, Snape decides to open the door. It’s Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lucius with their usual presents.

“Happy birthday, Severus!” McGonagall says in a cheery tone as they hand him their presents.

“Thanks” he mutters, wanting them to leave.

Lucius raises an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you happy to see us” he says sarcastically, snorting.

“I believe we have interrupted something” Dumbledore says, his eyes sparkling.

Looking confused, McGonagall and Lucius take a better look inside the Potions Master’s private chambers. They then spot Y/N.

“Oh, hi” she shyly says she waves.

Lucius smirks. “Well, let’s not keep interrupting you two. I should probably go and see Draco” he says before leaving.

“And we do have to keep up with our game of Wizard Chess, Albus” McGonagall says as she and the Headmaster leave as well.

Sighing in relief, Snape immediately closes the door before putting down his presents on the small dinner table.

He then steps closer to Y/N, grabbing her hand. “Well, now that we are alone again, what would you say if we spend the day together, reading a book while eating lemon drops?” he suggests.

Y/N smiles, laughing at the lemon drop part.

“I would love to. May I stay the night?” she questions, looking at him with her puppy eyes.

Snape chuckles at that. She didn’t even need to ask.

“Anytime” he whispers.

They then spend the day by Snape reading a book to Y/N in his velvety voice as they eat a few lemon drops.

They also drink while talking for hours, Y/N drinking hot chocolate while Snape drinks the firewhiskey that Lucius gave him.

Y/N has tried that drink before on New Year - never again.

They decide to eat dinner in his private chambers, just the two of them, before sleeping in each other’s arms.

Snape has never been happier on his birthday - it has truly been the best day in his entire life.

Author’s note:

If you liked this, then you might also like Spooky House (SS, LM), Christmas at the Burrow (SS, LM), Happy New Year! (SS, LM) and Valentine’s Day (SS), as well as Dessert (Severus Snape x reader) *smut*!

Taglist:

@severuslovebot

@nickangel13

@someoneonearth2007

@doctorwhofan24

@jessicarosequinzelfleck

@iobsessoverfictionalmen

[ladyvesuvia]

Moniker Origin

PAIRING: Sirius Black x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

SUMMARY: Befriending a stray dog not only leads to a routine rendezvous every midnight but also the story of how Sirius got one of his many names.

WORDS: 5.5k

WARNING(S): Just fluff but involves cursing, name-calling, nicknames, mentions of celebrities/characters from the 70s, mentions of eating and food. || SECOND PERSON

A/N: can u tell this is kind of an indirect prequel to i’m a dreamer hsjsiw anyway i hope u like it!!! for @meiitanoia my beloved sirius black lovebot <3

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

    You woke up with a start. The curtains to your four-poster bed danced gently, as if attempting to put you into a trance. It worked: You watched it, transfixed more than ever until you slowly gained proper consciousness, or at least enough to let you yawn.

    You reached out to push the curtains a bit to find that it was still night-time. You could hear light snores coming from your roommates, but you ignored it in desperate hopes of falling asleep again. You couldn’t; not that you didn’t want to, because you really did. The reason for your tossing and turning at this late hour was most likely because you slept around six p.m., an unideal hour for sleep on a weekday. You’d passed on dinner, and told yourself you’d just take breakfast early in the morning.

    Giving up, you threw out your feet off the bed, feeling the cold surface of the floor. The clock told you it was half past eleven as it kept ticking and ticking and ticking.

    Before you knew it, you were trudging down the deserted halls of Hogwarts, half-melted dark chocolate in one hand and your lightened wand in the other. You bought it from Honeydukes just last weekend on your visit to Hogsmeade. You didn’t know where you were going, but you just wanted to be somewhere else, maybe even do something exciting.

    For cautionary measures, you looked in every direction every time you reached a turn in fear of getting caught by any roaming person of authority. Peeves would probably make a sound that’ll draw Mr. Filch’s attention; Mrs. Norris could appear, and that in itself is bad news already; Mr. Filch himself could catch you and start throwing insane threats; or maybe someone from the faculty could catch you and put you in detention, and you knew full well you did not want to spend time doing an absurd task.

    When you managed to slip out unnoticed, you walked over to the bank of the lake, the rocks crunching under your feet. It was probably one of the things you find in horror movies when all is still, all is sleeping, and the monster is yet to come—

    Your pulse skipped a beat when the sight of something running away from the forest shuffled past. You realized it was just a dog, but it gave you a shock nonetheless. Just a dog, you thought. Just a dog.

    You pulled out the chocolate from your pocket, unwrapping it carelessly. It wasn’t until you took your first bite did you realize the dog was right behind you, watching you with curious eyes.

    “I’d give you some but dogs aren’t allowed to eat chocolate,” you said to the dog, who then whined in response as it sat down. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.”

    One might think a big black dog sneaking up on you in the middle of a night would cause a fright, but it was strangely more comforting than eerie. After all, it was just a dog.

    Just looking at the creature reminded you of Snuffles, your very own dog who died while you were away from home and sitting in History of Magic, unaware your best bud had passed. You looked down hopefully at the dog in front of you.

    “Snuffles?” you inquired hesitantly, reaching out your hand. Please don’t bite, you chanted more to yourself than to the dog. To your relief, it approached you gingerly and let you pet its head. “Is it you?”

    Highly unlikely, you knew that, but it wouldn’t hurt to hope that it was, right? You’d spent your entire childhood with that dog: Sleeping together under a poorly done fort until daybreak; getting lost in the neighborhood together, earning disapproving opinions from the neighbors; and most of all, countless birthdays.

    Well, just to name a few.

    Maybe it was the moonlight reflecting off of the lake’s waters, but you could’ve sworn you saw the dog wink. You took your hand back to rub your eyes before studying the dog. “Are you Hagrid’s?”

    The dog simply sat there, looking at you curiously. “Right, like a dog’s gonna talk back to me.” You chuckled, laughing at yourself. “Come, I’ll bring you back to him.”

    It didn’t move. “Look, I can’t give you chocolate. Maybe I can sneak you some steak or something next time if you’re still here. I’d give you dog food but they don’t have that around here. But I reckon Hagrid has some, though. Do you want me to get you food?”

    Once again, maybe (just maybe) it was only your imagination, but you got the sense that the dog disagreed. You didn’t push it any further and so you simply made yourself comfortable even under the rocks. You set down your cloak under your bottom to serve as a mat. It didn’t do much, but it was better. You gestured for the dog to come closer.

    “I’m gonna call you Snuffles now,” you said as you picked up a stone. “Watch this.” With a swing of your arm, you sent the stone flying into the lake, skipping three times. “I used to be able to do four. You’d know, you were there!”

    Snuffles your dog from years ago indeed was there with you when it happened on your family trip to your lake house, but this was not Snuffles; this was your very own classmate and Housemate, Sirius Black himself. He’d never talked to you before, much less noticed you, so it was a surprise to him that he’s spending his time with you at this late hour.

    Nevertheless, it was a time well-spent even when it was mostly (entirely) just watching you skip rocks down the lake as you talked about the aforementioned Snuffles. He didn’t know how long you two sat there, but sat you did anyway. Twice he thought of a joke to tell only to be disappointed for of course, he couldn’t voice it out.

    “I named her Snuffles because she used to cry a lot when we first brought her home from the shelter and mum didn’t want us to call her Sniffles so I went with the next best thing.” You put your legs in front of you. “Poor little thing.”

    It wasn’t until the sky brightened a bit did you realize you were thirsty from all the talking you were doing. You would've stayed for the sunrise but, well, schedules would tragically overlap.

    “Crap,” you thought as you began picking up your cloak, “I’ll end up dozing off in class! Anyway, I’ll try and bring you steak later, Snuffy.”

    With a wave, you ran away from the lake, cloak in your arms, unaware that you had left your wand behind. Sirius was watching you until you disappeared from sight before he spotted the wand, which he then picked up.

    He de-transformed on his way just a bit by a wall, and as soon as he did, he tucked your wand into his own cloak. He glanced back just for a second before running back to the castle. By the time he got to the painting of the Fat Lady, he halted at the sight of the girl from earlier — you.

    “—you know me already, ma’am. I just forgot the password is all. Please let me in.”

    “No password, no entry,” spat the Fat Lady. “And it does not do to wake up a sleeping person.”

    “Well, you’re just a painting,” you mumbled. And if Sirius could hear it from where he was standing, the Fat Lady probably heard it too.

    “Hmph!” exclaimed the Fat Lady. “Children are foul.”

    “They are, aren’t they?” you chimed in hopes of getting on the Fat Lady’s better graces.

     “I was talking about you, child,” said the Fat Lady with disdain. “Now scoot!”

     You were about to walk away when Sirius decided to walk in. You froze.

    It was only until then did it dawn on Sirius that he did not know your name because you had not told him anything earlier. He turned to the Fat Lady.

    “Spondulicks,” said Sirius. The Fat Lady merely grunted as the painting swung open to reveal the room. “After you, m’lady.”

    It was like he was seeing a different person; you refused to meet his eyes as you hurriedly walked into the opening of the painting, arms crossed. He was almost about to give you your wand but realized what a bad idea that would be, and so he kept his mouth shut.

    You kept walking straight ahead, and Sirius had to stifle his laugh at the sight of you missing a step on the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, especially when your pace quickened after this.

    That morning at breakfast, you were nowhere to be found. Sirius took his seat next to James while skimming the length of the Gryffindor table.

     “What’re you looking for?” asked James, curiously scanning the table as well.

     “This girl with [Y/H/C] hair,” Sirius replied absentmindedly as he slowly settled down, still looking for her.

     “A girl? You’re gonna have to be more specific, mate. But bagsy snogging her.”

    “What — you can’t bagsy her, you haven’t even met her,” spat Sirius. James was rather taken aback but still seemed to be stifling his laugh at the outburst nonetheless. Sirius cleared his throat. “And need I remind you that you’re trying to get Evans?”

    “Mhm, I was just trying to see how interested you were in this girl to be preoccupied with looking for her instead of petting your hair.” More and more people began to file in to the common room and Sirius’s attention went to the door after determining you were not seated in one of the tables.

    “It’s called combing, and you should try it.” Sirius ran his hand through his hair. “It would do you good to look fresh at least once.”

    James snickered. “What can I tell you, Pads? The ladies like the rugged look.”

    “I don’t think they do,” remarked Remus.

