#But the moment i try to write a rough draft my brain just

[cutehoons02]

Leather jackets

*pairing: frat gym rat boy Jay x book girl

*trope: sunshine boy x shy girl

*synopsis: What would happen if you were lying to read a slightly "spicy" book and not fit to read in the university library, Jay Park as well as one of the most popular guys at the university find out that you are not so innocent as you want to make believe? between betting, books with jokes cliche, stolen kisses, gym sessions with Jay what could happen to the book girl and gym rat boy of the university?

*tags: Lots of fun, they love to tease each other, the protagonist is slightly shy and a little insecure about her physique, fake innocent girl, needy Jay, touchy Jay, green flag boy, reading books spicy (Twisted Games, The spanish Love And Deception) virgin reader, protected sex,masturbation, fingering, pacifiers, pet names (bookgirl,princess,sweatheart)

14k (🤎)

💌The request and ideas were written by @m3wkledreamy for this story (thanks a lot for your help)

(English is not my native language)

You had just finished writing the draft of your essay for Contemporary Literature and Media. You had spent hours trying to piece together a coherent analysis of how Romanticism had evolved in modern novels, and your brain was now frying. You deserved a break.

Without thinking twice, you pulled Twisted Games out of your bag. Just one chapter was enough to make you escape from the reality of assignments, notes, and presentations. You curled up in the most secluded armchair in the library and began reading, immediately immersing yourself in the forbidden world of Bridget and Rhys.

"You know you shouldn't provoke me, Princess," Rhys growled, his deep voice rough against her skin.

Bridget felt a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t move. "What if I want to provoke you?"

Rhys's eyes darkened, his hand tightening around her waist, and in the blink of an eye, his lips fused with hers. The kiss was everything she had wanted and feared: burning, possessive, unforgettable...

"Burning, possessive, unforgettable, huh?"

A deep, amused male voice suddenly echoed above you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and with fear in your eyes, you spun around quickly.

There, standing next to you with a book in one hand and headphones around his neck, was Jay Park. The Jay Park. The one every girl at school sighed over while he ran a hand through his messy hair after a workout. He was the one who always had that smug grin on his lips. The one who, for some reason, was now looking at you with an amused expression.

"...What the hell are you doing?" you stammered, snapping the book shut as if it were radioactive.

Jay shrugged casually, sitting down on the armchair next to yours. Too close.

"I needed a quiet spot to read," he said, giving you a sly look. "But then I saw you... and, well, I couldn’t resist."

You clenched the book in your hands, your face burning. "Resist what, exactly?"

Jay crossed his arms behind his head, relaxed as if you were just two friends chatting normally. "A book girl so absorbed in her reading that she doesn’t even notice a guy like me right behind her."

She swallowed hard. He had been behind me the whole time?!

"You weren’t... reading out loud, were you?" you asked, a slight note of panic in your voice.

Jay bit his lip as if trying to hold back a laugh. "No, but with a scene like that, I didn’t need to. The blush on your face says it all."

You shot him a glare. "I’m not blushing."

Jay leaned forward, resting his elbow on the armrest of your chair, so close you could smell his aftershave. "No? Strange, because you look about to explode."

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to regain some dignity. "And since when does the gym rat boy care about books?"

Jay raised an eyebrow, the grin widening. "Gym rat boy? Now you’re giving me nicknames?"

"Call it poetic justice," you retorted, crossing your arms to give yourself a bit of confidence. "Since you like to tease people so much."

Jay stared at you for a moment, as if studying you, then shook his head with a satisfied smirk. "You know, you're more fun than I thought." You felt even more embarrassed. You weren’t sure if you should take it as a compliment or a mockery. Jay set the book he had in his hand on the table—a large volume on business management and international tourism. "Anyway, for your information, I do read. Just… more useful stuff." You glanced at the title and wrinkled your nose. "Bleh. Sounds boring." "And you? Do you get slapped by sexy bodyguards and rebel princesses?" You stiffened. "N-Not like that!" Jay laughed, clearly amused by your reaction. Then, as if he had an idea, he looked at you with mischievous, sparkling eyes. "How about a bet, book girl?" You blinked. "A bet?" He nodded, crossing his arms. "You come to the gym with me and do a workout without complaining, no sighing, no running away. I'll read an entire romance novel… the one you pick." You stared at him incredulously. "An entire book?" Jay made a vague gesture with his hand. "Sure. I'm a man of my word." Then he leaned closer to you, his voice low and provocative. "But be warned, if you lose… you'll have to come to the gym with me all week." You felt a shiver run down your spine. Why did it always feel like Jay Park was playing with fire? You eyed him suspiciously. "And if I win and manage to finish the workout?" Jay grinned like a cat that just caught a mouse. "Then I'll read an entire romance novel… and I’ll have to discuss it with you or watch a movie you love, I bet those 2000s romcoms." You stared at him, torn. On one hand, you knew you had no chance of surviving a workout with him. On the other, the idea of actually seeing him read a romantic book and suffer through the cheesy scenes was just too tempting to pass up. In the end, you sighed. "Deal." Jay extended his hand. "Handshake to seal the deal?" You hesitated for a second, then shook it. Mistake. His grip was firm and warm, and the intensity with which he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. Damn it, why was he so good at making you feel embarrassed? Jay squeezed your hand slightly before letting go, the victorious grin still on his lips. "Get ready, book girl. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into."

Three days.

Three days had passed since Jay Park had caught you reading Twisted Games and proposed a ridiculous bet.

Now, sitting exactly in the same corner of the library, you were drumming your fingers on the table, uncertain about what to hope for.

What if he didn’t show up?

That would be a relief. Her, at the gym? Come on. Just the thought of being surrounded by all those athletic guys, with their sculpted abs and ridiculously heavy weights, made her anxious. You weren’t that type of girl. The curves you had always made you feel out of place, too aware of every outfit that clung to her.

You had to admit it: you were insecure.

And Jay... well, Jay Park was the type of guy who seemed born for the gym.

Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe it was just a joke.

"I missed you, book girl."

There, standing next to you, was Jay Park.

Damn.

His hair was soft and slightly messy as if he’d just run a hand through the dark strands. He wore a gray sweater that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders and a pair of dress pants that contrasted with his usual sporty vibe. Casual, but damn attractive.

She immediately looked down, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

"I thought you had forgotten..." you mumbled, trying to sound indifferent.

Jay casually sat across from you placing his phone and a water bottle on the table. "Forget? Not at all. I came to get my book."

"So... are you really going to read it?"

Jay leaned back in his chair with a mischievous smile. "Well, let’s just say I’m curious to see what’s so special about your book boyfriends."

You stared at him for a moment, then, with a deep breath, pulled a book from your bag and handed it to him.

"The Spanish Love and Deception."

Jay took it and looked at the cover. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow and glanced back at her with an amused expression.

"Colleagues, tension, forbidden attraction..." he murmured, flipping through a few pages. Then he looked at her with sparkling curiosity. "So, tell me... is Aaron your type?"

You stiffened, surprised by the question. "W-What?"

Jay leaned forward slightly, his voice low. "Aaron," he repeated, emphasizing the name. "Is he your perfect book boyfriend?"

You lowered your gaze, biting your lip. You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but yes… Aaron was exactly the kind of guy who made your heart beat faster. Sarcastic, charming, protective, but with a heart of gold.

"...Maybe," you whispered softly.

Jay smiled, amused. "Maybe? You don’t seem convinced."

You pressed your lips together, trying to ignore the way he was studying you. "It’s just... well, he’s the classic guy who knows what to say, how to treat a girl. He’s affectionate, but not suffocating. And romantic."

Jay nodded as if analyzing every word. "I see." He ran a hand through his hair and smirked. "So, you like romantic guys, huh?"

You felt your face heat up. "I-I didn’t say that..."

Jay chuckled softly. "Oh no, you did." He flipped through a few more pages, then looked up at her. "I wonder if Aaron would be man enough to handle a workout session with me."

You stared at him, confused. "What?"

Jay closed the book with a slight thud and leaned in even closer, his voice low and provocative.

"Tomorrow. 4 p.m. Gym."

You felt your breath catch. "T-Tomorrow?"

Jay nodded with a satisfied smile. "Just reminding you, the bet applies to both of us, princess. I’ll read your book..." he paused, his gaze flashing with pure mischief, "and you come with me to work out."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

"But..." you desperately searched for an excuse, anything to get her out of this nightmare. "What if I’m not up for it?"

Jay stood up, sliding the book through his hands. "Oh, you’ll be up for it. It’ll be fun." He moved a little closer, leaning slightly toward her. "Who knows… maybe Aaron would even join you."

You shot him a death glare, but he chuckled, shaking his head.

"See you tomorrow, book girl."

And with that satisfied smirk, Jay Park walked away, leaving you completely in a panic.

16:00 – University Gym Lobby

You felt completely out of place. The gym was huge, with mirrors along every wall, rows of exercise machines, and athletic guys and girls lifting weights as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Not your scene.

You pulled your oversized shirt tighter around you, lowering your gaze to your black, form-fitting leggings. At least those made you feel a bit more comfortable; they made your legs look longer and leaner. But the rest of your body? No, thanks. Better to hide.

You fixed your high ponytail and took a deep breath. Come on, you could do this. It was just a bet.

Then you saw him, and you immediately regretted coming. Jay was whistling near the equipment, completely at ease, wearing an absurd tank top that hugged his sculpted physique.

Oh. My. God.

It was worse than you’d imagined. Much, much worse.

His biceps seemed to beg to be touched. His shoulders were wide and strong, but not excessive. And then there were the veins on his arms... those damned veins that stood out perfectly against his golden skin.

And his hands. Oh my god, his hands.

In your books, you’d read hundreds of descriptions of buff guys, but none of those words had prepared you for this. Jay Park didn’t look like he came out of a romance novel. He was the romance.

You felt yourself blush fiercely and desperately tried to look away, but it was too late.

Jay had seen you, and his smirk widened dangerously.

“Book girl.”

His deep voice made you flinch. Jay approached with his usual relaxed stride, holding a folded piece of paper in his hands. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering for a moment on your loose shirt before moving back up to your face.

You bit the inside of your cheek, already knowing what was about to happen.

Jay tilted his head, amused. “Where are your book boyfriends? I was expecting you to have one of them by your side.”

You turned your gaze away, crossing your arms over your chest. “W-Who says they’re not here?”

Jay chuckled softly. “Sweetheart, if Aaron were here, he’d already be working out with me.” He ran a hand through his hair and got even closer until you could smell his masculine cologne.

Damn. He smelled too good.

You stiffened, but he seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“Anyway,” he continued, unfolding the paper in his hands, “here’s your workout plan. I made it myself.”

You stared at him suspiciously. “Should I be worried?”

Jay smiled. “Oh.” Then he leaned in slightly toward you, lowering his voice. “I hope you’re ready to sweat, princess.”

“Lower, book girl.”

You froze instantly, your face was already flushed from stretching, but now it was on fire. You slowly turned toward Jay, who was looking at you with a satisfied smirk.

“E-Excuse me?” you stammered, gripping your knees to keep your balance.

Jay stood next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You need to lean more. You’re not stretching the muscles properly.” Then, with almost provocative slowness, he bent down, demonstrating the correct movement. And damn, did he do it well.

His muscles contracted perfectly under the tank top, and you had to concentrate hard not to stare for too long.

Jay glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong? Are you distracted?”

You quickly composed yourself. “No! I’m just...” You took a deep breath and tried to bend further down, ignoring the way Jay was watching you with amusement.

“Better?”

Jay nodded but then tilted his head with a mischievous look. “Yeah… though you could still go a little lower.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Jay raised his hands innocently. “Not. I just want you to train well. You know, maybe Aaron in your books doesn’t need stretching, but here in the real world...”

You huffed, trying to ignore the quickening beat of your heart. “You’re insufferable.”

Jay chuckled. “Thanks, I know.”

TREADMILL – 20 MINUTES OF TORTURE

“Are you sure you can handle it, book girl?”

You shot Jay a glare as he, with absurd ease, ran on the treadmill next to you without a hint of exhaustion.

You, on the other hand, were already cursing every life choice you’d made.

“I’m fine.” You tried to sound natural, slightly increasing the speed. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you collapse.

Jay raised an eyebrow, amused. “Really? Because it looks like you're starting to sweat.”

You clenched your jaw and pushed yourself even harder, refusing to give up. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you surrender.

For a full twenty minutes, you kept the pace, even though your legs burned and your breath got shorter and shorter. When the timer finally stopped, you slowed to a walk and stepped off the machine with shaky legs.

Jay followed you, still completely relaxed, not a drop of sweat on him. Unfair.

“Wow,” he said, walking closer, “I didn’t think you’d last this long.”

You let out a slight gasp, trying to catch your breath. “I told you I wasn’t giving up.”

Jay looked at you with a mischievous smile, then reached out and brushed your face lightly.

You froze. “W-What are you doing?”

Jay gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You had a piece of hair out of place.”

The light touch of his skin against yours sent shivers down your spine. He was too close. Too damn close.

Jay tilted his head, studying your face. “Hey, you’re all red.”

You pulled back sharply, embarrassed. “It’s from the effort, okay?”

Jay chuckled, hands on his hips. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed!”

He laughed again, that gym rat satisfaction in his expression. Then he clapped his hands and gestured toward an area of the gym with a nod of his head.

“Alright, princess. Now we move on to legs.”

You stared at him wide-eyed. “What?!”

Jay winked at you. “I promise this will be the most fun part.”

Jay led you to one of the machines and pointed to the seat. “Come on, book girl, sit here.” You hesitated, eyeing the infernal machine Jay was making you sit on.

“Now you have to push your legs out,” he explained, squatting beside you, running his hand along the selected weight. “It helps tone and strengthen your muscles.”

You nodded absentmindedly until your eyes landed on the number displayed. 30 kg.

Thirty. Kilograms.

You stared at it in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

Jay laughed under his breath. “No, you’re just out of shape.” He stood up with a smooth motion, cracking his shoulders. “I do it with 80, so consider yourself lucky.”

You rolled your eyes and adjusted yourself on the seat, positioning your legs against the pads. “Thirty times?” you asked, hoping for some form of mercy.

Jay leaned against the machine, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thirty times.” Then he winked. “If you want, you can stop early, but only if you admit I’m stronger than you.”

You clenched your jaw. “Forget it.”

You inhaled deeply and pushed with all your strength. The weight wasn’t impossible, but it still required a lot of effort. After the first ten reps, your muscles start to burn.

Jay was watching you intently. His expression had changed now. He wasn’t just teasing you… he was watching.

The way your legs moved around the machine, the skin stretched tight under the leggings. How the loose shirt had just risen slightly, revealing a hint of your slightly tanned belly. And then there was the way your chest moved ever so slightly with each push. Jay tilted his head, watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. A full third? Or maybe a fourth? The thought hit him suddenly, and his gaze briefly dropped to your lips. They were a bit fuller than usual… What would it be like to kiss them? You were beautiful, and it was strange that in all the months he had seen you in the halls or at school, you were never walking arm in arm-with a guy. A part of him was glad you didn’t have a boyfriend because deep down, he was starting to be interested in you…

A sudden snap of fingers in front of his eyes brought him back to reality. Jay blinked, bringing his gaze back to you, who was watching him suspiciously. "Hey," you said, a bit hesitant, "are you still with us, or do you need a moment?" Jay cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow slightly to hide the fact that he had been lost in his thoughts. "I was just checking your form." You curled your lips into a grimace. You didn’t seem convinced. You ran a hand over your shirt and pulled it down slightly, lowering your gaze. Jay noticed the movement and your eyes dropping, almost insecure about the small piece of exposed belly. "I'm done," you murmured, avoiding eye contact. For some strange reason, Jay didn’t feel as amused anymore and nodded.

Jay positioned himself in front of you with a relaxed expression, placing his feet shoulder-width apart. "Watch closely, book girl," he said, slowly lowering himself into a perfect squat. "Back straight, weight on your heels… and then you come back up." You nodded, trying to focus on his words and not on how his black tank top stretched over his broad shoulders as he moved. Damn, Jay and his gym rat body. You were about to attempt replicating the movement when a shrill voice interrupted the moment. -Jay! What a surprise to see you here!- You looked up and found yourself facing a cheerleader in uniform. Tall, slim, confident. Perfect. The girl approached with a dazzling smile, positioning herself next to Jay with a self-assurance you could never have. -I always see you training with the guys, but today you've got company?- Her gaze briefly rested on you, almost distractedly, before it went back to Jay. You pulled your oversized shirt tighter, feeling the insidious weight of insecurity settle over you. It was silly to feel this way. But the way the girl’s uniform perfectly hugged her body, showing it off without a hint of hesitation… it was everything you weren’t. You lowered your gaze, taking a deep breath to push those thoughts away, focusing on your feet to avoid looking at the scene before you. Then you felt a light pinch at your side. "Hey!" You jolted, spinning around. Jay was looking at you with an amused grin. "What are you doing, getting distracted?" he asked, leaning slightly toward you. You shot him a glare, and he moved back slightly. "Don’t do that again." Jay raised an eyebrow. "Why? It’s fun watching you jump." "Because I don’t want to be touched." For a moment, Jay looked at you without saying anything. His smile faded slightly, and his gaze became more serious. Then he nodded. "Okay." His voice no longer held the usual lightness. He seemed sincere. With a nod of his chin, he signaled for you to get into position.

"Now, let’s see how you handle the squats." You focused on the movement, trying to ignore the fact that Jay was watching closely as you lowered and rose. Twenty-five regular squats. Twenty-five with a jump. By the end, your legs were on fire, and you were out of breath. Jay reached for a bottle and handed it to you. "Water and magnesium. You need it to recover." You took the bottle and drank a few sips, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. "Thanks." Jay watched you for a moment, then crossed his arms with a satisfied grin. "I’ll admit it, I didn’t think you’d make it." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Jay laughed, then added with a tone that was slightly too pleased: "But you know what this means, right?" You looked at him, confused. "What?" Jay stepped a bit closer. "I lost the bet." His lips curled into a mischievous smile. "So, in addition to reading me that romance book, we also have to watch a movie together." You stood there, speechless. "Wait… what?!" Jay shrugged. "You did the whole workout, so I have to keep my end of the bet. But you don’t think I’m getting away with just a book, do you?" He leaned slightly toward you, lowering his voice. "You’ll have to pick a romantic movie and force me to watch it." You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. Okay, maybe this workout hadn’t been torture after all.

Your phone vibrated for the umpteenth time while you were sitting at your desk, trying to focus on studying. The screen lit up with a new message. 📩 Jay: "So, book girl, Aron just pushed the heroine against the wall and whispered in her ear that he would never stop wanting her. Is this guy always like this or does he get even better?"

📩 Jay: "Because I have a feeling you gave me the book with the most tension and bickering in your entire collection?"

📩 Jay: "Anyway, update. I’m halfway through. When I win the bet, I demand the shortest movie possible."

