#(head in hands bass boosted)

[hlxtn]

Im home from work and on my way home i listened to my HQ jock playlist and I cant stop thinking about a frat party and Tsumu being an insufferable loud asshole. The backwards cap makes me go fucking crazy

Like these types of pants and they hung so low on his hips. Just give him a tank top or jersey and im fucking feral im bawling my eyes out rn this the vibe i want him to have

I will make it my life mission to find a cocky smirking manipulative toxic jock atsumu fic and share it with everyone

If its the last thing i do, research starts after work

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (45/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Let's get this party started - part two.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, slight jealousy

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: happy two-chapter-week! I miss F1 already and I'm in denial that we have to wait so long. feedback is appreciated!

You have never seen so many buttons in your life. 

Levers, switches, buttons and knobs, all of which certainly have different meanings, but as you stand next to Martin on the stage, you can't imagine what each one of them is for. 

The DJ taps you on the shoulder and takes one earcup of his headphones off his ears before pointing to the DJ booth. “When I give you the sign, press this one, okay?”

You pull the headphones down before looking a little confused from him to the button in question. ”This one?” 

Without hesitation, Martin grabs your hand and guides it to the button you are about to press. Unlike Charles's skin on yours, his feels somehow wrong. You suppress the urge to pull your hand away. 

You gently place your finger on the button and wait for his signal. Through the DJ booth, you feel the vibration of the music in your body, the bass in your bones, and as you look out over the crowd, you see your friends in front of you on the dance floor. Kika smiles at you and holds out her cocktail glass as if to toast with you. 

When you look at Charles, you see that his eyes are fixed on Martin. Without blinking, he looks at him before noticing your gaze and smiling at you briefly and coldly before leaving the group and disappearing towards the bar. Pierre looks up at you briefly before following his buddy. 

“Are you ready?” Martin smiles at you, and when you put your headphones back on, you give him a thumbs up. He counts down the seconds with his fingers before pointing at you, and when you press the button in front of you, the bass drops and the crowd cheers. Hidden cannons shoot confetti into the air, silver and black paper shreds fly through the room and stick to the sweaty bodies of the party guests, while Martin – with your help – gets the party pumped up. 

With pure talent and impressive precision, Martin pushes levers up and down, turns volume controls and boosts the bass so that you can literally feel the music vibrating in your bones. 

And it feels fantastic.

With your headphones on and your cocktail glass in hand, you dance next to him on the podium, enjoying the music and the atmosphere, but when you open your eyes, you can't help but scan the room for Charles. 

There are a lot of people at the bar and you think you see Pierre's head somewhere in between, but when you think you feel Charles's gaze on you and meet his eyes, the feeling disappears again. You stretch and yank, but the only thing you can see are dancing and laughing people having the time of their lives. 

Someone nudges you from the side and when you turn around, Kika and Elena are standing next to you. The Portuguese woman grabs your headphones before putting them on and then sticks her thumb up – even though she's definitely too drunk to notice a difference. 

You lean a little towards Elena. “How much has she had to drink?” you grin, nodding at your best friend, who is now staring at the DJ booth with as much concentration as possible, repeatedly reaching out to press one of the buttons, but Martin keeps slapping her hand lightly to stop her from ruining his gig. 

“Since you came up here – two cocktails and a shot, I think,” Elena replies, looking past you towards Kika. ”I told Pierre to get her a glass of water from the bar. But I don't know if he'll actually do it.”

You purse your lips. “I think Lando would knock the glass of water out of his hand.” Confused, you look around. “Where is he, anyway?”

Elena shrugs. “He wanted to make a quick phone call or something. He just got a call and immediately disappeared outside. He even left his glass behind,” she explains and puts Lando's drink down next to Martin's desk before taking a pull on her own straw, earning a dirty look from the DJ. Apparently, he's afraid that Lando's glass will tip over and break his expensive equipment. “Apparently, it was very important. Anyway, he jumped up as if he'd been stung by a tarantula.”

You try to hide your curiosity, but the alcohol in your blood thwarts your plans. “Do you know who called?” you ask her loudly enough for her but not for anyone else to hear. 

“I just glanced at the screen when it was on the table and then it lit up,” she replies, taking another sip of her drink. ”I think it was one of his Formula 1 buddies. But I couldn't see it clearly.”

You are about to say something when Kika throws her arms around your neck and almost spills her cocktail on your beautiful dress. One of her arms is around your shoulders and pulls you so close to her that you can feel her warm breath on your skin. You gently kiss her on the temple. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

The young woman nods and grins at you. “Are you having fun?” she asks, leaning against you so that you have to support her. 

“I am,” you reply and reach for her glass to take it from her. You take a sip of her cocktail. ‘Do you want some water?’ you ask her, but Kika shakes her head vehemently. You have to laugh. ”Water isn't poisonous. And I don't think a glass would hurt you.”

“Boooooooo,” Kika utters, trying to take her glass back, but you successfully keep it out of her reach. ”All right. One glass of water. But only because otherwise I'll get in trouble with Pierre tomorrow when I complain about a heavy hangover.”

You nod and lovingly hand her over to Elena, who smiles at you. “I'll take care of her. She won't destroy Martin's setup.‘ She glances at the DJ before turning back to you. "I think he'd kill us all if we poured Piña Colada over his mixer.”

You glance past her. Martin seems completely absorbed and focused on his music. When he glances in your direction, he smiles at you and points to his desk, as if to ask you to join him again. But you shake your head slightly and raise your hand to your mouth, thumb and pinkie extended. Then you leave the podium. 

Although the club is not too big and the distance from your friends to the bar is not too far, you feel like the few steps are taking forever. With your shoulders hunched, you push through the crowd, squeezing between sweaty, dancing people, until the crowd thins out and you can take a deep breath. You quickly run your fingers through your hair, which is stuck to the back of your neck, and then approach the bar. 

“Four glasses of water, please,” you order from the attractive bartender, drumming your fingers on the marble slab in front of you until someone leans against your left side.

“I hope one of the glasses is for Kika,” Pierre smiles at you and takes two of the glasses from the bartender. ”Sometimes she forgets that she's human and will have a bad hangover if she doesn't drink water from time to time.”

You nod gratefully at the woman behind the bar and reach for the water too. “Then it's a good thing that two of the glasses are for your girlfriend then,” you reply. You look around. “Where is Charles? I thought you went to the bar together.”

The Frenchman nods. “We did. After we both had two shots, he wanted to go out for a bit of fresh air. Take a deep breath and all that,” he explains. As you are about to take a step forward, he raises his arm to gently hold you back. 

You look at him, confused. “Are you okay?”

“He likes you,” Pierre says. When you look at him confused, he smiles at you and gently puts an arm around your shoulders, careful not to spill the water on your dress. "I've never seen Charles so happy. And never so... open?" He leans his head against yours briefly.

A little unsure, you smile at him. “What exactly do you mean?”

Pierre purses his lips. 'With Annika, he was so stiff and somehow the relationship never seemed real, although I think he really liked her. And from the outside, everything always seemed perfect. They always had perfect photos for Instagram, totally staged, and if you knew Charles personally, you knew that something was wrong. And in the end, it was.”

While the two of you make your way back through the crowd to your friends, you can't help but continue to investigate. “How – well – did you like her? Annika, I mean?”

Pierre pushes you past two girls who are jumping up and down wildly. ”I guess you mean before she cheated on Charles?”

“Um – yes.”

Kika's boyfriend shakes his head. “I just had a bad feeling about her. Until they broke up, nothing ever happened that would have justified that lousy feeling. She was always friendly and easy to talk to. But – well. It seems my feeling wasn't wrong.”

You smile at him. “Apparently you have a good sense of people. Charles is lucky to have someone like you by his side.”

“That's for sure,“ he grins. ”But I think he still likes you best by his side. Anyway, you can see how happy he is since you've been with him. And he's genuinely happy. Not that fake, put-on happiness.” He lets you go ahead as you both climb the stairs to the platform. 

Once at the top, you wait for him. ”Do you think so?”

“Anyone who sees it differently is either stupid or blind. The whole time we were getting the pizza and he was looking for a dress for you, he couldn't stop talking about you. If I didn't like you both so much, I would have told him to shut up,” Pierre laughs. 

“Who should shut up?” Kika and Elena join you. The Portuguese woman leans with her whole body against her boyfriend, who holds the water glass to her lips so that she can drink from it. She empties it within seconds.

“Nobody should shut up,” you reply and take a sip of water as well, passing one to Elena, who accepts it with a smile. 

Pierre rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. "I just told her that Charles can't stop talking about her and that it would be annoying if the two weren't our friends,’ he explains, kissing his girlfriend on the temple. 

“That's not annoying,” Kika grins before looking at you. However, her words are directed at Pierre. ‘If only they would talk to each other as much as they talk to us about each other, then we wouldn't be the only couple in this group of friends.”

With wide-open eyes, you stare at her in outrage. ’Kika!”

“I'm sorry!” she apologizes, but she definitely doesn't mean it. She breaks away from the Frenchman and gives you a big hug. ‘I just want what's best for you. And I'm sure that Charles is what's best for you. And if you need time to find each other, then that's that,’ she smiles at you and kisses you on the cheek. “And when the time comes, I'll pop the champagne corks and be the flower girl at your wedding.”

You laugh and throw your head back. Even if you tried, you could never stay mad at Kika for long. “Flower girl? I thought you'd be my maid of honor, no?”

She grins at you like a little kid who has just been given permission to raid a candy store. “That's even better!” She throws herself completely into your arms, almost making you drop your water glass. “I'll be the best maid of honor ever! This is going to be so cool!”

“Cherié, I think you're forgetting that she's not even engaged yet, let alone in a committed relationship,” Pierre reminds the pretty Portuguese woman. "It's going to be a while before she actually gets married.”

She turns her head to her boyfriend with a nasty look. ’And even if it takes a thousand years – I'll. be. the. maid. of. honor.”

You look at her pursing your lips. “I hope it doesn't actually take a thousand years for me to get married.”

“Should I tell Charles to hurry up with the proposal?” Pierre grins, and you give him the middle finger, grinning. 

“What should I hurry with?” As you turn around, Charles is standing in front of you. In his hands, he is holding a tray with a few shot glasses filled with red or green liquid. All heads turn to him, but no one says anything. The Monegasque raises his eyebrows. "What should I hurry with?", he repeats, visibly confused. 

“With the drinks!” Elena breaks the silence of the group and walks smiling to him to free him from the tray. Without spilling a single glass, she takes it out of his hand and walks around it so that everyone can take one. When she stops in front of Kika and you, she grins and pushes her water glass into your best friend's hand. ”This drink is especially for you.”

Kika sniffs at the glass with shining eyes. “What is it?”

“Skinny Bitch. Vodka with soda,” explains Elena, holding out the tray so you can take a shot glass of it. She leans forward a little towards you and out of the corner of your eye you can see Kika looking suspiciously at the drink in her hand. “Just without the vodka.”

Martin, who was just standing at the DJ booth, rejoins you and stands next to you, one arm around your shoulders, and grabs one of the small glasses as well. You don't need to look in Charles' direction to know that his gaze darkens a shade. “Have any of you seen Lando? He was about to go to the DJ booth too.”

“I'm here!” The young guy from Britain is jogging up the steps to the podium and stops next to Charles. His cheeks are red and the shirt, which was just tucked into his trousers, is now hanging off his shoulders with another two buttons undone. ‘Have I missed something?’ He looks briefly from Charles to you and Martin before running his hand through his curly hair. “All right, party poopers.” He also takes a glass from Elena's tray. ”Let's get this party started!”

After the group has downed their shots – and Kika, her not-so-skinny-bitch – Martin pulls you back to the DJ booth with Lando in tow. You glance over your shoulder and see your roommate clenching his jaw as Pierre grabs him by the shoulder and starts a conversation with him. 

“Are you okay?” Lando asks you as you take your seats next to Martin. He grabs the abandoned headphones and hands one to you. 

You put it on your head. “Um – yes, I think so.” You suppress the urge to turn back to the rest of your group of friends. “Where were you?” you counter with a question of your own to change the subject. 

Your friend can't suppress the smile that creeps across his face. “I was just on the phone,” he replies, avoiding eye contact with you, but the tips of his ears turn red – and it's definitely not because of the alcohol or the warmth in the club. 

You bite your lip. “On the phone? With whom?”

“Not important.” He takes a deep breath before looking at you. "And what about you? Have you danced with Charles yet?" You open your mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. The Brit has to laugh. “The man buys you a beautiful dress in which you look incredibly stunning, and he puts on a complementary shirt so that you both show up here in matching outfits – yes, I noticed – and then you don't dance with each other? Do I have to force you to do that or –”

“I can't dance with him if I'm constantly being pulled away by my friends to either get drinks at the bar or to press buttons that I don't even know what they do.” You raise an eyebrow and nod in the direction of Martin, who is absorbed in the music again. 

“Shall I show you which button does what?“ your buddy asks you, but you shake your head. 

“I'm fine. I think I'm more of a listener than a composer,” you smile, leaning against Lando as he puts his arm around your shoulder. 

“You seem to be pushing Charles' buttons, that's for sure. He keeps staring at you like he wants to either eat you up right away or take you home.” His eyes flicker past your face towards Charles, but somehow you don't dare to follow his gaze. 

“Lando...”

“You know I'm right. Even if you're afraid of it,” he smiles at you and nudges you in the side. ‘Why are you hesitating? It's obvious that you both want each other.”

You shrug your shoulders and look at your shoes. ’He's my best friend. And I don't want to lose him.”

“Do you really think you would lose him if you told him how you feel?”

“To be honest – I don't want to risk it,” you admit. ”He's the most important person in my life. And if friendship – or whatever it is between us – is all I get from him, then that's it. I've already come to terms with that.”

He purses his lips. “That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.” He leans his head against yours, but pulls it away immediately when Charles joins you. “Speak of the devil,” he says just for you to hear, and steps closer to Martin to give you some privacy. 

Charles stands next to you and puts his arm around your waist. His cheeks are red and warm and a few brown strands of hair are stuck to his forehead. Beautiful. “Hi.”

You smile at him. ”Hi back.”

“Are you okay? I feel like I've barely seen you since we entered the club.” He gently pulls you closer so you can rest your head on his shoulder. ”I missed you.”

His words make your heart beat faster. “I'm sorry about that,” you reply. “I was just dragged along and had to play DJ even though I have no idea how to.”