    “Oh trust me, Remus,” James started with a smug grin. “They do. The key to it is—”

    But Sirius never found out what ‘the key to it’ was; at least, not today. After a group of younger Ravenclaws walked in, he finally spotted you right behind them and his back straightened even more. For what, he did not know.

    You took your seat beside a couple more Gryffindors and helped yourself to food on your own plate. You were busy rubbing her eyes, giving Sirius more time to watch. When you finished, you caught him looking at you, but he didn’t break the eye contact; instead, he smiled.

    “Oh, her?” exclaimed James, trying to get a better look. Sirius gently kicked his foot at how obvious he was, but he nodded in confirmation. James blew a raspberry. “I can’t bagsy, can I?”

    Sirius scowled. “No.”

    “Then I call dibs.”

   “Wha — that’s the same thing! You can’t just call dibs.” Sirius cleared his throat once more, for James was raising a brow to signify he’d proved his point. “You can’t.”

    “Wouldn’t hurt you to go on over and talk to her, would it? After all, you do it all the time.” James stretched out his arms and made gestures of triumph. “Hook, sink, liner.”

    “It’s actually ‘Hook, line, and sinker,’” said Remus.

    “No it’s not. Get a load of this guy,” James joked (or not). “Anyway, come on, I’ll come with you. But I apologize in advance if my hair works better than yours.”

    When they made it over to where you were sitting, you appeared to be manually wiping your plate with a tissue.

    “Excuse me,” started Sirius, gesturing at the plate, “May I?”

    Hesitantly and still not meeting his gaze, you handed him the plate. Sirius pulled out his wand and with a small flick, he said, “Tergeo!”

    When he handed it back, you simply nodded your head in thanks and began to stuff it in your bag.

    “Wait, are you stealing a plate?” James asked with a grin, on the verge of laughing. “You wouldn’t want to do that. See, our friend’s a Prefect and he’ll totally tell Professor Meownerva — pun courtesy of Peter, by the way.” James snickered. “I wish I’d thought of it first be—Ow!”

    Sirius had stepped on James foot. “I’ll take it from here, Bambi.”

    James managed a scowl before leaving the scene. You didn’t know what to do; so in your mind, you started devising ways to get yourself out of that situation: Make a run for it or melt on the spot; neither seemed like a good option.

    “Why are you stealing a plate?” he asked.

    “Er — long story. Have a good day.” Then you stood up and began to walk away, backing up a bit to grab a piece of sandwich before completely storming off.

    When Sirius returned the other three were there, laughing out loud together.

    James leaned closer. “Her name’s [Y/N].”

    “Then why didn’t you tell me?” exclaimed Sirius, annoyed.

    “Hook, sink, liner,” said James confidently.

    Remus cleared his throat again. “Again, it’s ‘Hook, line, and’—”

    “Yeah, sure, whatever,” dismissed James.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

    On your first class (Transfiguration), the two of you clearly could not at all suppress your yawns: Sirius was doing fairly better compared to you, for he had the decency to not let his head plop face down on his desk, but he was sleepy nonetheless. This was no surprise to Sirius. After all, he hadn’t slept that morning. As for you, he did not know whether or not you slept but according to your peaceful and sleeping face, he kind of had a clue.

    He wasn’t listening, and so when everyone brought out their wands, he just cluelessly followed the others. Professor McGonagall approached the middle row and stopped just right next to you.

    “Miss [Y/L/N]?” started McGonagall. “If I’m not mistaken, bedtime ended hours ago.”

     You merely grunted. McGonagall cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Miss [Y/L/N]?”

    The professor put the back of her palm against your forehead. She lifted your face off the table and her eyes widened. “Heavens! Child, you look positively ghastly. Remus, kindly take—”

    “I’ll do it,” said Sirius. “I’m her. . .” As he trailed off, all eyes went back and forth from you, McGonagall, and him. He opened his mouth again to add, “friend. We’re friends.”

    Although McGonagall appeared to be reluctant, she let you go, advising you to visit Madam Pomfrey. Sirius risked a smug look in James’s way before following you out the door, eager to speak with you.

    “So you’re feeling unwell?” asked Sirius.

    “Look, buddy, I appreciate it but I honestly just want to go to bed.”

    “Didn’t Minnie McG tell you to visit Madam Pomfrey?”

    You halted. “I’m not sick.”

    “What do you mean? What about the drowsy eyes and the head hurting and the red nose—?”

    “Okay, now you’re making my head hurt.” You faced him, hands on your hips in defiance. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Black: I’ll go back to my room and you’ll take a walk to the Hospital Wing and back to class.”

    “But you’re sick.”

    “Buddy, I’m really not,” you said with an irritated laugh. “I haven’t slept yet and I lost my wand. How do you think I’ll be able to go to class without a damn wand?”

    Sirius scoffed. “Then what about your runny red nose and teary eyes?”

    “Really? Are purebloods really that dense not to come up with basic ways to get out of class?” It was almost ironic. After all, you’d heard tons of brilliant things pureblooded wizards could do. Clearly they weren’t as crafty. You snorted. “Do you really want to know?”

    “Do I? Of course I do.”

    And with a bit of consideration, you recounted your gimmicks: collecting two chili peppers from the table and lightly patting your finger under your eyes to make it teary (it badly hurt), pinching your nose as soon as you left the Great Hall and sprinkling a bit of pepper on your sleeve to get yourself to sneeze, taking a quick hot shower without getting your hair wet, and more.

    “Wow,” he exclaimed under his breath, astonished. You shrugged in response, turning around to walk away. “Wait, then why did you agree for me to take you instead of Remus?”

    “Eh, well, your friend who’s trying so hard to be Michael Landon said that the Remus guy was a Prefect so I figured that he’s probably a snitch.”

    “Trust me, he’s not a snitch,” Sirius said with a laugh. “Wait, I don’t even know who Michael Landon is but could you say that thing again but to James’s face tomorrow morning at breakfast?”

    “No.” You turned your back on him, walking away. “May we never talk again.”

    “You’re welcome, by the way!” He watched as you made a turn, disappearing from view before making a face. “Ungrateful chick.”

    That entire day, you spent your time in bed, tossing and turning to keep yourself awake. Whenever someone came in during vacant time, you made sure the curtains to your four-poster bed were sealed shut while pretending to sniffle.

    It was Friday, so you were thankful for the time to rest. You were thinking of just looking for your wand tomorrow when you remembered the dog. You shifted in your bed as you slowly stood up, peeking through the curtains of your bed. Your roommates were probably still in the common room, so you peeked your head out to grab your bag from beside your bed and pulled it in before shutting the curtains close.

    You pulled out the plate you got from earlier that morning and waited.

    Waited for your roommates to come in and chat for a while.

    Waited until the lights went out.

    Waited until the only sound you could hear was the ticking of the clock in the room.

    You were about to fall asleep when what you could only assume was a bird hit itself against the window, jolting you awake.

    It was dead silent. And just like you did hours ago, you threw your feet out of your bed. Going out at this hour without a wand felt threatening, but you reassured yourself, just thinking over and over that it would be just like old times back when you didn’t know you were a witch.

    There was no one in the common room by the time you got down there. You tightened your grip on the plate in your hands, thinking about how good a weapon it would make (it probably wasn’t, but it was good enough to make you feel like you had a chance).

    You slipped out, unaware once more of the same boy you had talked to the night before following you.

    The walk down the halls and stairs without a light made your tour all the more frightening: Jumping when you accidentally graze your hand too much on one of the paintings which often earned an angry grunt from them, feeling for the next step of the stairs in fear of tripping over, and so on.

    Sirius resisted the urge to just approach you and give you your wand, resorting to just staying behind to make sure you got out safely. He was about to keep going straight ahead when you made a turn, confusing him.

    It took a few more turns for him to realize you were headed for the kitchens. He had to wait outside until you came back out a short while later with something in the plate.

    Laughing silently to himself, he followed you again to the grounds, your wand in his cloak pocket, feeling like a hundred pounds weighing him down.

    You went back to where you were last night, scouring the rocks in hopes of spotting a distinct shape among the round shapes. You cursed under your breath in disappointment as you set the plate of steak aside, your eyes falling to the dark surface of the lake. Gulping, you tied up the pant legs of your pajamas, mumbling inaudible words to yourself at what you were about to do.

    Only your feet were in the water when you heard a loud bark, causing you to jump a bit, toppling backward at the sight of the black dog. You felt the water soak your back and a bit of your head.

    “Snuffles?” you asked the dog whilst shaking yourself dry as you stood up. “There’s steak over there. It’s for you.”

    If it weren’t for his physical state, Sirius would be laughing right now. The least he could do was walk your way, sitting right beside the plate of the steak.

    “I know it’s not as good as I promised but it’s the best I could give, I’m sorry,” you said to the dog as it looked at you curiously. You bent down to pick up your cloak, drying yourself and wrapping it around you. With a huff, you squeezed the water out of your hair and sat down on the rocks once again. “I only came down here to look for my wand. It probably rolled down to the bottom of the lake already.”

    You yawned. The lack of sleep was already taking a toll on you and you couldn’t let the sun rise before you could lie down in bed.

    “Do you not like the steak?” you asked again. “You know, I got that plate for you.”

   The dog’s ears perked up, and you reached out to pet it.

    “Thank Merlin I got away from that fruitcake.”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

    “I’m a fruitcake,” Sirius told his friends that morning as they fell in line for their Hogsmeade trip. James looked at his friend as if he had gone mad (well, one can say he’s halfway there). “Out of all the things I could be, I’m a fruitcake.”

    “Took you long enough to figure that out,” said Peter, who then brightened when James burst into a laugh.

    “You sure?” said Remus, adjusting his tie. “If you are, then you’re far too salty to be one.”

    “Guys, I’m ser—” He cut himself off, aware that they were waiting for an opening to pick fun at his name. “I am not joking.”

    “Because you’re. . .?” James said, encouraging him.

    Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. “Serious.”

    And just like that, the entire group howled in laughter. Rolling his eyes, Sirius scanned the crowd again, but it was the same thing as yesterday — you were once again nowhere to be found.

    “Wait, where did you get this fruitcake comment from?” asked Remus.

    Sirius recounted your past encounters with him, earning a whoop of cheer and a pat from James.

    “I have a plan,” said Sirius. “I’ll just so happen to ‘run into’ her in Hogsmeade and she’ll think I’m charming because I did my hair better today.”

    “I don't know, I reckon it’ll be hard to jump from fruitcake puppy to charming knight and shining armor,” said Remus.