You laughed to yourself, biting your lip as you read his messages. So he was reading it. You had to admit that it pleased you a little that Jay was so involved, even though he would never openly admit it. But you hadn’t seen him in over a week. The baseball team was busy with away games, and the most contact you had with him were those messages where he teased you or updated you on the hottest moments of the book. And then, that evening… The door to your room suddenly swung open, and Giselle stormed in like a hurricane. "Y/N, stop whatever you’re doing right now!" she announced excitedly, grabbing your hands and pulling you up. You looked at her confused. "What—?" "The basketball team and the baseball team won their games!" she said with a satisfied smile. "You know what that means, right?" You squinted your eyes, suspicious. "That we can go do karaoke and eat fried chicken to celebrate?" "No." Giselle stared at you seriously. "It means there’s a huge party at a fraternity, and we’re going." You blinked. "Wait, what?" Giselle ignored your protest and made a beeline for your wardrobe, rummaging through your clothes without an ounce of shame. After a few seconds, she pulled out your nightmare dress. A tight black cocktail dress with tiny sequins and a slight sweetheart neckline. Your worst enemy. "No, absolutely not." You quickly shook your head. "There’s no way I’m wearing that." "Y/N…" Giselle looked at you with her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "It’ll look amazing on you." You crossed your arms over your chest, stubborn. "That’s not the point." "So what’s the point, then?" You bit your lip, looking away. "…That Jay might be there." A sly smile spread across Giselle’s lips. "Ohhh, so that’s why you don’t want to wear it." "It has nothing to do with Jay," you lied shamelessly. Giselle sighed, then grabbed your wrists and started dragging you toward the bed. "No, listen, you’re going to the party, and you’re going to wear this dress. And if Jay is there, even better. It’s time to stop hiding under layers of baggy clothes." "Did you just insult my aesthetic?" you asked, feigning offense. "I’m saying you’re hot, and you need to start acting like it." Despite your protests, after two hours of getting ready and many threats from Giselle, you found yourself inside a crowded fraternity house, wearing the nightmare dress and holding a drink. And, of course, with your heart pounding at the thought of who you might run into inside.

The music echoed in the air, the bass vibrating through the walls of the fraternity house, and the smell of alcohol mixed with sweet perfumes filled the atmosphere. Giselle had dragged you all around the house, giving you a full tour as if she were a tour guide. "And this," she said, pointing to the kitchen transformed into an improvised bar, "is the source of every questionable decision of the night." She handed you a colorful drink that smelled of fruit and alcohol. "Drink, it’ll loosen you up." You looked at the glass with suspicion but took a sip anyway. Sweet, fresh, and deceptive. The kind that makes you forget there’s alcohol in it. A few minutes later, you found yourself outside in the gazebo, where a group of students was playing beer pong amid laughter and cheers. And then… you saw him. Jay. He was casually leaning against a table, a drink in hand, talking lazily with a girl. He almost seemed bored by the conversation, but that didn’t change the fact that he was damn good-looking. He was wearing a slightly unbuttoned black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms and those damn veins you had gotten to know in the gym. And then his hair. A little messy, but in that perfect way that you knew was intentional. Maybe it was your gaze that lingered a little too long because at one point he looked up and caught your eye. And he choked on his drink. Oh. You immediately lowered your eyes, your heart racing, pretending you hadn’t noticed. Maybe it hadn’t been that obvious. "Y/N?" Keeho’s voice made you turn, lifting your gaze. He was one of the guys from your study group, and he was… objectively handsome. Dark, slightly wavy hair, perfect features, and a slightly prominent nose that made him even more attractive. But most of all, he smiled in a way that lit up his whole face. "I didn’t expect to see you here," he said, with a genuine laugh. You lowered your head slightly, already feeling a bit more shy. "Actually, neither did I. It’s all Giselle’s fault." Keeho laughed again. "Well, I’m glad you’re here. That dress looks good on you." You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks. "Oh… thank you."

As you were talking with Keeho, you didn’t notice that Jay had remained still in his corner, the glass still halfway to his mouth, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. And he didn’t like it one bit. Seeing you, his book girl, in that black dress that hugged your body… and especially seeing Keeho looking at you that way? No. He didn’t like it at all. So he pushed himself off the table with a barely noticeable sigh and walked toward you, sipping his drink with apparent calm. But inside? It burned. You were still talking to Keeho, who seemed extremely comfortable while making you laugh with some joke. And that smile on your lips, the one Jay usually made you wear when he teased you? Was it now for Keeho? No. That wasn’t right. Jay reached behind you, close enough for you to feel his presence without him touching you yet. "What a sight," he commented with his usual slightly amused voice, but with an undertone that didn’t escape you. "I didn’t know book girls also came to these parties." You stiffened slightly at the sound of his voice, turning toward him. Too close. Too intense. Too… Jay. Keeho raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and him. "See? Even Jay is surprised," he joked, but his tone held a slight challenge.

Jay smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something more dangerous. "Oh, I am." His eyes lowered slightly, quickly scanning over you. "Especially since I didn’t expect to see you in… this dress." You felt your heart skip a beat. Keeho laughed, patting your shoulder. "I just told her, it looks amazing on her, right?" Jay gave a small smile, but his eyes stayed on you. "Oh, no doubt about that." The tension in the air became palpable. You were there, caught between Keeho's relaxed confidence and Jay’s burning gaze, which seemed amused, irritated, and intrigued all at once. And just when you were about to say something, Jay lowered his drink and leaned slightly toward you. "So, Y/N… shall we play beer pong? Or are you afraid of losing your first bet to me?" Your breath caught in your throat. Oh, damn. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore how your heart was racing. Yes, you weren’t great at beer pong. Yes, you’d probably lose. But the urge to challenge Jay was too strong. "Are you afraid of losing, Park?" you said with a smirk, crossing your arms. Jay started laughing, shaking his head. "Me? With you? Book girl, don’t make me laugh." Keeho stepped between you two, throwing you a concerned look. "Y/N, we all know you can’t handle much alcohol. Maybe I should play for you." You scoffed, making a face. "It’s just small sips, I won’t die." Even though, inside, you were slightly terrified by the idea. Jay shook his head with that usual challenging smile of his. "Fine, but what are we betting?" You pouted, staring at him intently. "If I win, you have to watch an entire romantic movie with me. One of my favorites." Jay raised an eyebrow, amused. "You want to force me to watch one of those movies where the protagonist has a sudden transformation and ends up becoming the perfect guy?" "Exactly," you said proudly. "Because even a frat boy has a heart of gold deep down." He laughed, shaking his head. "That’s never going to happen, but alright." Then he suddenly became more serious, and with one step, he moved closer to you. Too close. You could smell his scent – a light aftershave mixed with the warmth of his skin – and your heart leaped into your throat. "And if I win?" he asked in a low voice, his gaze locked on you. You swallowed nervously. "W-what do you want?" Jay tilted his head to the side, studying you closely. Then he let his gaze slide down to your lips, lingering for just a second before answering. "I want a kiss." Your breath stopped. He smiled softly, that cheeky grin that drove you crazy. "But not just any kiss," he continued, lowering his voice, and you felt your stomach flip. Had he lost his mind? "What?!" you whispered, eyes wide. Jay took a step back with a chuckle. "What’s wrong, book girl? Afraid to lose?" You clenched your fists, your face burning. Damn Park Jongseong. "Get ready to watch a whole night of rom-coms," you said in a fake confident tone, even though inside, you were a mess. Jay lifted his drink with a satisfied smirk. "We’ll see."

Jay looked at you with a satisfied smile as you took another sip of your drink. You had already missed five shots, and at this point, half of your drink was already gone. When you lifted the glass to drink again, Jay stopped you, gently grabbing your wrist. "Okay, that’s enough," he said, shaking his head. "I don’t want to have to carry you out of here rolling." You nodded slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread across your cheeks. Then you sighed, glancing at the untouched glasses still on the table. "I screwed this up…" you murmured, looking down. Jay stepped closer, lowering his face near yours. "Nah. You just lost badly." You raised your eyes, glaring at him, but he just smiled. "But the fun part," he continued, tilting his head, "is that with your little screw-up, I just won a free kiss." Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. "Wait, what?" Jay smiled even more as if he was enjoying every second of your reaction. "You lost, right? And we made a bet. So…" He paused, letting the meaning of his words sink slowly into your head. You felt your face flush. "You’re impossible." He laughed softly. "And you’re drunk." You puffed out your cheeks. "I’m not drunk." Jay gave you a skeptical look. "Yeah. And I’m a book boy." You crossed your arms, trying to keep the little dignity you had left. He shook his head, amused, then put his hand in his jeans pocket. "Should I drive you home?" he asked, his tone softer this time. You hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay." Jay smiled, as if he had already predicted your answer, and gestured for you to follow him. The cool evening air made you shiver slightly as you walked beside Jay. He led you to the parking lot, and when you saw his car, you almost lost your balance. A Mercedes and not just any Mercedes. One of those that probably cost more than all the rent for your student room put together.

You whistled softly, impressed. "Okay… this is the moment I realize you’re really rich." Jay laughed as he opened the door for you. "Took you this long?" You shrugged, getting in with a bit of hesitation. When you sat down, you immediately felt the fabric of your dress ride up slightly on your thighs. Instinctively, you tried to pull it down to cover yourself more. Meanwhile, Jay got in on the driver’s side and started the car but noticed your movement. Then you heard yourself mumbling something under your breath. "I should never wear stuff like this…" Jay took his eyes off the road and glanced at you sideways, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What?" You quickly shook your head, immediately regretting speaking aloud. "Nothing, never mind." But Jay didn’t let it go. He turned off the engine for a second and completely turned toward you, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Say it again," he said, his voice slightly lower. You felt a lump form in your throat. "It’s nothing." Jay clenched his jaw. "You said you shouldn’t wear things like this. Why?" You lowered your gaze, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Because… they don’t look good on me." The silence that followed was heavy. Jay ran a hand through his hair, taking a second before responding. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. "Book girl," he said, and this time there was no malice in his voice. Just frustration. "Who the hell put this nonsense in your head?" He stared straight into your eyes, his voice lower and more intense. "That dress looks amazing on you. And anyone who ever made you think otherwise is an idiot." You swallowed, feeling your face burn. "Jay…" He tilted his head, studying you. Then he smiled slightly, but this time, there was more than just malice in his eyes. There was something else. "You should wear them more often, especially when I’m around!" You puffed out your cheeks, trying to ignore the warmth that had flooded your body. "Stop teasing me, Jay." He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned slightly toward you, getting closer and closer. You shifted against the seat, trying to create more distance between you, but he seemed determined to not let you escape.

His scent – a mix of musk, sandalwood, and something slightly sweet – enveloped you, making your head spin even more than the alcohol already had. "Can I touch you?" he asked suddenly, his voice lower, almost a whisper. You looked up at him, surprised. Jay tilted his head slightly. "At the gym, you told me you didn’t want to be touched. I don’t want to do it if you don’t want me to." Your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t know how to respond. Or rather, you did, but admitting it out loud was a whole different story. You nodded slowly. Jay bit the inside of his cheek, as if trying to hold back a smile, then smoothly took off his leather jacket and placed it over your bare thighs. "Is this better?" You looked down at the jacket, then nodded again. "Yes…" Jay leaned in even more, this time with more confidence, and his hand slowly traveled up to your cheek. His fingers were warm, a pleasant contrast against your skin. You held your breath when his thumb slowly traced the outline of your face, sliding down until it reached the edge of your lips. He brushed them with his fingertip as if memorizing their shape. Then, with a whisper, almost to himself, he muttered: "Fuck, you’re beautiful." And pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t hesitant. It was hungry, and confident, like it was something he had wanted to do for a long time. Jay’s lips were incredibly soft, and they tasted of expensive liquor with a slightly smoky note. Yours, on the other hand, were sweet, infused with the fruity drink you had had at the party. It felt like you were sinking into the warmth of the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that made your head spin. You felt his breath mixing with yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he tilted his head slightly to kiss you better. Instinctively, your hands rested on his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt cling to the muscles underneath. It was warm, solid, so real that you almost had to hold your breath. Jay smiled against your lips as if your touch amused him. He pulled back for a second, looking at you with those dark eyes that seemed to study every reaction you had. You were blushing, and you knew it. You could feel the heat on your cheeks, the frantic beat of your heart. "It’s the alcohol," you whispered, almost to justify yourself. Jay didn’t answer. Instead, without a second thought, he placed a confident hand on your hip and, with a decisive movement, pulled you back against him.

This time, the kiss was different. Deeper, slower. His lips brushed against yours with overwhelming intensity, leaving you breathless as his tongue gently slid between your lips, exploring you with a languor that made your knees tremble. A sound escaped involuntarily from your throat—a nearly imperceptible moan, but enough for Jay to notice. He smiled against the kiss, his hand on your hip tightening slightly as his fingers traced small circles on the thin fabric of your dress. "You’re dangerous, book girl," he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse and slightly amused. "You’re becoming a drug." Those words sent a shiver through you, a wave of heat traveling from your head to your toes. With a shy gesture, you let your arms slide around his neck, your fingers sinking into his dark hair. You ruffled it slightly, curious about how soft it was. "Oh my god, Jay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "Your hair is… so soft." Jay chuckled softly, not breaking away from you. "What, did you think I had straw on my head?" You buried your face against his shoulder, embarrassed. But he pulled his face away slightly, tilting his head to look at you. And in his gaze, there was something new. Something warm, something that made you want to kiss him again. You stared at his slightly swollen lips from the kisses you had shared, the small bites you had both given each other and while keeping your arms tight around his neck, you asked if you could kiss him again. Jay stared at you for a moment, then chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do you have to ask?" he whispered, his voice slightly rough, still thick from the kiss you’d just shared. You bit your lip, lowering your gaze just a little. "I just wanted to be polite…" Jay smiled amusedly but didn’t say anything more because this time, you moved first. You lifted yourself slightly toward him and kissed him gently, savoring every shiver his lips sent through you. It was different, more intimate. You let go, taking control of the kiss for the first time. Jay seemed to enjoy it. His fingers continued to play with the fabric of your dress, barely grazing it, as he slowly increased the intensity of the kiss. When he pulled back, he had a smirk on his lips. "So, book girl? You, who’s an expert on literary kisses… what’s my grade?" You laughed softly, your cheeks still warm. "I’d say a solid 8.5." Jay raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "8.5? Are you serious?" He brought his face closer to yours, his pout hovering just a breath away from your lips. "What should I do to get to a 10?" You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. You didn’t want to answer, but his gaze was pushing you to. He tilted his head, eyeing you mischievously. "Oh, wait… you’re thinking of something spicy, right?" You immediately shook your head, but the flush creeping up your face betrayed you. Jay laughed, getting even closer. "Come on, tell me. What were you thinking?" You turned your gaze away for a moment, then, in a whisper, you muttered, "Well… I’d need to feel your lips on other parts of my body to see if I can bump your grade…" For a moment, Jay stayed silent. Then he burst into a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. "Wow," he whispered, shaking his head with an incredulous smile. "This isn’t the shy girl I know." You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed. "I didn’t mean to say—" "Shhh," he interrupted a satisfied smile on his face. "I’ll drive you home before you can say anything else that I’ll tease you about tomorrow." You sighed, already knowing he would never let you forget it.

In the days following the kiss, Jay didn’t miss an opportunity to find you in the hallways. Every time he saw you, he’d come up with an excuse to get close—some stupid comment about the book you’d given him, a teasing grin, a hand slipping across your back as he passed by. But his favorite thing? Dragging you into some hidden corner to kiss you without letting you escape. Like that one time in the library, when you were bent over searching for a book on a high shelf and suddenly felt a warm breath behind you. "You should be careful, book girl," Jay murmured, his usual low and amused voice. "You could end up in dangerous situations." Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hips, gently pulling you back against his chest. He trapped you between the shelf and his body, his lips brushing the side of your neck. "J-Jay…" you tried to protest, but your breath was already shaky. "Mmh?" he responded, feigning innocence as he left small kisses on your skin, slowly moving down. You quickly turned to stop him, but it was a mistake—because as soon as you looked into his eyes, Jay took advantage of your hesitation, grabbed your chin, and kissed you deeply and possessively. "God, you’re a drug," he murmured against your lips before kissing you again, his hands tightening around your waist with more determination. And it wasn’t the only time. In the following days, every hidden corner of the university became your secret refuge. But then, that afternoon, you hadn’t seen him around. It was the sound of your phone that pulled you out of your thoughts. Jay’s name lit up the screen, and the message made your eyes widen: "I finished the book. Looks like you’ll have to spend some time with me at the gym :)" It couldn’t be real. But before you could reply, another message appeared. "Come to my place. Bring a shirt and leggings." Below, is the address of a building you recognized well: a luxury complex in the city center.

An hour later, you were standing in front of what seemed like a private gym on the ground floor of the building. The place oozed exclusivity, and you couldn’t believe Jay lived there. When you greeted him, the first thing you asked was, "Seriously, do you live here?" He shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Being the son of a CEO has its perks." Then, without giving you a chance to respond, he grabbed your wrist and pushed you inside. Jay set himself up at the weight equipment with his usual ease, as if it was his natural habitat. The black tank top clung perfectly to his body, highlighting the muscles in his arms that flexed every time he lifted the barbell. God, Y/n, stop staring. But it wasn’t your fault that every movement of his seemed designed to distract you. "Can you explain to me why I’m here, exactly?" you asked, crossing your arms, trying to maintain some control over the situation. Jay gave a small smile as he continued lifting the weights. "Because I finished the book. And I want to prove to you that I read it. Feel free to ask questions." Frowning, you tried to think of something difficult. "Okay, then… In ‘The Spanish Love Deception,’ why does Aaron offer to take Catalina to the wedding in Spain?" Jay lowered the barbell effortlessly and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Because he’s been in love with her for years and he’s tired of seeing her think she doesn’t deserve someone who looks at her the way he does." Your lips curled into a pout. Damn. He chuckled and moved to the squat area, positioning the barbell on his shoulders. Your eyes inevitably fell on his hips, on how the muscles in his legs flexed every time he squatted down and rose. It was ridiculous how attractive he was even while working out. You decided to try again. "Okay, then… describe the scene where Aaron and Catalina kiss for the first time." Jay paused mid-squat and threw you an amused glance. "Do you want me to tell you or would you prefer I show you?" You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and quickly looked away, pretending you hadn’t heard. After finishing his squats, Jay moved to the leg machine—the same one he’d had you use that one time at the gym. Without a care, he set the weight to 80 kilos and got comfortable, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "So, book girl? Got one last question?" You sighed and tried something even more specific. "What does Aaron say to Catalina when they confess their love?" Jay, without even thinking, answered in a lower tone, almost seriously: "‘I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like not to love you.’" At that moment, you realized: you had lost the bet. You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, and Jay burst out laughing. "What’s with that face? Don’t like losing?" You shot him a glare. "I hate losing." "Good, because I love winning." He shrugged, amused. "I’ve loved it since I was little." You rolled your eyes. "So now I have to train with you every day?"