Your roommate smiles at you. “We haven't even danced together.” His other hand also rests on your hip, positioning himself behind you. His chin rests on your shoulder and you feel his breath on your skin. “You're only here with Martin all the time.”

You giggle slightly as his beard brushes your neck. ”Are you jealous?” 

He presses a fleeting kiss on the hollow between your neck and shoulder. “Me, jealous? Never.”

Just as you want to remind him that he was recently jealous of the friendship between you and Lando and even admitted it under purple skies, Lando waves you both over to him. Hesitantly, you separate from each other and join them, but like magnets you find each other again; Charles' chest against your back and his hand on your hip. 

“Do you have a song request?” Lando asks, pointing to the mixing desk. ‘Martin's letting me use it and I thought I might be able to do you both a favor,’ he grins, and when his eyes flicker over to you, you would like to pour Kika's not-so-skinny-bitch into his face. 

You're about to shake your head when Charles breaks away from you to express his wish to Lando. His hand remains on your hip as Martin makes room for Lando and moves to your other side. 

He smiles at you and then points from you to Charles. “You two seem to get along very well.” You nod in agreement. “But you're not together.”

You shake your head. “Like Charles already said – we are best friends,” you repeat the words of the Monegasque, who suddenly turns his head jerkily in your direction. 

The warm smile has suddenly vanished from his face and he looks at you with a sparkle in his eyes, which you can't place. His hand on your hip tightens a little. 

“Well, I wanted to ask you if you...“ the DJ begins his sentence, but before he can finish it, Charles pulls you back to him. 

“I think we're going home now,” your roommate announces and says goodbye to his friends without further ado. However, he doesn't give a reasonable reason. 

Lando looks at you both with confusion, but his expression quickly changes to a grin when he realizes why Charles wants to go home. “Have a safe trip home.” He puts on his headphones and changes the song to Charles' request. 

Your roommate pulls you towards the exit so quickly that you just barely have time to wish Kika, Pierre and Elena a pleasant evening – thanks to the water, Kika is on her way to a headache-free morning – before Charles grabs you and pushes you forward like a man possessed. 

“Charles, what?”

“Best friend,” he repeats your words with a murmur. ”I'll show you what a best friend I can be.”

It's only when you reach the exit that you notice that Talking Body by Tove Lo is playing.

[nottysnake]

like real lovers do

☆pairing: theodore nott x reader

★wc: 1.7k

☆genre: fluff, angst

★summary: theodore keeps getting into fights and you need to know why. 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

loud. that’s all your head could process with the boosted bass coming from the speakers in the middle of the slytherin common room. 

“fuck, it stinks in here.” pansy says, sitting on my right. “mattheo threw the party this time. what do you expect, no weed?”i say. pansy snorts, “yeah right, he couldn’t last an hour without it, he’d ended up assaulting someone.” “that’s not true pans and you know it. that “someone” would be dead, not injured,” mattheo says, coming up from behind the couch we are sitting on, arm wrapped around theodore’s broad shoulders. i look up and see theo, finally seeing his face up close and not from across the room. “woah what the fuck happened to your face?” the flashing green lights can’t mask the big purple, swelling bruise forming on the bottom left of his jaw. i quickly sit up on my knees, turning to face theo while leaning against the back of the velvet dark green couch, courtesy of mr. malfoy.

 i reach up and carefully place my hand on the unaffected side of theo’s jaw. it’s a nasty looking bruise, but all i can think about is how close i am to theo and the fact that the minty gum he is chewing is causing my mouth to water. “nothing.” he says while grabbing the palm of my hand. “liaaaaaar” pansy and matt say in unison. pansy gets up “alrighty, i’m not getting involved in this one, good luck nott.” she says while leaving, quickly making her exit. i narrow my eyes at theodore, who is currently smirking. mattheo unwraps his arm from theo’s shoulder. “as much as i like when you rip him a new one, i somehow always get yelled at too, so i am just gonna…” mattheo drifts off, leaving us, and the bruise, alone. 

“why won’t you stop.” “stop what, piccolo?” his voice is raspy. i can now distinguish  the faint smell of weed and firewhisky. he must’ve started chewing gum before they came up to us, he knows i hate firewhisky.  my heart stops for a second and my eyes soften at the name he uses for me. he rounds the couch to sit on my right, never letting go of my hand. i shift towards him still on my knees, leaning towards his jaw to get a better look. “you can’t call me that when you’re in trouble” i say frowning. taking my hand back and placing them on my lap, looking down trying to figure out what to say.  yeah, i get upset when matty gets hurt when he fights someone for talking shit during a quidditch match. or when draco and potter get into it for whatever merlinforsaken reason. but when it’s theo, it's completely different. my heart feels like it physically stops and my lungs stop working. my chest tightens and my eyes blur.

“what's wrong pico-”

 “you know what’s wrong, i hate when you do this.” i whine. “it's too frequent now, you got detention for fighting with pucey the other day, you’re making them every week practically. your eye JUST healed and now you have to wait on your jaw to get better. i just don’t ge-” im swiftly cut off my being pulled into his side. maneuvering my legs to be splayed out over his instead of towards him. his left hand is now rubbing my back, while his other is holding my head, i close my eyes and sigh while i feel his lips against the top of my head “im sorry, baby”  i lean in closer, finding shelter in the crook of his neck. “then tell me why, you never tell me what happens, just that you beat the shit out of these people and that you’re sorry. don’t i deserve more than that if you're gonna continue making this a habit and making me sad every time i see another mark on you?” 

it's his turn to sigh now, “stop looking too much into it.”

 with that, i get up from the very comfy and warm seat that is his lap, and walk away. weaving in and out of people who are very drunk and probably very high. i’m getting bumped into by people and the dress i am wearing, that is already very short, is getting slowly higher and higher due to the amount of dancing drunk idiots run into me, riding it up. i can hear theo telling people to fuck off or get the fuck out of the waymeaning he is catching up. however, i am able to weave in and out faster than him. reaching the stairs, i get ready to ascend the ones to the right which leads to the girls dormitories, but i am grabbed by the waist before i can even make the first step. i gasp and tense , but a quick look down confirmed it is theo by the watch he is wearing that i got him for christmas two years ago. dang it, he caught up.

i relax, letting him now lead me up the stairs on the left, probably to his dorm room. he is still behind me, and his arm is still around my waist. each step we take, the closer i feel his body on mine, and the more im hyperaware of it. “let me go” even though i really don’t want him to. “okay” he let me go, but once we made it to his room. he opened the door and guided me through. no one was in there, draco must’ve been with pansy. lorenzo and mattheo were probably drinking, and blaise was probably hooking up with some girl who he will fall in love with for the next week and then forgets exists the next. i’d bet accuracy on that one. 

as he shuts the door behind us, he lets go of my waist. suddenly,  it;s cold, and my mouth temporarily frowns before he turns me around to face him with his arms on my shoulder. he ducks down to look into my eyes, “i am sorry piccolo. i’m not sorry for doing it, but im sorry that i upset you when i do and i still do it knowin that. i just react.” his face is genuine and his words are slow, something that happens when he is telling the truth. “please tell me why, maybe i can help.” he closes his eyes for a second and then takes a deep breath. opening his eyes, he moves his hands to my face, cradling me like i'm the most precious thing in the world. “they deserved it. adrian was telling a couple of his blokes in the courtyard that he wanted to fuck you. he was saying all the vulagar things he would do to you and i heard it and i snapped,” he starts, breathing heavily “i didn’t even think, i just went at him. his lads got scared and left, but i knew who they were and whenever i saw them i just beat the fuck out of them for laughing at what he said. that’s what happened tonight. they all deserved it for fucking with you so im not gonna say sorry for giving them what they deserved.” 

“you got hurt though”

 “i’d get beat to the brink of death to defend you and make sure you're safe. i couldnt give a fuck less if i get hurt”

 “but i do theo, i give a fuck!” i yell, my voice cracking while my tears start to well. his eyes widen, bringing me into a hug. his arms squeeze around me and i am home.  

“smettila di piangere amore mio” (stop crying my love).”he whispers.

”i dont even know what that means” i muffle against his chest. his hands soothing me, leaving a trail of heat on their wake. 

he chuckles, “why are you crying?” 

i dig deeper into his chest, “i don’t want you to hurt. i don't want you bruised. i just want you to be okay. i get stressed whenever i think about you in any state of harm and it hurts my heart. i don't care what they were saying about me. they don't matter. you do” 

i feel his lips on my forehead. “i care what they say about you. they cant just speak ill of what's mine. especially you, piccolo”. theo moves his arms to wrap around my waist once again. finding solace against him, i wrap mine around his shoulders. with instinct, theo starts to lift me and my legs find shelter around his hips. the bottom of the short black dress i wore to the party is surprisingly not exposing me, but i feel one of his hands position right under my thighs to stabilize myself against him as he moves us to his bed. he sits down against the headboard, now making it so i am sitting/laying atop him, arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “look at me” he whispers. i shake my head. “tesoro, look at me.” i sigh, tilting my head to comply. my eyes reach his, except they don't meet mine. i am looking at his eyes, while he is looking down, at my lips. i breathe shakily, and he copies.

 “fuck it” and with that, he kisses me, and i am in heaven. he grabs my face, and i feel every emotion theo is feeling right now. All for me. 

the kiss is sweet, not rough, like everything theodore nott embodies. theodore nott loves me, and i love him. and not like how best friends love each other. like real lovers do.

theo pulls away panting, and i open my eyes to meet his. “i love you piccolo. i love you and i won't let anyone speak of you like that. ever.” my heart swells at his confession.

“ i love you too theo.” i pause, then smirk. “if you really loved me, you wouldn’t get into more fights.” 

ha, now he's backed in a corner. 

my celebration is quickly turned into surprise as theo flips us, and my back collides with the soft mattress of his bed. he is leaning over me now,smirking, and my brain stops working. “shut up and let me kiss you as my apologies, i can get yelled at later. i want you now.” and so he does, and so i forget why he was in trouble. i just focus on his sweet lips on my lips, and i am euphoric.

[becgenius]

BIKER!SYLUS WHO...

!! street racing au, reader not mc, female reader, established relationship, petnames, reader has hair, smut, semi-public sex not rlly, size kink, m!receiving oral, dacryphilia, helmet stays on during sex, hair pulling kinda, cum swallowing, masturbation, lightly proofread, lowercase intended

wc. 1.5k

nsfw under the cut. minors dni.

biker!sylus who invites you to every one of his street races.

he says it's because you're good luck. it's really because the one thing he loves more than winning these races is seeing you proudly run up to congratulate him after doing so.

you both know he doesn't need 'good luck' to win; winning has always been a guarantee for him.

biker!sylus who gets you your own set of bike gear when you start dating.

your own pair of gloves, your own jackets, boots, helmets, body armor, balaclavas - you name it.

not to mention that he buys you multiple of each. a set in your favorite color, one in the color he loves seeing you wear, and one that matches his own gear.

biker!sylus who, nonetheless, thinks you look the best when wearing his gear.

biker!sylus who therefore loves to give you his leather jacket to watch his races. he wants everyone to know that you're his; that you’re there for him, and him only.

the cold air of the night nips at your cheeks as you stand watching the race. you're pretty sure there are five racers in total on the track, but everyone's focused on the two bikes practically leading the race.

you know that sylus is one of them. however you aren't sure if he's on the first or second bike. definitely the first, who were you kidding.

the fluorescence of the colorful traffic lights and blaring headlights contrasts sharply with the night's darkness and overwhelms your vision, and there’s the bass-boosted music from a nearby sports car clashing with the conversations of strangers and screech of tires against asphalt.

it seems that tonight's commentator - some guy with a megaphone - is also having a difficult time distinguishing the two leading racers. the sound is all distorted and you can only catch phrases at a time. you hear him refer to the racers as bike a and bike b. not helpful at all.

mentally scolding your past self for underdressing, you hug sylus's gifted jacket closer to your body and press your legs together as you stand among the crowd: your best attempt at preserving body heat. you're beginning to get annoyed with the loud audience around you and the way the wind is blowing strands of your hair into your glossed lips.

eventually, thankfully, one of the bikes ahead wins. you still haven't identified the driver; nevertheless, you approach the finish line… and so does what seems like every other person around you.

he sees you before you see him. you're about to call him but he catches your attention by a simple flash of his bike's headlights.

you see him leaning against his bike, stuffing a wad of cash into his jacket's inside pocket.

"there you are, dear. did you enjoy the race?" he removes his helmet, in turn revealing the sweaty, sticky mess of hair underneath, and holds his free hand out to you.

"sy! i almost lost you!" despite your outcry, you still manage to take his hand and allow him to help you onto the back of his bike.

"don't i always tell you to look for me wherever the winner is?" humble as always. but you can't blame him.

he slips the helmet he had just worn over your head and adjusts the chin strap. from your neck up, you're enveloped in the heat that was previously trapped inside the headgear. finally, he flips the visor down, and your vision tints black as your breath fogs up a spot on the glass.

biker!sylus who thinks it’s the cutest thing, seeing you perched atop his huge bike, wearing not only his helmet but also his jacket, both much too large on you.

biker!sylus who is more than happy to humor you when you tell him that you have a reward for him after winning a particularly close race.

biker!sylus who, after parking and turning his bike off in his private garage, stays put, because you told him to. he’s suspicious, curious, but never doubtful.

with the amount of vehicles parked within, it may as well be considered parking lot. fortunately, all you see are sylus’s insane collection of cars and bikes. no people in sight.

he's, again, leaned up against his bike, holding you upright as you press your chest against his and kiss him.

the kissing is deep and passionate and he loves it because he loves the feeling of your lips on his. but the kiss is also too short.

he is confused when you abruptly pull away from him wearing a sly grin. he's even more confused when you take the helmet from his bike seat and place it over his head, concealing his face.

"what's all this now, hm sweetie?" he asks.

biker!sylus whose eyes widen in both shock and understanding when you slowly lower yourself before him; not that you can see it though, from your tinted reflection in his helmet.

" 'm giving you your reward, of course."

biker!sylus who helps you undo his belt and shove his pants down enough to where you can comfortably hold his exposed erection in your hands.

he's dense and girthy, and it takes two of your hands to fully grasp him.

you look up, innocently smiling, to his concealed face as you kneel below him, soft cheek pressed against his hard dick before you slide his tip into your now open mouth.

he groans from above. loud. the helmet does nothing to muffle his noises, you learn.