    It wasn't until they were near the front of the line did Sirius realize there was still no sign of you. He then stepped out of the line, earning sudden protests from the rest of the group.

    He made a show of waving at the other three as he disappeared from view before darting down the halls and up the stairs until he made it to the common room, where he plopped down on the couch. A couple of first and second years were gathered by the window playing chess.

    Sirius kept his head down as he waited for you to come out until finally, about almost ten minutes later, heavy steps came from the girls’ dormitory as it descended down the stairs. Sirius kept his face down so as to hide himself for you, cursing at himself for being too. . .what’s a nicer way to put creepy again?

    He followed you again like the night before, going over the things he wanted to say.

    Hello, I’m actually Snuffles.

    I’m Snuffles.

    Hi, I’m not really a reincarnation of your dog because I’m actually a fruitcake!

    It just kept getting worse in his head the more that he dwelled on it, and so he resorted to just focusing on his step when you halted, causing him to run into you.

    “You,” you started, stopping with your finger pointed right at him, daring him to speak, “why are you following me?”

    “Because. . .” Sirius trailed off. Why was he following you?

    Because I'm Snuffles and I have your wand. Because I can turn into a dog. Because while I am Snuffles, I'm also not really Snuffles. Because—

    “Because I found your wand,” he blurted out. “Well, consider it as a token of appreciation.”

    “For what?”

    “For being a good friend. . . ?”

    “As far as I know, the first and only time we ever even talked was just yesterday,” you said, gesturing with your hands. “What’s your deal?”

    “I want to take a walk,” Sirius relaxed, grinning at you.

    “Then do it yourself!” you exclaimed.

    “With you, I mean.”

    Sirius’s tone calmed you down at least a bit, and so you cleared your throat. Come to think of it, he’s probably not that bad.

    You began to walk with him on your way out to the grounds. “And what do I get out of this walking thing of yours?”

    Sirius waved his hand with a flourish as we jogged ahead to stop right in front of you, tipping an imaginary hat. “Bragging rights, madam.”

    You halted. “You’re gonna have to try better than that, Vinnie Barbarino.”

    “Er — that’s good, right?” he asked, tensing up again as he composed himself.

    “Depends on how you look at it.”

    “Well, does he have nice hair?”

    “Again, depends on how you look at it.”

    “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

    “You and me both, Vinnie,” you told him with a huff as you two set foot outside.

    “It’s certainly better than fruitcake,” he muttered under his breath. You leaned in closer, your brow raised in question. He shook his head and told you it was nothing.

    By the time you made it to the bank of the lake, you found yourself unconsciously searching the rocks for your wand.

    Sirius snorted. “You can keep looking but it’s not there.”

    “Wasn’t trying to.”

    He watched as you bent down to pick up a rock and moved closer to the lake. Just like you did a few nights ago, you swung your arm to skip a rock. It was kind of like a movie for him; the way your shoulders sunk a bit after getting only three skips. “I used to be able to do four.”

    I’d know, Sirius thought as he grinned at the irony. I was there. Maybe I really am Snuffles.

    “So, when are you going to give me my wand?” You turned around to face him again, dusting your hands as you did so.

    Sirius wanted to tell you about his alter-ego badly. But at the same time, it was right there and then Sirius realized something. He normally hated the idea of a routine; loathed it, even. But he figured that maybe, just this once, he could make an exception. He didn’t mind going out every single night as Padfoot or Snuffles if it meant the world to you to have something to look forward to. In fact, the line was starting to blur between all his names: Sirius Black, Onion, Padfoot, Snuffles, Fruitcake.

    Sirius cleared his throat and told you, “Monday morning when you have breakfast with me.”

    “I’m not gonna have breakfast with you.”

    “You are now because you’ll get a coupon.”

    “What coupon?” you asked, crossing your arms.

    “Bragging rights for spending time with me — Sirius Orion Black.”

    “You’re awfully presumptuous.”

    “Why are you so mean?” Sirius feigned pain by clutching his chest, making a show.

    You bit your cheek in attempt not to laugh. “Look, just give me back my wand.”

    “Give me your word that you’ll have breakfast with me first.”

    “Fine,” you told him. “Now will you give me my wand back?”

    Sirius let out a long sigh before taking a step forward and bending down to pick up a rock. He swung his arm backward as he made a shot.

    One, two, three, four.

    He faced you. “Hook, sink, liner.”

    “It’s ‘hook, line, and sinker,’ how could you mess that up?”

    “Damn it, James,” he cursed under his breath. “Anyway, here’s your wand.”

    This definitely took you by surprise, especially when he pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it to you with only a friendly smile and without any hesitation.

    You grabbed it as fast as you could just in case he changed his mind at the last minute.

    Sirius fought the urge to pick fun at the fact that this was close to what one may call fetch.

    Wow, he thought. Merlin, I’m literally Snuffles. Sirius could hear his friends’ jeers light years away: Playing fetch with her, Snuffy? Will you also let her walk you? Oh, wait, you already did!

    “Thank you,” you told him. “I was literally prepared to dive down there just to get my wand. I know what a big hassle it is to get it replaced and everything.”

    “I know,” he said, pertaining to how he knew the lengths you were ready to go to just so you could find your wand, but you took what he said an answer to what you said last.

    Sirius began walking again, and you followed. “Why didn’t you go to Hogsmeade with the others?”

    “Eh, I’ve been there a lot of times. We’ll go there next time. I’ll take you to—”

    You halted. “Woah, woah, who said I’ll be coming with you?”

    “Time,” Sirius protested. “It tells you things even you wouldn’t be able to know.”

    You scoffed as you kept walking alongside him. “Eh, well, we got Professor Trelawney for that. What do you say we visit her classroom and play with balls? I mean, orbs. No, stop laughing.”

    But he didn’t stop. And honestly, neither did you; not even when you completed a turn around the grounds.

    That night was a brilliant one: You were headed back downstairs, this time keeping your wand tight in your hand as you did so.

    Just like as far as always can go, Snuffles sat by the lake, looking at the ripples that danced along its surface. Why did the dog suddenly look familiar?

    You stood right next to Snuffles, who was now looking up at you curiously.

    “I can’t stay for long,” you told the dog. “I have to sleep early, you know. I mean, you don’t, but — whatever.”

    You bent down to pick up a rock again, watching it skip three times. You cursed under your breath, “How’d he do it?”

    Snuffles, originally Sirius himself, snorted. You turned to the dog and shook your head, telling yourself it was your want of sleep playing tricks on you.

    “Fruitcake’s actually not that bad,” you started as you picked up another rock. Sirius looked up again. “I think I’ll give him a chance.”

    When you finally gave up on skipping rocks, you sat down right next to the dog. “He kinda left a ring of his, see?” You showed the dog Sirius’s ring. The dog blinked. “I’m not planning on keeping it, I’ll give it back to him on a good day.”

    A bird flew by, causing you to jump a bit. “Yep, I’m gonna need to sleep this out. Go to Hagrid’s will you? Actually, no, come with me.”

    You lead the dog to Hagrid’s hut and told it to stay there. Sirius thought it was funny seeing you boss him around in a gentler manner.

    With a wave, you ran back to the doors and dashed up the stairs until you reached the dormitories, where you hastily got in your bed and tucked yourself in.

    When breakfast came and you casually sat down right across from Sirius and beside James, a thought came to Sirius’s head again: He wanted you to know him as Sirius Black, no disguises involved. Sure, maybe he’d learn more of you if he continued doing it but . . . he wanted you to learn more of himself, too.

    As for telling you his secret identity (not Batman), he decided that it’d be best to let his future self deal with it and just enjoy breakfast with you, which is hopefully just the first of many.

    One last thing, though: Snuffles grew on Sirius. Safe to say that he got attached; so much that even when time told new people new fates, he found a way to let the name stay by using it as a safe codename as an attempt to become a lovable stray in the time of danger.

    But that doesn’t matter just yet, not when the group was busy having one of the most brilliant Mondays to date.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @sfdlm @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @elevatorsdoor @mrzweasley @gwlvr @1-800-itsfreerealestate @marrymetheonott @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @sexysirius @turn-to-page-394-please @greenlyblue @henqtic @badass-yn @meiitanoia @gaycatlord-stuff @just2bubbly @awakendevildays @dracomalfoyposts @crazy-beautiful @adoreyou976 @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[saintobio]

Hey saint

So im writing my statement of purpose to apply to UNIs out of my country and the problem is that i cant even find any idea or any purpose or i dont know how to put it into words.

But your writing is so good you've always been able to hook your audience in your writing and made them feel a range of emotions. Can you please help me with a few resources or any tips to write my SOP

Thanks.. ly♥️♥️

gonna be 100% honest with you babe, i don’t think i could be of much help to you. creative writing is just very different to writing a statement of purpose haha 🥺 “your purpose” is something that you’ll need to figure out yourself, and those will stem from your personal ambitions, goals, passions, and things that motivate you. find a way to “sell yourself”, be in tune with yourself, ask yourself; what made you want to apply to universities overseas instead of your homeland? was it for greater education? different environment? how do you see yourself as a student in this university if you do get in? how are you gonna spend the next 4-6 years studying in this university? how do you expect yourself to be once you’ve graduated from this university? those questions will determine your goals, and your dedication to reaching those goals will be your purpose. best of luck <33 you can do it

Anonymous said

Hey Saint! I’m also Filipino and about to graduate later this summer. I also adore writing and I actively try to find time to do it, but my career choice isn’t literature related at all. Now I saw you rant about being a corporate slave, and I’m honestly so scared for my future. Do you have tips for someone who has an office job that MIGHT drain their time? Is it scary finally being out there? 😭 How do you find time? I’m worried I will never find time or will feel tired to pour it in writing.

hellooo, this ask was deep in my inbox so i’m not sure if you’re still here 😭 sorry for the late reply. it’s scary at first, and i’m not gonna lie, depending on your career, 90% of the time you’ll be drained. i’m extremely overworked and now i’m transitioning to a different department that has no correlation to writing at all. am i happy about it? no. i’m actually crying about it for the past few weeks. but i wanted to pursue my promotion bc it’s career growth (and they’re gonna double my salary 😹). so i guess what i’m trying to say is, there are pros and cons for us working in the corporate world. it’s tough, it’s hectic, it’s competitive—but that’s just how it is everywhere. you’ll be able to manage it once you’re there. and somehow, no matter how busy or how extremely exhausted i am, i naturally crave writing so that’s why i try to spend my extra time writing 1-2k words even if i’d end up having only 3 hours of sleep on a weekday. it depends how passionate you are for writing, because even when i started working, i never lost the passion. i do go through writing slumps here and there, but i find a way to get over it. so don’t be scared! as long as you’re able to keep a healthy balance between your career and personal life, everything will be okay. you can just use writing as an avenue to release stress! or you can even write on weekends! :)

[pascalpanic]

this is random but today was my birthday and it wasn't as good as I hoped it would be. most of my family members seemed to forget all about it and almost no one sent me a text or anything like that, which really sucked and sort of made me feel sad and unwanted?? so that wasn't great :(

this might sound silly and really pathetic but I was sort of hoping that you could write me a little thing about how [ insert pedro boy of your choice because I just need some comfort right now and im not picky ] definitely would NOT forget about my birthday and try to make me feel better about this on my special day?? only if you want to though.