Jay laughed and then, with his usual cocky air, sat down on the leg machine bench, lightly patting his thighs. "Sit on me." You looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. "What?" "You heard me, book girl. Straddle me." You shook your head, your cheeks already burning. "I can’t." Jay raised an eyebrow, that mischievous grin you knew all too well spreading across his face. "And why not?" "Because… because we’re in public!" He burst out laughing again. "Sweetheart, I’ve booked the gym for an hour and a half. It’s just us here." You quickly glanced around and realized he was right. The gym was empty. You hesitated for a moment, then, with your heart pounding, you slowly positioned yourself on his legs, trying to keep some distance between you. Jay watched you with an amused little grin and then shook his head. "No, no, this isn’t gonna work. You need to move higher, or I can’t do the exercise." You swallowed hard, a little scared, and shifted higher, until you felt something hard and warm press against your center. A small moan escaped your lips, too unexpected to hold back, and Jay noticed it immediately. A flash of amusement and desire flickered in his eyes as he lowered his voice. "Oh? Already got you like this?" You bit your lip, trying to avoid his gaze, but he wouldn’t let you. He leaned in slightly, his hands resting on your hips with a firm grip. "I knew you had a hidden side, book girl." As Jay started pushing the weights with you straddling him, you could feel his muscles tightening under your legs. His hands held your waist naturally, as though you were meant to be there, while his breathing deepened with the effort. You watched him closely, paying attention to every line, every movement. A thin layer of sweat made his skin shine, and without thinking too much, you placed your hands on his taut abs. You felt them under your fingers—sculpted, warm, alive. Jay lowered his gaze to you with a sly smile. "What’s this, you doing a technical assessment now?"

You blushed immediately, trying to retract your hands. "I… just curious." "Curious, huh?" he said in a teasing tone, digging his fingers into your sides to make you jump a little. After a few more reps, he finally set his legs down and sat up with a still-burning look. "So… what do I have to do for that perfect ten in the kiss?" You looked at him confused. "What?" Jay stood up, catching his breath as he slowly made you slide off his legs, still holding you by the waist. "I’ll take a quick shower, then we’ll eat something and watch your movie… and you’ll see, that grade will go up, sweetheart." "Sweetheart?" you repeated, blushing as if you’d just heard a swear word. "Mh-hm, you like it, admit it," he said, winking at you as he grabbed his towel and disappeared into the bathroom. After about ten minutes, you were sitting on his couch in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt—his, by the way—while you tried to find your favorite movie to put on. His apartment was neat but lived-in, cozy with a few luxurious touches that left no doubt Jay was truly "the CEO’s son." When he returned, his hair still wet and wearing a fresh t-shirt, he brought two plates with him. "I did everything, sweetheart. Tonight, I’m spoiling you." He set the plate in front of you and dropped down beside you, making you sink a little into the couch as you nodded shyly. "Thank you…" As you ate, the conversation flowed easily. You, with your usual shyness, he, never miss a chance to tease you. "So, after this movie, can I say I’ve conquered all of your book girl heart, yes or no?" "It depends on how you behave." He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. "Interesting threat." Then he handed you a small treat, cutting it in half with a spoon. "Half for you." You nodded with a smile, taking the spoon and eating your half while finally starting the movie. "Oh, so this is the infamous movie of your heart… let’s see if it’s worthy of my ten." And as the screen lit up, Jay already wrapped an arm around your shoulders, whispering, "Get ready, sweetheart. Tonight, I’m getting that ten."

His lips crashed against yours with a restrained hunger, almost frantic. The taste of the sweet you had shared just moments before mixed with the heat of the kiss, making it even more indecent, even more overwhelming. You moaned softly against his mouth, your hands sinking into his soft strands as you pulled him closer, nearer, as if just a centimeter of air between you could make everything fall apart. Jay chuckled against your lips, his hand exploring under the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. "You like wearing my stuff, huh?" he whispered in a low, teasing tone, his fingers brushing the warm skin of your hips. "Maybe because it makes you feel like you're mine." You blushed immediately, but a smile crept onto your lips. "Shut up…" you laughed weakly, without any real conviction. But Jay wasn’t waiting for an invitation: his mouth pulled away from yours and dropped to your neck, leaving slow kisses that became more intense, until he sucked on your skin decisively. "J-Jay…" you stammered, your words trembling between sighs. "I-I have class tomorrow…" "Perfect," he murmured against your skin, "that way you can think of me every time you feel one of these marks burning." He pulled you even closer, as if he wanted to carve himself into you, to claim you silently and viscerally. Then his voice changed, lower, warmer, authoritative but never harsh. "See how quickly you lose yourself for me, sweetheart?" he whispered in your ear. "Don't be shy now. You want it just as much as I do." Then he slowly pulled back, leaving you still gasping, and with that same arrogant, irresistible half-smile, he locked eyes with you. "Alright, book girl… how much are you giving me now?" You stared at him, trying to steady your breath. "N-nine." Jay raised an eyebrow. "Nine?" You nodded, biting your lip. Jay sighed dramatically and leaned back. "What do I have to do for that damn ten?"

He took you to his room without saying anything, but the silence was charged — as if every unspoken second was a shudder tucked under his skin. Once inside, he let you slide slowly onto the bed, the look never detaching from yours. He was above you in a moment, his hands planted on the sides of your head, his body barely touching yours. He kissed you with a slow bastard, as if he were savoring every second... and then he said to you, hoarse and low voice:

"You know you're driving me crazy, right? do you read those books full of dirty scenes and then be shy? Honey, either you stop it, or I'll teach you how to write a scene worthy of that book." Your breath froze for a second, but you didn't look down. He noticed it — and smiled, slow and cruel in the sweetest way. He stroked your hip over the sweatshirt, with a finger, and then added: "Take it off. I want to see everything. And don't try to hide, or I swear I'll rip it off." You looked at him with a timid challenge in the eyes, and obeyed. As the sweatshirt slipped away, his gaze devoured you alive. It lingered on your bra, on your already hard nipples under the fabric. He said nothing for a few seconds. He just looked at you. Then he licked his lower lip, and muttered:

"Fuck. Look at these buds ... so sensitive just for me?" he leaned his face to your chest and began to suck slowly over your bra, but with that deliberate slowness that drove you crazy. Every now and then he looked up to watch your reaction, his eyes full of desire but also of control. You pulled him by the hair, with a choked groan, and whispered: "I want your tongue on my skin..." He laughed, that low, almost cruel laugh. "I knew that under that good girl facade lurked a little perversion. You get excited to read those scenes in the books and then you come to me all red in the face. But now... you're the protagonist, And I'm not here to spare you."

His hands slowly went down your back and unfastened your bra with a disarming naturalness. When he saw your breasts, he barely opened his eyes and then stared at you as if he had found something sacred and forbidden at the same time. "You're gorgeous. And never again dare to doubt how desirable you are. Look what you're doing to me." The tone was fierce and hungry, but full of adoration. He lowered himself again, his mouth a puff from your skin, and whispered: "Do I kiss them so slowly or do you want me to bite them? Tell me, princess of novels... how much do you want me to dirty for you?" Your whisper was lost between the heated breaths. "Kiss me... but I also want you to suck them.» He paused for a second. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin on his lips. "Ah, so now you give orders? The bookgirl gets bold..." He shook his head slowly, as one of his hands lay firmly on your side, holding you steady, possessive and present.

"Honey, you have no idea what you're asking for." He leaned in slowly, his dark eyes pointed straight into yours, and then let his lips close on your hard bud, sucking it with a slowness that almost made you moan his name. You felt him warm, precise, damn confident. With his other hand, he caressed your other breast, first sweet, then more firm, squeezing it as if he wanted to learn it by heart. And you... stutter. «Jay... oh-fuck ... you're ... you're too ... you drive me crazy, I swear..." Your voice was trembling, a mixture of desire and surprise, as your body reacted to his every touch. He laughed, his mouth still on you, then came off just enough to talk, his voice low, scratched with desire. "I'd suck them for hours, you know? You have fucking masterpiece breasts. Full, soft ... they seem to fit in my mouth. And the way you groan when I touch them? That's all I could come for." You looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and pulled a lock of his hair slightly, still unkempt by his heat. "Oh My God ... who reads Spicy romance now? You're dirtier than all my books put together."

He laughed quietly, with that hoarse voice sticking under your skin. Then he stopped, his breath still labored, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip. His hair was a mess, scattered over his eyes, and the way he looked at you was almost animalistic. "Can I get off? I want to kiss you ... really.» You bit your lip, a little scared, a little excited as hell. "Yes..." you whispered. He immediately praised you, with that disarming sweetness that contrasted with the darkness in his gestures. "Good girl... that's how you do it."

But you... inside you felt something squeeze. The panic, that annoying little voice that reminded you that you were not "perfect". That you didn't have that flat stomach, that your body was normal, real, with curves that you sometimes hated looking at yourself in the mirror. You tried to smile, pretend everything was fine, but he knew you too well. He stopped. He really looked at you. "sweetness..." he said quietly,and his voice changed slightly. "What is it? Why are you shaking?" You lowered your eyes.

"It's nothing... just that... I'm not-like those girls you see on Instagram. I'm not sculpted, I don't have a flat stomach and—" he came up, his hand warm on your face. "So what? You know what I see?" He looked at you with a sudden seriousness. "A body that drives me crazy. A woman who knows how to make me lose control. And if you think even for a second that it's not enough, then I'll have to prove you wrong... with my tongue, with my hands, with everything I have.» He bent down again, this time with less irony and more intensity. "And don't pretend to me. I don't want the safe version of you. I want you. All. Your insecurities too. Especially those.»

you smiled. It was that shy but bright smile that made him lose every shred of control. He looked at you as if he had won a battle, and then he bent over you again, lips that began to descend slow, stubborn, kissing your neck, then your chest, your belly... every kiss was a silent statement, slow torture. he slowly sucked your skin to the navel, leaving small marks where his mouth had stopped too long. When he got to the edge of the leggings, he stopped and looked up at you with an expression that made you burn inside.

"May I? "he whispered, but his tone was more of a challenge than a question. You nodded, and without missing a second, he slowly pulled your pants off. When he saw your white panties with the pink rose in the center, he made a low and amused whistle. "But look at that. So innocent outside, so dirty inside. You like playing good girl, huh? With your cute panties and those books full of scenes that make you blush..." He teased you in a low, hoarse voice, as he approached again, leaving kisses on your tight, sensitive skin. "Open your legs for me, honey.»

You did. Your heart pounded into your chest as you watched it move between your thighs. He settled down naturally, his arms firm around your hips, as if he was getting comfortable in his favorite scene. And then it began. His lips, his tongue, his hands ... every part of him seemed to adore you. He would kiss and suck on your inner thighs, slow, methodical, as if he wanted to drive you crazy before you even got where you wanted. Every time you moaned about the contact of his mouth, he looked down at you with those dark, fiery eyes, and spoke.

"Do you like it when I kiss you like that? That wasn't in the book you were reading yesterday, was it? Or maybe yes... the scene on page 267... the one where he only makes her scream with his tongue?» He would bite you slowly, leave marks, and then blow on it to make you shiver. "I bet you touched yourself reading that scene. Now I'm in his place. Now I'm writing your story.» And then... he ran a slow finger over your clitoris, still covered by the thin tissue, and your breath broke into a gasp. Your body just arched and he noticed it right away. He stopped, but did not turn away. He looked at you with a new hunger in his eyes, but also a rare sweetness. "sweetie..." he said quietly, and made you tremble just because of the way he said your name. "May I? Can I kiss you there? Touch every part of you? Worship you as you deserve?» His voice was calmer, but still imbued with desire. No rush, just that uncontrollable urge to make you feel wanted. Not just wanted, loved through every kiss.

"Yes..." you whispered, your voice mixed with desire and tension. He wasted no time. His fingers grabbed the elastic of your white panties, slowly sliding them down your thighs. When he saw the noticeable moisture on the fabric, his smile widened into a satisfied, almost cruel grin. He lifted them up, looked at them, and then gave you a look that made you flare up.

"So wet it left its mark... and I haven't done anything yet. Are you already breaking up for me, little bookgirl?» You tried to close your legs, instinctively, but he opened them to you again with a firmness that admitted no argument. His hands rested on your thighs, holding you wide open for him. "No no ... no shyness now. You wanted it, remember? You asked me to kiss you, to touch you. And look at that show..."

He lowered slightly, his eyes peering at your intimacy with brazen adoration and malice. "Pulsating, shiny... it looks like he's crying for me.» Your breathing became irregular. Red-hot cheeks. "Has anyone ever touched you here?"he asked in a hoarse voice, without taking his eyes off. You shook your head slowly, almost trembling. "N-no ... never.» he bit his lip, evidently impressed by the answer. "Christ..." he hissed. "And all those perfect boyfriends you read in your novels? What do they do to their girls, huh?»

You blushed even more, but answered in a low voice, almost stuttering: "C-there's this scene... he kisses her inner thighs ... and then ... then he holds them still and... passes her tongue ... there. And watch her do it.» he growled quietly, a sound of pure hunger. "Little literary pig ... and then pretend you don't know what you want.» He came up again, his hands always on your thighs, his gaze ravenous. And before you could say anything, he ducked and sank, tongue hot, firm, hungry. No warning. No hesitation. He made you gasp, quietly scream his name, while his face was hidden between your thighs and his breath burned on your skin.

His arms held you still, clasped you tightly against his mouth, while his tongue explored each point with slow and then rapid, deep and ravenous movements. Every time you moaned, he responded with a low, satisfied sound, as if your every tremor was a reward. "You are as sweet as in your books, but much truer," he muttered to you. "And I ... I haven't started yet.»

His tongue was fire and patience. he licked, sucked, teased your clit with precise, hungry movements, which made you squeeze the sheets under you. He was kneeling between your thighs, his face sunk into your skin, as if savoring the scene he had been waiting for too long. "You're shaking," he muttered to you, his voice kneaded with longing. "I'm going to add a finger. Let me hear how much you want me to hear.» When you feel his finger slide in, slowly, he broke your breath. You arched your back, letting out a broken groan.

"Jay ... fuck ... it's... too much, but-well ... oh my God..." He smiled at you. That bastard smile that knows exactly the effect it has on your body. "So responsive ... and I thought you were just a good girl with love books.» As his finger moved inside you, slow but deep, his words struck you more than touch. "You read all that spicy stuff and you've never experienced anything like it, huh? Remember that scene where he fingers her while licking her clit? Well—» And he moved again, his lips back to where he made you lose your breath. You grabbed Him by the hair, almost to anchor yourself to reality as he upped the pace. And he laughed softly at you.

"You're taking my finger so well, Baby, made just for me. Only I can see you so lost. Only I make you shake like that.» He adds a second finger, and the feeling almost made you cry from pleasure. "I ... I'm-I'm going to come..." you moaned, no longer any filter. He looked up, eyes dark and disheveled, lips moist, the face marked by your desire. "So soon?" he teased you in a hoarse voice. "Then come. But do it around my tongue.» And when he came back to you, it was the end. Your body melted under his hands, his words, his mouth. And as you let go, he whispered against your skin: "Good girl ... so sensitive. So mine.»

You were still trying to regulate your breath, your skin moist with heat, your legs mushy. And just then, he took off his shirt. You turned to the side, pretending to look at the ceiling. You could not immediately face the sight of his chest, the sculpted abs that had just made you from prison as you came trembling under him. "Seriously?"he said in that tone that made you shudder. "I just made you come like in one of the scenes in your books... and now you are ashamed to look at me?» You stammered something, embarrassed, clutching the sheets. "N-it's not that I'm ashamed... it's that you're... a little too much to watch everything together, that's it.» He laughed, low and rough, and leaned toward you.

"Touch, then. If you can't look, use your hands.» He took your wrist and steered it slowly over his bare chest. Your fingers flashed on the hard, hot, live abs under the skin. You counted them one by one, in silence, until you rose to your chest, then to your shoulders, then you approached… And without much thought, you began to kiss him. Your neck, easy. Then that spot under his ear that you knew was his weakness. "Mh..." he groaned quietly, squinting. "You already knew where to kiss me, huh? The little bookgirl who learns fast..."

He kissed your temple slowly, but as you continued to explore it with your lips, he came up and began to rub softly against you. Its member, hard and hot, rubbed against your still naked and sensitive intimacy, and you both moaned in unison, a muffled, but powerful sound. You smiled against his skin and gently teased him, he shook his head with a half smile and stared at you, eyes bright and black. "Do you want it?» You looked at him without hesitation.

«You. I want you." he pulled off his pants calmly, never taking his eyes off yours, and when he was left alone with the boer His body, sculpted and taut, was a symphony of control and restrained desire. You looked at him, with a mixture of amazement and desire, without being able to look away. "You're staring," he said with a crooked, mischievous grin, as he reached out to the nightstand to pick up a condom. "Are you sure, sweetie?» You nodded with a small trembling breath, but you looked him in the eye. «You. With you, yes.» His gaze barely changed: from arrogant to incredibly sweet, as if that “yes” had been something he had always been waiting for. "Then ... give me space.» When you took off the boer He laughed softly, that low sound that sent you into a tailspin.

"What is it, princess? Did you expect anything less?" he gently teased you, as she adjusted the condom naturally. You gave him a playful look. «Only... wow. Some books had not warned about this.» You looked at his cock which was long and slightly venous with a slimy pearly white and he stretched out slightly and took a persevative from the nightstand and tore it carefully and you looked a little curious but also embarrassed as he slipped his cock around the condom very well and he giggled, then took a pillow and gently placed it under your hips, his muscles still tense for control. He gently stroked your side, looking a little more serious now. "If you feel something wrong, shake my hand. I'll stop whenever you want, ok» You felt nervous, but confident. "Don't worry. I trust you.» He kissed your forehead, tenderly, and when he began to push slowly inside you, every gesture was a mixture of slowness and respect. His breathing became more irregular, and you held your breath, feeling every inch of him, every accelerated beat. "sweetie..." he whispered against your skin, in a voice so warm that it made you shiver. "You're perfect. Made for me.»

And you, under him, between trembles and breathless breaths, you really felt seen. Want. At the center of his world. When the contact between you finally became complete, the world seemed to hold its breath. A slight discomfort made its way inside you, and instinctively you clasped your legs, looking for stability. she immediately froze, her jaw clenched, but the tone of her voice was incredibly soft. "It's okay... I'll stay put until you're ready. Take your time.» You nod, heart pounding. You stammered hard: "I ... I feel weird. But also full. And alive.» He kissed you softly, his lips on yours like a caress, while with his free hand he stroked your side to calm you down. He whispered small provocations in a low voice, of those that he knew how to send you into a tailspin, until, with a trembling sigh, you told him:

"You can ... you can move.» His first movement was slow, studied, almost reverent. The second, deeper. You both groaned, as if your voices were looking for each other at the same time. Every time he moved, you felt your body adapt to him, as if you were pieces of the same story. "You're taking it so well," he whispered in that low, cheeky, intimate tone. "As if you were made for me.» You gasped, fingers in his hair, and you could no longer hold back. The words came out confused, broken by pleasure: "I ... too much... but also not enough. I want you everything. Don't stop.» He smiled, almost fierce in his rough sweetness. "So lost to me, huh? Just like in your novels. But this time ... it's real.» The rhythm changed. He became more decisive, but always with that care that made you feel safe. Every moan you snatched from him, every caress, every look was a crescendo. It was desire, but also something deeper.