"i love seeing this side of you, baby…" you feel his fingers run across the sides of your head, pulling hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail.

there's something that turns him on so much about seeing your seemingly innocent eyes gaze up at him while doing such a crude act as sucking his dick. he becomes impossibly harder inside your mouth.

you give him an agreeing hm in response, lips still surrounding his cock, and the vibrations send shivers down his spine.

tears run down your sore cheeks when you begin to pick up your pace. your jaw hurts from forcing it open so long and hollowing your cheeks for this amount of time has made them sensitive.

your head bobs itself efficiently up and down his length. you’re mindful of your teeth, and you use your tongue to swirl around his girth.

the only noises heard in sylus' garage were his moans, your gagging, as well as the squelching and slurping of you sucking him dry.

you don't notice that he releases your hair to wipe your fallen tears, and you gladly accept the attention. "such a good girl. you look so pretty sucking my cock like this."

his sweet, albeit vulgar, words were getting to you, and you feel yourself becoming more and more aroused.

so while your dominant hand is wrapped around sylus' dick, jerking off the length around his base that your mouth couldn't reach, your free hand slips down under your waistband and between your thighs to relieve your aching clit.

you continue sucking him off at that same pace, until he suddenly gets impatient. his hands find their way back to your head and guides it back and forth at a much faster pace.

at this point, you relax, fully allowing sylus to take control. your only focus is to keep your lips wrapped around his cock and to not choke; that, and your hand in your pants.

"fuck, princess, i'm gonna cum." he spits out in between pants. he flips his visor up to breathe in the fresh air and you notice that the screen's been completely fogged. "i want you to come too. think you do that for me?"

his head falls back after he sees your nod and a loud moan escapes from the back of his throat. your fingers move faster and press harder on your clit as you let sylus direct your head at whichever speed he pleases.

his cock twitches in your mouth, a telltale sign, before his hand on the back of your head stops moving and your mouth is suddenly filled with sylus's cum instead of his dick, which he pulls out with a pop.

you reach your own climax in seconds, eyes rolling and mouth hanging open as your fingers speed up and your cunt spasms around nothing.

sylus's cum is close to spilling out from the corners of your mouth as you fully take in your orgasm, but he stops it from doing so when he presses a gentle finger under your chin, sealing your lips and commanding an authoritative "swallow" that makes you do so without thinking twice.

he fully removes the helmet to catch his breath, chest dramatically heaving. you finally make eye contact with his dilated pupils.

he smirks at your dazed state, finding the whole situation amusing.

"who knew you had it in you?" he chuckles, shaking his head, "you're a naughtier girl than you look."

biker!sylus who wins street races, but only considers himself a winner as long as he has you to show him that he is!!!!!!

[briefalpacashark]

~The drink~

Warning: mention of date rape drugs. Spiking of drinks. Involuntary drug consumption.

Can be triggering for anyone who had experienced anything similar.

================================================

You didn't drink much. You had your own reasons, but every now and then you would let loose. You had headed to the bar you and the 141 usually frequented, only to find that there seemed to be an event on. A bass boosting, strobe and glow lights club event. It was fuller than it usually was and with it being the only bar for miles around; it was packed. Price and Ghost didn't seem pleased with it, but Jonny and Gaz didn't mind. As you filed into the bar, the smell of sweat and drinks filled your nose. 

“Y/N!” two girls stumbled out of the crowd, practically crashing you in a hug. Other medics from the base, the ones you would call friends. There was Rosie, a gorgeous blond and Anna, the embodiment of an African Queen.

“SORRY WERE STEALING HER!” Even though the music was loud, their yell seemed louder as they practically dragged you away. You mouthed a quick apology to the guys who waved you off and moved to their regular spot. After a lot of pleading, begging and water works, the girls managed to convince you to have a few drinks. 

You were having a good time. Dancing, if you could call it that. You were just practically jumping up and down constantly. You had had three drinks, nothing too strong and nothing that would have you feeling the way you did.

Your sight was fuzzy.

Your limbs felt heavy.

The music sounded dull, and the lights started to move on their own. 

You had been drugged. A sensation you were sadly familiar with. 

“I need to go!” It was a panic that had the words forced from your throat. Only your friends were basically blind drunk. They barely heard your words. 

When did it happen? You had kept an eye on your drink. You never left it unattended. Hell you even held it in a way that you hand covered most of the top at all times. Your breath caught in your throat as someone bumped into you, shoving you away from your friends. You searched for them when you recovered, only having to hold your head as it started to spin. 

The boys.

Drink in hand you stumbled through the bodies breathing a sigh of relief as you made it out of the mosh pit. Finally able to get proper air into your lungs, your vision cleared slightly. You spotted the lads all focused on a tv screen that was playing the latest match. You practically fell into the table, the force almost knocking a few of their drinks over. You felt extremely drunk.

“Whoah!” Jonny exclaimed quickly, catching his drink as they all flinched at your sudden appearance.

“Shit sorry,” you mumbled, pushing yourself up into a standing position relying heavily on the table in front of you. You looked absolutely wasted. 

“Went a bit hard on the drinks, eh?” Price asked with a bemused smile.

“Though Australians were supposed to be good at holding their liquor,” Gaz said, earning a few laughs. You forced a nervous laugh of your own.

“You alright love?” It was Ghost that asked the question. When the boys gave him confused looks at the level of concern in his voice he simply nodded down to your hands that shook, even while they tightly gripped the table. “My uh, my drinks been spiked,” you whispered. The atmosphere did a one sixty all the boys expression suddenly turning dark. Their bodies tensed, their jaws locked as anger flared inside them. 

“The fuck?” Jonny hissed as his eyes instantly searched for the culprit.

“Sure you're not just drunk love?” Price asked. It wasn't like he didn't believe you. It was just his stupide logical captain brain. You raised your head, your fearful expression giving him all the answers he needed.

“No, I've uh, I've been spiked before. This is different, though. It's not something normal, this guy knows what he's doing,” you whispered. Jonny stood, reaching for you to offer support or comfort. He froze as you flinched away. An action all the boys took note off.

“I'm calling the police,” Gaz announced, holding his phone to his ear. 

“Come on love, let's get you out of here,” Jonny suggested gently.

“No, if I leave, he'll just do it to the next girl. We, we gotta catch him,” you muttered.

“You're in no state, love,” Jonny tried to reason with you.

“Don't baby me. I know what I can handle. What I'm going to do it I'm gonna go sit at the bar. Whoever drugged me will be looking for the opportunity to get me out of here. When he comes for me, then you guys get him alright. Restrain him till the cops come ok,” even in your state, your firm words had the boys considering them. You were right. Logically, it was the best way to draw the creep out.

“You see, who did it, love?” Price asked. You shock your head. 

“Are you sure you're ready to do this?” Ghost asked. His steady concerned gaze that locked with yours's had your breathing returning to normal. His big brown eyes anchoring you.

“I trust you guys,” you stated simply, as if it was to answer. Giving them a nod you turned on your heal and stumbled over to the bar on the far side using the furniture to aid you. When you did manage to sit down, the panic started to creep back up. It was just the drug, you tried to convince yourself. You had been in plenty more sticky situations. In unison the boys fanned out, all keeping an eye on you as they took different positions around the room. Gaz by the door, ready for the police. Price a few seats down from you and Jonny hanging around. You didn't know where Ghost was, probably hiding in the shadows somewhere. Your head dropped to the cold slightly sticky surface of the bar as you were hit with another dizzy spell.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the sickly sweet voice slid over your ears sending a disgusted shiver through your body. A voice you had never heard before. “Come on, let's get you home,” his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, but you just felt so sluggish. Your elbow attempted a weak push. Before he could pull you out of your chair, his presence suddenly disappeared. It was a bit of a blur at that stage. You could hear sounds, a scream somewhere. You heard yelling. 

“TAKE IT OUTSIDE!” The Bar owner screamed over you. 

“Gladly,” It was Ghost voice that sounded. You pushed yourself up, turning around to see Ghost pulling a man out of the bar by the scruff of his collar. 

“Lovey, it's me Jonny,” Jonny announced his presence as he walked up to your side with Gaz in tow. After your flinch before he was being extra cautious.

“Jonny,” you forced a smile as you turned to him. When he suddenly turned into triplets.

“Come on love,” he gently helped you out of the chair tucking you protectively under his arm, and out into the cold air of the night. It was refreshing to have it in your lungs. But it stung.

Jonny helped you to a bench, setting you down. The world was spinning. With a deep breath, you dropped your head to your hands. After a bit Ghost and Price returned with the man, his arms zipped tied behind his back, his face bloody and beaten. One of his arms hung limply at the shoulder joint. Price had found the drugs he had used in his pocket shoving a few down his throat for good measure. 

“It's him alright. Confused and everything," Price announced holding the drugs up. 

“Hell yeah. Vigilante team for the win!” you wobbly pumped your fist into the air before letting it drop.

“I'm cold,” you muttered through a shiver. Almost instantly a large coat was draped over you. The scent of Ghost filled your senses as you tucked yourself into the folds of the warmth.

“Fuckin cunt,” Jonny growled in disgust as he pulled the man ruffly over to the side of the road delivering a kick for good measure. Gaz glared down at the man logging a ball of spit directly to his feet. 

“Hey,” you rose your head coming face to face with a kneeling Ghost. who placed a gentle hand on your knee his thumb rubbing it gently.

“You need to chuck ya guts. Get whatever's in ya stomach out,” he stated simply. 

“Shit, you're right. Let me just press the button that instantly activated my regurgitation feature,” although drugged out of your mind you still quipped at them. If anything, it was reassuring to hear it. 

“I can shove my fingers down your throat if ya like,” he offered jokingly.

“Promise?” The boys' eyes widened at the seductive tone your voice took. It even stuck poor Simon into a monetary freeze. Only then did they notice the blush that dusted your cheeks. Molly you thought. Something the man probably mixed with his drug.

“Oh don't get your panties in a twist Lieutenant. Just get me some tequila. A shot of that and you'll all get a pretty picture of what I had for lunch,” You chuckled half assed. Gaz quickly did as he was told. Boy you didn't even have to taste it to chuck your guts. 

Why? Simple. Schoolies, yourself, teenage confidence, a dumb bet and a bottle of tequila. You couldn't drink the stuff without emptying your guts.

Ghost patted your back as you fertilized the pot plant nearby. You briefly took in the blue and red flashing lights as the police pulled up. It was quite a scene. Your head in a pot plant. Ghost holding your hair back. Jonny and Price standing side by side with the man hung loosely between them. Gaz standing by you with a water bottle at the ready. The police officers, one male and one female approached your group with caution. 

“Officer. This guy drugged and attempted to take advantage of our friend there. Here is the drink that was spiked. The drugs we found in his pocket. And the camera footage proving he did so,” Price handed over all the items that had quickly been collected. The police officer stood taking it all, looking over the group before his eyes dropped to the man.

“The fuck happened to him?” he asked.

“We found him like that,” Price stated with an innocent smile, not bothering to hide the blood on his hand. Jonny smiled innocently and Ghost simply glared, daring the police to do something about it.

“Alright well put him in the back, is she alright to come down to the station to provide a statement?” His question was answered by the lovely melody of your insides becoming your outsides.

“Don't think that's necessary. But we can come down tomorrow to provide a blood sample for proof," Price suggested. 

“How do we know you're not the ones who drugged her?” You were grateful for the female officer's concern. But you just wanted to go home.

“Don't accuse them. These,” you pushed yourself up, gesturing wildly around you. “These are my boys. I love these fuckers.” Your words began to slur as you blinked one eye a bit more delayed than the other. You leaned against the pot putting the other hand on your hip. 

“I'd trust these cunts with my life,” you stated proudly.

“Aw she called us cunts,” Jonny cooed as he ruffly shoved the man into the back of the police car. “Accidental” knocking him harshly against the side of the door a few times.

You weren't sure how you got into the back of the car, but you did know one thing. You were fucking horney. Your eyes lazily trailed over the handsome men in the car. Your heart was beating a million beats per second as you weighed your options. Have you thought about fucking them before. Who wouldn't. They were stunning all in their own unique way. Heat was flushing all through your body. Your eyes trailed to Simon who sat next to you.

‘Fuck, I’d ride that man like a bronco,’ the dirty thought had your face turning compltley red. You couldn't believe you had just thought that. You wanted him. And by the way your body was feeling you were sure you were about to act on that want.

“Nope not doing this,” you suddenly announced. Yells of fright sounded as you opened the door, throwing yourself from the relatively slow moving car. You were back on the base you gathered. But nowhere near your barracks. You tucked and rolled with the fall popping back up immediately and high tailing it out of there. The four guys ran after you. As they rounded a building they frowned when they couldn't see you. What they did see was your shirt gently falling to the ground. Their eyes instantly snapped up to the roof of the building where you stood.

“The fuck,”Jonny wispered as they all stepped back to better see you. 

“How do she mange to climb all this shit?” Gaz asked searching for the path you used to get to the roof.

“Get down from there, sergeant!” Price ordered. 

“Fuck you Price!” You yelled pulling a boot off and chucking casually off the side of the building. 

“What are you doing?!” Gaz yelled.

“What does it look like? I'm undressing. It's to fucking hot!” You yelled unbuttoning your pants. For the record, it wasn't hot. It was cold. So cold that the boys could see their breaths. You just hoped that getting your temperature under control would dull the urges you were having.

“What are you doing up there? Get down come on it's not safe love!” Jonny tried to coax you down, all of them too scared to take their eyes off you in the fear that you would fall.

“Not safe for me. Bro I was just about to attack you guys,” you yelled, stomping out of your pants the boys sucking in a breath as you tilted to the side a bit more than they liked.

“What you mean love?” Price asked nodding Ghost forward who quickly made his way to look for a way up onto the roof.

“That fucker must have lased that shit with ecstasy. Cause in simple term Captain, I'm HORNEY AS FUCK!” you yelled into the open night air. All the boys paused momentarily at your words wondering if they had heard you right.

“Horney you say?” Johnny asked with a slight smirk. It was a terrible situation, no one would argue that. But the way you were acting was slightly entertaining.

“Yep!” you popped the p. 

“I was sitting in the car and I was like fuck. I could totally fuck these guys,” your shrugged casually. 

“Really?” Johnny asked.

“Oh yeah. I would have made my way thought you fuckers like a cougar that just came out of prison. I'd start with Price, cause that man knows how to fuck. Like he's probably got some real fucking skill. Just look at him,” You gestured to Price who blushed slightly at the statement.