- ✨

Rose Petals (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Javier never forgets a date. You’re going to have a wonderful birthday.

W/C: 1.3k

Warnings: food, alcohol, brief mention of death, probably language, innuendo, otherwise totally fluff

A/N: BABE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I’m so sorry it wasn’t good and I hope this can make up for it at least a little.

Javier Peña is a man who never forgets a date. It’s like he has a tiny little calendar ingrained in his brain. The man is endlessly busy, swamped with files and papers and so much knowledge it would take up the whole embassy to store it on paper, but dates come easily to him.

He remembers the day his mother died. That was in late August. He remembers the date of your first kiss, the first time he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close and moved your lips to his. That was about a year ago this time now. And Javier always especially remembers your birthday.

His work schedule is hard. Javier’s always at work, it feels like, but he adores you when he’s at home. He’s a good cook; he’ll make the two of you dinner and cuddle on the couch after, do whatever you’d like until he eventually asks that the two of you go to bed. Even though he’s working his ass off, some nights absolutely drowning in paperwork he has no choice but to bring home, he always puts you first.

You’d spoiled him on his birthday. That’s part of what he loves about you: how above and beyond you go for him. To you, it was nothing extravagant; you gave him a massage, cooked dinner and bought a nice bottle of whiskey to go with it. You got him new shirts, a nice watch, and a new cologne.

To Javier, it was the entire world. Most of his birthdays were spent alone or with a prostitute to hide his anxiety over getting older. Very few things you’ve ever seen could compare to the look on the stoic man’s face when you walked out from the kitchen holding an iced, sprinkled, layered, candle-topped cake singing happy birthday. He almost cried, he had to admit. Javier never expected to have love like this, like Steve and Connie do, like his parents did. He insisted you sit on his lap to eat, no matter how much you tried to protest.

Javier wants to spoil you equally. The problem is that he doesn’t exactly know… well, how. He’s gotten you a few presents, things you’ve mentioned in passing or that he thought you’d like. He has them stored in his closet beneath his work clothes. But you do so much for him, Javier feels it’s only fair he returns the favor.

Your birthday falls on a weekday this year, sadly enough. Javier wants nothing more than to pamper you in bed all day, but that’s not possible for either of you.

What you wake to on your birthday is an empty bed. Disappointing. Rolling over and reaching for Javier, you find nothing. It makes you sigh softly, out of sadness, but a smell of cooking fills the aid and you hope it’s something good.

It is. Javier has the oven running, with just two minutes left. There’s a full pot of coffee on the counter, and scrambled eggs on the stovetop. There’s a note, written in Javier’s scribbled handwriting.

Happy birthday, mi amor. I promise I’ll take good care of you tonight. Hope you like the food. Call me when you get the chance.

-J

Clutching the note to your chest, you grin and laugh a little. Javier’s a romantic at heart, even if it took a while for him to show that to you. You pull the cinnamon rolls from the oven and turn it off, taking a deep whiff of the pastries and relaxing. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you wait for the food to cool.

-

Both you and Javier end up having long days. Your work is busy, leaving you hardly any time to breathe, much less to call him. His gesture fills your heart all day, and you find yourself smiling a little when you have the time to take a moment.

None of your coworkers remember your birthday. It stings a little at first, but the amount you care fades as the day goes on. With the hustle and bustle of your workplace, you hardly have the time to remember that it’s your own birthday. Even during lunch, you’re working tirelessly, and don’t have the chance to call Javier.

Javi wanted to call you first, to wish you a happy birthday vocally, but he gets sent out on a street mission to find someone in the morning. When he and Steve return to the embassy, there’s paperwork to be filed, reports to be typed, everything.

It doesn’t matter that he has a desk covered in tasks. When the clock strikes 4, an hour before you’ll be home, Javier shuts his file. “Cover for me?” he asks Steve.

“Depends,” the man drawls, twisting a cigarette between his fingers. “Why?”

“It’s my girl’s birthday,” Javier shakes his head at Steve’s attitude and pulls his leather jacket on. “I’ll stay as long as I need to tomorrow, but I’m going home now. See you tomorrow, Murph.”

“Good luck, Peña. Don’t break the bed,” he calls after him as the dark-haired man walks off. Javier doesn’t bother to reply.

When he enters your apartment, Javier gets to work instantly. Lighting candles, sprinkling rose petals, everything. You always mention how romantic that looks when you make him watch those cheesy rom-coms with you, and Javier has to admit it does look lovely when he’s finished. The last thing to do is open a bottle of wine, pour two glasses, and wait. It won’t take long- the decor took a while.

When your key turns in the doorknob, Javier jumps up from the couch and rushes to the door, holding a rose. “Happy birthday,” he finally gets to tell you, capturing your lips in a kiss before you can say thanks.

When he breaks away, you smile and go to thank him, but he beats you to the punch, taking your coat and bag. “How was work today?”

“It was… oh, Javi,” you laugh, admiring the beauty of the apartment. “Oh my god, you made it look so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he flirts, which makes you roll your eyes. “You always talk about how much you love this in the movies,” he shrugs, taking your hand and leading you to the table. He pulls out a chair for you. “Thought we should try.”

“You’re too good to me,” you chuckle and take the wine sitting in front of you, taking a sip and sighing.

“You’re too good for me,” Javi refutes and kisses your head. He sits down across from you, taking your hands and kissing your knuckles. “Happy birthday, amor. I have the whole night planned for us. For you, really.”

“Javi,” you laugh, smiling at the romantic gestures around you. He’s never this openly loving, and you really don’t mind. “This doesn’t feel… you.”

“Well, it’s you, and I’m more than willing to compromise,” he says with a gentle smile. There’s a plate of appetizers on the table, and he snatches one. When he talks again, through a mouthful of food, you recognize your usual Javi. “I promise you’ll love it.”

“I already do,” you assure him with a wide grin. “Thank you, baby. I love you so much.”

“Anything for you,” he assures you and drinks his wine. “I love you too. Now, I’m going to get dinner cooking. You just sit and relax.”

“Will do,” you chuckle and slump down in your chair.

Javier walks past and kisses your head one more time. “Happy birthday, baby.”

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 12: Lost

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[masterlist] [kia’s slambook]

warnings: mentions of sex

You and Kia prepare for your trip, waiting for Akaashi. He mentioned about picking you up since Bokuto lent him his car. You remember about the card Sakusa told you about.

You go to his room, making sure you don’t touch anything, and see that there are two bedside tables. You checked the one on the left first. You open the drawers and see boxes of condoms, some opened, some still new. You close it and go to the other table to get the card.

Something in you says to go check the other drawer again, but it would make you feel guilty. You hear Akaashi’s car honk so you go out instead. You take Kia from the couch and leave the house.

‘Did he date someone in the last 3 years?’ The thought is bothering you and Akaashi notices. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling. He carries Kia and puts  Kia in the safety seat of the car. He returns to the driver’s seat while you sit on the shotgun seat.

You continue to think about what you saw. You broke up. So what if he had a girlfriend? You have no right to dig in your nose into his business. Why are you so upset about him having sex with other women? He’s a grown man. He has his needs.

“You’re spacing out,” Akaashi points out. You shake the thoughts off your mind and stare out of the window. You groan, the thoughts coming back in again. “Spill it.” So you do. You tell him about what you saw. “Why are you so upset? So what if he had sex with someone? You broke up with him, remember?”

“Exactly why I’m bothered!” You cover your face with your hands in frustration.

“If you’re so bothered, why don’t you ask him about it later?” Akaashi suggests, his eyes on the road. You sigh, nodding.

You three arrive at the theme park and suddenly you feel at ease to be outside again. Kia starts running, but luckily, Akaashi has long legs. He easily keeps up with her. You make your way to the booth, while Akaashi carries Kia around to look at some figurines by the entrance.

After you successfully retrieve your reservation tickets, you enter the theme park. Despite being a weekday, it’s still packed with tourists. There are also students in uniforms, probably in a school trip.

“Mama! Look! Robot!” Kia points to the Bumblee Bee statue. Akaashi puts her down and she runs to the statue. The figure starts speaking and Kia’s mouth hangs wide open in amazement. “It talks! Mama! Keikei! It talks!”

You continue to walk around the theme park, stopping on shops and stalls from time to time. While Akaashi excuses himself to go the toilet, you see an ice cream food stall and Kia immediately asks you to buy some for her. You take her to the stall and carry her so she can choose a flavor.

“That would be 600 yen,” the shopkeeper tells you. You put Kia down to take money out of your wallet. You pay for the ice cream. The employee gives you the treat and when you look down, Kia isn’t by your side anymore. “Kia?”

You go around the stall, in hopes that Kia just took a look somewhere near. You search and search but you don’t see any sign of your daughter. Akaashi comes back and sees you getting antsy.

“Where’s Kia?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Take a good rest, boys. We’ll be back to practice next week. Enjoy your free time because we won’t be having any left after this. Cool down and you may leave,” the MSBY Black Jackals coach announces. The players thank him and say their good byes.

“Training ended earlier than I thought,” Atsumu sighs in relief. “I’m so excited to go home and be in the comfort of my bed.”

“Wanna go to the gym together this Saturday, Bokuto-san?” Hinata asks the older player as they start stretching.

“If I don’t have anything to do,” Bokuto replies.

“Isn’t Akaashi in town?” Sakusa speaks, stretching his wrists. Bokuto’s attention gets stuck on the other spiker’s wrists and he forgets to respond. “Hey.”