The sheets were now crumpled under you, and the air in the room smelled of warm skin, desire, breath. he was above you, his forehead streaked with sweat, his dark and burning gaze planted on your face. His voice was hoarse, as if he was holding back something too powerful. "God, sweetie..." he muttered, sinking once more into you, more slowly, more deeply. "I'm going crazy. Every time I catch you, you're tighter, wetter. It's like I want to swallow everything.»

He clasped your side with one strong hand, while the other stroked your cheek with a delicacy that contrasted with the gentle brutality of his thrusts. You trembled under him, legs trying to squeeze to contain all that pleasure that made itself feel stronger and more urgent. "I ..." you stammered, your voice broken. "S-I'm going to come again... I can't—" He silenced you with a deep kiss, his breath mixed with yours, then broke away and whispered against your lips: "I know, baby. I can feel it. The way you huddle around me, you're ready to explode. Foul. Show me how well you come for me.» Then, as if that were not enough, his fingers returned to look for your clitoris, teasing it with precise movements. You moaned loudly, almost screaming, and you clung to his arms, to his shoulders, wherever I could find a foothold. "S - I'm going crazy..." you stammered, tears in your eyes at the intensity of the moment. "...it's too much, it's too good—"

"Shhh," he whispered with a crooked, mischievous smile. "Don't say it. I know how much you like it. I know you're mine. No one's ever made you feel that way, has they?» You shook your head, unable to speak, and he looked at you with that look hungry and full of pride. «Exact. Just me. And I want you to come. Hour. Around me.» And you did. Your body bent like a wave beneath him, your back arched, your mouth open in a choked cry, as your skin burned and your sight blurred for a moment. He could still hear your response to his touch, to his voice, and his breathing became heavier. "Fuck ..." he growled. "Look what you do to me. I can't even resist. I want you too much.»

He continued to move within you, a little more labored now, and when you tried to close your legs, sensitive, still shaken, he took you forcefully and opened them to you again, pushing you slowly but firmly. "No, not now. Your fucking pussy is still calling me..." "I... it's too much, I can't do it..." you begged with a thread of voice. He lowered himself on your neck, leaving you a slow, almost reverent kiss. "Yes you can. You're perfect. So surrendering. So mine.» One last push, deeper. Then another. Then you felt him tremble over you, his breath broken. "I'm... I'm fucking coming ..." he gasped against your skin, clutching you as he let go, sinking all the way before stopping, completely shaken. There he stood, inside you, his face tucked between your shoulder and the pillow. Then, gently, he lifted his face and kissed your forehead. "Don't look at me like that..." you muttered shyly, looking back. "So how?"he laughed softly, stroking your side. "Like you are the most beautiful thing I've ever touched? Because you are.» You blushed again, and he took your chin between your fingers. "And now that I've seen you like that, lost under me..." he paused, his mischievous smile returning. "There's no escape, honey. I still want you. And you ... you belong to me.»

Jay slowly got up, his skin still slightly damp, his hair tousled like after a storm, his gaze lowered onto your naked form beneath the sheets. He bent over the edge of the bed with that familiar arrogance in his movements, but something had shifted in his eyes: a kind of tenderness hidden behind his crooked smile. "Don't move," he said in a hoarse voice, almost an order, but with the care of someone who had just read your soul.

Moments later, he returned with a small warm towel. He knelt beside you and began gently dabbing at your skin, as if you were fragile, as if everything that had just happened between the two of you wasn’t an explosion of desire, but a confession. "Your face is still red, baby..." he murmured, passing the steaming cloth between your thighs with disarming gentleness. "What’s the matter, can’t look at me after I made you scream my name?"

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed, absentmindedly stroking his rebellious hair. Your silence was sweet, a little dazed, a little lost. Jay smiled. He passed you his hoodie—huge on you—and lay down beside you. He pulled you close, as if his chest were home. His breath was slow, but his fingers never stopped caressing your back. "Trying to hide in my hoodie?" he said, lowering himself to your face. "Are you avoiding me? Don’t tell me you're embarrassed... after I’ve seen you so lost beneath me."

You lowered your gaze again. "It’s not that... it’s just..." you fiddled with the sleeve’s edge, "I’m not used to... all of this."

He chuckled softly. "What? Post-apocalypse cuddles? Or the fact that I made you come so hard you screamed my name more than you've ever screamed reading a spicy book?"

"Jay!" you whispered, hiding your face against his chest. "What?" he asked innocently. "You have no idea how many times I thought about teasing you after seeing you with those books? And now... here we are. You’re touching my hair like I’m your favorite comfort character."

You pushed him lightly. "You are."

He froze. Then he took your chin between two fingers. "Repeat it." "I said you are—" "No, no, no. Don’t cut me off. Tell me properly. Out loud." His gaze became intense. "...You’re my favorite comfort character."

Jay gave an arrogant smirk. "Damn. This is worse than a 'I love you' in bookgirl code."

"And you’re worse than all the book boyfriends put together," you muttered, but with a smile on your lips. "Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Better than Aaron?" "Don’t compare yourself to Aaron!" you protested. "Too late, sweetness." He gently pushed you into the pillow and pinched your side. "I already won, and I think I got a nice 10 too. I’m more real, and I make you laugh and moan."

You blushed so hard he laughed heartily, then kissed your forehead.

After a few seconds of silence, you sighed. "Jay… so… us?" He paused. "Us, what?" "What happens now?"

He took a moment, then brought a hand to his chest in a fake dramatic declaration. "Are you telling me that having you all curled up under my hoodie, in my bed, with trembling legs, isn’t enough? You want words too?" You looked up. "I’m being serious."

His gaze softened, becoming calmer, more sincere. "And me?" He moved closer, brushing your chin with his nose. "I like you, Y/n. Like… in a way I hate, because it makes me soft. But also in a way I love, because it makes me yours."

You smiled softly. "So you’re mine?" He laughed. "Only if you’re mine." "I am."

Jay paused, then gently rolled you onto him and hugged you as if he had found home. "Then there’s nothing more to say. Now sleep, little bookgirl. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed and steal another spicy novel so I can figure out what you want me to do next."

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[iceemochaa]

WHO KNEW?

Remmick X Reader

A/N: Heyyyyyy, did somebody ask for Remmick Riding Fic??

I want to say thank you to my pookie @fuckoffbard for giving me this idea. She gave me her blessings to write something that was self indulgent and I wanted to deliver it with love. It took me a while to write and I’m so glad I kept picking at it until it all made sense on paper. Lemme go finish my other 5 fics now. Enjoy :)

Warning: MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, reader insert, Reader isnt described, Riding, fem Reader, AFAB, Creampie, slight breeding if you squint, slight blood play, kissing, kissing with blood, Remmick uses his claws maybe once or twice, cursing, dirty talk, P in V (lowkey what’s the difference), Remmick cries cause I love men being pathetic. Slight Cervix fucking if you squint. If you see any grammar or punctuation mistakes, no you didn’t :)

Word Count:3.6 k

The rapid beats of your heart echoes through your ears, your lips begging for you to stop chewing so harshly. It's only been a few short minutes since Remmick had worked his hands all over you— Freeing you of your clothing, tossing them carelessly in a pile somewhere. He whispered dirty things that he promises he’ll do to you— Soon, later, it didn't matter. All you knew was that Remmick was a man of his words.

He had you pressed against him, chest to chest so that he could breathe you in, Rub his scent right against yours. There's light red hickeys along your neck and arms— something Remmick did when he got all worked up, sucking your skin in his mouth to keep from inserting his fangs. Sometimes he went a little overboard, applying too much pressure until your skin underneath turned a deeper shade.

Currently you looked like a painter's canvas that was going through the rough draft stage; Hints of purple and shades of red painted all over your body. You didn't mind— You liked how considerate he was, never too hard but enough to make you feel, even if you did want him to go further.

For now, This was fine.

When he was done marking your body, soothing kisses placed above the marks— feeling almost satisfied, He tossed you on top of him and got real cozy under your weight. He used his slick tone and smooth voice to ask a simple question that left you paralyzed. A question that your brain has been mulling over and over. It wasn't anything bad— well, maybe to you but Remmick hasn't stopped smirking. He looked like a shark, all teeth and beady black eyes and you were the unfortunate fish that was soon to be his dinner.

“Why don't you Ride me darlin’? .” He said with such an enthusiastic drawl.

Since then you've been in a state of panic. Sure, you've done a lot of things with Remmick that you're too embarrassed to admit out loud but your body still reacts the same— it tingles and gets all warm and mushy when he has you pressed against him, with deep kisses lingering on your lip but this? This right here with your full weight sitting on top of his lap is too much.

“What if I hurt you?” you say in a small whisper but Remmick can hear you just fine. He simply looks at you with a hungry stare, He’s watching you, trying to gauge your reaction. Its the look he usually does when he devotes his full attention to you, shifting ever so slightly under.

“Hurt me? Darlin’ you could never.” he chuckles, tracing soothing circles on the side of your hip but then he quickly adds in, “Trust me, I've been through worse.”

“What's worse than this?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

Remmick stops drawing circles to pinch the fat of your thigh lightly, “Besides burning in the sun?” he takes a few seconds to really search his brain for all the times he had to either catch prey or defend his life. Some of those moments really took a lot out of him, sometimes he couldn’t move for days but there was one thing that still gets his brain turning and his teeth aching with burning rage.

“...Maybe being hit with a guitar.”

A singular brow raises against your forehead. “Is that really true?”

“Now your tryin’ to change the topic.”

“Remmick, please, don't make me do this.”

“m’not making you do anythin’,” his says so innocently, making sure to sprinkle in an extra thick southern accent that gets your mind racing. “I'm just enjoying the view from down here, is all.” he says, “If you want to do something then your free to do as you please.”

”O-Oh okay…”

Sensing your hesitation, Remmick shifts your weight so he can sit up, his face only a few inches away. He plants a kiss right against your cheek, it's short and sweet, nothing but burning love flowing. He adds more, moving his lips lower until it reaches your collarbone then he stops to look at you once more through hooded eyes. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, sugar.” He says against your skin then shifts his head back up so his breath can fan against your face. “We've done far worse.” he says plain as day, the worse being even more freakier things he likes to suggest.

“I’ll gladly accept anything you do to me. You could never hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” You ask once more. Insecurity and fear was a glowing white beacon above your head. You believed Remmick, fully and completely, you just didn’t believe in yourself. What if you suck at it? What if he tells you that he changed his mind about this idea and shoves you off? What if he actually doesn’t like it and he fakes an orgasem? It sounds real childish but it could happen. You would rather indulge in those impossible sex positions he likes to purpose whenever he gets way too in his head.

You shake your head, hoping these feelings would somehow remove themselves from your brain. “You know what, maybe we can do this again later-“

Remmick clicks his tongue in slight annoyance, “Hold on now, Don’t give me that talk.” He chastises you but you can hear the softness in his tone. He wasn’t upset, not at all. An easy going smile, soothing hands, a soft hum. He wanted you to know that this was all fine.

Great even.

“Look, If you want,” he says in a sultry lilt, “I can do that thing with my tongue you like so much right after.”

Huh?

“You know, the one where I lick right up agaisnt-“

“Remmick, Shut up.” You sigh.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Well, here goes nothing.

To build some confidence you figured kissing would be a good start— It was easy and you didn’t have to think so hard about it. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands sliding into the back of his head to feel how soft his hair was. Remmick simply hums, leaning into the touch– almost like a cat. Slowly, You ghost your lips over his, your hand tugging his hair back just slightly so he was forced to look up at you. You can see something deep and primal in his eyes, like he was waiting for you to do this. Have him underneath you, have you take the lead.

You watch as Remmicks eyes glide across your face and slowly land on your mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick across his bottom lip like he was starving— He was always starving for you. You can tell by the way drool builds up in the corner of his mouth, his lips opening and closing like a fish. Like he needed air and the only air he wanted was you.

“Your drooling baby.” You note with a grin, observing the way it slowly drips down onto his chest. Remmick merely smirks, his hand coming up to cup your face in a soft embrace.

“That I am.” He says.

You press your lips right against his, You can hear Remmick breathing in your scent. His tongue pressing against your lips, asking for permission to taste you further. When you do let him in, he wastes no time to explore your mouth, his moan vibrating through you with sloppy sounds mixed with drool. Remmicks hand roams around your skin to keep him grounded. He was trying his best not to take control— have you take the lead but it was getting harder. You tasted so divine.

You glide both of your hands up his shoulders and push him down easily. He follows your lead without hesitation. Once you have him pressed against the bed, you finally break the kiss to plant light pecks on his cheek then slowly work your way towards his neck until you reach the shell of his ear. A low groan erupts from his throat when you suck his earlobe, your teeth working its way to tugging and nipping the shell of his ear soon after.

“Shit— where’d you learn that?” Remmick gasps softly.

“I have a good teacher.” You whisper in his ear, heat building on your cheeks, your nerves slowly turning into want and need— Enjoying the way the roles are slowly reversing. It’s usually him making you squirm and get all flushed but now he’s the one coming undone. You pull back to give him a once over, getting one more confirmation that this was 100% alright. Remmick simply nods his head.

“Well?” He says, “don’t stop now.”

You got this, you chant into your head over and over. He’s okay with it. It’s perfectly fine. Just move.

So you do.

You lift up to grab his weeping cock, feeling the way it burns in your hand. You heard a low groan shutter through the air— His chest starts to move quicker, his eyes growing wider, his fingers pressing deeper into your soft skin now. He didn't have to say anything but his body sure loves to talk— You can feel his muscle fidget under the palm of your hand that’s being pressed against his stomach, The growing anticipation too much to bear. You look towards him for any hints of discomfort, Maybe another confirmation that this was a totally bad idea but he's too busy watching the way his cock is getting closer and closer to where he really wants to be.

Okay, you got this.

He said it was fine, right? You take deep breaths, slowly guiding yourself down until the tip presses against your folds. You're already so wet, practically dripping due to Remmick playing with you earlier before this whole internal conflict started. He glides in so smoothly, entering into your warmth inch by inch. The pain of how big he is completely long gone and now masked with desire.

A small hiss slips from Remmicks mouth, his brows furrowing. “That’s it, nice and slow.” He says. It doesn’t take long for you to be fully seated on his lap now. His hard cock snuggled right inside, right where it belonged.

You stop suddenly, fear brewing once more. “I can’t- fuck, it’s too much,“ you choke out, Your nails digging into his chest to keep yourself together.

“Yes you can— your doing it already.” He coos, like he's trying to calm a frightened animal.

Remmick draws light feathered circles against your skin, his eyes fully scanning your face now. “Darlin, Your doin’ so well,” he says tilting his head back just slight. Still watching you, still trying to calm you down, Your comfort being too important to him.

“Whenever your ready. Move those pretty hips for me.” he sighs softly, “I promise im not goin’ anywhere.”

Here goes nothing.

You finally grow some confidence and lift up slightly, testing the waters, Feeling the way his hand clenches to keep a tight hold on Your hips. He doesn’t want to let you go, you don’t want him too. You come back down slowly, feeling the way your walls grow tighter when he enters once more.

This feels different.

Not in a bad way.

Exciting, new, different.

It feels a little overwhelming at first, trying to make sure you're not dropping your full weight on him all while he’s nuzzled inside your cunt but slowly the burning need grows. You do it again, lifting up to come back down on his length. A soft moan leaving your lips at the sensation. It’s usually Remmick who’s taking the reins; the one finding pleasure for you, Moving at his own accord when he wants. He'll find a rhythm that gets his stomach pooling with heat, a position that has your muscles burning, your mind ditzy.

Now?

You're the one holding the reins, Taking control. Before you know it, you're riding him in slow paces. Your hands pressed against his chest to support yourself— hips grinding down so you can find that slight, hot, burn that makes your stomach churn.

Remmick has his hands tight around your waist, his hold almost bruising. You both don’t say anything, nothing but the low grunts and moans echoing throughout the room. For the first time Remmick isn’t talking his head off— too lost in the pleasure, His eyes pinned to the constant exposure of his cock entering your cunt.

Perhaps you should do this more often, you think.

Soon enough the nervousness begins to wash away into pleasure and your moving faster. The sounds of skin on skin begin to mix into the air. You can feel warmth pooling down from your chest and slowly creeping its way to where you're connected to Remmick, like someone lit a fire under a stove. Your hips were being bruised by his hold, his fingers pressing into your skin. The more you ride him the more you start to take note that his claws are lightly scraping against your skin, leaving unruly red marks. They don’t dig in enough to bleed but you can feel them cementing themselves— A reminder that you made Remmick come undone.

“Sugar, m’close, so so close…” Remmick Whines under his breath, his voice dipping into a higher pitch. While his voice only stirs you on, You can’t help but stare at the way his fangs peeks out between his lips, how his tongue presses against them and then lulls out between them.

“Gonna- mhmm - I’m gonna, fuckkkk. Baby-“

“Not yet,” You groan, stopping to grind down hard, making sure he knows he won’t get a reward if he doesn’t listen. “Not until I say so.” You reprimand him.

Remmick throws his head back, a deep rumble echoing through his chest. You can feel the muscles under his skin tense, his hips practically jump in anticipation.

“m’sorry…” Remmick whines, “Please, I’ll be good.“ Pathetic cries begin pooling from his mouth, his head nodding away from the pure bliss he was experiencing.

“I don’t know…” you say offhandedly.

”Fuck, please, I’ll be good! Just— faster.” He begs, He looked good like this, all desperate and pathetic like. Almost like you’ve been withholding this from him for centuries. To think all it took was riding him like there was no tomorrow.

You watch as his eyes shut close, his breathing becoming unsteady. his fangs peeking out to brush against his bottom lip.

“You overwhelmed baby?”

Remmick bobs his head, sucks in a breath when you slam back down.

“Look at me.” You coo softly.

Remmicks glowing red eyes snap towards your own and what a glorious sight it was.

His ruby eyes half lidded but filled with adoration for you. His chest glistening with sweat and some other substance that you're sure is the copious amount of drool that’s been pooling from the corner of his mouth. How delicious he looked, hair tousled and chest heaving in rapid succession.

“Aren’t you a sight.” You chuckle.

“Please Darlin’ m’not gonna last any longer.”

How cute, you think, Remmick who’s always boasting and teasing you for crying and whining that it’s too much and yet he can’t handle it either.

“How about you beg me darlin. Tell me how much this pussy makes you cry.”

Remmicks eyes widen for a moment, His mouth gaping open like a fish. You swear you can hear the gears turning in his pretty little head. His cock throbs inside of you so good it makes your thighs clench around his waist.

“Your doing so…so, so—fuck, I can’t-“ He sobs in broken syllables.

You fingertips glides down the front of his chest, slowly working its way until it stops on his stomach and you press down slightly. “Yes you can, your almost there.”