“Then I go to Gaz. I dont know why but you look like youve got some fucking endurance,” you stated simply. 

“Id fuck Jonnys brains out cause we all know he can’t get a girl to save his life,” You had begun rambling. The boys were doing there best to keep their laughter in. Even though  you were talking about something so intimate they knew it would never happen. 

“I got with your friend Rosie didn't I?” Jonny asked.

“Yeah and so did half the fucking base. I would seriously consider getting all that checked out,” you gestured to his manly parts as Gaz laughed at his dead panned expression. 

“Oh and Simon!” You let out a low whistle.

“I'd take that poor man's innocence,” This time both Jonny and Gaz were full blown laughing. Price rubbed his mouth hiding a chuckle. And Simon, well he stepped up behind you. You didn't notice him. What you did notice was how constricting your bra felt.

“Fucking hate bras,” You muttered in once swift motion unclipping it and tossing it to the side.

“Fucking hell,” Price grumbled as they all quickly avoided there gaze. 

“Right,” you hear the mutter from behind you as you were suddenly enveloped by material. Simon used his jaket that you had discarded early to form a makeshift straight jacket. Which in three swift movements, he zipped up behind you and tired the sleeves around you. You let out a yelp as you were casually thrown over his shoulder. 

“I'm getting too old for this,” Price muttered.

After they got you checked out at the med bay they brought you back to the barracks. Simon was carrying you bridal style as you dropped in and out of sleep. Gently they set you in your bed and tucked you in still in the makeshift straight jacket. You snuggled into the warmth curling up.

“Night love,” Jonny muttered as they all moved to leave your room.

“Hey,” your back was facing towards them as they stopped at the entrance of your room. “I love you guys. You know that right?” you asked.

“Yeah we love you to lass,” Jonny smiled.

“I mean it,” you cut off his slightly joking tone. “Tonight I was really fucking scared. And you guys saved me. So thank you,” you whispered. The boys were not really sure how to respond to that. 

“Anytime love,” Price muttered.

“Good,” you nodded readjusting.

“Oh and Simon,” you called in a sing-song voice. He hummed a response.

“Offer still stands hot stuff,” you poked your head up giving him what you assumed was a seductive wink. It looked more like you were trying to get something out of your eyes.

“Sure thing love. Well, see if you remember your offer in the morning,” he stated simply shoving the chuckle Jonny out the room before closing the door. Even drugged to kingdom come you felt safe. Protected, so calm that you slipped into slumber without a second thought or a moment's worry. 

The next morning you awoke with not a single memory of the night before. You frowned at the pounding in your head, yet your confusion deepened when you tried to make sense of what you were wearing. The binds had come lose burning the night leaving you with the jacket still zipped up behind you. You could only remember the very start of the night. And the fact that your drink had been spiked. Once you managed to escape the contraption you donned some loose clothes and walked out into the rec room. Where the boys were all situated, Simon cooking breakfast, Gaz and Soap sitting watching tv and Pierce at the table reading a newspaper. At your appearance they boys all stopped what they were going and looked at you. There expression unreadable.

“Soooo,” You trailed off. “My drink got spiked,” you stated simply.

“That's Correct,” Price nodded, folding his newspaper and putting it aside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Honestly not the worst hang over I've had,” you tried to make light of the situation with a soft-hearted chuckle.

“So, uh what happened exactly? I didn't do anything stupide did I?” you asked nervously. 

“Well,” Jonny began, only to be silenced by a wooden spoon hitting him with deadly precision.

“You came to us, asking for help. We got the guy and got you out of there. Brought you back to base where the docs checked you out, flushed the drugs out ya system the best they could and we tucked you into bed,” Price explained simply. 

“I see. And why was I nude and buried in a huge ass jacket?” you asked a deep blush creeping up into your cheeks. Millions of scenarios passed through your mind. So many possibilities that could have led you up to that point. 

“You had nicked Simon's jumper. You were moving around a bit last night from what we could hear. The doc said the drug would make you hot. Perhaps you just stripped in ya sleep,” Price gentle words gave you no reason to believe anything other than that happened. But there was a slight doubt in the back of your mind. You looked to Simon who had yet to meet your gaze. 

“So I didn't go streaking through base?” you asked. 

“Like streaking do ya?” Jonny asked with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Sober Y/N not so much. Blind drunk Y/N very much so,” you nodded. The boys chuckled, shaking their heads. If only you knew.

“Your fine love. Come sit down and eat something,” Price ordered you softly as Ghost set down the various foods. The breakfast was like any other one. The boys talked like they normally did. Once you got over the slight embarrassment of what happened, you fell back into a normal rhythm. 

Not before Price personally called you into his office to have a very serious chat about what happened. Where he suggested a visit to a syce and an offer to come to him if your ever needed anything.

Not before Jonny gifted you with a key ring taser and a graphic demonstration of where to aim for.

Not before Gaz bought you a nail polish that would change color whenever it came into contact with drugs.

Not before Ghost would sit beside you in silence his presence simply being a reassurance.

Not before the boys never pressed you again to drink when you said no.

Not before they got a glimpse into a very serious part of a woman's world.

Not before they grasped and understanding for it.

And not before they would watch your drinks like eagles whenever you would go out again. 

The most amazing thing about it was that they never once blamed you for it. The thought never crossed their minds. They never once pried if you had left your drink alone. They never once suggested that you took a drink a stranger had offered.

They were good men. And you were thankful that you had them in your life.

And little did you know that the man that drugged you would send the rest of his life in prison. Price managed to pull a few strings and get him charged with much more than he had originally done.

After he spent a month in intensive recovery.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

================================================

[hanglimi]

opposite - yu jimin

jimin is sick and tired of the stupid, good for nothing student who keeps throwing parties in the dorm room above hers. but woah, she's the complete opposite of what jimin imagined, and really hot too.

TAGS - jimin x f! reader, fluff, college au

WORDCOUNT - 2100~

WARNINGS - substance use, swearing, suggestiveness,

A/N - this is really dialogue heavy, and i can't tell if that's a bad or good thing.

“oh my god, does this ever fucking stop?” ningning whined as she sat atop jimin’s bed, her feet crossed over each other, laptop thrown onto one of the multiple pillows.

jimin threw her friend a questioning look over her shoulder. the girl was acting crazy, and she had no time to engage if she wanted to finish the paper her professor had given her weeks before. the longer she left ning alone, the better chance of there being no continuation to the conversation.

“seriously, jimin! this is driving me insane.”

“what the hell do you mean, ning,” she groaned, laying her head down on her table.

“the dorm above you! i can genuinely feel the ceiling shaking with how loud the music is, and it’s been like this everyday this week!” ningning was practically hyperventilating at this point, and sure, while jimin thought she was being a tad bit dramatic, she also had a point.

but unfortunately, jimin had gotten so used to the girl above her, and her endless parties, that she barely noticed it anymore.

“here.” she reached down into her backpack by the base of her desk, grasping around in the pockets for what she was looking for. she finally felt it’s wire as she pulled it out of the bag and threw it over to her friend, glancing back down at her respective laptop.

“earbuds? really?”

jimin ignored her question, getting back to work. If she wanted to pass this class before the end of the semester, she had no time to idly chat with her friend, no matter how much she loved her.

“jimin!” ningning screamed again a couple seconds later, her head in her hands. “how the fuck do you live with this?” she curled into herself on the bed, as if that would help with the walls literally bouncing with each bass hit from upstairs.

“remind me to never come to your dorm again. from now on, we're studying in the library,”

jimin simply giggled at the comment, tuning out the bass boosted audio and her best friend’s whining.

“damn, jimin!” aeri said, snatching the girl’s phone from her, pausing her music so she could hear what was happening, “how loud do you need your music to be to actually hear it?”

jimin gave her a sneer, and reached back for her phone, but it was just so far across the table, and minjeong was faster than her, grabbing it, and pocketing it. aeri chuckled at her struggles before slapping a hand over her mouth, slowly turning her head towards the front of the library, hoping she wouldn’t get a third warning from the librarian just today.

“her eardrums are probably nonexistent because of the bitch above her,” ning noted as she scrolled on her phone, obviously distracted from what they actually came here for.

“you’re still on about that?” jimin drawled, dropping her head and leaning down in her seat, giving up on trying to retrieve her device. “and was i the only one still on task? it’s literally only been thirty minutes, guys.”

“on about what?” minjeong asked, leaning into the gossip, “who lives above jimin?”

“dude, if i knew what her name was i'd tell you.” ningning sat up, getting ready to entertain her. “all i know is that she throws a party like every other day, and plays overly obnoxious bass boosted music. and the RA of their floor just doesn't care.”

“jimin’s on the fourth floor, right?”

jimin nodded at aeri’s question. she just wanted to finish the discussion, and get back to studying, but her friends obviously felt otherwise.

“oh my god, jimin, i fucking know who that is! it’s that y/n chick,” aeri said, laughing, but her eyes widened as she heard the loud shush of the librarian.

“as i was saying, everyone on the fifth floor despises y/n, like genuinely hates,” she said.

jimin groaned as the three of them continued to talk about every single rumour y/n was involved in, and she pressed at her eyes with the palms of her hands until she started seeing dots.

“i’m literally the one who lives below her, and i don’t care this much,” jimin complained, adjusting her body so she was sat in the chair properly. “unlike you guys, i actually have things to do, so give me back my phone, minjeong”

they all groaned at her words, minjeong muttering as she handed the device to the girl’s outreached hand.

“you’re such a buzzkill, jimin,” aeri let out a sigh, shaking her head.

“yeah, fucking buzz killer,” ning followed up.

“buzz kill~.” minjeong sang, giggling a bit with the other two girls at the end.

“shut up!”

the librarian near the main entrance lowered her glasses down her nose at the outburst, glaring at their table. “you four girls over there! out!”

jimin made sure to flip her friends off as she snatched her things away from the table, walking back to her dreaded dorm, with a huge headache caused from the three.

it was never this bad.

like sure, jimin would often notice how loud y/n’s music was, but she never really got this mad about it. it was only a passing thought usually, but today, she couldn’t ignore it. and somehow, her body betrayed her, leading jimin out of her dorm, into the elevator, and facing the perpetrators door.

she knocked once, letting precious seconds pass as she stood in front of the dorm room, tapping her foot against the floor, slipping into the beat of the drums that was in the song playing from inside the room. no one answered, even though she could tell from the yelling that there were at least ten people in there. she let out a deep exhale through her nose, and raised her fist to knock, hitting the door again.

jimin waited there a little bit longer, still tapping her foot to the song as her mind wandered to how she would deal with the infamous y/n. she waited for what she thought was eternity before she got impatient, and raised her fist to knock again, but before she could make contact, the door swung open.

“who are you?” the girl who opened the door asked, while jimin strained to hear her over her overbearing chewing of gum. the stench of liquor infiltrated her nose from the open door, and there was a light fog covering the room, hazing up her vision of any furniture in the dorm. the loud music was piercing her brain now, closer than ever, and it was making her headache stronger.

“is y/n here?” she asked in response, but the girl only stared blankly at her, continuing to chew. jimin’s jaw clenched at the lack of reaction, but assumed y/n's friend couldn’t hear her over the music.

“is y/n here!” she repeated much louder, leaning closer to the girl’s ear, but the girl shoved her backwards immediately, and sneered at her.

“i’m not deaf yet, bitch. i was just trying to figure out if you were one of her exes,” the girl scolded, leaning an arm on the doorframe and turning her body to face the inside of the dorm.

“y/n! did you invite one of your flings to our party again?” the girl screamed into the fog while jimin scowled at the back of her head. apparently, y/n responded, because she turned back around to face her after a couple of seconds. “y/n will be here in a few,” and she shut the door.

jimin already hated the girl, and she didn’t even know her name.

the door reopened after a few moments to who jimin assumed was y/n, and her heart leapt out of her chest at the sight. the girl was the complete opposite of how jimin thought she would appear, and she couldn’t believe she fell for what aeri had said before. the clothes she wore leaned to the pink, feminine side–her tank top a cute combination of red, pink and yellow–and she wore a pearl necklace to accompany the soft vibe. the look was coupled with a pink cardigan over top, which was falling down to reveal one of her shoulders.

jimin was definitely gawking at her too long, because the girl cleared her throat in annoyance.

“what do you need?” the girl’s voice was also the complete opposite of her look, siding more with what jimin had thought y/n would be like originally. the deep, rough tones of it scratched her brain in a way she never imagined before, and she almost melted right there on the spot.

“oh yeah! i’m so sorry about that. my name is jimin, and i live on the floor below you, right under your room, which is actually pretty cool, huh.” jimin stuttered through her introduction, her face heating up at the intense staring contest y/n had her locked in.

she quickly averted her eyes, wanting to look anywhere else but the student's face, “anyways, it usually hasn’t been a problem but-”

the girl cut her off, rolling her eyes at the long winded explanation. “i get it, you want us to lower the volume of the music, right?” she drawled, and her tone grated against the headache jimin had, further enhancing it.

jimin nodded her head rapidly.

“well we can’t.” y/n started, lifting her hand up to take a look at her nails which were–once again a contrast to her voice–painted a mix of pink and yellow. “not that we can’t, just that we won’t.”

jimin cocked her head in confusion, “you… won’t?”

y/n stood there, still observing her fingers, “you heard me the first time, cutie,”

even though she was slightly infuriated, she felt her heart jump at the pet name, and warmth rushed up to her cheeks once again, but she quickly shook away the feeling, steeling her face in anger.

“what do you mean by ‘you won’t’” jimin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“exactly what it means, babe. we’re having fun, and if it’s really bothering you that much, you can leave the complex for a couple hours.” y/n finally looked away from her nails to stare up at jimin, giving her a smile, as if she was trying to soften the words.

“uh, no the fuck not.”

the girl’s eyes flashed with something jimin couldn't recognise, and y/n stood up straighter, a smirk playing on her lips at the words.

“so you stand your ground, huh?” y/n noted aloud, eyeing jimin from head to toe. “how about you come in here, and we can party together?”

“fuck you.” jimin said.

“that’s what i’m asking for,” the girl replied in a dull tone, rolling her eyes.

the girl was annoying her, and the constant flirty jokes weren’t helping jimin’s case either. she couldn’t tell if she wanted to feel flustered, angry, or perhaps a mix of both.

“i’m gonna get the RA on you. you’ll be kicked out of the dorms, or probably even the school considering the amount of weed i smell off of you right now.”