“Oh, yeah. Akaashi is in town. How’d you know?” Bokuto eyes the curly haired man in suspicion.

“(Y/N) told me. They’re in Universal today,” Sakusa explains.

“Omi, you’re okay with Kia going to crowded places that is surely full of other people’s germs?” The blonde questions, stretching his legs.

“Do you really think I expect her to grow up like me?” Sakusa rolls his eyes, stretching his back this time. “Germs can be washed away. They can get disinfected. It’s nothing compared to Kia’s upbringing. I don’t have plans to raise her to be clean, I want her to grow up to be someone who she wants to be.”

Atsumu smiles because of his teammate’s response. Not long ago, he would think of Kia as some sort of hindrance, but now he seems happy that she’s around. The blonde also noticed how Sakusa is gradually becoming more soft with his words and actions.

They finish stretching and go back to their dorms. Sakusa is packing his things when he suddenly feels anxious. He can’t think straight. He feels something bad is about to come. He opens his door and check the hallway. “Miya’s not here. If it’s not him, what could it be?”

Sakusa goes back into his room, hearing his phone ring. He sees Kia’s contact name and answers quickly.

“What is it Kia?”

“Kyo... I lost mama,” Kia cries on the other line.

That tone. That way she said it. The feel. It’s too similar with your words 3 years ago.

“Omi... Let’s break up.”

“What? Where are you right now?” Kiyoomi runs out of the dorms. Adrenaline kicking in as he hears Kia’s sobs.

“Why? Let’s talk about it. I’m coming over.”

“I see a dinosaur,” Kia responds, worry and panic in her voice.

“I just don’t see a future for us, Omi.”

“Don’t end the call, okay?” Kiyoomi says softly despite his worries. He hears Kia crying again. He starts his car and connects his phone to the bluetooth of his car. “Hey, stop crying. I’m on my way. Just stay wherever you are.” He doesn’t get respond so he speeds up his driving. “Kia? Baby?”

“Is it something I did? Tell me! Don’t just ignore me, (Y/N).”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’m sorry, Sakusa. But I can’t do this anymore.”

Kiyoomi’s sports car has never been put into good use until now. He arrives in the theme park in top speed record. Luckily, there isn’t a queue on the booths so he gets a ticket promptly.

“Kia?” He puts his phone close to his ear, looking at the theme’s park map. “Are you still near the dinosaurs?”

“You’re joking, right? Tell me this is a prank.”

“Yes. Kia stayed here like you told me,” Kia responds, already calmed down. Kiyoomi rushes to the Jurassic Park area and looks for her in every corner. But Kia couldn’t explain her exact location well. He spots a kid and calls him.

“No. This isn’t a joke.”

“Have you seen this child?” He shows the back of his phone to the boy. The boy nods.

“Yes. She’s sitting near the entrance of the restaurant,” the boy answers. Before Kiyoomi could thank him, the boy recognizes him. “Aren’t you Sakusa Kiyoomi? I’m a big fan of your team!”

“Ah, thanks. Come to my next game, okay? I’ll give you a jersey.” Kiyoomi leaves him and goes to where the kid directed.

Kiyoomi spots her and his steps become bigger and his pace becomes faster. Kia sees him so she climbs down of the bench she is sitting on and runs to meet Kiyoomi halfway. He takes her into his arms, tightly hugging her. He feels her wrap her arms around him, and his heart starts breaking into pieces.

“(Y/N), I know you’re still in there. Whatever it is, let’s work it out,” Kiyoomi shouted from outside of your apartment’s door. He’s been sitting there for hours now. He leaned his back on your door, his knees close to his chest.

Did you really leave?

Were you not coming back?

There are a lot of words he had yet to tell you. He wanted to see you two accomplish your dreams together. He wanted to wake up and the first thing he sees is your face. He wanted to come home and receive your hugs as soon as he steps into the door. He wanted to see you walk down the aisle. He wanted to grow old with you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were all he wanted.

He regretted not hugging you tighter. He regretted not kissing you more. He regretted not spending a lot with you. If only he could do all those things one more time.

“I love you...” He cried. You always said those three words first. Why weren’t you responding?

He’s too late.

He had already lost you.

"Kyo, why are you crying?” Kia asks him, her small hands on his cheeks. She starts tearing up, sad that he’s crying. He doesn’t even know he’s crying. His thoughts is too full of fear and anxiety.

There are still a lot of lessons about life he wants to teach Kia. He wants to see her accomplish her dreams. He wants to drop her off to school. He wants to receive her hugs as he comes home from practice. He wants to see her fall in love with someone who loves her just as much as she does. He wants to see Kia grow. He wants her to see him as her father for the rest of her life.

He regrets not hugging her tight enough. He regrets not kissing her good morning and good night. He regrets not spending time with her. He regrets not being there from the start.

What if he was too late?

What if he didn’t answer her call?

What if he lost her?

“Kyo? Are you mad?” Kia’s lower lip is quivering, tears already coming out of her eyes.

“Kia..” he calls her. She pulls away from his hand and looks at him.

“Yes?” Kia’s voice is shaky. She’s afraid he’ll scold her. She promised to be a good girl. What if he hates her?

Kiyoomi takes a look at her face. He caresses her cheek with his thumb, then plants a kiss on her forehead.  ‘But I’m not too late this time. So I’ll make sure I won’t regret anything. I will never lose the two of you again.’

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Facts:

Most dinosaurs were vegetarian

Many dinosaurs had feathers

The longest dinosaur name is Micropachycephalosaurus

Small carnivore dinosaurs are most likely to be the smartest type of dinosaurs

[prev] [next]

Taglist:  @elianetsantana aoi-turtle ptv-hades  aquzairus a-applepi  justoneofthefangirls arianna-r13 morenabambinii chaelysian loser-keiji mxngy ne-kuroo n1fangirlsblog d-efend missalicebaskerville marvelousbakugou @agaashesmilktea​ bonkyandloki kimi09  ntimacy @mkazuyuh  ushi-please minty-mangos-world @dearest-kiyoomi

[unbridgeabledistances]

a ✨drunk and clingy ian✨ one-shot

okay so we all know that saint patrick’s day is a very arbitrary and somewhat meaningless holiday (at least in the u.s. lol)- but we also know that the gallaghers are incredibly fucking irish, so i am using this as an excuse to write some drunk and clingy gallavich fluff (bc i think we all need it!! or at least i do!!!!)

hope y’all enjoy<3

--

Mickey and Ian came in the door from their final weed security run of a way-too-chilly and grey March afternoon, kicking the slush off of their lace-up boots in a tired but comfortable silence. Mickey had been fantasizing for a good part of the afternoon about his usual afternoon ritual of collapsing onto the couch with a cold beer in his hand, and taking a long lazy nap while shitty game shows played on the TV in the background— but unfortunately, Debbie had other plans. Or so he realized when he turned the corner and his eyes were met with a forest of green and white streamers blanketing the living room, with Debbie determinedly balancing on a kitchen chair to hang them in the doorway.

Mickey did a double-take, shooting a glance at Ian and then back at the festive room again. What the fuck? He quickly racked his brain— there was no way he’d could’ve forgotten Franny’s birthday, that was in the summer—and he was pretty sure that Liam’s birthday was in the winter sometime; so whose the fuck was it? Too many goddamn Gallaghers to keep track of. Finally, Mickey admitted his own defeat.

“Is it someone’s fuckin’ birthday or something?”

Mickey flashed another gaze to Ian in confusion as he said it, hoping that Ian would silently mouth whatever the occasion was to him, or at the very least raise his eyebrows and goad Mickey enough to jog his memory to remember whatever the fuck today was— but Ian just gave an easygoing grin as he took in the room’s decor and let out a laugh.

“Debbie, isn’t this kind of going overboard?”

Debbie looked over her shoulder from where she was now taping a crudely scribbled picture of a shamrock, most likely drawn by Franny, up onto the wall.

“What? If it’s our last Saint Patrick’s Day in the house, the least we can do is go out with a bang,” she answered nonchalantly, and continued fixating on hanging up Franny’s drawing.

Mickey inadvertently let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. Fucking Gallaghers.

“I’m sorry, fucking Saint Patrick’s Day?”

Ian’s lips formed a playful smile and he elbowed Mickey between the ribs. “Yeah, Mick, Saint Patrick’s Day— also known as the unironically most important day of the Gallagher family calendar year. I can’t believe I forgot it was today, with all the work stuff we had going on.”

At first Mickey couldn’t tell if Ian was actually being serious— but in the same second he decided that it didn’t really matter, since Ian’s eyes were bright and shining and there was this weird giddy grin he was sporting from ear to ear, like he was absolutely fucking delighted that it was Saint Patrick’s Day, instead of just a normal goddamn Wednesday. Fucking softie.

And as endearing as that was, Mickey still couldn’t let him off that easily. “There’s no way I’m celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. It’s a fake holiday for yuppie rich kids to go bar hopping—I’m not getting involved in any of your Gallagher bullshit.”

Ian’s grin just grew, like he knew exactly what Mickey was doing. “Hey, you married into this family. If anything, this is your own fault.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes, then continued to unlace his boots and throw them by the doorway.

“The fuck do you do anyways, aside from getting trashed?”

Ian put a hand on Mickey’s upper back to steady himself as he pulled his own shoes off. “I think getting trashed pretty much sums up the festivities. Today’s practically a holy day of observance for Frank, and I’m assuming Debbie’s also just gonna use today as an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday.”

“Hell yeah I am!” Debbie called from where she was putting the chair back in the kitchen.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “I knew Gallaghers were white trash, but I had no idea you were this bad.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have any Ukranian white trash holidays or whatever?”

Mickey held back a bitter laugh. Yeah, they had “holidays,” in the form of days when Terry was celebratorily drunk enough to leave them the fuck alone for 24 hours, rare occasions when his looming shadow was out of the house and a festive lightness bled in in its place. They sort of celebrated Christmas, which was mostly just associated with too many painful memories of Terry ripping open the presents before he or his brothers had the chance, and too many painful stings associated with him having one too many drinks as they sat quietly inside the sagging house and pretended to be a big happy family for one night a year.

But never anything as gaudy and deliberate and ridiculous as observing a C-list, Irish-American holiday just for the hell of it, just for fun—which yes, was probably fueled by Frank’s alcoholism more than anything else, but also made something swell in Mickey’s insides that he didn’t quite know how to place.