“I— mhmm, baby, feels so good—“

“That’s it, keep going.”

”Your so perfect— fuck! made just f’me. Never want to let you go—“

You lean down so that your breath fans against his ear when you say, “You want to come inside?”

Remmicks entire body almost lifts off the bed.

“Yes! please!— wanna pump you full, gonna fucking— shit,” he sobs out loud, “Pussy feels so good, made just for me.”

You speed up once more, the sounds of skin connecting and moans mingled together brings hot fire straight into your core— you're getting so close too, his cocking hitting so deep inside it almost makes your eyes roll back. You figured this would be the time to push your limits— have him come undone with tears in his eyes instead. What a pretty sight it would be, a memory you won’t hesitate to bring again later when he says something smart about the roles reversing back.

“You can do better than that.” You say, testing the waters. “Show me how much you want to cum.”

Remmick doesn’t hesitate to follow your orders, his hips lifting so he can meet your rhythm. His hands moving to squeeze your ass— his claws digging into your skin, holding purchase, using your body to bring him to a climax he desperately needs. You can tell he was close, his hips faltering and then picking up again. He’s practically pounding into you, a speed so inhuman that it makes your pussy numb with pleasure.

God, if he kept going like this— his cock pistoning into your cervix once more, you're going to be sore for days. Wobble on your legs like a newborn dear but you won’t complain. Not when the view of Remmick’s blissed out face will be imprinted in your memory.

“N-Now?” he whines, turning his head to suck a deep mark into your shoulders. His nose tucked into your neck once more. You can feel his fangs brush over your skin just slight, his legs tensing everytime they brush against your thighs and the best part of all? The delicious sound of Remmick pounding into you.

“Y-Yeah, fuck— do whatever you want baby. You earned it.”

Remmick thrusts up into your core a few more times, loud moans echos through the room and he cums right inside of you. Pumping you full, making sure he paints the inside of your cunt white. He doesn’t pull out, no, he wants to make sure your filled to the brim. Nothing but him occupying your cunt from the inside out.

“Ohhh—so tight, mhmmm” he cries into your skin, “I’m— fuckkk!” You can hear a slight hiss afterwards, his forehead pressing into your shoulders. Suddenly you feel warm liquid coat your chest, his mouth gliding along your shouder.

When you turn to look at him, you catch a glimpse of red slide down his chin. He was holding back from biting you— the moment too much for him to handle, his fangs practically pierced through his bottom lip.

“You okay?”

Remmick simply nods, too dazed to give a coherent response anyways. You can’t help but eye his lips once more, watch the way fresh blood pools against his skin. The sight of him all bloody and messy makes your pussy clench around him and he groans.

Without thinking, Your hand wraps around his chin to pull him close, your mind racing with nothing but the need to claim him once more. An idea crosses your mind, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and now was the perfect time to act on it. You squeeze his chin softly, leaning down to plant your lips against his, the muscle bloody and almost swollen but you didn’t care.

The taste of iron and drool only makes the craving grow.

Soon enough your teeth come down to replace the indent of his fangs, biting down hard— making sure another wound opens on his lips and then you just tug. Sucking in his bottom lip, the taste of his blood intoxicating.

You let it go, watch as his lip snaps back into place and Remmick almost howls— his hips jerking up into your cunt, his hands shooting to cup your face.

“Fuck, do it again.” He whines into your mouth.

You comply easily, the taste of him is too good to ignore. You press your teeth down In another untouched area and bite down again, until a fresh new wound cuts open his skin, the flow of blood and spit dribbles out from your kiss.

You swear you can hear Remmick purr against your hand.

When you both part your lips, A long drawn out moan leaves between you two— A spit line follows along until it disconnects when you lean back unto his lap again. You can feel the swell inside, his cocked nuzzled deep into your cervix, right where he belongs. When you finally feel like you’ve had your fill of everything Remmick gives you, his entire being devoted and at your mercy, you sit up slowly.

Remmick hums lowly, his breathing at its regular pace again. He looked fucked up but satisfied completely, a goofy grin laying on his face. He looks down to watch the aftermath, The tip of his cock popping out to reveal an overflow of his cum—it practically spills from your cunt, drooling right back on his pelvis.

“You did so well hun.” You say, teasing and soft, copying the warm southern tone he likes to soothe you with. Who knew you had it in you to reduce Remmick to a weeping mess?

Remmick smiles happily at you, sucking in his bottom lip to taste the spit that lingers from your heavy kiss. His hands moving up to massage your hips. He feels the indents in your skin, the pads of his fingers tracing the lines over and over.

You can get used to this, you think.

“Wanna go again?” you smile.

“Yes please.”

[k3n-dyll]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐰𝐥𝐰, Domtop!Ambessa, Sub!Sevika, pure smut no plot, recording during sex, strap-on usage, humiliation, bondage

𝐖𝐂: 874

𝐊𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬☆ Kinda shit, but I'm trying so hard to get back into writing y'all I swear. This had been sitting in my drafts for so long. Also, I finished this while incredibly hungover, give me some grace

"Look at the camera, darling....there you go..."

Teary-eyed and dazed, Sevika's low gaze finds the camera lens, mouth open and drooling with one side of her face pushed flush against the silk linen below. Her breathing is rough and ragged, moans and growls escaping her slack jaw shamelessly. She hates it. She hates the awkward angle her arms rest at behind her back, bound in intricately knotted rope, she hates the almost uncomfortable deep arch her back has been forced into, she hates the overwhelm of it all...At least that's what she keeps trying to tell herself despite coherent thought becoming increasingly void in her head, replaced by the smooth accented tone of the woman clad in lace behind her.

"Ah-ah, stay with me, pet. Focus"

Two light slaps to the jaw force her eyes wide again, a jumbled string of incoherent syllables that Ambessa can only assume are some desperate attempt to beg spilling past her lips.

"Can't - fuck! - take...t- can't take..."

Ambessa stops for a moment, as she can't help but laugh - a genuine deep laugh from her gut at every fucked out word Sevika attempts. Watching a typically steady, brutal woman be reduced to a babbling mess underneath her. The tears in Sevika's eyes, the pathetic whining, the look on her face with each slow, hard thrust - it amuses Ambessa. With a click of her tongue she leans to pick up the camera that had been propped against the bedframe, changing the angle to a view she knows she'll need later just as badly as she needed the many, many angles of Sevika's dick drunk, shame filled expressions.

She allows the camera to focus, Sevika taking the opportunity to just breathe, her muscled thighs one small movement away from collapsing underneath her. It's not like Ambessa intends to give her much chance to steady herself, though, another hard thrust nearly sending Sevika's head into the engraved wooden frame before her. Ambessa's thrusts are faster now, less controlled, the older woman desperate to capture a good shot of the way Sevika's ass jiggles every time their bodies slam against one another.

The General gets off on just how embarrassed the other woman is by all of this - even without a real-time view of Sevika's face she can practically sense it. It's pitiful, and adorable just how fucking easy Sevika is when they're alone. How that wall built by her tough exterior comes crumbling down the second she's put to bed in such a degrading manner. How she devolves into nothing more than a desperate, whimpering little...

"Slut." The word leaves Ambessas lips in a low growl, her own breath coming out as labored pants. "What happened to all that barking earlier, hm? Don't tell me you've lost all your fight - dont bore me now"

If she wasnt so out of it, Sevika might have bit back. She might have spat out an insult out of frustration, but her brain has all but turned to mush, and as ashamed as she is of it, there is the simple fact that the degrading words, the mock sympathy - it's just going to make her cum harder.

"Ambess-" A loud slap resounds through the lavish bedroom before Sevika can get the word out, the sting of the slap on her ass making her flinch. She knew better. And Ambessa cant help the devilish, prideful grin that spreads across her features when the other woman corrects herself.

"Mistress- can't hold it anymore, please"

Saying those words make her cheeks hot, a pit forming in her stomach at the pathetic, needy tone she didn't recognize as her own voice escaping her lips - but it gives her what she needs. Permission. Permission to finally, after what felt like an eternity of clenching her core and taking it, to finally let go. Ambessa allows her to ride herself through it, halting her own movements and in turn forcing Sevika to push back against her and milk out the orgasm she'd been begging for all this time, the camera aimed perfectly downward to capture every hungry roll of her hips.

"Good girl, was that so hard?" Ambessa teases, slowly pulling her strap out of the woman below her and relishing in the sight of her dripping cunt through the camera lense.

She stands, and that small shift is the final push that sends Sevika laying flat on her stomach, her legs officially having no more strength to keep her ass up in the air. Despite her own tired body, Ambessa can't let this end without getting a full view of her handywork, Sevika's body sprawled out on the bed with a sheen of sweat making her brown skin glisten in the golden light seeping through the window, covered in bite marks, hickeys and red lipstick kisses. Embarrassed, Sevika just buries her face into the pillow, tuckered out and feeling conflicted, but satisfied. When the camera finally clicks off, Ambessa strokes Sevika's hair and presses a fleeting kiss to her head An oddly affectionate gesture given the non-comital, downright otherwise hostile relationship between the two.

"Rest for now - not too deeply, though. A warm bath is in order after that, don't you think, pet?"

Sevika simply groans in response.

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist; @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut @sevsbaby, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,  @strawberry-shortcakey , @abvisionss , @urbayolet - - Wanna be tagged?

[dduane]

Dear DD, I'm wondering if you could show examples (from your own work or otherwise) of what really, *really* rough drafts of fiction writing look like. I'm talking the earliest stages of the process that normally most people don't show to the public; whenever I look around online, what folks seem to post as "WIP" samples are usually more like 80-90% polished excerpts.

While my brain logically knows these are the late-stage stuff, it has an ill-advised habit of trying to draft to that 80-90 level of quality from the get-go--I think it might help to see what the equivalent of "thumbnails" or "sketches/doodles" look like in writing, especially from someone who's been At The Work for a long time. Hopefully it's an alright request! I understand if for various reasons you can't.

I'm more than willing to show people my stuff in process, every now and then. ...But in my case, your initial query poses an unusual challenge. And it's this:

After pushing fifty years of doing this work (or indeed, you had it right, this Work) for money, everything comes out looking fairly polished.

And this can't be helped. Once you've been doing this work for long enough—once doing it well starts being the thing responsible for keeping you and your family fed—you will inevitably (eventually) evolve the ability to exude smooth-looking prose at minutes' notice. Over the years your internal prose filters will get trained into being increasingly fine-meshed... and the longer this goes on, the more flatly they'll refuse to let clunky stuff out onto the page any more. You don't really even think about it. You just keep refining a given phrase/sentence/paragraph in your head until it feels acceptable.

After a couple/few decades, this ability becomes an ever more finely-honed survival characteristic. You can no sooner emit actively coarse prose (without trying purposefully to do so, which is another story...) than you can stop breathing for minutes at a time without suffering the consequences. (shrug) It's just the way your life experience has taught your Drafting Brain to conduct itself, going forward.

Now... this doesn't mean at all that the drafted material, be it ever so polished-looking, is necessarily what you intended (or needed!) to write. Oh no. I could this very day show you some prose that by my standards is still really rough, because I wrote it five minutes ago... and you'd look at it and be very unlikely to be able to see what my problem was with it.* Whereas I'm sitting staring at it and muttering "Dammit, something's missing here. No idea what. I'll come back to it tomorrow."

And indeed I wrote something about three hours ago that (as I got it onto the page in its earliest form) left me literally gasping about how obtuse I'd been about the situation and emotions described in it, as recently as early this afternoon before I had lunch. It was a scene that had been missing from something I'm completing at the moment—indeed not merely missing but completely uncontemplated—and as it spooled itself out on the page all I could do was shake my head at my own idiocy at having missed the opportunity earlier, while I was nailing down the plot.

And I would love to show you that piece of prose right this minute, so that you could see what minutes-old prose from me looks like. Except it's seriously spoilery, and I refuse to sabotage a larger work by allowing out any material that's so loaded... and which viewed out of context would deprive it of most of its power. So, as we say around here, 'Sorry not sorry.'" Though I promise I'll come back to this and talk about it "in the clear" later, when that work's published.

...Anyway. The best advice I have for you just now is that trying to make your filters-in-training less effective is—to put it as gently as Captain Amelia might—a mistake.

That urge to have the first draft—or the "zero draft" as some are calling it these days: I use this myself—be as good as possible is frankly a lifesaver. Indulging it, sentence by sentence and paragraph by paragraph, will only leave you with less frustration, less editing and re-editing, and way less Flat Forehead Syndrome over time. You are going in the right direction, even if it makes you feel like you're losing valuable time.

Your brain's attempts to draft to the highest possible level are not ill-advised. Indulge the urge to get your drafting more right, even if it makes you suffer a bit. No one ever said this writing lark was going to be all fun. (And if they did, they lied to you.) Also: hunting through other people's WIP excerpts, be they rougher than yours or more polished, in a search for something that your excerpts or drafting style should or could theoretically look like, will do you no good in the long term... and may do you harm. All you're likely to be left with, after you haven't found anything useful in the wake of the shoulder-peering, is a sense—almost certainly an inaccurate one—that you're somehow doing it wrong.**

You're not. You're finding your own way, at your own speed. This is the Writer's Journey. (As opposed to the Hero's, which I have characters shouting at me about at the moment.) (eyeroll) As you continue going your own way, your drafting will gradually pick up speed without losing quality. ...And don't neglect your outside reading. You need to be reading outside your own genre and your own century to pick up, as it were, new (or old) plugins for your filters.

Anyway. If (as it seems) you're in this for the long term: get right down here with the rest of us and suffer your way (briefly) through it. We all agonize unnecessarily over the effectiveness of our process from time to time. The only cure is to say "fuck that noise" to the back of your Writer's Mind, and get back to the actual writing, where these problems are worked out in the only way that counts.

So: go do your thing, and let the chips fall where they may. And I hope this has helped! Let me know, over time, how things go.

*This situation is also, BTW, a bit of a problem for a writer in a career stage like mine. In an inversion of the usual rule—where "the Perfect becomes the enemy of the (Merely) Good"—the "Really Not Bad At All" becomes the enemy of the "Could Have Been Way Better If You'd Given It A 'Should I Maybe Sweat Over This A Little More?' Pass". Because the Not Bad At All genuinely isn't... but if you're not careful, you stop seeing where to kick it into the next stage when you're distracted by all the other junk going on in life.

**...But this is one of the downsides of the community, and communality, of the writing life online. We wind up endlessly looking over each others' shoulders to try to find answers that—in many cases—were already sitting between us and the screen, on the keyboard.

(And now a suggestion for those who find these occasional excursions into the Advice Barrel useful: at various folks' request, I have a Ko-Fi now. If you find the advice useful and you feel so inclined, send me a sign.) :)

[p0orbaby]

For a Good Time, Call…

summary: you send a nude to the wrong number, you don’t expect what happens next.

warnings: Leah, yeah that’s a warning, suggestive themes

a/n: one of my favourite of bits of writing ngl

word count: 2.1k

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

-

You’ve never felt dread like it.

“Shit shit shit!” You repeat as you try and stop the message from sending.

The woosh and the delivered sign told you it had already been spat out into the ether. You want to leave the city. The country even. Perhaps fill the next available spot on a space shuttle.

All of the above possibilities rattle through your brain as you pull your t-shirt down from where it was hitched around your neck. Yank your shorts up from where they lay low on your hips.

“I’m dead. I am so dead!”

If your heart wasn’t racing before, it definitely was now.

Panic sets in as you contemplate the impending fallout. Terrible thoughts race through your mind, and you highly consider drafting an apology that somehow erases the embarrassment. The gravity of the situation hangs heavy, and groveling seems like the only viable option.

Could she get you benched? Maybe. Could she stop you from getting another international call up? You really fucking hoped not.

In the midst of your demise, you realise another sorry soul will have to bear the consequences of your actions. Bar Girl. The intended recipient of the half naked photo you signed, sealed and delivered to someone else.

You decide, rightly or not, that she has now become collateral damage. And the decision to ghost her emerges as a seemingly reasonable response.

The potential repercussions from your inadvertent exposure now cast a grim shadow on all aspects of your life, making abandoning Bar Girl a desperate attempt to shield yourself from further embarrassment.

The idea of changing your identity hovers temptingly in your periphery.

Desperation takes hold, and for a moment, you entertain the delusional thought that maybe you had imagined the whole debacle in some lustful daze. However, when a subtle movement on screen catches your attention, reality hands you a more damning blow – the weight of the situation crashes down as ‘read’ replaces the once-hopeful ‘delivered’.

Acknowledgement from Leah has shifted from a delivery confirmation to active viewing.

As if it had just set alight in your hands, you hurl your phone across the room. The reality sets in that there’s no turning back; the message, along with its aftermath, is now etched into the digital realm.

The room echoes with the crash of your phone meeting the wall. As the device lies discarded, its screen cracked, you’re left to face the reality that there’s no undoing the chain of events.

In a desperate release, you roll over and scream into your pillow until the muffled sound becomes an agonizing buzz in your ears.

-

The next day hits hard as you trudge into the changing room. You barely slept. Tossing and turning most of the night in an anxious bubble. And when exhaustion finally took over, your dreams were more like nightmares.

You were tempted to call in sick. But you decided that wallowing in your own despair would probably just make matters worse. So you settled on a compromise.

Avoid Leah at all costs.

Your hood hangs low over your face as you pass by several of your teammates and make a silent beeline for your cubby. But that may have piqued their interests more, as Beth finds herself invading the space you so desperately crave.

“You look rough. Bar Girl give you a run for your money?”

“Something like that” you grumble, hands making quick work of unpacking your bag.

She hums at you and smirks at how disheveled you look when your hoodie comes off. You know where her mind has gone, but you don’t try and dissuade her from writing an excuse for you.

“So, when are you going to make it official then? You’ve been talking for almost a month right?” Beth asks, her eyes flitting around your face and down your neck in search of marks left behind.

You offer a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not sure if I will. I’ve still got the feelers out” you reply, the words sounding awkward and detached even to your own ears.

Beth raises an eyebrow, you gather it’s not the response she expected. Especially from you.

“That doesn’t sound like you”

“No?”

“I thought you were all about the long game?”

You offer a half-smile, choosing your words carefully. “Opinions change, you know?” you reply, slipping your training kit over your head and turning away to fold your discarded clothes, hoping she’d get the point.

Beth studies you for a moment, her eyes searching for something beyond the surface. “Fair enough. Keep us posted though yeah? She seemed nice”

You wince at her words. Jesus, you felt like a bitch, but you nod anyway. It seems to do enough. When you hear her walk away, you release a breath.

“Oh” she voices unexpectedly behind you, and you immediately tense up again. “Leah’s asking for you”

You turn on your heels, spinning so fast you almost topple over. “Did she say what it was about?” You ask. You try not to seem nervous but the sweat above your brow is giving you away.

“No. Just that she wants you to meet her in the gym when you’re ready”

You nod again, and swallow hard. Your throat was dry and you felt like you could pass out. “Sure, yeah. I’ll head there in a second”

Beth eyes you again suspiciously but when she eventually turns and leaves the room, you’re left to grapple with your jitters in solitude

“Shit” you mutter to yourself. And as you stand there trying to regain yourself, it becomes very apparent that you don’t actually have a back up plan.