“you wanna talk to the RA about me?” y/n laughed loudly at the statement, covering her mouth with her hand, as she turned around to face the fog.

“hey, chaewon! come here,” y/n screamed over the music that was still playing, and she stood aside after a bit, letting chaewon pop her head through the door.

“meet the fifth floor’s RA!” the annoying girl cackled, doubling over at the look on jimin’s face.

the girl was wasted–jimin could tell by the dazed look in her eyes, and how she had to lean against y/n to stabilise herself.

“don’t tell anyone i’m here.” chaewon slurred, and hiccupped, slowly raising her pointer finger to press it against jimin’s lips, but she missed, and ended up poking her in the eye. “or we’ll all end up in trouble.”

“shit!” jimin exclaimed, pressing a hand to her eye trying to soothe the pain.

y/n’s mouth curved into a smile, and jimin couldn’t tell if it was from her pain or chaewon’s actions. she lightly pushed chaewon back into the room while telling her to ease up on the drinks, and came back to face jimin straight on.

“see what I mean?” y/n said, shaking her head at jimin’s poor attempts, further belittling her.

jimin scrunched her forehead up in thought. she wasn’t going to accept defeat, and let this go–that wasn’t who she was–and she didn’t want to see y/n’s stupid hot smirk again anyways.

“if you lower the volume of your music, and keep it there” she gulped, “i’ll do anything that you want me to.”

“really?” y/n eyes widened, “if so-”

“nothing sexual, of course.” jimin cut her off before she had the chance.

y/n giggled in response, “well then.”

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ DRUNKEN WHISPERS 𖤐. — sim jaeyun

(*´▽`*) Ꮺ sim jaeyun + fem! reader non-idol au college/university au friends to lovers ᛝ warning cursing drinking partying drunken confession one kiss scene open ending so interpret it as how you would . . !? & 1249 — m.list

note. i've been itching to write something related to drunk confessions so yeah. also this is my first jake fic, hopefully i didn't messed up his character here. i might make a part two for this if this blew up hehe. and merry xmas! 🎄tagging @senascoooop

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. 

“Hello?” You picked up the ringing phone without checking the screen. Your desk was a sight to behold; a stack of books placed dangerously close to the edge of your desk with sheets of papers covering the surface. In the middle was your laptop, the blaring screen nearly blinding you. 

“Hey uh, do you mind coming over to pick Jake up? He’s drunk,” Heeseung said, sounding embarrassed. You could make out the faint booming music from the other line. 

“Again? Heeseung, this is the fourth time it has happened this week,” you sighed, already rising to your feet, swiping your phone, wallet and car keys off the table as you stepped out of your room.

You heard a laugh. “We tried to stop him, (Name) but you know how it always turns out.” 

You merely rolled your eyes, having known Jake long enough to visualise how the scenario played out. As far as you were aware, Jake was a persistent pillar in your life. You had known each other since you were toddlers, due to both of you being neighbours and how your mothers were friends too. Everywhere you went, he was sure to follow you. It was an endearing sight to behold for the public, like a puppy following its owner. 

“Whatever, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. In the meantime, please stop him from drinking again,” you replied, hanging the call after Heeseung texted you the location of where they were. 

It didn’t take you long to arrive at your destination and you stepped out of your car after parking it, able to hear the loud bass boosted music that grew louder as you got closer. Thankfully, you didn’t have to enter the club as you easily spotted Jake and the others seated outside. It was like Jake had heightened hearing, for he perked up at the sound of your approaching footsteps. His face lit up as he rose to his feet while swaying side to side, resulting in both Heeseung and Jay having to steady him. 

But Jake didn’t care. He staggered his way towards you, throwing his entire body weight on you. You would have fallen to the ground if you didn’t catch yourself in the nick of time. You scrunch your nose at the revolting stench of alcohol lingering on his body and you could smell it from his mouth too, much to your disgust. 

“(Name)~, I’ve missed you so much,” his words were borderline slurring, barely comprehensible but you were still able to make out what he said. 

Thankfully, Heeseung and Jay pulled him away from you, eliciting a pathetic whine from Jake who struggles to free himself. You, on the other hand, ran a hand through your hair. “How many did he drink?” You asked. 

“Uh, like seven?” Heeseung replied, earning a smack to the arm from Jay, who shot him a glare.

“Seven? And none of you tried to stop him?” You asked, exasperated. 

“Hey, we tried our best but he refused to listen to us. He only listens to you,” Jay pointed out, a knowing glint in his eyes; a glint that made you look away, ignoring how your stomach tightened. 

“I’ll take him home now then, I’ll see you guys next week,” you sighed, bidding them farewell as you threw Jake’s right arm around your shoulder, having to grip onto him to prevent him from falling forward or backward. The others see you off before returning to the club, wanting to get more drinks before heading home. 

Needless to say, it was a struggle trying to complete the short walk to your car. You had to support the weight of a fully-grown man who is drunk, all the while maintaining your balance. With some difficulty, you managed to overcome it. However when you were trying to fish for your keys, Jake thought it was a good idea to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You groaned when his abyssal-like hair blocked off a good portion of your view, making a simple task harder than it should be. 

“Jake, what are you doing?” You asked, trying to push his head away but it was futile. 

He whined, still able to move his limbs despite his current state. You froze when Jake wrapped his arms around your waist. Physical contact is a common thing in your friendship but something about the way his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck caused goosebumps to form. You involuntarily shivered when he rubbed circles on your waist, through the fabric of your clothes. 

“Jake, seriously, stop this,” you said, your voice wavering at the end and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Noooo,” he whined, his hot breath grazing against your skin with every word he spoke. “I miss you so much.” 

“We literally meet every day, how can you miss me?” You sighed, finally pulling out your keys to unlock your car. You opened the backdoor, managing to get him in. 

Jake grabbed your wrist and before you could react, he tugged you down. You yelped, falling forward and thankfully, you didn’t hit your head against anything. You held yourself up in an awkward position, one knee digging into the car seat, one hand gripping onto the headrest of the driver’s seat while the other was pressed against the window in front of you. Your breath hitched in your throat when you realized just how close he was. 

You were so close that if one of you were to move, you would be kissing. You have always known Jake is attractive but it was another level to see his features up close. His eyes were windows to his soul. No matter how expressive he is or how he tries to hide his feelings, his eyes will never lie. And right now, you could detect nothing but pure love and adoration in them. It was enough to make you gulp nervously. 

“(Name), you’re so pretty. Wanna kiss you so bad,” he murmured, words no longer slurring and for a moment, you thought he had sobered up, only for him to giggle and the thought was washed down the drain. 

“Jake, enough. You’re not thinking straight,” you said, not wanting to ruin your many years of friendship. You didn’t want to let something as simple as your feelings for him ruin it. You tried to move away but his grip on your wrist tightened. 

“I’m telling the truth,” he whines, lips curling down in a pout. You were tempted to kiss him right there and then but you held yourself back. “Heeseung and the others know about how I’m madly in love with you. You’re always on my mind, no matter what I go. If only you know how crazy I am for you.” 

You were rendered speechless, taken aback by the utmost sincerity in his voice and the abrupt confession. Never in your life have you thought that your friend feels the same way. 

“Jake, I—!?” 

You weren’t given the chance to finish his sentence. Jake moved and with one smooth movement, he captured your lips in a kiss. You were too stunned to react and the kiss ended as fast as it started. He pulled away, looking into your eyes for a few seconds before passing out. All you could do was to openly gape at him, watching as he fell asleep, occupying the entire backrow of your car.  

What the fuck just happened? 

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.

[lalunanymph]

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin. 

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him—

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this. 

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[freak-accident419]

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

(gif by @joshfutturman) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | More parts coming soon

Summary: When his mother hosts a party and expects him to bring a proper date, Derek is obligated to comply. Not wanting to disappoint her any further (mainly driven by the rumor of her cutting him off), Derek recruits his best friend to pose as his fake partner. However, the two have to keep up this lie when a series of constant, luxurious events are held, causing several shenanigans to ensue.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: gender-neutral reader, swearing, reader is his best friend, Derek’s mommy issues, fake dating

Ao3 Link

(A/n: this is my first miniseries!! I will also be posting this on Ao3, so please show your support there as well. Thank you to everybody who showed me love and support. Special thanks to Skye especially :) enjoy!!)

-

“Uh, yeah, I’ll have a flat white with oat milk. You know, the usual.”

For the most part, Derek would go about his usual schedule, which deprived of responsibility and stress. In fact, his recent routine invariably consisted of privileged luxuries, little to no work tasks, and drunken parties every night.

Phone in hand, Derek skated through the office on his skateboard as he waited for the drink that he ordered at the coffee bar. He checked for any texts until he swiped out of the Messages app to surf through his social media. And as he tapped through his friends’ stories on Instagram, video footage that caused Derek to reminisce the events of last night’s party took over his screen.

It was a typical night out for him, actually. He would invite his group of friends to clubs or venues and indulge in the colorful strobe lights, bass-boosted music, and alcoholic drinks. You had always tagged along with him, as you were his best friend, getting drunk and partying together. Every night, he would get abysmally wasted and driven home by his employees. Ultimately, “reckless” was nearly an understatement to describe Derek Danforth—alongside irresponsible and hedonistic.

He smirked at the Instagram stories that his friends had posted of him taking a body shot off of a skimpy stripper. Ultimately, you took the best video of the scene because unlike the other posted videos, the camera was much clearer and barely shaking. Chuckling to himself as he hears your voice chanting for him in the video, he tucked his phone back in his pocket and skated back to the counter to retrieve his coffee.

“Flat white with oa—”

“Beautiful, thank you,” he replies dismissively, grabbing the cup that the worker handed him and continued to skate along the hallway, past several other employees.

Expecting the next hour to be full of pampering and Tibetan singing bowls, a stern, yet familiarly lavish voice suddenly stops him in his tracks.

“Derek.” The young billionaire stiffens at the sound of his name being called. “May I have a word?”

An irritated sigh left Derek’s lips as he stood still on his skateboard, neglecting to turn his head around to face the older man. He then rolls his eyes and finally got off of his skateboard, kicking it up in his hand.

***

“You have to clean up your act, young man,” Westwyld states as Derek slouches pettishly in his chair.

Great. It was just another one of his needless lectures again. Why did he even bother? From the moment Derek walked into Westwyld’s dreadful office, he already sensed that he would be given another ‘serious talk’ from the man who tries to act like his father after having a romantic past with his mom.

In response to his useless demand, Derek scoffs with a smug curl on his lips, taking a short drag from his vape pen. It was almost amusing to him that Wallace believed his lectures would give him the slightest motivation to “do better.”

“Isn’t your job covering up my ‘fuckups’? Keeping me out of the tabloids and the headlines, keeping my reputation clean?” He sneered, impatient with the predictable redundancy that Westwyld brought onto him. “Isn’t that all you’re good for?”

Westwyld sighs, not very keen on having to explain himself for the thousandth time. “Derek, my job is to keep Danforth Enterprises safe, to keep your mother safe. Her reputation, her name. For thirty-five years, I worked as the director of the world’s intelligence agency, but I chose this job as a favor to your mother.”

Derek rolled his eyes carelessly. It was the same, bothersome routine when Wallace would scold him and then run his mouth about how he could have had any other job, but chose security for Danforth Enterprises for the sake of President Jessica Danforth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you tell me this for, like, a billion fucking times,” Derek retorts with a harsh scoff, “You know what, I don’t have the fucking time for this.”

He stood up instantly, storming off until Wallace’s next words made him freeze, bringing a chill up his spine.

“Your mother’s thinking of cutting you off, you know that?”

Derek processed Westwyld’s words for a second, sensing the threat behind it. His own mother wouldn’t do that to him. She completely adores him. Right? It was just another empty threat—everything had always worked out for Derek in the long run. So he kept his cool as always, scoffing in disbelief with a breathy chuckle. “Um, no. No, she’s not. She wouldn’t.” He turned around to face Wallace, walking back up to him.

“Everybody’s talking about it, Derek. A rumor, you would call it, but she spoke to her advisers. Money may play a big role in the grand scheme of things, but public image as well. I cannot keep covering for you, Derek. The endless social media posts of your immature, juvenile actions, the soirées, the strippers, it’s getting out of control,” Wallace spat sourly, evidently sick of Derek’s shenanigans and recklessness. “Even the tiniest information can spill, and your reputation will grow rotten. And your reputation is your mother’s. I won’t let you take this risk, Derek, you need to clean up your act now.”

***

Derek left Westwyld’s office slightly pissed, sipping his coffee as he rode through the hallway once again in his skateboard. Suddenly he felt his phone buzzing, so he grabbed it out of his pocket to look who was calling him.

Well, shit. Speak of the fucking devil.

It was his mother.

Taking a deep breath, Derek stared at the contact name and gulped nervously before finally clicking ‘accept’.

“Hi, Mom… What’s, um… What’s up?”

For the first time ever in Derek’s life, one of Westwyld’s lectures actually intimidated him.

Jessica Danforth was an incredibly busy woman. Hell, she was the President of the United States for fuck’s sake, there was no way she would call up her son for something casual. It had to be for something urgent, which inevitably provoked fear in him—all he could think about was getting disinherited. “Hi, Derek,” she says into the phone, sort of in a disappointed sigh. “I was just checking in, making sure you are able to attend the party on Saturday evening. You are able to come, yes?”

Derek let out a soft, gratified breath, relieved that his mother wasn’t calling him to discuss his reputation and financial situation. But either way, it seemed that he was still in deep shit; Derek forgot all about that party.

His mother spoke about it several times in the past, inviting him almost an entire month ago. She made it very clear about how important it was to her, but Derek was completey oblivious to it. It was either some kind of gala or charity event, but he’d been too baked recently to even remember.

“O-oh, um, party, right, that party…” he replies dubiously, the information barely coming back to his mind. “Yeah, um, yeah, of course.” He blinks for a moment, trying to remember the information about the party. Right. It was some kind of charity auction. Raising money for a good cause. Extremely tasteful and elegant, the kind of boring parties that Derek was never a fan of.

“Alright. Good,” she says briefly. Jessica bit her bottom lip hesitantly. “Derek, there’s something I also need to mention.”

Oh shit, here it is. The slight panic returned to him once again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take it.

“Oh, and, um, what’s—what’s that, Mom?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and trying to sound calm.