And Mickey didn’t know how to let out that entire internal monologue to Ian while Debbie was standing within earshot. “Nah, man. Milkoviches don’t really do… holidays.”

Ian snaked a hand around Mickey’s back, giving his shoulder a squeeze, a grounding touch. He gets it.

“Well, get ready to have your mind blown, Mr. Gallavich, because we’re about to celebrate this hallowed occasion Gallagher style.”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, but let himself lean into Ian’s touch, lean his weight ever-so-slightly against Ian’s chest that was pressed behind him by the doorway. And, okay— as stupid as this was, maybe there was something sort of warm and solid about tradition, about hand-scribbled shamrocks and streamers on the wall, about having days to celebrate just because you wanted to, just because you could…

Just then Franny came hurdling into the room, wearing a baggy green t-shirt and a face-painted shamrock adorning her cheek.

Ian’s face lit up when she stopped in front of them. “Hey Franny! Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!”

Franny held out two bottles of beer to Ian and Mickey from where she had been hiding them behind her back.

“Mommy said I should give these to you when you came home!”

Mickey smirked, carefully taking the bottles from Franny’s outstretched hands. “Thanks, kiddo.”

And if all celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day took was knocking down a few beers on a weekday afternoon—well, Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that.

**

Of course, hours later Mickey realized how severely he’d underestimated Debbie’s enthusiasm— after lounging around the house waiting for the stream of Gallaghers to trickle in from their various daily activities, Debbie had rounded everyone up and they migrated to the Alibi as the sun was setting, where they’d met up with Kev and V and Lip and Tami, who (thank fucking god) looked as vaguely confused and fully apathetic about this whole “Saint Patrick’s Day” situation as Mickey did.

Now it was late, and Mickey was leaning against the bartop of the Alibi sipping a thick, foamy glass of Guinness, which was as close to embracing whatever-the-fuck Irish heritage his husband had as he was possibly going to get.

All of the Gallaghers were here, swirling around the room—Debbie had put on some sort of peppy music as Kev poured everyone drinks, and a couple of other Southside neighbors had heard the bass thrumming and joined the ruckus. The room wasn’t too crowded, but it was pleasantly full of bodies and chatter— Kev had bought bunches of shiny, tacky green mardi gras beads for everyone to wear, and the air in the room was festive and bordering on sloppy in a way that felt very different from how Mickey had envisioned this evening would go.

Mickey was pacing himself, because it was a Wednesday for fuck’s sake— but his husband was an entirely different story. Between the beers at home and the various drinks Debbie had been siphoning into his hands all night, Ian was teetering on the drunkest Mickey had seen him in years—which partially made the tiniest spark of trepidation start to creep into Mickey’s bloodstream, a spark that he immediately extinguished. It was one night, the first in a long time— Ian deserved to have some fun.

And he definitely, definitely was having fun— casually dancing with Debbie and Sandy and whoever else would humor him, grinning with red-hot cheeks and bright eyes— from across the room Mickey could tell how warm his skin would be if he pressed a hand against it, how flushed. Mickey wasn’t really in the mood for dancing, or whatever the fuck stumbling around and chatting and making friends Drunk Ian was up to for the evening, and he was perfectly content to nurse his drink at the bar— which is why it surprised him when Ian pulled himself out of the crowd, slightly stumbling over his own feet, and made the way across the room to where Mickey was leaning at the bar, immediately boxing him in and putting his hands square on Mickey’s waist. Mickey almost imperceptibly let in a sharp breath.

Ian looked down at him, all smiles and shiny eyes— when he spoke the scent of sweet, hot liquor danced on Mickey’s face and all he wanted was to be closer, to breathe it in.

“Are you having fun?” Ian’s right hand traced up Mickey’s side, then back down to its hold on his hipbone.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You and your leprechaun family don’t mess around, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled a lazy, tipsy smile, and pecked Mickey’s cheek before Mickey could be embarrassed about it.

“D’you wanna dance with me?”

Ian’s hands slid off of his hips and entangled with Mickey’s hands that had been hanging limply at his sides, walking backwards so their fingers were laced together an arm’s distance apart.

Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll leave showing the Irish pride to you and the rest of the drunken Gallaghers.”

Ian registered Mickey’s words and opened his mouth to reply, just as Debbie pulled Ian over by the arm.

“Stop sulking with Mickey and do more shots with me!”

Jesus Christ. Ian was going to be wrecked when their alarm went off for work in the morning, and Mickey was starting to debate if he was going to need to have a talking-to with Debbie about the appropriate amount of “Saint Patrick’s Day fun” they were allowed to partake in next year— but for now Ian was happy, and he could stomach one night of hardcore festivities.

Mickey stood at the bar for a while, watching Ian and Debbie get progressively more flushed as they bobbed through the crowd— and then, when Debbie had found some other victim in their mid-twenties to get even more shitfaced with, Ian made his way across the room to Mickey again, plopping onto the barstool beside him and heaving his bodyweight onto Mickey’s left side, burying his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. Mickey wrapped a tentative arm around Ian’s waist, trying to hold him up from slouching off of the barstool.

“M’tired.” Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath dancing on his collarbone as he slurred out the words, and felt Ian’s eyelids flutter shut against the side of his neck.

Ian was always giving Mickey measured casual touches, wherever they were—but it was so exceedingly rare that Ian fully let himself go like this, let himself be drunk and happy and just crumple into Mickey, without worrying about holding anyone else up. It felt new, but it felt good— Mickey let the solid weight of his husband’s body leaning against his press him down, rooting him into the Alibi’s sticky floors, feeling the clammy skin of Ian’s forehead that was solidly lodged into the side of Mickey’s neck.

He hated to admit it, but in that moment, something in Mickey was also frozen solid— as much as Mickey had grown in the past few years, something about these situations, about PDA or whatever, still made Mickey feel like he was treading water—like he was fighting to stay afloat while everyone’s eyes were on him, and the strong current was only lifted when he and Ian were in the dark safety of their bedroom. If Mickey was drunk at a bar and sloppily leaning onto Ian, there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that Ian would hold him, would gingerly touch him and caress him and do more to him than just prop him up— but something in Mickey still hesitated and flashed with warning signs in a crowded room full of people.

But Ian was still breathing hot on Mickey’s neck— so Mickey thought about what Ian would do, if it was Mickey who was tipsy and slumped on his shoulder. He tentatively raised his arm from where it was lying limply by his side, and started to run soothing circles onto Ian’s t-shirt, just above his hipbone where Mickey’s hand was holding Ian up by his waist.

Ian hummed in acknowledgement of the touch— and then he pressed a tender kiss to the crook of Mickey’s neck, where his face was buried. Fuck. Mickey just pulled him in closer, gently tugging Ian’s torso in by his belt loop to hold him steady.

Ian hummed again, then started to press kisses up and down Mickey’s neck. “You smell good.”

Mickey’s heart started to beat a little quicker, his blood running hotter than usual—and Ian couldn’t fucking do this now, while the rest of his family was milling around and dancing and wearing fucking mardi gras beads while flaunting their Gallagher pride.

Ian lifted his forehead off of Mickey’s shoulder, and gently bit at the underside of Mickey’s jaw—and Mickey thought he was going to combust right there, on the spot, in a room full of Gallaghers pressed against the bartop at the Alibi by his very drunk husband.

And in an act of excruciatingly inconvenient timing, Lip sidled up to the bar and sat on the barstool on Mickey’s other side, nursing what Mickey assumed (and hoped) was a diet Coke in a beer glass.

“Hey there, Mick. And, uh, Ian.”

Ian looked up from where he was very engrossed in continuing to nuzzle the opposite side of Mickey’s neck, and glared at Lip from across Mickey’s chest.

“Go away, Lip.” Ian collapsed his head back onto Mickey’s shoulder and closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s neck like a fucking boa constrictor. Mickey snaked an arm up around Ian’s back, holding him steady on the wobbly barstool.

Lip held back a laugh as he sipped his drink, then took a drag of the cigarette he was holding. “Seems like Ian’s done enough drinking to make our ancestors proud.”

Mickey took a sip of his own beer with his free hand. “Debbie made sure of that.”

Lip raised his eyebrows. “Damn. Guess we’d better keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t also have the Frank gene.”

Mickey grunted in acknowledgement, then took another sip of his beer, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Ian’s head shifted slightly on his shoulder— and Mickey realized he probably needed to haul Ian home ASAP, before he was even more sleepy and incoherent and unable to lug down the street.

Lip noticed Ian’s movement on Mickey’s shoulder and smirked. “I’ve gotta say, I’ve never seen Ian being this clingy before. Even with other guys—no offense, Mick— he usually stayed pretty contained. And you guys aren’t usually too into the PDA department.”

Mickey shrugged, trying not to jostle the heavy weight of where Ian’s head was hanging. Lip was right—he and Ian never really were all over each other, especially not like this, outside of the context of their room, when they were very much always all over each other.

Lip kept studying them, and the corner of his mouth eventually ticked upward. “It’s good. He’s definitely not this… comfortable with anyone else. Including me, which is definitely saying something.”

It felt weird, to get something like what felt like Lip’s full blessing at a raunchy Gallagher party months after he and Ian had gotten married—but that was also exactly what it felt like was happening.

Lip’s eyes suddenly darted across the room, to where Tami was holding up his coat and gesturing to the door. Lip rose from the barstool, stubbed out his cigarette, and put out a hand to clap Mickey on the shoulder as a goodbye.

“Catch up with you later, Mick.” Lip reached out and jokingly tousled Ian’s hair. “Make sure this one doesn’t hate himself too much tomorrow morning.”

Mickey smirked. Ian was practically asleep and drooling on his shoulder, his breathing turned steady—Mickey reached a hand up to card through his hair, then gently shrugged his shoulder to get Ian’s head to rise from where it was jammed on his neck.

Ian raised his head, his eyes bleary and confused at first, then softening around the edges when he met Mickey’s gaze.

“Alright, let’s get you home, carrottop.”

[atalho-s]

Light Up The Dark

Part 1 | June

pairing: bartender!tom x famous!reader

warnings: some smut +18 (in this particular chapter it’s nothing TOO explicit, but miniors be aware), swear words?, drinking, let me know if anything else!

words: 4.9 k

summary: y/n is a famous horror writer. Her books are on the lips of the people and her face is on all the magazine covers of promising young people.

She has just moved to Los Angeles, the city of celebrities and luxury, when she starts to get a writer's block as she starts writing her newest book. A way to distract herself and seek inspiration leads her to have her destiny mapped out with a simple waiter named Tom who has a delicious british accent.