If you really do lose minutes on the pitch, your career could be on the line.

Conscious that you've already left her waiting too long, you dart out of the room with a newfound sense of urgency.

The corridors blur as you navigate the familiar path, the door to the gym looming larger with each stride. And when you get there you’re out of breath and clammy.

Is it weird to say you're grateful that a door handle is cold against your skin? Perhaps, but you are. It grounds you a little as you stand there panicking.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you open the door and step into the gym at last. The air feels charged with anticipation as you brace yourself for a meeting that could have repercussions far beyond the boundaries of the training facility.

But Leah is nowhere to be found. The lights are all off and the room looks the same as it was left the day before.

Is Beth having you on? Or is Leah trying to mess you around, torture you until you break down and leave on your own accord.

Don’t be so silly. She wouldn’t do that, would she?

“Hey”

You jump out of your skin as the silence is disrupted. You turn in fright and she’s lucky she’s so far away because you're a fighter, not a flighter, and you’re sure you would’ve punched her straight in the face.

“Why the hell are you hiding in the dark? You idiot!” you blurt out, the initial shock now giving way to frustration. The tables have turned, and you can’t help but question Leah’s peculiar choice of location for this conversation.

Leah lets out a short laugh. “Hiding? I wasn’t hiding. Just needed to grab a few things from the cupboard”. She lifts up her hands to showcase the foam rollers you deduce she was looking for.

“Beth said you wanted to talk”

“That’s right”

“Do I need to ask what it’s about?”

She laughs again and you start to lose your patience a little. She notices and glances at you with a more serious expression when you don’t look impressed, so she gestures for you to join her in a quieter corner of the gym.

“I get it; the suspense isn’t helping,” Leah admits, her tone softening. “But you’re not stupid. I think you know why I’ve called you in here”

As you follow her, Leah’s demeanor takes an unexpected turn. The serious expression gives way to a playful twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. Nudes, I mean,” she teases, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “Nipple piercings too? You’ve been hiding some interesting secrets, haven’t you?”

Leah’s teasing catches you off guard, and your words stumble over each other as you stammer, “I, uh, well, it’s not—I mean, I didn’t…”

“Don’t get all nervous on me now” she says as she perches on the edge of a massage table. “You seemed pretty confident last night”

You attempt to salvage some dignity, but Leah’s mischievous grin suggests she’s thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. “I didn’t mean to send it to you. It was a mistake”

“No?” She pops her bottom lip out in a pout. “That’s a shame”

You feel a knot forming in your stomach, and your attempts to defend yourself only seem to fuel Leah’s amusement. “I-I…” you struggle to form a coherent response. And you silently curse yourself for not being able to hold your ground.

“If not me, then who?” She asks as if it’s any of her business. If you weren’t so stunned by the whole thing you’d have told her to fuck off. But the words don’t quite make it past your lips, and you find yourself at her mercy. “I won’t judge”

There’s a pregnant pause where you decide if you should tell her. Then with a reluctant sigh, you decide to reveal the truth. “Someone… a girl I met last month”

“Bar Girl” she deduces.

You were never really close to Leah. You played for the same teams, sure. But you never frequent the same social circles. Not really. So to find out she knows about what you get up to in your free time is a little jarring.

“Yeah, her,” you admit, feeling exposed in a way that extends beyond the painful fact she’s seen your tits.

“Hm” is all she says before she holds her hand out to you. And you take it without even thinking.

“You know” she starts. Settling you so your front is almost flush against hers as you stand between her legs. “I’ve always wondered what you’ve been hiding under that jersey of yours” she finishes, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Her fingers brushing your skin and setting it on fire.

“The same parts as you, I’m guessing”

“Funny”

“I do try”

There’s another lull, and in the silence you swear you can hear your heart beating.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her question is barely above a whisper.

You shake your head no. Because she isn’t making you uncomfortable. Confusing you, yes. Intriguing you, certainly. But uncomfortable? Not exactly.

Leah leans back slightly, studying your expression. “Good, wouldn’t want to cross any lines.” Her fingers continue to play with your hair, a casual touch that feels anything but.

“Lines can be subjective” you say, your eyes trained on hers as you watch her mouth pull into a smirk.

Where this new found confidence has come from you don’t know.

“Can they?” She questions. Her eyes glint as she tilts her head to the side. Is she mocking you?

“Sometimes”

She likes your answer, you think, despite the still of her hands in your hair. Because her expression shifts and she leans in, her gaze dropping to your mouth.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, untangling your hair from her fingers and brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. You catch a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as she notices the blush deepening on your cheeks.

Without breaking her eyes from yours, Leah leans in just enough to tease. Close enough that you can feel each breath angst your skin. Far enough away that it’s infuriating. Then she pulls away, leaving you hanging on the edge of anticipation.

Then she’s gone.

You stand frozen while she unfurls herself away from you, sidestepping from the space she occupied between you and the massage table.

You only turn when she clears her throat behind you.

“Message me again sometime?”

The way she asked was softer than you expected. Softer than how she was talking to you for the last five minutes. It catches you off guard and a response gets stuck in your throat again.

You nod because that seems to be your default reaction to all of her questions. A smirk must be hers to you, because she flashes another one in your direction.

With that, she was gone. Leaving you alone in the dark with a skip in your pulse and two discarded foam rollers at your feet.

And a sneaking suspicion your spot for both club and country were going to be okay.

[fivestaralien]

four-forty four a.m.

jaehyun x AFAB!reader

w.c.^^: 913

warnings:SMUT MDNI!!!,, cockwarming, kissing, clit stimulation, piv(always use protection!!) , so much kissing!!!!!!!! I no joke will die on the hill that Jaehyun is obsessssed with kissing , especially behind closed doors...

a.n.// forgot this was in my drafts so I thought I would post this while writing requests,,I'd love feedback especially since I'm still learning how to write smut,, its so intimidating how do fanfic writers do it?? haha anyways hope y'all enjoy and pls stay safe<3

 It takes your mind a few minutes to fully register the gentle pressure against your neck and shoulders. When you do, you let out a deep sigh, moving without realizing where you were and what was going on.

 “Fuck, don’t move yet honey.” Jaehyun warns quietly. His lips going back to kissing across your skin.

 Without thinking you press yourself back on him, earning a low groan from the man. His hand grips at your waist trying to get you to stop from pushing back further. Your foggy brain clears enough for you to remember that you fell asleep with Jaehyun's cock still snug inside you. 

 Jaehyun nearly died when you told him you wanted to try cockwarming, crumbled even more at the thought of having himself inside you overnight. He loved the idea way too much. 

 Last night when he came home you were immediately being smothered by him, not that you were complaining. Especially since you just so happen to be really missing him lately with his crazy schedule. There wasn’t a single moment where his hands and/or lip weren’t on you. Touchy Jaehyun was definitely one of your favorites and it didn’t take long for him to get you to bed. 

 He took his sweet, sweet time loving on you, stretching you out and getting you soft and pliable for him. He always knew how to break you down to the point that just a simple look from him could get you to come undone. It was embarrassing yet turned you on even more at the same time. 

 “You feel unreal around me. How did it take you this long to want to try this?” Jaehyuns voice is strained and rough. 

 You clench around him unintentionally letting a whimper out when his hips buck up slightly. You raise your arm up, threading your fingers through his hair, bringing his face closer to yours. 

 “I notice that you always stay inside me whenever we finish so I thought that maybe it would be something you’d like,” You feel him tighten his hold on you as he places slow open mouth kisses along your jaw. 

 “Baby you will be the death of me.”

 Jaehyun takes his time massaging your body to help with the soreness you were probably feeling, his lips never leaving your skin as he works you up again. His fingers drag just below your belly button making your breath hitch. 

 You feel your body begin to heat up in the delicious way only Jaehyun has been able to achieve and you can’t help but let out a loud moan when he finally begins to thrust in and out of you. 

 “Oh my god.” You breathe out the same time he moans into your neck. 

 Every part of your body was tingling in oversensitivity but in the best way. Neither of you had ever felt this connected and aware of each other before. You didn’t realize how intense having him stay in you all night would make you. 

 Without hesitation he moves onto his back having you laying right on top of him, your head coming to lay right next to his on the pillows. Jaehyun continues his slow pace while bringing his hands to the insides of your thighs spreading them apart. His soft lips trail from your cheek to behind your ear before you cup his jaw to smash your lips to his. 

 Jaehyun pulls away from your pretty mouth long enough to wet a few fingers then starts to rub your clit just the way he knew you liked. Your moans grow louder at the added sensation, hips moving down to meet his thrusts. 

 “I’m not going to last long, too sensitive.” He mumbles, placing hurried kisses on your throat. “Me too, please go faster Jae.” You whine and who was he to deny the love of his life what they need. 

 Jaehyun wraps his hands under your knees, pulling your legs up closer to your chest. He places his feet flat on the bed and then thrusts into you at a mind numbing pace. Your hands frantically reach for something to grab onto. One goes to the back of his neck while the other squeezes his forearm. 

 It doesn’t take long for either of you to cum. Jaehyun brings his mouth to yours as he feels you pulsating around him, releasing your legs to massage your breasts. Hoping to help guide you down from your high gently. You stay on top of him for a few minutes before he lays the two of you on your sides again. He glides a hand up and down your thigh as you both try to catch your still erratic breath. 

 “Holy shit baby. We have to do that again.” Jaehyun says between kisses on your shoulder and along the back of your arm.

 He smiles so big against you when he feels you clench at his words. You reach behind you pushing his hips away a little, signaling for him to pull out of you which he does very gently. 

 “I think I will need 2-4 business days to be able to do that any time soon.” You reply while turning around to face your glowing boyfriend.

 “Anything for you.” 

 He wastes no time pecking all around your face before catching your lips in a deep, slow kiss. Your mouths dance perfectly together and you let Jaehyun kiss you until the sun begins to peak above the horizon.

///

[s0ft-d3cay]

Heart Strung Words

Leon Kennedy x Male Reader | This one has been passed around in the drafts for FAR too long. Also Happy Crises if you celebrate it!

WARNINGS: FLIRTING(I mean it, I pulled out my best lines for this one), cute rambles about reader, Leon telling reader how much he means to him, re 2 Leon, lots of kisses(I need more practice in writing kiss scenes so, here), mentions of reader wrestling with self-doubt, this is disgustingly cute, not beta read, Y/N is used

WC: 511

"Yes, you're cute all the time." A blush blooms across Y/N's face, rough fingers gliding down from his hair. Trailing over his neck, shoulders, and arms. Leaning towards the warm press of lips, soft light kisses pressing with purpose. Y/N’s now kissed stained hands were moved before Leon breathed out a huffed hum.

Foreheads against one another as the blonde continues. "You mean so much to me, without you I don’t know what I’d do," Cheeks blooming warmer and heart racing in appreciation and sweetened affection. "You’re too damn sweet.” He replied, pausing as he tries to find the right words.

"Now you're just spoiling me." Of course Y/N knew he meant something to Leon, that puppy dog face alone was proof enough. Still, doubts held his heart behind bars and decade-old vines, with everything else it did. That selfish side of him wanting it to be true, yet that leaching weight, circling his brain, and trembling hands. Scared to lose Leon, scared to end up alone again. So much had changed and Y/N was still…

Chest tightening, unsure if asking was the right thing, words caught in his throat. Leon's head shakes with a small smile, softly pressing their lips together. The gentle kiss turns tender as he deepens it, pulls away, head resting on the other. Heavy breathes intermix with one another, eyes closed in bliss. Leaving another kiss to Y/N's lips, this one light and quick.

Bright blue eyes open with an affectionate gaze, breath lost. "How could I not." The blonde whispers, passion flashing through his eyes. Y/ N trailed his fingers down Leon's face and shoulders, everything about him was just so perfect. Leon kisses the base of his throat lightly, "Perfect voice…" Leaning up to kiss his forehead, "…perfect brain…" He then leans down to his chest, kissing over Y/N's heart. "…and a perfect beat that keeps you alive."

Feeling as Leon kisses him, chuckling nervously at his affectionate state. Heart beating out of his chest at each kiss, as if trying to escape towards the man. "Oh, don’t go speechless on me now." He teases breathlessly, playfully mouthing the base of his throat with a low chuckle. "Come on baby, I wanna hear that lovely voice of yours."

His expression soft and adoring giggle once more before kissing Leon. Their emotions practically spilling out between the two. "You sure are touchy this morning, not that I’m complaining." Y/N grins, fingers chasing his warmth over his flesh. "You know, you really just-make my heart go all crazy." Y/N mumbled sweetly against his lover's lips, indulging in a few moments of silent kisses before continuing.

"I never used to think about eternity, never understood why anyone would want to live to see something forever until I met you, then I understood.." The sincere and truthful words Y/N spoke, all so heart warming to. "Figured I'd wake you up with breakfast, you know it being Christmas and all but…" Appreciation showed in his voice, how could he have been so lucky. His smile widening and eyes gleaming, hands caressing his face as Y/N kissed his nose.

"Think I might just keep you here all day instead."

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights of any of the characters I write about, all the rights go to their respective creators.

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 8

WE ARE FUCKING BACK! (I immediately started hacking my lungs after typing this, I'm sick :P)

To make a long story short, for the past few months I've either been really busy, really depressed, and usually both. Also for some reason chapter 8 was already hard to write and I don't know why.

ALSO before we get into the fic, @your-local-furby drew some absolutely lovely fanart of MC apologizing and seeing the library from the previous two chapters. I think it finally kicked my brain back into gear lmao.

Without further ado, please enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

It feels like the ground beneath me is sucking me in.

I feel myself sinking,

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Embarrassment washes over me and swallows me whole. I feel the air leave my chest I want to break free but I feel like I’m drowning. 

You take the page you’re scribbling your notes on and crumple it into a ball. You’ve reread your rough draft and decided the arranged wedding scene you had planned wasn’t tragic enough. The blind musician is tasked with performing for the prince’s wedding, but his heartbreak causes him to mess up his performance, which causes everyone to notice he’s crying, including the prince. You’re trying to convey the feeling of knowing every single person in the room is watching you during the lowest point in your life, but it’s just not coming together in a way you like. You’ll run it by Alik later.

Technically, Alik is no longer your editor as a result of your deal with the Yae Publishing House. Still, they’re one of your few friends, and their workload has lightened since your previous publisher terminated all of those other book deals. Now they’re acting as your beta reader before you send off the next draft to the editor at the Yae Publishing House. It’s actually making progress go a lot faster, so much so you might only need one final draft of the whole story before it’s finally published, as opposed to multiple drafts. 

I do not need sight to know everyone in the room is looking at me. I feel it in my broken notes that trail into nothingness. I feel it in the resulting silence. I feel it in the quiet murmur spreading through the room.

I feel tears in my eyes as I drop my head down, praying no one sees me crying. If I could, I would sprint out of the room, out of the palace, so no one is witness to my heartbroken embarrassment. I’d run so fast, the prince would have no time to chase after me. It would be for the best anyways. He deserves his perfect and beautiful bride, and I am no bride, I cannot verify if I am beautiful, and in this moment, I could not feel anymore flawed as a person and human. 

A knock on your door breaks your concentration. You’re dreading whatever is on the other side, but know it’s better to get this over with. 

“Yes?”

The door opens, and your mother pokes her head in through the gap. She offers a smile. “We have company. Come say hi, please.”

“I’m… kind of in the middle of something,” you reply, “and I’ve told you that I’m going to see Alik when I’m done writing.”

“How is she, by the way?”

“They’re fine.”

“And Maria? How’s she?”

“She’s alright, I think. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Well, tell them both I say hello. Anyways, if you have a minute, I would like you to come downstairs. There’s someone I’d like you to talk to.”

It takes you a moment to recognize what this is, mostly because it’s been a while since she tried pulling this off. When you realize what’s happening, you just shake your head and look at your mother. “Which family friend is this?”

She gives you a very unconvincing look of confusion. “My dear, what do you mean?”

“Mother, please.”

“... Ana. Anastasia.”

Anastasia is your younger sister Adéla’s friend. Much like your sister, she’s only a year younger than you, but unlike your sister, she actually likes you. Adéla and you have butted heads throughout your lives, as siblings tend to do and especially with such a small age gap, but Adéla has taken it a step further saying that it’s your fault her childhood was so “miserable” as she puts it. She claims that your diagnosis made you the centre of your parents’ attention until your youngest sister was born, and then they focused more on her than Adéla. Conveniently, she’s never had any sisterly drama with her, only you. You feel for her, but there was only so much you could do at the time, seeing as you were eight years old.

“Absolutely not,” you tell your mother.

“But you two got along so well when she would visit,” your mother insists, “and she’s become a fine young lady since the two of you last spoke! Don’t you remember reading together when you two were little?”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” you say, “but Adéla will throw a fit if she finds out you set me up with one of her friends.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And I don’t want to find out,” you tell her, “and I told you I don’t like being set up on dates.”

Your mother lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just worried about you, okay? I want to make sure my son is happy, healthy, and I want him to find someone he can settle down with. Your brother was already married at your age, and Adéla’s going to be having another baby soon.”

“Yes, but I’m not Pavel or Adéla,” you say, “the dating scene is different for me, and playing matchmaker isn’t going to make me feel any better or help me.”

Your mother just looks at you. That sad, pitiful look you know all too well. It stopped pulling on your heartstrings long ago, but sometimes it’s just easier to indulge her than it is to fight her on it. Besides, she means well, you think, it just can’t be helped that she doesn’t know her son has no interest in women.

You sigh, and stand up, much to your mother’s delight. “I’ll say hi, and that’s it.”

She grins, and she motions for you to follow her.

----

“... and she just happens to be single, too.”

Alik sets their glass down. “Interesting. So when’s the wedding?”

“It’s not happening,” you reply, “thank the Tsaritsa for that.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents haven’t put you in an arranged marriage yet,” Alik comments.

“How many viable marriage candidates do you think there are that would be thrilled to marry someone who’s not only going blind, but could pass it on to their children as well?”

“Depends on how much the family is getting paid.”

“And it would not be much.”

The tavern is surprisingly quiet tonight. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the work week, not as many patrons willing to get drunk if they have work early in the morning. Currently, you and Alik are sitting at a table in the corner of the room while a few older patrons mill about, chattering on about their own lives at the bar. It’s actually rather nice, you think.

“What would they try to sell your bride to be on?” Alik asks.

“Um…” You look into your half drunk glass, trying to think of something funny. You clear your throat, straighten your posture, and put on your best business smile. “Here’s a fine young man who has no real work skills, and it’s not like they would do him any good since he’s considered legally blind and has between thirteen and fifteen years before he is fully blind. His only profitable skill is writing, though he doesn’t make enough to support a household. His blindness is also genetic!”

“By the Archons, at least say one nice thing about yourself,” Alik teases, though there’s a subtle sincerity to their words.