“Your… your public image has been in a very rough state lately, especially with all of the partying posts that your friends shared online. The hard drinking and the strippers, Derek, it’s just… It’s affecting how your investors and all these businessmen perceive you. They won’t take you seriously with all of your recklessness. Just… Settle down or something. Find a really nice girl, or boy, or whoever, and take them out to dinner,” she urges. “I want you to stop partying and… hooking up with strangers so much. Please be presentable at the party, Derek. I’d—I’d even be pleased if you were able to bring a date.”

Derek didn’t process the words the moment they left his mouth abruptly, blurting out a blatant lie. “Actually, that’s what I was going to bring up. I actually have a date to the party.” Shit. No. No, you don’t, you fucking idiot.

“What?” She asks curiously, completely taken aback. “Are you serious, Derek?”

“Yeah! And, um, we’ve been serious for a long time, but uh… yeah, they are helping me become a better, uh, man, and I will no longer be reckless. My reputation will be restored, so no drastic measures have to be done,” he says, digging himself in a deeper hole as he tries to indirectly convince his mother that she shouldn’t cut him off. If those rumors were to be true, at least.

“Well… Derek, if you’ve been seeing them for a long time already, then what was that scandalous video clip of you and that… that stripper, posted everywhere online?” She questions, thinking to herself about the logistics of Derek’s situation.

“Oh yeah, that was—see, that was an old video. People have just been reposting it recently, you know the algorithm. I—Actually, I, uh, I met my partner on the day after that video was taken, and they, uh, yeah, they convinced me to be a better man, donate to charity, all that… philanthropy shit—uh, stuff.” Derek had attempted to simultaneously make his mother believe he had a respectable date to the party, as well as being a much better person than he was before.

“Which was when?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, like.. gotta be a few months ago, give or take,” he answers briefly.

“Alright, and who is this date of yours?” She finally asks.

“Oh, right, that would, um, that would be my partner,” he answers in a mumble, nodding to himself with clarity.

“Derek,” she sighs exasperatedly.

“Oh. Their name? Their name, you mean? Their name is, uhh, umm… Actually, I would love to surprise you, Mom!” He answers immediately.

“Seriously?” She scoffs with a disappointed sigh. Jessica knew her son like the back of her hand. Hell, she birthed the kid, having to push out his dumb, big head out of her snatch. The point was, she could always sense when he was lying, or at least when there was something fishy. Sadly, she frequently expected very less of him, unbeknownst to Derek.

“Yeah, Mom! Trust me, they’re really kind and they’re a good person, and I am—I am just thrilled to introduce the two of you,” he exaggerates pridefully, hoping to eventually sell it.

“I worry about you, Derek,” she sighs softly. “Fine… Fine, whatever, Derek, I’ll see them at the party. Please promise me that. Just… Just be good, okay?”

Derek smiled to himself. “I will. And I promise. I won’t disappoint you. I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too.”

***

“I am so royally fucked,” Derek states bluntly.

Later on in the evening, Derek was hanging out with you as always, at the club you two would habitually meet up at. You were his best friend for many years already and earned the position of being his right-hand man ever since you first met in college.

“Why? What did you do this time?” You reply lazily, sipping your drink. You always expected bullshit from Derek. He always got himself into trouble that he would make other people fix. It wasn’t very bothersome to you, personally. You enjoyed hanging out with him and his privilege was just a big bonus.

“Well… So, I was speaking with Wallace—”

“Ew—”

“Yeah, I know,” he scoffs. “As I was saying… The guy pulled me into his office and, get this? There’s a whole fuckin’ rumor that my mom is going to cut me off.”

“What?” You perked up, sitting up from your previous slouching position and looked at Derek seriously. “No way. That—No, that’s not true. You’re—You’re a full-time Mama’s Boy, the fucking suck-up of the century, there’s no way she would do that to you!”

Derek shrugged as he sipped his bourbon, the blue lights in the bar beginning to give him a headache. “Yeah, well… Remember that… that super dope video of me drinking a shot from that one stripper’s belly button? What was her name?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in deep thought. “Vixen?”

“No, she was last week’s. Was it Trixie?”

“No, that was way back during the New Year’s Eve party,” you recalled.

“Candy? No…”

Enthusiastically, you slapped the wooden surface of the counter with your palm. “Tiffany!”

“Yes, fuck, it was Tiffany!” Derek exclaimed. “Okay, well, you recall all those videos of her and me posted everywhere, right?”

“Hell, yeah! I had the best fucking recording, man,” you chuckle softly, thinking about the wild night before.

“Yeah, you did,” he slightly smiled, “but, uh… It’s getting viral and well… I don’t fuckin’ know why Wallace can’t do more cover-up shit for me, but because I’m ‘ruining my reputation’ with this, it’s gonna give my mom a bad reputation too? So, like… Wallace said there was talk about her… cutting me off the inheritance or whatever.”

“Shit…” you blew a low whistle, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… That’s really tough, man. Look, I’m sure that there’s a reason why it was solely a rumor and she’s not actually thinking of that. She loves you, you’re the last physical form of proof of your dad, and ultimately, you’re a manipulative suck-up. You’re not getting cut off anytime soon, dude.”

Derek scoffs, pinching his eyebrows together. “Well, its too late because I sorta fucked up a bit more.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? How?”

“My mom was so insistent about me getting a date to the party this weekend and I think she believes that me being in an exclusive, healthy relationship or whatever would improve my reputation,” he explains, humming a small mutter of gratitude as a bartender walked over to refill his drink. “So… I lied and told her that I had a date already. And that I’ve been dating them for a few months already and they’re helping me improve so that she would have no reason to cut me off.”

“But like… the video of you and Tiff—”

“I know the video of me and Tiff!” He exclaims in frustration. “I told her that video was filmed a long time ago and people are just reposting it, or something.”

“Okay, right,” you nod, trying to get a sense of his train of lies. “So, what, did she believe you?”

“I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ know,” he mumbles, “I can’t tell. But I told her I would bring them to the party as a surprise and I couldn’t even come up with a name or anything.”

You groan, putting your head in your hands before taking another sip of your alcohol. “Derek, you are a total idiot. What are… So—so, who are you gonna pull up to the party with? A fuckin’ cardboard cutout of fuckin’… Margot Robbie and call it a night?”

“No, I’m not a dumbass, Y/n. I’ll just tell her that they couldn’t make it because they were sick or something. Better yet—they were doing some kind of modeling job in Europe,” he replies, wanting to give the impression that if he would have a romantic partner, they would be incredibly successful and beautiful. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“That’s rich,” you scoff, wiping an eye with your finger. You were absolutely done with him. “You really think she’s going to believe that? Seriously? She’s your mom, Derek, I’m sure she can tell when you’re lying. And—and at one point, she’s going to ask for proof of photos and to actually meet them in person, and I’m sure that when she gets the news that you lied to her, she’d want to cut you off even more! Derek, you’re just digging yourself in an even deeper hole than before. You’re practically digging your own grave,” you argue.

“Fine, fine, then if she asks again, I’ll just say that they broke up with me,” he shrugged dismissively, leaning back and drinking from his glass.

“I thought the whole point was to improve your reputation, make you seem like a goddamn saint?” You retort, wiping your hand over your face in exhaustion.

He frowns. “Okay, you do have a point. Fuck. Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Why’re you asking me?” You whine with a frown.

“Because you keep correcting me on shit, clearly you must have better ideas than me,” he shrugs, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t. If I were you, I’d just cut your losses and accept that your fucking consequences have actions!” You reason fairly. “Might as well just get kicked out to the streets, having to con people for their money—oh wait, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing for the past few years! That’s all you do, man, I’m sorry, I can’t back you up! All you do is trick and deceive with all your lies, using people as pawns, it’s ridiculous!”

And after all that calling out, there was only one thing that the arrogant bastard got out from your outburst. His eyes lit up and you could tell that he had another stupid idea.

“Wait, Y/n, that’s it!” He exclaims brightly. “Using people!”

“Dude, I really fucking can’t with you—”

“I can get someone to pose as my fake partner for the night!” He grins.

“Yeah, I am really not liking the sound of this—”

“And get this,” he began eagerly. “You can do it.”

You feel your eyes widen as you hear Derek’s proposal. “Oh, no. No. Hell no. No, no, no, not in a million fucking years.”

“Y/n, come on,” he whines childishly. “It’ll only be for a day. You can pose as my partner at the party, impress my mom, deceive the press for a bit, and boom, I won’t even be considered getting cut off.”

You let out a prolonged groan, rolling your eyes and gulped much more of your drink than a regular sip. “Derek, she knows me. She knows I’m your best friend, she’s met me, there is no way—”

“That’s the point! I can pull some strings and shit, saying that we were friends until we, like, fell for each other or some other cheesy fuckass story. And if we want this entire charade to end after the party, a few days later I could just say that we broke up because we were more compatible as friends! No bitterness so that neither of us seem like the bad guy in the breakup. It’s the perfect fucking plan,” he explains, somehow more intricately than you would expect from him.

You pause, pondering deeply about his plan.

“Hell no.” You finally say, drinking more of your beer.

“Aw—come on, Y/n. Please. It’s only for a day. Look, my life is at fucking stake! I could lose all my fucking money, and—look—you won’t get to take advantage of my rich, privileged ass anymore. No more luxuries, no more rich parties. Come on, Y/n. Please.” His voice was pleading and you could tell he was heavily desperate. He wasn’t wrong. If the rumors were true and his mother was going to cut him off due to his recklessness and immaturity, he would lose so much money that you can’t leech off on. And of course you cared about him more than the money, he’s been your friend for years. But this whole thing seemed so complicated.

However, you were his right-hand man. His best friend since college. He relied on you. But hell, if you had to humiliate yourself for one night as Derek’s romantic partner, you should at least get something out of it.

“I wanna get paid,” you blurted.

He looked at you with an almost offended expression. “What?”

“Look, if I have to spend a night at a boring ass party, shaking the wrinkly, sweaty hands of old, ancient fucks, and having to pretend I’m your partner, I expect to be paid,” you reason, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” he scoffs distastefully, rolling his eyes. God, you wanted to stab a fork in them.

“No! This whole plan is so complicated and I hate you for involving me in it!” You growl, pointing at him accusingly. “What am I getting out of this? Nothing! So you might as well just pay me to do this stupid acting job.”

“You’re—You’re not serious—” he glances at your obstinate expression. “You’re fucking serious. Well, okay! Fuck, fine. How much are we talking?”

“How long is the event?” You ask, grabbing your glass up to your lips to indulge in another sip.

“Probably a few hours, I don’t know, it’s a whole fancy live charity auction event,” he shrugs carelessly, grabbing his vape from his pocket and taking a quick drag.

“Okay, then. I won’t burden you too much. Two hundred dollars,” you answer confidently.

“That’s it? Oka—”

“However,” you began with a small smirk. “If we have to be all couple-y and gross and romantic with each other, I may consider raising the price. Like, if we have to hold hands or I have to look into your eyes for more than five seconds.”

“Fine, that seems fair,” he sighs softly. “Do we have a deal?” Derek, like he always would when he’d negotiate, took out his hand in front of you.

You grimaced at it. “I really don’t wanna shake to that,” you whine, groaning to yourself. “Just one night, right?”

“One night,” he confirms.

“Staging a break up right after?”

“Yup.”

“Little to no PDA?”

“Hopefully.”

“And you’re gonna pay me five hundred bucks?”

“Yes. Wait, wh—”

Before he could protest, you shook his hand immediately, completely sealing the deal.

Having to pretend to be Derek Danforth’s romantic partner for a whole night?

Yeah, there was no way in hell that this was going to end well.

[chrissturnsfav]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt and fuckgirl!reader meet

the music pulses through the house, a bass-heavy rhythm that you can feel vibrating in your chest. laughter and voices mix with the beat, a chaotic symphony of a saturday night party. the air is thick with the scent of perfume, spilled drinks, and the faintest hint of weed.

you’re at the center of it all, like always. your friends hang on your every word, their giggles rising like bubbles in a soda as you recount some outrageous story that’s half true and half too good to believe.

you take a sip of your drink—something sweet and strong—and let your gaze wander lazily over the crowd. you know almost everyone here, and they all know you. the thrill of attention is comforting, warm and familiar, and it boosts your ego. but then, your eyes catch on someone unfamiliar.

he’s leaning against the wall, partially hidden in the shadow of a flickering neon sign. a plaid shirt, worn jeans, and a beer bottle held loosely in one hand.

he’s quiet, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of caution and curiosity. his lips curl into a faint, almost invisible smile when he watches someone stumble over a poorly executed dance move. he’s not part of the chaos, not like you are. he’s observing, separate and untouchable.

very intriguing.

you tilt your head and narrow your eyes, studying him for a moment longer. he doesn’t fit here—not with the sweaty, writhing crowd or the boisterous laughter spilling over from a nearby beer pong table. it's enough to make you curious.

without thinking twice, you excuse yourself from your friends with a playful wave and weave through the crowd, your hips swaying just enough to part the sea of drunken bodies. the floor sticks faintly under your heels as you approach him, and you feel his eyes flicker to you before quickly darting back to his beer.

"hey," you smirk, letting the word slide out like it’s dipped in honey. you lean casually against the wall next to him, your shoulder almost brushing his but not quite. "never seen you before," you snicker, sipping your drink.

his lips quirk up slightly, but he doesn’t look at you. not directly. "'cause i don't go out," he shrugs.

"yeah, clearly," you laugh, loud enough to drown out the rest of the room. "you don't seem to fit in, no offense at all by the way."

"you're right," he mumbles, looking toward the group of people dancing like idiots and shakes his head.

you raise an eyebrow, amused. "so why are you here then?"

the boy shrugs, taking a sip of his beer, "came with my brothers."

you smirk curiously, leaning a bit closer to him against the wall as you speak with a hint of seductiveness, "yeah? who's your brothers?"

he notices your closeness, snickering a bit under his breath responding nonchalantly, "chris and nick."

you tilt your head to the side, your lips parting as the image of nick and chris pop into your head. you know of them, knowing that they're triplets, but you had never seen the third one around before. "so you're the third triplet?"

the boy nods, but it’s not with any pride or enthusiasm. it’s more like he’s trying to explain away his awkwardness, or maybe even justify why you've never seen him before. '"yeah," he mutters, taking another sip of his beer like it’ll help him escape the conversation.

"i see," you say with a smirk, drawing the words out slow. "so you’re just the quiet one?"

he looks at you for the first time in the conversation, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smile, but he doesn’t. instead, he shrugs. "something like that. they’re more the… social type. m'not really big on crowds."