What happens when her inspiration comes back only after she spends a night with him and she only manages to write after being in the company of that guy she just met? Maybe he'll become her newest addiction.

a/n: english it’s not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistake! this is a series i started writing a while ago, i hope y’all enjoy :) the reader it’s from brazil here, but you can replace from any country you want lol And obv i’m not from LA and never been there, so if i say something out of reality it’s bc of that 😂

"June arrived at the restaurant, sat down near the bar and looked around vaguely. The strange people's faces made her think better and maybe drink a shot of tequila too.

She opened his folder with the horrifying photos of the mysterious case. She felt sick to her stomach.

People said that by then she should have been used to see this kind of thing, but that was repulsive.

She wish the nightmare she had the night before was a way to solve that puzzle, but believing in the afterlife now wouldn't help her... If...If..."

- Damn it... - Y/n slammed her fist on the table. - Writer's block sucks. - She said and took the last sip of her tea.

It s been a week since she couldn't write anything. She would write maybe two paragraphs, maybe even three if she got lucky, but she always ended up erasing it, because she always turned into something meaningless or too cliche.

Damn the time she had promised to deliver something to her editor by the end of the month. But she hadn't counted on the lack of ideas when she agreed to that.

She got up from her chair in frustration and crossed her arms, pacing, as if her creativity had gone out for a walk and she was waiting impatiently for it to come back.

Why had she agreed to write a new book in the first place? She didn't need money. Their previous four books were already making huge profits, and they were going to make a new television series based on one of them.

So why writing another one? Maybe because, she had been having too many nightmares lately. Many family and friends told her to see a psychologist, see if she didn't have some hidden trauma. But looking for a psychologist? Admitting your weaknesses and personal things to a stranger? Never. That would be horrifying.

Writing helped. Transferring his fears to pages was hers gift. When she wrote she didn't have nightmares, didn't see things, wasn't sad. It was like a drug, a calming medicine.

Maybe fame was also making her restless lately. She hated being the spotlight, being the magazine cover of promising young people. She hated to see her name highlighted. But she loved having readers, yes. She loved when someone felt good reading her books or in the good sense of the word: terrified by her stories.

At the height of her 25 years, he never thought her books would become famous at that point. She had always enjoyed writing since she was a child, but working with it was just an unattainable dream. Until, at age 19, she quit her hideous job as a hotel receptionist and decided to publish her first story.

Obviously there were many rejections, until a publisher agreed to publish their work. From then on, her books became more and more known. They called her the new horror genius, the mystery queen, and sometimes even "Stephen King's lost daughter."

She didn't think it was all that. But she accepted the descriptions gladly. No wonder her books didn't come out of the top spot on the best sellers.

Another thing that motivated her to continue with that story, was a phrase from her own idol mentioned, Stephen King: "good stories are those that stay in the head for a long time". And God only knew how that story had been with her for far too long. She always wanted to put it down on paper, so here she was trying to put into words what her head brought up as random thoughts.

But now she was having one of his first creative blocks. Obviously she had already had it with previous books, but nothing as frustrating as this one. She had been trying hard for days, which was exhausting.

She looked at the clock on the wall: 11pm. Who knows if she took another break before starting writing again? Maybe it would help to come up with more ideas.

She thought about watching a show or movie, but he wasn't in the mood. She looked at her long polka dot pajamas under her favorite warm robe and snorted. Go out? On a Thursday night? On a cold night? No way.

But what if it helped her have more writing material? Watching people on the street really helped. If June, the character in her book, was in a bar, maybe if she went to one too it would help to have something to build on.

Writers did it all the time. Describe places that already existed, situations similar to which they lived. So, it wouldn't be new. Maybe she'd even put the location in her tribute if helped she got out of her creative block.

She took a deep breath and went to take a shower. It was decided, she would go out. She put on her best jeans, a Ramones T-shirt with a leather jacket. It wasn't a fancy outfit, but she didn't intend to go somewhere fancy anyway. Her stylist would have been dying to see her now, but she didn't care one bit.

She went out pressing the bottom of the elevator. Y/n had lived on the top floor of a building for 2 months, right in downtown Los Angeles. Sometimes she didn't even know why she chose to live there, she hated the big city and what came with it: paparazzi, celebrities, crazy people who feel superior, wealth and luxury. She came from a humble family, so she always felt like an outsider.

Y/n arrived downstairs and left the condominium calling a taxi that was passing in the street just in time. She walked in and closed the door, crossing her arms, trying to ward off the cold.

- Good night miss, where are you going? - the driver asked looking at her in the rearview mirror.

- Good night... Actually I don't know, do you have any suggestions for a bar around here?- she asked looking out the window. She didn't even bother to look for suggestions for places nearby.

- Well, it depends on what you're looking for... Something luxurious or something fun? - He said and a smiled played on the corer of her mouth. Luxurious was the opposite of fun indeed.

- Something fun, of course.

- So, I suggest the new Seven Devils bar, it's less than 20 minutes from here... - he said.

- Interesting name... Could be. - She said shrugging.

- The name is kinda creepy, but the place is cozy and welcoming, I went once. - the driver said starting and entering the street that was practically empty for being a weekday.

- Cool... - Y/n said looking at the city lights through the window.

After nearly twenty minutes the taxi stopped in front of what appeared to be a small door with a security guard in front of it. The neon sign indicated the name of the place, it seemed a mysterious place for those who passed by without knowing it.

- Thanks. - Y/n said handing the driver the money.

- You're not the Y/n Y/l/n? I didn't want to say anything, but I'm a fan of you, I love your books, they help me pass the time while I wait for passengers. - the driver asked turning a little with one of the Y/n books in his hand. - Could you sign this for me?

- Sure! - Y/n spoke excitedly taking the book from his hand and leaving a message along with her signature. - Thanks for the tip of the place. Have a good night... - She said opening the door.

- No, thank you, have a good night miss. -he said and she smiled closing the door and the taxi left leaving her alone looking at the door in front of her.

She approached the security guard who wished her good night, giving her room to enter, after she showed her ID. Y/n entered a little afraid of what she would find. The door behind her closed and she looked around. It was really cozy as the taxi driver said, it had a part with several tables, which were a little empty and a bar with stools around. The place had a good atmosphere, one of those that people go there to meet and chat with friends, in the background there was a kind of pop song that she wasn't sure if she knew or not.

He slowly approached the bar and sat down on one of the stools. A woman with several tattoos appeared behind the counter and came to serve her.

- Good night! How can I serve you?- she asked with a smile.

- Good night... Hm... Maybe a martini? - Y/n said taking a look at the drinks on the shelf behind the attendant.

- Okay, I'll be back with your order, anything else?

- That's it for now, thanks. - She replied smiling and the attendant walked away.

Y/n kept looking around, watching people, maybe looking for some inspiration. Something that would turn the key in his mind. Many who were there were in groups of friends and were talking animatedly, laughing. Some young and some older, in suits and ties, perhaps coming out of work.

Until one guy in particular caught her attention. He wore the black uniform with the name of the place, with an apron tied around the waist of the same color, and was picking up some glasses from some empty tables. He had dark brown hair slicked back and eyes the same color, very expressive and large. A boy's face from the outside, but on the inside had a mysterious and confident air.

He balanced a tray full of things with an greatest skill in one hand and smiled at some people, he seemed charming because everytime he left a table he left people whispering and giggling embarrassed behind his back.

He walked over and entered the bar placing the tray behind the counter, came close to the other attendant who already had the Y/n martini ready and she could hear him talking, soon realizing he had a perfect accent.

- Sally, you can leave it to me, go take your break. Whose martini is it?- he asked taking a look around.

- Oh thank you, my feet are killing me. It's the girl over there. -she said indicating Y/n with her head and he looked at her, making Y/n realize that she was staring at him for too long, so she looked away embarrassed.

- Okay. - he said looking at where Y/n was sitting and stopped in front of her with the glass. - Good night miss, here is your order. - He spoke with a british accent. Only at that moment did Y/n realize that his accent was well loaded and God only knows how much she loved that accent.

- Oh yes, thank you very much. - She said raising her eyes to look at him and smiled then he blinked with one of his eyes and gave her one more look, before going to deliver another order to a man who was sitting a few benches away.

Y/n felt a shiver all of a sudden, that boy had made her legs a little weak and she didn't really know why. I mean, he was handsome, very handsome and he had a special charm, but it wasn't that much, was it? Maybe it was because it had been a while since she'd dated anyone. When was the last time? Two months ago? Since she had moved in she hadn't gone out with anyone, she had locked herself in her apartment and was writing like crazy. She didn't have time to go out, not even with her friends when she was working on a new book. Which brought them dissatisfaction from time to time, not just because she didn't hang around with them, but because she didn't even go out on one-night stands.

She never been the one that going out with a guy just for sex, she had to have some good first dates and maybe she would take him to see her apartment or go to his apartment. Friends of hers thought she was too old in her spirit, but what can he do? If she couldn't be bad girl once in a while. For a moment she thought, "For this english guy I would be" but shook her head away from the thoughts. She went back to analyzing him, dammit why did he have to be so fit? She could see that the T-shirt he was wearing highlighted his muscles that were only left to her imagination, she found herself biting her lip a bit and snatching her martini off the counter, taking a big sip.

The attendant approached again, drying some glasses with a towel, and took one more look in her direction where she looked away quickly making him smirk. He stopped in front of her again, bracing her arms on the counter, making her swallow hard. He didn't know why she was so nervous, he was just a guy, no biggie.

- I like the shirt. - He pointed with a smile, which made her think he had a beautiful and endearing smile. She looked down and then looked at him smiling too.

- Thank you... Ramones is everything... - she said and drank the last sip of her drink placing the empty glass in front of her right after. - Can you serve one more?

- Sure...- he said, still smiling, took the bottle and filled his glass again. - Trying to distract yourself on a thursday night?

- Yeah... you could say yes... - she said taking another sip. - Have you worked here for a long time?

- In fact, it's been almost six months since I moved to the United States and I've been working here for four months. -he said putting the towel that was in his hand on his shoulder.

- Hm... You're from London?

- I am, wow how did you find out? - he asked raising an eyebrow playfully and she smiled.

- Yeah, your accent really doesn't give out anything ... - she said and he gave a low laugh making her have more goose bumps.