“I think I’m decent,” you say, “I think I might even make an okay husband, but I don’t think I’d be the kind of husband Pavel or my father are.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Alik replies, “there are plenty of families and couples where the husband isn’t always a provider. Besides, you’re not really a ladies man to begin with.”

You shake your head. “It’s not even that, it’s just… you know I try not to make a big deal of me going blind, but it’d be naïve of me to pretend that it’s not, and especially if I was in a relationship. Whether I like it or not, whoever I marry is going to inevitably become my caretaker. There will come a day where I’m going to need help, and I’ll rarely be able to return that favour.”

“That’s why it’s in sickness and in health,” Alik comments. They reach across the table and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good house husband, before and after you start seeing the world how Maria does.”

Maria is Alik’s cousin, and one of your few very close friends. She has been a big help to you in writing your book as her blindness is similar to the main character’s. While he was born blind, she actually had vision when she was born. Unfortunately, she suffered a very severe head injury when she was very young. She has little to no memory of her life before she lost her sight as a result, as well as having some developmental problems growing up. These days she’s doing much better, though her eyesight is still gone. At most, she can detect if there’s light, but that’s the extent of it. 

“Do you have permission to make jokes about her being blind?” you ask.

“I not only have permission, but that’s not even the worst joke I’ve gotten away with.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“For the best.”

Your table goes quiet as you and Alik take a moment to drink. You try not to cringe at the taste of whatever the hell Alik recommended you try. It’s a beer, and you can taste that, but it’s a lot more bitter than you like. Still, they bought it for you, it would be rude to spit it out.

“You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I’ll get used to it.”

You see a smile twitch onto Alik’s lips, and even if they try to hide it, you can see a shit eating grin from miles away. 

“Okay,” you say, “out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You thought of something terrible, I want to hear it.”

Alik glances around the room, assessing how audible their comment would be. You take a sip of your drink, and they grin.

They lean in. “I’m sure Pantalone would be happy to hear that.”

You immediately sputter, spraying Alik in the face. They yell, swiping at their face as if they were sprayed with acid. You cough as what was left in your mouth goes down the wrong pipe. “Fuck, w-why’d I take a drink–”

“Did you have to spit that in my face?” Alik asks.

“Shut up,” you wheeze out. You give one more hearty cough, your throat and chest burning, and you can breathe again. You sit up, rubbing your chest through your shirt while Alik wipes their face and the table with napkins. You look around, and see the few patrons staring at your table. You painfully chuckle, and turn back to your friend. “S-Sorry, I should know better by now.”

Alik shrugs. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“I told you that in confidence,” you whisper.

“You actually told me before the tea party,” Alik tells you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s starting to show in your book.”

You feel your face flush, and you narrow your eyes. “I think I would know if I was writing about him, thank you.”

“The prince was a lot more arrogant in your first drafts,” Alik explains, “but in more recent iterations, it’s been toned down a lot. He’s also a lot more understanding of the musician’s blindness.”

You’re confused. “Well, yes. My first drafts are years old, so I’ve had to make some adjustments to better fit my writing style now. Besides, I’ve read too many stories about asshole love interests that don’t really learn anything, they just get tragic backstories that authors think justify their shitty behaviour. I’m not adding my characters to that pile.”

“No, I agree on that,” Alik says, “but even then, he was still a solid character, arrogance aside. He was just a spoiled prince who had to actually think about other people for the first time in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with someone with a disability, and doesn’t know how else to feel other than annoyed. In the more recent drafts, he still doesn’t know how to deal with it, but he’s a lot more willing to make up for the disrespect, where the old version did it, but complained the whole time. It just so happens that this change happened right when you met him for the first time.”

“That’s… hm.” You take a sip and don’t spit it in Alik’s face. “You’re on the right track, but I don’t think I was writing all of that because of a crush.” You feel your face flush warmer again. “He was a bit of an ass at the party, but since then he’s become one of…” You take a moment to count names on your finger. “... six or seven people that aren’t patronizing about me going blind. I’d just been putting up with most of my family either coddling me or being inconvenienced by me, but he’s a rare instance of someone making accommodations, but not making a big show of it. That’s why the book was like that until I met Pantalone.”

You stare into your glass. “And… a-and it’s why I enjoy his company so much…”

Alik doesn’t say anything. You look up, and you see their expression has softened a little bit. They lift their drink up to you, and you smile and lift yours up.

“Cheers.”

You both take a swig, and somehow the disgusting drink tastes sweeter going down. Your face feels warm, and you wonder why you’re still blushing when you see you’re already halfway through your drink. Alik has a similar glow in their cheeks. 

“That’s really sweet and cute,” Alik says, “but I do have to ask you something.”

You feel whatever warm feelings you’re feeling lessen when Alik’s softened expression gains a hint of concern. Their smile looks awkward by comparison, before they sigh and lose it altogether. You’re already dreading what they’re about to say.

They hesitate for a moment, and when they speak, it’s in a whisper. “Do you like him, or do you like what he’s done for you?”

“W-What?”

“I wouldn’t ask that if we were talking about anyone else,” Alik clarifies, “but I have to ask when it’s him. I don’t want to rain on your parade, I’m happy you like someone, but… he’s a harbinger. One of the more likeable ones, but not without flaws.”

“I know…”

Alik sighs. “Look, if it were some other handsome rich man, I’d say go for it. The fact it’s a harbinger specifically makes me a little worried, I won’t lie.”

You sound like my mother. “It’s a crush, not an engagement,” you tell them. “We enjoy each other’s company while he works with my father and sister. I just enjoy it differently than he does.”

“Still, even as friends, I’d be cautious. If not for what he’d have planned, then for what others might have in store for him.”

You take a swig. “You want to know what’s funny? You’re the first person to bring up his enemies as a point for why I shouldn’t get near him.”

“I am not.”

“No, seriously. My mother doesn’t want me near him because he’ll probably, I don’t know, kill me or sell me or steal my ideas, depends on the day. My father thinks I’ll ruin everything those two have built together, which I still don’t know why Pantalone is working with him.”

“Maybe your dad’s indebted to him or something.”

“...”

Alik notices your silence. They say your name in a soft voice, seeming worried by your expression. Your father’s not in debt, is he? The business isn’t as prosperous as it was when you were little, but job markets change all the time, and the economy is ever fluctuating. It’s purely the result of what happens when a business runs for as long as it does. Sometimes an empire doesn’t crumble, but rather dies slowly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You snap out of it. “I’m, uh, I’m fine.” You push your seat back and stand. “I’m just, um, I’m going to go to the washroom for a second.”

“... Okay? Just watch yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” you call out over your shoulder before immediately bumping into someone. Unlike with Pantalone, you actually manage to catch yourself before you fall. You know that Alik is holding their head in their hands, possibly stifling laughter too for a little extra salt in the wound.

“Archons, sorry,” you immediately blurt out, “I didn’t see you there.”

The ginger haired man laughs. “Oh, no worries comrade! Just be more careful next time!”

You stare at the man, eyes widening. His smile grows, almost reaching the dull blue of his eyes.

“Why the surprised face?” he asks jovially.

You sigh and shake your head. “I have got to stop meeting harbingers like this.”

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[thicccshady]

Mind If I Sit Here?☕️

Eminem x Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: light smut

The coffee shop smelled like roasted beans and faint cinnamon, a cozy escape from the bitter Detroit chill outside. You always came here to write, to feel the pulse of the city without getting swept up in it. Tonight, though, your focus was scattered. The draft of your novel sat neglected on your laptop screen while you absentmindedly doodled hearts in the margin of your notebook.

The bell above the door jingled, and a gust of icy wind followed the newcomer. You didn’t look up at first—Detroit was full of strangers passing through—but when the man muttered something low and gravelly to the barista, your pen froze mid-doodle.

That voice.

Your gaze lifted slowly, trying to play it cool. Black hoodie, leather jacket, gray beanie pulled low, and piercing blue eyes that darted around the room like they were looking for an escape route. You swallowed hard. Marshall Mathers. *Eminem*. The man whose lyrics you had memorized like scripture during high school.

You tried to look busy as he grabbed his coffee and scanned the room. Every seat was taken except for the one directly across from you.

“Mind if I sit here?” His voice broke through your thoughts.

Your eyes snapped up, and for a moment, you forgot how to speak. He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with faint amusement.

“Uh, no—yeah! I mean, go ahead,” you stammered, internally cringing at yourself.

He slid into the chair, setting his coffee down with a quiet clink. For a while, he didn’t say anything, just pulled out his phone and scrolled absently. You pretended to write, but your fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.

“You a writer?” he asked suddenly, glancing at your screen.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Trying to be, anyway.”

“What’s your story about?”

You hesitated. “It’s, uh… personal.”

He nodded like he understood that better than most. “Those are the best kind.”

The small talk eased the tension, and soon the conversation flowed naturally. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, asking questions about your work, your favorite music, your life. You managed to keep your inner fangirl in check, even as he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you.

Then, without warning, he smirked—a little cocky, a little playful. “You’re staring.”

You flushed, looking away quickly. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, leaning back in his chair.

The air between you shifted, the playful banter crackling with something deeper. He held your gaze, his blue eyes darkening just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“I’ve been told I’m distracting,” he said, his voice low, almost a purr.

You swallowed hard. “A little.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned in again, closing the distance between you. “Maybe you need a break from writing.”

Your breath hitched. “And what would you suggest?”

He didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. His hand brushed yours, the touch deliberate but not forceful. When you didn’t pull away, he leaned closer, his lips ghosting against your ear.

“I could show you,” he murmured.

Your brain short-circuited, and before you knew it, you were following him out of the café, the cold night air biting at your skin. He led you down the street, turning into an alley lit only by a flickering streetlamp.

It was reckless. It was crazy. But when he pressed you against the brick wall, his hands bracketing your hips, all logic went out the window. His lips found yours, the kiss rough and urgent, like he’d been holding back all night.

His hands slid under your coat, gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. He tasted like coffee and something darker, something that made your knees weak.

“Damn,” he muttered against your lips, his breath warm and ragged. “You’ve got me breaking all my rules.”

“What rules?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t get involved. Don’t get distracted.” His lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “But you…”

You pulled him closer, your hands slipping under his jacket. “Maybe you need a break too.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, before his lips found yours again. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the heat between you and the pounding of your heart.

For one night, nothing else mattered.

✨️Want to know when I post? Click here to join my taglist!✨️

[doodlinge]

my writing tips, that i think people will find useful:

- write dialogue first and THEN make a scene around it.

i like to do this sometimes for multiple reasons. first, if you’re in a flow of good ideas, getting dialogue done will be a future GAME CHANGER. you don’t have to be stuck fussing over little word choices because you just do it when you have a good idea, and it works! fuss over it now, save time for descriptions later. second, the characters you’re writing usuuallly wont be able to read eachother’s minds. we people do everything by communication and talking! so, map out what you want your scene to look like through dialogue! i like to do mine as a screenplay or movie script, so that way i can ensure that the characters are speaking Like Real People (tm). and THEN I READ IT OUTLOUD >:)

- map out your chapters before you start to write. seriously, do it.

so, personally, my favorite part of fanfiction and writing is the planning stage. and i like doing it on paper, but we’ll get into that after this. first, you get the idea, the spark in your brain that could make an AMAZING story, comic, or au. that’s the general premise to work off of! write that down, if you need. next, do a VERY rough draft of what you want to happen—specifically, the 3 main points of your story: the beginning event, the middle event or climax, and the ending event, or your point A, B, and C. work off of and build up (or build down) from each of these core events of your story, planning the small events that lead up to The Big Guy (or B). these ideas or premises for each leading event can and probably will be VERY, VERY rough, but once you’ve got the rough idea of what will probably happen done, you can get to work on MORE PLANNING (sorry guys. learn to enjoy it)

- PLANNING PART TWO BABY WOOO (plan out your chapters. and if it doesnt work when you’re writing it, that’s okay!)

this is what you will do before you write your chapters, that works for me way better than just going in with no plan. personally, when i started to write the fic i’m currently writing, i mapped out all the rough details that i want to happen in the climax chapter of my story, because most people find the middle the hardest part. since i already had an rough idea of what would have happened before the climax with my previous planning stage, i already was able to connect how all of the buildup would lead into the climax of the story pretty easily. every action in your story will have a consequence, big or small, and that all will lead up to your protagonist bursting into tears or the main couple confessing their love or the final, epic battle between the protagonist and antagonist! if, when you’re writing, the rough idea you had just isn’t working out, you can either a: redo it completely if it’s a huge problem, or b (my favorite): work around it in the moment and improvise. i ended up making my fic’s climax way better just because of the extra scenes i added in while writing, but since i had my original plan to work off of, everything was a lot easier.

- make every scene with a motive to accomplish

most people know this one, but i thought it was good to add in. whether it’s to flesh out the world around your characters with fun and shenanigans or to give the audience a little more insight into a character who will be useful in the future, every scene and every chapter should have a purpose. when people act, they also like to give their characters motivations, and for a while, i wasn’t sure how that could connect. however, now i understand. let’s say a character is trying to motivate another one to be brave and face their fears, but character a is actually only interested in their own interests. character a’s motivation is to be self-serving—they’re not as concerned with helping character b, but instead, they want to help themself. this shows a lot about character a! when you have a purpose for every story beat and a motive for each character, it can help you flesh out the character much better.

- show don’t tell (and what i interpret that as)

okay, so for a while, i had NO idea what show don’t tell even meant. i LOVE writing about my character’s thoughts, their interests, their perspectives on what’s going on around them. character analysis is one of the best parts, for me! but there are ways to show what a character is thinking without the use of heavy description. for example, take this part from the fic i’m currently working on right now:

the character i’m writing for had not mentioned her mom the entire chapter, but when you go back and analyze her character throughout it, you can see major hints that part of why she who she is stems from her trauma with her mother. when she connects to an older adult female figure and feels understood, the issues she has are shown and not told, clear as day. by using dialogue and trusting your audience to connect the dots about your characters, you can make a better-written story! remember motivations; sometimes, characters don’t even know they have the motivations that they do, and the audience has to figure it out based on context clues. leave room for intrigue and mystery! think; if you were this character in this situation feeling the way they felt, what would you do? what would you say? why would you say it, and what would that reveal about you?

- write one story beat per day and WRITE ON PAPER

the word count, for me, doesn’t matter. if the quality of your writing is good, and the pacing gives audiences room to breathe, then that’s enough! quality over quantity, in my opinion. if you’re not up for writing, PLAN CHAPTERS! plan scenes, plan events! plan dialogue, make it fun! that is writing too. for me, when i have the planning done, i go with the One Story Beat Per Day Rule. if you get one small event done each time you write, you’ll be finishing The Big Event you wanted to accomplish in no time. and if you’re in the middle of a big story beat and you just need a break, i’d say to take one…. and later, come back with a notebook and a pen and think. paper has helped me write better because the flow of thought just keeps going when i’m focused, and i think it might work for a lot of people.

- remember, YOU CAN DO THIS! MAKE IT FUN!

writing and finishing stuff is really, really hard. but if you get one small thing done for the characters in your story, comic or au each day… you’ll eventually have an amazing, finished story. make it fun for yourself. listen to music, act out the scripts, use color theory, analyze your characters and don’t make it a chore! every small step contributes to getting to the top. make something you will love to write, and that you will love to read. make something for yourself, because in the end, if you enjoy it, the audiences will enjoy it.

[simonsquest]

Where did the idea and/or drive for TRFSB come from and have there been any parts that you really struggled with?

I touched on this in another ask recently but I’ve had the idea of Simon’s life story—and the hardship of Simon’s quest in particular—kicking around my brain for many, many years.

I started plunking down ideas that I had for the story in a word doc shortly before I made a Tumblr account. I was very ill with COVID at the time, isolating. Having not much to do while I isolated, I feverishly wrote something ridiculous like 40+ pages worth of vignette drafts of scenes I felt inspired to try writing (most of which were cut - but the first one remained - it would later become chapter 59.)

I’m still not quite sure what inspired me to take the plunge and write it seriously, though. I think it must have happened around the time I tried drawing a little every day, where a lot of the characters I was drawing were Castlevania characters, and trying to improve my skills as an artist. It may have been around the time the Netflix show Castlevania: Nocturne was released, too, so the idea of a Castlevania adaptation could have been fresh in my mind.

But I originally had no plans to publish the fic anywhere. I think I even shared an early concept sketch of Requiem!Simon with the tag “this is inspired by my sprawling CV2 fanfic that will never see the light of day”, lol.

I suspect that I may have gained the courage because of the warm and kind reception I got by sharing my art in this circle on Tumblr. :) So I wanted to try and challenge myself to see through a lengthy project that I’ve been mulling over for years, and really push myself to do it imperfectly over not at all.

So I’ll always be especially grateful to those of you who have been following along, and who gave the fic a chance when they may have otherwise only followed me for my drawings.

(And on that note - gosh, my early drawings were rough! - I have to give my thanks to those of you who were kind enough to engage. It really helped motivate me forward. Thank you!)

tl;dr, Castlevania 2 is my favourite game, thematically, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about putting my blorbo in situations.

As for the parts where I struggled - there was a stint where I was really mulling over if I should go the “canon-divergent” route. Originally, I wanted this fic to have three endings that the reader could choose from, inspired by the three endings you can get in Simon’s Quest.

But I wrote the fic with one particular ending in mind, and chose to pursue that ending over giving the reader the choice. I didn’t want the choices to diminish what the story would build.

But it was really tough, because I wasn’t sure how well-received a canon-divergent arc would be! And that aside, I really struggled with believing in my story after a point. I wondered if I should have just ended it sooner, because I was doubting myself and burnt out. I didn’t think I had it in me to write more chapters when I felt like I lost sight of my goal.

But if I ended it sooner, I couldn’t be satisfied with that, either. The fic was built on the foundation of that one true ending that I want to honour.

It’s still really difficult. I still doubt myself and my ideas. But it’s gonna get done - imperfectly.

For more specific parts I’ve struggled with - chapters 51, 59, and 61 were so tough. They’re all high-stakes moments where I had to justify a lot of build-up and I didn’t feel satisfied with what I did at all, even after giving myself ample time to work on it. The longer chapters take me to write, the worse I tend to feel about them, hahahah. (I’m really too harsh on myself for someone doing this as a hobby! I just feel strongly for the source material that I want it to be great.)

Thank you so much for asking, and sorry for the wall of text, lol!

[bookish-bogwitch]

Thank you @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @nausikaaa, @larkral,

@hushed-chorus, @alexalexinii, @monbons, @whatevertheweather, @run-for-chamo-miles,

@artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @forabeatofadrum, and @aristocratic-otter for the tags over the past few weeks. I've had a crazy month (90% in crazy a good way) and too frazzled to come up with my own WIP posts, but have enjoyed reading yours and being included.