"what's your name baby?" you quip flirtatiously, keeping the charming smirk on your face.

he doesn't seem amused by the pet name, almost like he expected you to say something like that. "matt," he mutters, taking another sip of his beer.

there's a small, nagging frustration creeping in—something you’re not used to feeling. normally, guys are falling over themselves just to talk to you, to get a little attention. but matt? he’s too cool, too calm, almost like you’re just another part of the background noise to him.

but then there’s that flicker in his eyes—just enough to make your heart race. he’s not falling for your usual moves, but you can see it now: there’s something more beneath that nonchalant, cool exterior. a curiosity, maybe even a hint of interest. it’s not the usual eager gaze you’re used to, but there's something almost…enticing about the way he’s not giving it to you.

it sparks something else inside you. something deeper. maybe it's the challenge. maybe it’s the way he doesn’t need you to flatter his ego to get your attention. whatever it is, it’s stirring something inside you, something that makes you want him even more.

when you tell matt your name, keeping up your suggestive tone, he scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk as his eyes flit from the crowd to your face, "i know."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: nothing newww i'm sorry :( i j redid my introduction for this au and decided to post their meet as a prompt. but new things are coming soon !! i've just been in a funk and i don't feel like writing lately

thank you for reading!! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03

@chrissturnsfav ™

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐BATHROOM

summary — in which your best friend tashi drags you along to the frat house party thrown by patrick zweig because her boyfriend art was dragging her along, but things take a turn when you get locked in the bathroom with the party host himself.

pairings — frat!patrick zweig x rival!reader, college!art donaldson x college!tashi

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2108

note — au where they all go to the same college, and all play college tennis. art and tashi are dating here for the sake of the plot.

YOU’D LOST COUNT ON how many years it had been since patrick zweig made you want to gouge your eyes out. it started back at mark reballato academy when you were kids, only crossing paths because it turns out art had unsurprisingly befriended both of you.

 you were sure he regretted properly introducing the two when you made the connection that patrick had been the egotistical tennis player you used to cringe at from afar . . . until he started noticing your own talent. weaponising his ego to a whole new extreme, he’d began turning it on you, and though it became your push to be better because you needed to be better than him, it was painstakingly irritating.

things hadn’t changed. you’d thought patrick would mature after years apart, and you also thought that he wouldn’t step foot into a college campus unless it was for sex. that’s what he’d told art anyway. imagine your surprise when he showed up on the very first day, his arm around art’s shoulders while you and tashi stood there in shock.

fast forward a year and a half, it was very clear that patrick hadn’t changed since you attended the same tennis academy. you were focusing on trying to go pro while simultaneously completing your psychology course to have it as a backup plan. on the other hand, though patrick was studying business with tashi, he was very vocal about only being there for vibes. vibes including partying and drinking. that was it.

“no, for real, tashi,” you stared up at the house with dread. “this is not gonna be fun.”

art answered for her instead, his left arm tossed over your shoulder while his right held tashi close to his side by the waist. “you should start celebrating your wins, you know.”

“stay for at least an hour,” tashi compromised, looking across her boyfriend to you. “i’ll even leave with you if you still want to go after that.”

an hour was a lot . . . but it was doable. all you had to do was avoid patrick and find the girls you trained with for the time being. sounded simple enough. “fine, yeah,” you gave in, shaking your head and looking back at the house. you could feel the bass-boosted music beating your heart for you, could hear loud conversations of those drinking out on the mowed lawn surrounding you. frat parties weren’t your scene, but with tashi as your roommate, you weren’t really looking to spend the night alone after you had just won your tournament hours prior. 

sucking it up, you followed your best friends inside the crowded house party. the smell of beer was overwhelming, hitting you like a wall the second you stepped inside. immediately, art and tashi broke off towards people they knew, tashi’s hand slipping into yours to pull you with them, but your grip wasn’t strong enough and you lost them trying to weave around people. 

“great,” you mumbled under your breath, even though it wouldn’t have mattered if you yelled it because it would not have been heard over the music anyway. you ventured through, shoving drunk bodies out of your way when they got a little too close for comfort. you liked a party, but frat parties that reeked of beer and sweat were not your thing. especially not ones thrown by patrick zweig.

speak of the devil and he shall appear, you thought numbly when you turned a corner and ran straight into him. quite literally. you heard him curse, saving the beer can in his hand from tumbling to the floor. “what the– oh,” he had this look on his face that could only mean trouble, and you shut your eyes for a moment to compose yourself. you were more so just glad that he hadn’t spilt beer all over you. he uttered your name tauntingly, tasting it it as it rolled across his tongue in a way that only he found amusing. “that’s funny, i don’t remember inviting you.”

“you didn’t,” you shot back, entirely uninterested. you went to step around him but he blocked you, stepping across like he was acting as a mirror. “patrick,” you deadpanned, irritation growing much to his pleasure. you knew that he liked to push all your buttons like it was some sort of kink, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the effects work, scratching under your skin like a thousand hungry ants.

he repeated your name, setting his beer down on the closest windowsill and crossing his arms over his chest. “y’know what,” he decided, that constant smirk he had gracing his lips. his curls were disheveled, starting to hang down closer to his eyes, damp with a thin layer of sweat. “you won your silly little girls tournament today . . . i guess that means you can stay.” and there it was. it was all dipped in sarcasm, toxic sludge rolling off the tongue.

patrick could recognise skill, he wasn’t blind. he’d known you were skilled ever since art introduced you back at the academy all those years ago. you treated tennis like an artform rather than a sport, something so graceful and filled to the brim with calamity in a way that he could never understand. you never lost your cool playing tennis, no matter how many times you may lose. his wins fed his ego, yours kept you motivated. he hated you for it – how you always seemed to be so good without even trying, how you were ( he’d never admit it ) better than him without batting an eye.

art had come to terms with the fact that patrick was better than him. you wouldn’t, and it frustrated him to no end because he swore that he was. he knew that he was.

“when was the last time you won a fuckin’ tournament?” spilt from your lips before you could stop yourself. “when the fuck is the last time you’ve made it past the second round?”

in his stunned silence he didn’t react quick enough for anything at all, just felt himself be moved by her shove before she disappeared through a crowd of people.

“ART,” YOU CALLED OUT to him, shouting over the music that seemed to get louder as the minutes ticked by. it had been over an hour by now but you didn’t have the heart to remind tashi of that when she’d finally let loose long enough to dance with art. “where’s the bathroom?”

“down that hall,” art pointed, fixing the red cap that sat backwards over his curls, “and around the corner on the left.”

setting down whatever drink you had in a red solo cup ( because there was no way you were going to drink any more of it ), you thanked him with a smile before maneuvering through to follow his directions. with the alcohol starting to hit more around you, you weren’t too surprised with the amount of students your age making out against walls or on couches or practically on top of others. it was bad enough when you’d tried to avoid couples desperately trying to find a vacant bedroom; yet another reason you didn’t do frat parties. 

beyond thankful when you realised the bathroom wasn’t occupied, you pushed the door open, the creak barely noticeable over the music. the bathroom wasn’t too bad for a frat — spacious, and somehow decently clean if you ignored the countless shaving creams, random razors and cans of axe body spray littering the counter. you were a bit concerned at the lack of toothbrushes in sight, but other than that it looked usable. 

you had one foot in the door when you felt like you were suddenly falling, the ground a taunt as the tiles grew closer. “the fu—“

air knocked out of you from behind, you were thankful for the arm that reached out to steady you before you ate the tiles. “sorry,” an all too familiar voice rushed out, “just had to—“ he caught your face. “oh.”

your faces dropped at the same time when your eyes met. “for fucks sake,” you pulled yourself out of his grip, shoving him away and placing your hand on the door handle. “i—“

“do not open that fucking door,” patrick stole your breath again by pushing you up against the door, both effectively stopping you from pulling it open and also using you as a human barricade. “do you want me to get murdered?”

“yeah, actually,” you snorted, struggling to push him off. it was the last position you wanted to be in with him — patrick a little too close for comfort, his hands pinning your shoulders to the wooden door and his knee dangerously close to sitting in between your thighs. “who is it this time?”

“mary-anne,” he sighed, and you immediately broke out into a fit of giggles. “she’s mad i fucked her sister.”

one fling of many, mary-anne was a bad choice for patrick to get involved with from the start. she was a preppy gymnast with an attitude problem, still yet to find out that he had fucked pretty much her whole friend group but her finding out that he got with her sister was probably bad enough. 

now i’m being dragged into it, you thought, irritation gnawing at you. fuck.

“maybe you shouldn’t have fucked her sister then,” you suggested. it was clearly not the answer when you noticed his eyes narrow. 

patrick, seemingly able to take a deep breath, took a moment to regain himself. this was not ideal for him either when the buzz of cheap beer was bubbling in his stomach. “and do you know why i fucked her sister?” he scoffed, eyes a deadly poison trying to paralyse you. “or why i fucked mary? or all those other girls?”

now you were majorly uncomfortable. if you wanted to hear about the girls he got with you’d wait until word went around campus like the weekly newspaper. “okay, just because you peaked in high school does not mean—“

“they all look like you! fuck, man,” he groaned the second he exploded out with it, and you fell silent. your retort about him talking like a high schooler as if anyone cared disappeared, and you stopped trying to fight against him. 

“what?”

“all those girls look like you,” he said quieter this time, averting his eyes as the reality dawned on him. he wasn’t getting out of this one. “i fucked things up with you when we were kids and i don’t know how to unfuck things and so i thought ignoring you would work and . . .” he was at a loss for words, the ones tumbling out frantic nonsense. 

it was a lot to take in. you recalled a joke you remember art making some time ago now, where patrick was constantly showing up to practice with a new girl on his arm every other day. art said they all looked like you and this was probably his way of saying he was in love with you, but you snorted and backhanded a tennis ball into his face in response to his bullshit. 

you were seriously regretting almost breaking art’s nose now considering he was right. 

“that’s . . .” you were at a loss, unsure of what to even think let alone say. your face felt warm and then bathroom felt smaller — you felt smaller. what could you say?

most of your memories were of patrick being a piece of shit. if he didn’t look so frantic about the whole thing you’d slap him for taking up this as a dare from his mates. you sadly knew him well enough to know he was telling the truth. 

“you don’t have to feel the same way or anything,” something in patrick’s tone shifted. he didn’t sound as gruff anymore. “i—“

you kissed him there, silencing him, he was quick to comply like it was second nature. his hands slid down to your hips, his knee pushing between your thighs the closer he got. you pulled back before it could go any further, a mess of flutters and spikes rooting themselves in the pit of your stomach. 

“shut up,” you said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you probably could’ve silenced him by doing that in the first place, but he deserved a taste of his own medicine. “let me think.” and get a drink, you thought, pushing him back so that you could leave the bathroom, leaving patrick zweig a speechless disaster as the door closed behind you.

[luvhaos]

omg for the drabble game, “come back to bed” and dino !!

lee chan x reader 𖦹 word count: 927 2025 drabble dialogue game — open

content: frat boy! chan, angst, suggestive content 

Chan almost wishes that Seungkwan hadn’t told him you were coming tonight. 

The house is pulsing with the bass-boosted music Vernon plays from his DJ table and Soonyoung has set up the light system to flash different colors. Every room is filled to the brim with people, and they eventually had to start turning people away at the door with the exception of select friends. 

He’s gulping down whatever concoction Mingyu handed him, only half-listening to whatever story his brothers are telling some girls as his eyes scan the crowd for the fifth time. He still doesn’t see you.  

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns, hoping that it’s you. Instead, his shoulders drop when he sees that it’s someone else; he vaguely remembers her — Minji, he recalls — a girl he hooked up with earlier in the semester. She was cute and he was a little tipsy, so he went with her to her dorm when she offered. He’d left the next morning before the sun even rose. 

She smiles at him, gazing at him with bright eyes. “Hi, Chan!”

“Hey,” he says half-heartedly. He moves his head back to stare out at the living room, straight at the door. 

She shifts to move in front of him. “How have you been?”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call after, you know, that night…” She’s saying other things but Chan isn’t listening. He only tunes back in when Mingyu says his name, asking him to add onto the story about when Soonyoung and Jeonghan dared him to chug a whole bottle of fireball. 

Chan laughs a little, “Yeah, my mouth was on fire by the end.”

It earns laughs from the group and Minji slaps his arm lightly, giggling too loudly. She touches his bicep and tells him, “Wow, I forgot how buff you are!”

“Been hitting the gym with Mingyu more,” he says and she opens her mouth to say something but Chan tunes her out, eyes widening. Even in the crush of bodies and the dim light, he zeroes in on you. 

Your arm is looped through your friend, Yeri’s, and the flashing lights make the glitter on your eyelids sparkle. Seungkwan’s on your other side and you grin at something he says, which makes Chan’s heart flip and his stomach churn. He knows he’s being rude when he doesn’t excuse himself from the group, shrugging Minji’s hand off him but it’s almost trance-like — his draw toward you. 

It takes five steps for Chan to be in front of you and he asks Yeri, “Mind if I steal your friend away?”

“By all means,” she says, nudging you with a smirk. You roll your eyes good-naturedly at her as Chan wraps an arm around your hips, bringing your back into his chest. 

“Hello to you too,” you say. Your hands rest on top of his as the two of you move along with the rhythm of the song. 

“Hi,” he replies with a grin, pecking your exposed shoulder. “I can’t believe you turned down my invite but accepted Seungkwan’s.”

“I told you I had a paper to finish. Seungkwan just had better timing since he checked again after I had just submitted it.”

“Excuse, excuses,” Chan mumbles, tucking his face into your neck. You always smell good, your perfume only enhancing your natural scent. 

You spin around to face him, arms winding around his neck to pull him even closer. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he hums, leaning forward. His mouth finds yours easily and his grasp on you tightens. As his tongue slips into your mouth, your hands slide into his hair. He moans into the kiss as he feels you tug on some strands. When you break for air, his mouth follows yours and he barely even realizes it. Neither of you have to even say anything before he’s tugging you through the sea of people and up the stairs towards his room. 

Chan flings the door open and slams it behind him. You back him up until he hits the bed and tumbles onto the mattress. You straddle him, dipping down to catch his lips with yours again. The two of you twist and writhe together until you’re both breathless and sated. Well, Chan doesn’t think he’ll ever be sated when it comes to you. 