- You also have a different accent, have you lived here for a long time? - he didn't know who she was, which was good. But it also wasn't like she was recognized all the time, despite her face being on magazine covers, she was still a writer, so she was only recognized by those who liked to read or who vaguely remembered her face.

- I was born in Brazil actually, but I've lived here for years, lived in another city for almost five years and now I've decided to come to Los Angeles two months ago...

- I see ... - he said organizing some drinks that were on the counter. - Do you like it here?

- More or less... It's a busy city, isn't it?

- Yeah, it's not for anyone. - He said shrugging. - I like it, I like the rush, but the glamor part really isn't me. - the attendant said and she smiled.

- You're right... I mean, I don't like the glam too much either... - She looked away at her nails.

- What do you work with? - he asked and she looked at him again.

- I'm a writer...

- Nice! What do you write? - He asked curious looking at her with attention.

- I write horror and thriller books.

- Interesting... I would never read, actually I'm not much of a reader anyway, but I wouldn't, because I'm terrified of those things. - He said crossing his arms and she laughed.

- Oh, it's not that terrifying, it's just stories. - She said leaning her elbows on the counter.

- Still, I prefer to have my good night's sleep intact. - He said and she laughed making him smile looking at her.

When she was about to say something, a customer signaled for him and he excused himself going towards the man who was furthest away.

Y/n sighed. She still didn't have any new ideas about her story, but she was entertained by that conversation. She liked not being recognized, she liked him not being interested in her books, for a moment she felt oblivious to anything, liked feeling disconnected from her world.

He returned shortly after and they started talking again. They talked about bands, movies, superficial celebrities and even politics (an important topic in Y/n's vision, who was very firm with her ideas, thankfully he had passed the test). She found out that he was the same age as her and that he moved to the US to look for something that would give him money or a perspective on life, ended up getting that job and intended to stay until he found a different area. The hours passed and they kept finding subjects to give their opinion or questions to ask each other.

- Did you go to college? - she asked after a while.

- No, I don't think I'm smart enough for that, or have the patience. What about you?

- Everyone is smart enough. I started going to business school, but I dropped out when my books started to pay off...

- Wow, your books should give you a good amount of money to be able to drop out of college and dedicate yourself to them...

- Yeah... You could say that. - She shrugged.

- You know looking at you closer like that...- he said getting a little closer and she held her breath for a moment. - I've seen you somewhere...

- Really? - She said raising her eyebrow and drinking from a straw, now with a different drink.

- I don't know, you're not strange to me... - he said putting his hand on his face thoughtfully.

- Well, I hope it's from somewhere nice. - She smiled and he smiled back looking at her. - Do you have a girlfriend or are you married? - Y/n asked and regretted a little, what was she thinking? He wasn't married, as he didn't have a ring on his finger as she'd noticed. But what was her intention by asking that question? She didn't even know, she just knew it had escaped her.

- Neither darling. - He replied smiling a little mischievously and she felt butterflies with the way he called her by that nickname and with that accent. - How about you?

- Neither ... - She replied avoiding looking at him, those eyes hypnotized her and she didn't like to feel at his mercy of a guy she had just met. She took the cell phone disguising but paid attention to the time. - My God, it's already 2:00 in the morning! I completely missed the time.

- I think the company ended up distracting you. - He said still not taking his eyes off her and she felt her cheeks heat up.

- Yeah, the chat was really good... But I have to go... - she said getting up.

- If you wait I can take you home, I'm already leaving, the bar is already closing. - he said and Y/n looked around seeing that some waiters were already collecting some things from the tables.

She thought for a moment, take a ride home with him? It didn't make sense, she had just met him, but at the same time she had enjoyed talking to him so much. He didn't seem like a bad person, but even so you would never know for sure. At the same time she never took any chances, why not let that pretty boy take her home? Finally, she thought: you know what? Screw this.

-Erm, ok...- She shrugged. - I'll go to the cashier to pay and wait for you outside?

- No need to pay darling, it's on me. - He spoke winking and she smiled.

- Oh no, I'll pay no problem...

- Your company has paid off your debt, it's ok. - He replied and she took a deep breath rolling her eyes.

- If you insist...- she said giving up.

He came out from behind the counter and motioned for her to follow him, arriving at the front door where the security was.

- Tuwaine, you can let her pass, it's on me. - He told the big guy and he looked at the english man, sawing his eyes suspiciously and smiling right away. Making Y/n laugh inside.

- Meet you outside? It will only take a few minutes - the attendant said and she nodded, leaving in the cold night.

She leaned against the door with her thoughts. She had come here just to get inspiration and to have her creative back, but she was coming home with an english guy. She didn't even recognize herself anymore, but to say she wasn't anxious (in a good way) was a lie.

She was lost in her thought, until minutes later he came out wearing a denim jacket, which made him look even more handsome.

- Let's go? - He said and she followed him to an old car parked right in front of the bar.

He opened the door for her to get in and she thanked him by sitting in the passenger seat, pulling on her seat belt as he closed the door. He sat down next to her right away, also putting on his belt.

- Hey, before we go: I didn't ask for your name! If you're going to take me home at least I have to know that- she asked realizing that she didn't even know that yet and he looked towards her smiling.

- Tom Holland. - He said stretching his hand. - Nice to meet you.

- Y/n Y/l/n- she said, squeezing his hand. And you can't deny that she felt butterflies in her stomach as she felt her skin on hers.

- Your name is not strange to me, I must have read it in one of your books in some shop window. - He said starting and leaving with the car.

- Yeah, who knows ... - she said and he turned on the radio leaving the volume low.

They were exchanging a few words until she indicated that they had arrived at the building where she lived. Tom parked and looked up in a daze.

- Wow, you really have money... - he said and she took off her belt turning towards him.

- A little bit...- she replied crossing her arms. - Well, thank you so much for the ride...

- You're welcome darling. - He said turning his eyes to her. Again that nickname that sounded perfect on his lips.

She turned around, but when she was about to open the door, she turned back to Tom, who was leaning with one hand on the steering wheel and watching her with attention. The next words escaped her again and she was afraid she'd regret it.

- Tom, do you want to come in? - She spoke still holding the door and the boy smiled.

- Sure ... - he said taking the key from the ignition and she shook her head slightly leaving.

He followed her and they entered the building. Tom looked at everything admired which made Y/n smile a little to herself. They entered the elevator and she pressed the penthouse button causing him to raise an eyebrow.

- You really must be a great writer. - he said and she laughed.

He leaned his back against the elevator wall, putting his hands in his pocket and looking her up and down, making her shy. He kept looking at her and it was making her nervous.

They were silent until the elevator opened after a while and they got out. Y/n put a password on the door and it swung open with a small click, she took held the latch and motioned for Tom to enter.

After the two of them entered she closed the door again behind her and watched Tom standing further on, looking around.

- Nice apartment...- he finally said.

- Thank you... - She leaned against the table at the entrance. She didn't know what to do next, maybe it had been a bad idea to bring him here. Why was she so impulsive that night? -Tom, I don't know why I invite you in, sorry...-she said a little nervous looking at her feet. He turned towards her, approaching and stopping in front of her.

- Are you sure you don't know? - He asked and she raised her head, seeing those brown eyes. She bit her bottom lip watching him closely. Damn he knew how to hypnotize her. He took another step and placed a hand on either side of her on the table, cornering her - Your body says otherwise, love... - he said softly feeling her breath hitch slowly and approaching his face to hers, alternating the look of your eyes to her lips. Y/n found another nickname that was perfect when he say.

He finally closed the distance by pressing his lips to hers. His lips were soft and warm, as if they were meant to be kissed. She returned the kiss willingly and when she laced her fingers in his neck, he licked her lower lip slowly asking for passage in which she opened them letting his tongue explore her mouth.

His hands gripped her waist and roamed her body greedily. As he kissed her, he caught her from behind her legs and sat her down on the entrance table, biting her bottom lip shortly after, provoking a low moan from her. He smiled against her lips and trailed kisses to her neck, attacking her skin with desire, making her throw her head back a little.

She grabbed his hair and pulled him back so she could kiss him. Which he gladly reciprocate. His kiss was urgent, but without being rude, he tasted like mint, making her want him even more.

His fingers found the button of her pants and he undid them quickly pulling them out, tossing them aside. When he came back he took her calf and kissed her leg up to her thighs, making her sigh. He moved up the kisses until he caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it up a little, kissing her stomach as well. Y/n didn't know what to do but feel goose bumps with every touch he gave. He then hiked up her shirt and she lifted her arms where he pulled her off, tossing along with her pants that were also on the floor.

She was just wearing her underwear in front of him, it made her a little excited and embarrassed at the same time, but the way he looked at her made her feel confident. He went back to kissing her body, this time kissing each covered breast in turn and reaching for the back of her bra and opening it. She helped him out tosiing to the side and he stood between her legs just watching her for a second, making her feel her cheeks heat up.

- Perfect... - he said with a low voice, as it was for himself and bent down to her breasts kissing each one of her nipples and then sucking them deliciously. Y/n moaned and bit her lip to keep her moans from getting louder, tangling her fingers in his hair again. He looked into her eyes for a few seconds and smiled slightly lowering his kisses to where she wanted him most.

He reached the hem of her panties and pulled them out slowly, kneeling between her legs and she looked at him with expectation. He returned the look and gave that smirk again.

- Look at you darling.... - That damn nickname. - Extremely wet and I haven't even touched you yet... - he said approaching and devouring her right away making her throw her head back with pleasure, biting her lips again to not sound so pathetic with her moans that insisted in wanting get out. - Oh, please don't drown out those wonderful sounds you make, I want to hear how good I'm making you feel. - He said in a husky tone, returning to his task after and she parted her lips letting her moans spread through the apartment.

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Y/n woke up the other day in her bed. She didn't even know how she got there, she just had flashes of the night before and how good she felt in each moment. She stretched and looked to the side seeing she was alone. She got up and put on a robe who was on the side of the bed.

After going to the bathroom and doing her morning hygiene routine she walked around the apartment looking around to see if Tom was somewhere else in the house, but found nothing. Which was understandable, it wasn't like she expected him to stay there and have breakfast with her and all.

She arrived in the kitchen and made black coffee and lean against the countertop. What that simple waiter had done to her was ridiculous, in a good sense, she felt great and kept remembering that accent that was stuck in her mind. He had consumed her in a way she had never imagined it she could be.

Taking a deep breath she set down turning her notebook on. Then opened her book and started writing.