Here are six ten moody little sentence from Chapter 11 of Basil Pitch's Diary. (In case you missed it, I posted Ch. 10, September, a few weeks ago, then fled the country.) Baz is hanging in in Niall and Dev's room:

The last time I was here with Niall, he’d told me to hold out for more than ear scritches and the occasional carrot. Now we sat on his bed with a chessboard between us. “Baz,” Niall said quietly. “What are you doing?”  “Beating you.” I moved my queen to menace his remaining bishop. “With Snow, I mean.” Niall did that thing where the rook and king hop around, which shouldn’t be allowed, and I realized he’d won. Again. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, there is a me who grew up with someone to play against, demolishing a Niall who never went to math camp.

Below the cut: musing, a posting plan, and more tags.

Musing: I've actually written a ton since the last chapter even though I've been AWOL, but for a while no matter what I wrote, Baz felt out of character. I'd write a scene, like it, and then think "but why is he doing this?" Then I'd rewrite with Baz behaving completely differently, and that also felt OOC.

I worried that I'd somehow doomed myself with inconsistent characterization, but then I figured it out: Baz at this point is deeply inconsistent. He presents himself to the world one way, he tells the reader / himself that he's something else, and deep down he's a secret third thing. And sometimes his masks slip.

To some extent this is every unreliable narrator. But boyo has REALLY tangled himself up at this point. Something's gotta give. Until it does--which it will, soon--I have to be very clear in my mind, even if Baz isn't, about which Baz is driving the Baz at any given moment.

A lot of you can do that sort of thing intuitively. I can't. So I've been building this out (showing you just the headers b/c spoilers):

This might stultify some (most?) of you. For me, though, it's freeing. When my brain isn't trying to keep track of everything, my imagination can unfurl.

"'Everything'?" you ask. "This isn't that plotty a fic." It's not, but it's already 2.5x longer than anything else I've written, which means developing skills I haven't needed before. Anyway, my BPD chart and I are having fun. We're very happy together.

Posting Plan

I pushed myself to get Ch. 10 up before leaving home for three weeks, because Ch. 9 had ended on such a wretched note. While I was happy to have gotten it up, I didn't love the self-imposed time crunch (though betas @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, and @thewholelemon were fuckin' heroes). Feeling rushed had me stressing and second-guessing choices that were probably fine.

My plan now is to pause updates until I have at least a very rough first draft of the final chapter, then post it all at regular intervals. I know a longish pause means some folks who'd been reading along will wait until it's complete, if they return at all. To those folks--sorry, and I get it, and thank you for reading in the first place, and I love you.

Tags and shy waves to @brendughh  @beastmonstertitan  @carryonsimoncarryonbaz  @carryonmylovelies  @creepyspice

@comesitintheclover @cows4247 @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy@chen-chen-chen-again-chen

@chronicallyhomoerotic @drowninginships @dragoneggos @excalisbury @emeryhall

@erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fight-surrender @fatalfangirl @gay-at-ikea

@fiend-for-culture @forabeatofadrum @foolofabookwyrm-activated @arthurkko @j-nipper-95

@gekkoinapeartree @goblindad-emoshit @henreyettah @hertragedyconnoisseur @hushed-chorus

@icarus-n-flames @ineffable-grimm-pitch @ic3-que3n @ionlydrinkhotwater @iamamythologicalcreature

 @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shrekgogurt @im-gettingby @youarenevertooold

@monbons @mooncello @raenestee @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @messofthejess

[gerrystamour]

and how do i apologize (and put the tears back in your eyes)

Rating: Teen Pairing: Zayne x Named MC Characters: Zayne, Named MC Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Somft, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary: MC posts one of her drafts of a crash-out she had several weeks ago that Zayne had no idea happened.

Words: 1,896

A/N: Based on this reel I saw earlier today. Couldn't help but make it about Zayne and my MC, Lydia. I can't write in second person.

Zayne blinked down at his phone, frowning as the video automatically looped. Opening the caption, he read it again— “i was being so dramatic 😭 this was too funny to leave in my drafts” — and his brow furrowed even further.

The video was short, with Lydia sitting on the floor in her kitchen while she opened some take-out. Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed and damp with tears.

“Hi,” she said in a watery, shaky voice that was almost cheerful. “Join me as I eat take-out on my floor…”

The video cut to a close-up of her face as she visibly suppressed a sob before she added, “because today really sucked.”

Zayne was absolutely heartbroken as he watched her “crash-out” unfold, tilting his head as he tried to glean when this video was actually recorded because it couldn’t have been in the last few days. He and Lydia had been practically inseparable, and he had personally prepared all of her meals. They were about to go on holiday, so she’d been at his apartment in the few days leading up to the trip.

“I didn’t cry at work, though,” Lydia said, which confirmed for Zayne that this was at least three days ago. “Okay, actually, I did cry a little bit at work, but only two tears and they just streamed out really quietly, so, no one could tell.”

The video cut to Lydia showing the camera her food. “Ten out of ten, you should eat it,” she sobbed, and Zayne had the absurd thought to be proud of how much of the meal was actually a salad.

“This is probably gonna be funny later, but it’s not funny right now,” Lydia said in a wobbly voice as she grimaced around another wave of tears. Zayne felt his eyes prickle as the video cut to a point after Lydia had calmed herself back down. She waved a napkin and said, “Very kind of them to include free Kleenexes. I think they’re intended for napkins, but y’know. They have many uses.”

Zayne opened the comments while Lydia rambled a bit, looking for any sort of clue about when this happened.

Tara: when was this, bestie 😭 → Lydia replied: a couple weeks ago i think 😂 idk it was in my drafts and was so funny

With that frame of reference, Zayne wracked his brain for any memory from a couple weeks ago where he somehow missed Lydia having a bad day. With everything going on at the hospital, he was struggling to remember what he had been doing two or three weeks ago.

“I didn’t wanna eat alone,” Lydia said softly, before she trailed off into a sob as she said, “which is why I’m recording this.”

Zayne couldn’t take another second of the video, but he forced himself to sit through it as punishment for missing her struggling so badly.

“How does it feel to be happy? I don’t know, but I used to know so that means… I’ll know again,” Lydia wobbled, and Zayne’s chest ached. “We cannot control others, and we cannot control situations, but we can. Control. Ourselves.”

The video cut one last time, and Lydia was clearly giving up on trying not to cry. “Gonna be a rough couple’a weeks boys and girls and theys,” she sobbed and Zayne closed Moment before it could loop again, standing up to leave his home office.

Lydia was exactly where he knew she would be; curled up on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket, scrolling through her phone happily. She was so beautiful, even with her hair a mess from what was likely an impromptu nap, even with her cheek smooshed with the way she had it resting against her knee. In the next moment, Lydia’s vibrant eyes flashed up to meet his gaze and she sat up straighter with a grin.

“Done working for real now? We fly out tomorrow, so you better be,” she said with a faux sternness that would have had Zayne smiling any other time. Lydia frowned, and he almost wanted to curse how well she could read him, especially now that he apparently missed a critical moment when she was upset. “You okay, Zayne?”

With a small sound, Zayne closed the distance and picked Lydia up off the couch so he could sit back down with her in his lap. With a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“When did you record that video, my love?” he asked softly, and Lydia tensed.

“I dunno, a couple weeks ago?” Lydia said, and Zayne could hear the hesitation in her tone, which he knew meant she wasn’t being completely honest. That either meant the video was recorded more recently, or she knew exactly when she recorded it.

“Sweetheart,” Zayne chided in a whisper, and Lydia grumbled to herself quietly.

“It’s just a silly video,” she mumbled. “It was just a funny crash-out I had in the middle of a rough week.”

“We clearly have different understandings of the words ‘silly’ and ‘funny,’ my love,” Zayne said, and he felt Lydia deflate in his embrace. With a sigh, he said, “in that video, I saw the love of my life crying, feeling like she was completely alone. That when she was sad, her only choice was to sit on her kitchen floor alone and eat mediocre take-out while she cried. That… she had a bad day, and I never even realized.”

“Zayne, baby,” Lydia gasped as she pulled away just enough to hold his face between her hands. “It wasn’t like that. By the time I saw you that day, I was completely fine—”

“So, you do know when you recorded it,” Zayne said, resting his forehead against Lydia’s. “But trying to hide that means it had something to do with me.”

“It mostly had to do with my period, actually,” Lydia tried to deflect, which immediately narrowed down the timeframe and suddenly, Zayne knew roughly when that video was recorded.

“You recorded that when I was in Chansia last month?” Zayne whispered, closing his eyes tightly as his throat constricted. “You could have called me, my love…”

Lydia sighed and shook her head. “Not quite… I mean, you were about to leave, yeah, and you were super busy. We were barely seeing each other, and then you were going to be gone for two weeks. So, we planned to have lunch together,” she said softly, and Zayne opened his eyes to meet hers again. “I ended up having to deal with a wanderer attack, so I missed our lunch date. By the time everything was settled and my reports were in… you were already on your way to Chansia, so I couldn’t even call you.”

Zayne remembered that day, remembered the way he almost rescheduled his flight so he would see his hunter before he left, but it just wasn’t possible. He was needed early the next morning, and the last flight to Chansia departed before dinner. Zayne had a full day between the appointments and surgeries he had on the books, so there was little chance to leave his work even earlier than he already had to for his flight. When Lydia texted him after she was dispatched to handle a wanderer attack, he knew he wouldn’t see her before he left, which made him feel worse about having to leave at all.

Things had been hectic at the hospital leading up to his trip, so he had been working very long hours, which often meant that he went days with only seeing Lydia for short fifteen-minute periods around lunchtime. When her own job interfered with their plans in the way his so often did, he felt an intense stab of guilt for allowing his job to steal so much time from them. He had made a resolution that he would do more to ensure he wasn’t neglecting Lydia, and another resolution that he would absolutely carve out time for Lydia ahead of a trip like the one he took to Chansia.

But as Lydia said, when they video chatted that evening, she was in a bubbly mood, if a bit pouty. She admitted to being a bit put-out about not seeing Zayne before he left, but there was nothing to imply just how sad she had been.

“Why didn’t you tell me how upset you were, my love?” Zayne asked gently, and Lydia puffed out her cheeks. Zayne smiled softly and poked one of her cheeks. “Please, talk to me.”

Lydia huffed. “I knew if I felt shitty, you probably felt even worse, so… why pile my shit on top of you, too?” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “Plus, it was my fault we didn’t get to see each other before you left, so it was kinda rich to cry about it to you—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dia,” Zayne whispered, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “There was a wanderer attack, you were the closest, most capable hunter. And… I could have done a better job of making time for you leading up to my trip.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s possible as the chief cardiac surgeon,” Lydia scoffed and Zayne shook his head.

“Do not let me off the hook because of my position. I… do not have to take on everything,” he said and Lydia gave him a sceptical look. “I am aware that this is something I have to work on quite a bit.”

“Is this why you suggested our holiday?” Lydia asked, and Zayne nodded.

“It is. I missed you terribly while I was away, and I wanted to have as much uninterrupted time with you as possible,” he replied, his chest so full of love for her that it was almost painful.

With a soft noise, Lydia shifted her body so that she was straddling Zayne’s lap, pressing her body flush to his as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about being sad. I’m sorry for posting the video, too,” she said and Zayne shook his head.

“It… is funny, now that we’ve sorted out some of the context. You were being very dramatic,” he said in a whisper, shrugging at Lydia’s baffled expression. “What upset me about the video was the feeling that I failed you somehow, my love. The video itself… that’s yours to share however you want.”

Lydia cupped his face with both hands and smiled sweetly down at him. “I love you, Zayne,” she murmured, pressing somehow even closer to him.

With a hungry, low sound, Zayne captured her lips in a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, wrapping his arms even tighter around her, his hands slipping up inside the back of her oversized sweater to feel her soft skin. “I love you so much, Lydia.”

With a cheeky grin, Lydia said, “how about you show me just how much you love me?” She punctuated her little challenge with a devious swivel of her hips and Zayne couldn’t help the shaky, barely audible moan that escaped his throat.

With a quiet chuckle, Zayne wrapped his hands around the bottoms of Lydia’s thighs and stood up, easily caring her weight to the bedroom. “Of course, my love, and I will make sure to be quite thorough.”

Tagging: @hxneyfarm @zayne-s

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 25

Drunk Sex

Pairing: Curtis Everett x f!reader

Tags/Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, drunk sex, alcohol consumption, p-in-v, creampie, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, pussy eating/cunnilingus/face sitting mention, oral (f recieving), quickie (sorta)

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through an AI Machine

Summary: You meet a guy at a bar and take him home.

Word Count: 461

A/N: originally, this was a whole very long ass fic (in fact it was a Jake Jensen fic). However. I was converted. So Jake's fic will be a stand alone instead (at some point - my drafts are in the 500s now haha). This is my first time writing Curtis too so apologies in advance - I haven't quite got the handle of him yet.

Banners by: @/cafekitsune

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You always make impeccable bad decisions.

Dating someone who is a walking red flag. Investing in the new crypto currency. Letting your "friend" convince you to join the business she was working on (spoilers: it was an MLM scheme).

Taking the big, broody, possibly-could-kill-you guy from the bar back to your apartment.

Yeah. That would be a pretty terrible idea.

Except, as you're sprawled on your queen-size bed gripping the sheets like a lifeline while said guy is swallowing your cunt like he hasn't eaten in days, you can't help but think that maybe it was a good idea after all.

You've already cum twice over his face and your brain swims, a cocktail of hormones and alcohol making you drunk for him, a stranger. You reach for his short hair, trying to pull him upwards, trying to speak. But your brain is slow and your words are slurred but he waits patiently for you to finish.

"You," you whimper, still trying to claw at him. "Need you, fuck."

"Need me, huh?" He rumbles, pushing himself up and tearing away his t-shirt. Your eyes rake his form, slipping the tight straps of your dress down your arms to free your tits finally. Your stranger licks his lips and grins at the sight of your almost-sleepy lustful gaze trailing to the lower half of his body expectantly.

"Damn right you do," He growls unbuckling his belt and shucking down his dirty oil covered jeans. You're sure he told you what he did for a living but you can't quite remember at this moment as you watch him pull his cock out of his boxers. "Your pussy's fucking dripping for me."

Your body burns with heat from his words and the alcohol; an excellent dose of dopamine that makes your clit throb and your head roll back when he taps the sticky head of his cock against your clit.

You remember approaching him at the bar; vague flirtatious conversation that led to making out in the cab to your apartment, that led to him now burying himself deep into your cunt with reckless abandon drawing moan after choked moan from you until he's spent his load inside you with eye-fluttering sigh.

When he removes himself from you he gives you a small smile and you smile back, both of your lust-drunk fogs lifting slightly.

"I'm Curtis," he pants out, words ever so slightly slurred, getting to his feet and removing his clothes fully. You take a moment to appreciate the view before giving him your name and getting to your feet and slipping out of your creased dress. Curtis' arms wrap around you, lips latching onto the skin of your neck.

"Okay Y/N. Where's your shower? I'm not done with you just yet."

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @oralmisery! Oralmystery has 7 fics posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

@dame-zoom-a-lot recommends the following works by @oralmisery:

Horny for Horsepower

Body Over Mind

Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night

Dear the King of Hawkins

"They have a bonkers imagination. I love their crack fics. The concepts are so fun, but treated so seriously and with such strong imagery and emotions" -- @dame-zoom-a-lot

Below the cut, Oralmystery answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Honestly the Stranger Things community was the biggest push. Before last year I had done very little creative writing but I’ve been a fan fic reader for years. When season 4 came out, I fell headfirst into Steddie and have not resurfaced. I’ve read so many touching, hilarious, smutty and heart-wrenching fics and it inspired me to write my own stories.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I LOVE a good secret identity. The deception, the tension, the reveal. It's all so good! I like how these fics usually deal with themes of persona and authentic self and how both of those affect relationships in the character’s life.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Crack, for sure. I like the idea that Steve and Eddie are so distinct character wise that you can put them in any wild situation and they still read as Steve and Eddie. Also I think it's just so fun treating a silly plot as seriously as possible.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

boots & budweiser’s miraculous misadventures by helix_stomper. I love this series so much. If I had to point to a singular Steddie fic that inspired me to write, it would be this one. The setup is golden. The dialogue is goals and the smut is so so so good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I would love to write horror, maybe with some monsterfucking going on? I just don’t don’t know if I can be scary enough.

What is your writing process like?

I have a huge word doc that I write down any and every idea that comes to me. If I like a prompt enough to go further with it I create a new document and write down everything I can think of that pertains to that prompt. Usually a story starts to form and I know I got something when a rough draft gets completed. Then I edit for hours and hours and hours. Currently I’m working on trying to muscle some organization into my process because it takes me forever to finish stuff.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Recently I’ve been listening to this 852 hz tone I found on spotify. I have no idea if there’s any science behind it but when I hear it I physically feel my eyes focus and I get more writing done. I usually play music out loud then pop in a headphone with the tone playing and even if it's just placebo, it works.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Whenever I finish writing. I’m too excited to wait!

Which fic are you most proud of?

I’m really proud of Horny for Horsepower. Mostly because, even as a car, Steve was recognizable as Steve. There’s also a special place in my heart for Dear the King of Hawkins because of how easy it was to write. Things were just flowing and making sense. It's probably the least-frustrating-while-making piece of writing I’ve completed.

How did you get the idea for Dear the King of Hawkins?

Steddie brain rot has me inserting the boys into any and all media I intake at the moment so when I saw To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before it just clicked. I could imagine Eddie so easily having a hate crush on Steve and then someone-please-love-me Steve Harrington finding out and having a bisexual awakening. It seemed so juicy and I wanted to read it so I had to write it first lol.

When writing Dear the King of Hawkins, what was something you didn’t expect?

I was not expecting how fun it would be to write “King Steve”. I love reformed Steve’s journey but before he gains self awareness I imagine him as kind of bitchy? And that's just so fun to write. I was giggling to myself the whole time.

What inspired Body Over Mind?

There’s not a specific source but more like just a bunch of little things. Heads separating from bodies isn’t a new thing in media and me, being a degenerate, was like how come there’s not more smut on the subject? Also when it comes to sci-fi I really like when the genre shows the mundane. Like the everyday lives of people living in speculative futures. The concepts mashed together in my brain and Body Over Mind was born.

What was your favorite part to write from Body Over Mind?

Writing the actions of the boys' bodies was definitely my favorite part. It was kind of a writing challenge to show bodies expressing things without words and writing dialogue without gestures.

How do/did you feel writing Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night?

The image of Steve Harrington in lingerie would NOT leave my mind while writing this one. Especially cause I made art for it as well. It was simultaneously inspiring and very distracting.

What was the most difficult part of writing Horny for Horsepower?

Finding song lyrics for car Steve to communicate with. I tried my hardest to stick to the 80s.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

The scene in Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night where Eddie realizes Steve is the mannequin he brought home was SO fun. Sweet baby Eddie is just so confused at the hot, partially-dressed man in his room.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m working on a multi-chapter fic that may or may not see the light of day! Its a mystery/thriller omegeverse where Steve is hiding his Omega status (guilty pleasure trope for me). I've never written something that's not a one-shot so progress has been slooooww.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just that I'm so fucking inspired by all the writings/art/content/love that the steddie community creates!

Thank you to our author, @oralmisery, and our nominator, @dame-zoom-a-lot! See more of Oralmystery's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!