You fall asleep curled in his arms and Chan watches your chest rise and fall with breaths, gaze tracing the contours of your face. He wishes that he could preserve this moment like a fossil in amber, wishes that it could last forever. 

When he wakes up the next morning, you’re already standing, searching for your clothes in his dark room. Normally, Chan would be glad that he didn’t have to drop hints to get someone to leave but his stomach plummets when he sees you getting dressed. He leans up on his elbows and murmurs, “Come back to bed.”

You laugh breathily, stepping into the jeans you wore and slipping your top back on. “Tempting but I have to go. I’m meeting someone for breakfast and I have to clean up and get ready.”

“Are you sure? You can shower here and I can drive you—”

As his eyes adjust to the dark room, he sees you smile a little. “You’re sweet, but I really have to go.”

He frowns when you put on your shoes and wave over your shoulder as you open his door. Then, you’re gone.

It’s just like every time before, and each time, his heart breaks a little more. 

[hanlimz]

midnight thoughts: [heeseung + drunk words]

synopsis: real sweet, but you wish he was sober (alternatively, you take such good care of heeseung while he's drunk that he decides to tell you how he really feels). pairing: heeseung x gn!reader genre/warnings: hurt/comfort (?), f2l (ambiguous but still cute i promise) / EMETOPHOBIA TW (nothing happens but throwing up is mentioned, be cautious <3)!!!, drunk heeseung lol, tiny skz mention (my worlds colliding), um alcohol consumption (?), sunghoon is the dd don't worry there is no drunk driving! wc: 1.4k (el oh el)a/n: inspired by model student heeseung in the first couple en-o'clocks who is unreasonably attractive but also ? a dork . that is all. (love u hee stans this one's for u hope u're doing okay lately w ur man acting the way he is.)

[1:16AM] six shots of tequila and a raspberry smirnoff ice deep, and lee heeseung is gone. strong surges of heat rush to his cheeks to create a dizzying push and pull effect, rivulets of sweat are beginning to drip from his temples, and he's trying his best not to vomit up the fried chicken jake and sunghoon made him eat earlier. heeseung finds solace on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor; he clutches the crisp fabric of his white button down and attempts to will away the waves of nausea that are crashing against the walls of his stomach. breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, heeseung's thoughts begin to drift back to a familiar place. he can almost feel the phantom sensation of your fingers carding through his hair; the tips of your fingers are refreshing and imbue him with a tranquility that he isn't often privy to.

"holy shit, dude—did we really let you get this fucked up?" heeseung vaguely registers jake's voice as two warm fingers reach under his jaw to check his pulse. inwardly, heeseung chuckles—leave it to biomedical engineering major, pre-anesthesiology track jake sim to presume death over everything else. glancing up, heeseung watches the genuine concern that flashes in the younger boy's gaze. "c'mon heeseung, we gotta get you home, bro. good god—[y/n] is actually gonna murder us …”

heeseung curls in on himself at the sound of your name, hiding away from the prodding of jake’s fingers into his upper arms. he wants to press his face into the crook of your neck, he aches to feel your hands cascading up and down the length of his spine, he yearns so desperately for a chance to indulge in a tender moment of unity with you. heeseung closes his eyes to relish in the way the memories seem to envelop him in a ghostly embrace, and he swears he only blinks once. the bass-boosted music and headache inducing strobe lights become mere background accompaniment to the movie playing behind his eyelids.

he swears he only blinks once, but the familiar aroma of your perfume begins to permeate his senses—bergamot and vanilla, his favorite. voices come into focus, his head starts to pound, and the reality of being splayed all over the backseat of sunghoon’s benz is setting in at the speed of falling molasses. "what the hell did you let him get into?" there's a certain venom in the question that bites at his jugular. he recognizes the cadence of your voice and the way you suck a sharp breath through your teeth with ease. "sigma kappa zeta is so out of hee's league—you couldn't have taken him to alpha tau zeta or tau chi tau or someplace that bang chan doesn't run?"

"he said he could handle it!" sunghoon counters.

you let an incredulous scoff escape your mouth as you berate the two boys in a hushed whisper, "and, you believed him? he obviously wanted to impress you idiots. god, i'm starting to think jongseong is the only one of you with a functioning brain ... "

"[y/n]!" jake exclaims, "so not chill."

"no—what's really not chill is tweedledumb and tweedledumber letting heeseung get wasted at his first frat party." you scold, voice cold as ice while jabbing an accusatory finger in their faces. jake and sunghoon hang their heads like dogs being told off for chewing up furniture; in any other situation, you might have had the inclination to chuckle, but you don't. "now, help him up to my couch and leave before i get even meaner."

everything is blurry as heeseung stumbles his way up the stairs to your apartment; sunghoon and jake are bickering with one another while supporting each side of his body—who is tweedledumb and who is tweedledumber, who let heeseung drink this much booze, who will have to recount tonight's escapades to jay, and who will have to give pity laughs to his impending dad jokes? they curse at one another until you mention the possibility of a noise complaint, and all the incessant chatter stops. in the midst of a spring night, only cricket song remains. heeseung focuses on the quiet chirping until the cool leather of your couch cushions begins to soothe the molten liquid that seems to course through his veins. goodbyes are exchanged and a door is closed somewhere far away, but heeseung's head is too heavy to lift.

he blinks again and opens his eyes to the rough fibers of an old washcloth running over the peaks and valleys of his face. the fabric brushes along the deep circles carved beneath his bloodshot eyes; concentration knits your forehead into a multitude of different creases, and heeseung can't help the pitiful chuckle that tumbles from his mouth. an airy sensation overtakes his being as he realizes that he's right where he had wanted to be all evening—with you. embarrassment still settles like an indestructible boulder in the pit of his stomach, however; shame's spindly talons sink into heeseung's flesh as he realizes just how much of a fool he's made out of himself.

"just—just wan'ed to be cool, [y/n]," heeseung slurs out, voice plagued with exhaustion. bringing his knees to his chest, heeseung attempts to keep his tears at bay. "just wan'ed to show you that i c'n be cool 'nd awesome 'nd sexy! but, now 'm just looking stupid on your couch ..."

placing the washcloth on the arm of the sofa, you move to rest heeseung's head in your lap. he gladly accepts the comforting gesture, cuddling into the soft cotton of sweatpants he realizes are his. combing your fingers through his roots and scratching at his scalp, you whisper, "for the record—i already think you're cool and awesome."

heeseung glances up at you, face swollen and eyes puffy. "really?" he asks, "so, you don't think i'm a stupid, un-sexy idiot that can't hold his liquor?"

"well, you can't hold your liquor," you muse with a hint of laughter in your voice, caressing the supple skin of his cheekbone, "but, no. i don't think you're a stupid, un-sexy idiot."

basking in the reality he was just confronted with, heeseung's drunken mind can only focus on one thing. his desperate need for clarification tempts him; desire's forked tongue beckons him towards the truth. the question repeats over and over again in his brain until it spills out—an unwilling victim of an inebriated perpetrator. "so ..." he drawls, attempting to wink but closing both eyes instead, "you think i'm sexy?"

and, you laugh. it's a euphoric sound—a beautiful melody reminiscent of spring picnics, gingham blankets, and the fragrant scent of blooming tulips. for a moment, heeseung loses himself in it; coherent thought escapes his grasp as he is overtaken by you. your touch, your warmth, the bleary image of your smile as it comes in and out of focus. you wash over heeseung in waves, an ocean of calm in a world that only seeks to burn; alluring siren song floods his mind as you call out to him over the sound of the blood pumping his ears. the cool tips of your fingers are beginning the quell the heat beneath heeseung's skin as consciousness begins to slip away from him, and a dopey grin is woven onto his lips.

"heeseung," you murmur, the ghost of a bout of giggles hiding behind your words. "hee, baby, you should really let me get up to grab you some advil."

the term tumbles from your mouth before you can help it, and you freeze. having revealed yourself, you're overcome by the desperate urge to run—but, heeseung has given you nowhere to go. his weight traps you, holding tight and pressing harder by the second. half of you wants to hear him say it back, while the other hopes for the couch cushions to swallow you whole. heeseung—though not a man of many surprises with his perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect everything—manages to stun you tonight.

"wan' you t'call me that again, [y/n]," heeseung mumbles through sleep, "please."

"you want—" your voice catches in your throat, "you want me to call you baby?"

there's a beat of silence so long that you're almost sure heeseung has fallen victim to the salivating jaws of sleep, but he groans. the utterance is low and deep—dripping with what seems to be a concoction of mild annoyance, exasperation, and endearment. "'s all i've ever wanted, [y/n]," he replies, eyes closed and nose buried into your sweater, "you're all i've ever wanted."

another pause.

"okay," you say, meandering through the quiet for a moment, letting yourself wade towards him in this new sea of possibilities, "baby."

[hibiscusol]

IVY - rafe cameron .⋆·˚ ༘ *

navigation ! masterlist

warnings: language and mentions of alcohol

summary: rafe came back after swearing he never would.

author's note: we are sooo back guys :]

The moment Rafe’s hand snaked up your waist after three years of no contact, your mind went full-blank.

You never thought that Rafe, of all people - who are you kidding, you always did - would come back one day after swearing on his dad that he never would.

It’s not like he ever really liked his dad anyway.

So as you turned around in shock to connect your drunk glossy eyes to his, it felt wrong. So wrong. Sarah had told you he’d found someone new. That he’d found a pretty blonde who looked better next to him. She’d never say it to your face, but the pictures you’d see on his account screamed it at you.

It took you a second to remember that he probably mistook you for her, and you take a step back, shaking your head quickly.

“Wait, Y/N,” He whispers, and even in the bustling crowd, it reaches you just fine. You wait and turn, feeling dizzy. “Excuse me?” You say, too stunned to make up any other words. You want to shove him away and scream at him, yet his fucking beautiful blue eyes hold you in place. 

“Can we talk? By my bike?” He says, inching a little closer so that his voice would reach you. His body towers over yours and the blue and purple lights dim a little.

“No?!” You say defensively, making it sound more like a question. “Who even are you?” You say jokingly, your freshly manicured hand landing on his shoulder and pushing him slightly away. He doesn’t resist. He takes a step back and puts his hands up in understanding. “Y/N. Please. I need to tell you some things I needed to tell you all those years ago.” 

You feel your eyes sting, and a tear rolls away. You instantly turn away from him to the backyard, looking at all the half-naked people in the pool, even though your eyes are getting blurry.

He doesn’t say anything. He knows you. He waits for you to turn around.

“Your drinking problem never went away, did it?” You finally manage, barely saying it without crying. Your voice breaks, but he doesn’t notice it with the loud sound of bass-boosted Travis Scott playing in the background.

“No, Y/N, I know I’m drunk. Which is probably why I’m not rethinking this. Just 5 minutes. Please.” He says, frowning. He sounds like he’s going to cry too.

“Isn’t she here?” You spit out, rolling your eyes. Your heart has never beaten so fast before. You believe him. It must’ve been a big deal if it’s still breaking him after three years. “I tried to make me and her work. She’s not you.” He says and your heart stops.

It fucking stops.

“Rafe, stop it. You’re being mean,” You say, raising your voice. You don’t want to believe him. You don’t want to believe all the tears you shed were for nothing. You don’t want to believe when Sarah told you herself that his brother sucked, you felt like the only person who understood yourself. You hated him, yet you loved him too. And you didn’t want to believe he was sorry. You wanted to get the closure and move on. But every day, you found yourself refusing to take the picture of you and him off your bedstand. Just in case this happened.

“Mean? Y/N, what are you saying? I…” He says and you interrupt. “No, Rafe, I’m not fucking falling for this again.” You say and shake your head. Your hands are feeling so empty. You want to grab his flesh, hug him, and tell him you forgive him. For ignoring your calls when things would be rough at home all those years ago. For getting wasted and coming home, yelling at you because his dad had cut his only source of income for his rich shit. You wanna tell him it’s okay, that he was 17 and you know he didn’t know life isn’t just about that. But you can’t. Because what if he doesn’t think that like you do? What if that girl is waiting for him to come back with her drink?

“For what? Baby, I…” His voice breaks again when he calls you baby, and your body stiffens. He sounds broken and you can’t help but put your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t call me that,” You say, making it sound like advice and not a threat. “You should leave, you’re not feeling okay. You’re out of your…” You say and he shakes his head. “No, Y/N, I’m not okay because you won’t let me talk to you. I didn’t want to ruin your night, I just… I have to tell you how I feel. I’ve bottled it up for too long.”

A tear rolls down your face, and he notices it. “Don’t cry, I’m… I’m sorry.” There you go. He’s said it. He’s sorry.

The magic word. It goes through your brain and every single cell, making you shiver. You nod involuntarily, wiping your tears away with the palm of your hand. “You’re crying too.” You say, looking down at the space between the two of you. He’s wearing the shoes you bought him for his 17th birthday.

“I am.” He says and sniffs, looking away. He chuckles to lighten the mood and lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry for everything. I was a kid and I didn’t realize what I was doing wrong. I know better now.” He says and nods repeatedly. 

“And I’m not with her. I… we didn’t even like each other like that. She once asked me if I was gay because of how uninterested I was.” He says and you laugh. The fact that something not even funny could sound funny coming out of his mouth makes you blush. He smiles from ear to ear when he hears your laugh. “I missed that laugh.” He whispers.

“So… do you forgive me?” He says and your smile disappears. “Wait, Y/N, don’t be like that. I’ve changed. I’ll change more. I’ll change however you want if it means I’ll have you again…”

“Okay, Rafe, I understand.” You say and nod. “I just… why three years? Where were you?” You say and rub your forehead.

He takes a deep breath and puts his drink down. He hesitates to cup your face, but then you give him the nod of permission, and he does. “Because I wasn’t in a good enough place to be with you. I wanted you to be with someone you truly deserved, even if it wasn’t me.”

The next few seconds happen before you can digest his words. His lips part and gently crash onto yours, making your breath get stuck in your throat. His head leans forward and his thumb caresses your jawline as you melt into him. You smile through the kiss and your arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer. 

He pulls away abruptly and you frown. “Wha…” You try to protest but he stops you. “As much as I would love to keep on kissing you and more, I’m not here for this tonight. I’m not too drunk to drive so let’s go under that one tree we always hung out under. Come on.” His words make you chuckle as he pulls on your hand through the crowd, leading you to his bike. No matter how intoxicated you both are, you feel safe with him for the first time, because you know he’s not the same person he was all those years ago.