#Customized Glass Partition

[glasspartitiongatwick]

For a sleek, modern way to divide your space without losing natural light, a custom glass partition designs and installation service expert in Gatwick, UK offers endless possibilities. From elegant frosted glass to bold, geometric patterns, we'll create a solution that perfectly complements your style and needs.

[taghardwareca]

Sharing another stunning Table Top Glass project done by VGM! Our expert craftsmanship and attention to detail shine through in every piece we create. Whether it's for your home or office, our glass solutions are designed to elevate any space. Get in touch with us today to add a personalized touch to your architecture marvel as we bring your vision to life! For sales inquiries: 📞 905-760-2000 | ✉️ sales@vglassmirror.com | 🌐 www.vglassmirror.ca

[gs-southampton]

Need a glass partition wall in Southampton, UK? Don't guess the cost! Get a free quote today and see how affordable it can be to transform your space. https://bit.ly/4eJCNff

[academyglassandmirror]

Do you have questions about commercial glass services in the Toronto area for your business? Get answers to the key questions, from repair to installation, to make informed decisions.

[thequeenofsand]

Medium - Garage

Mid-sized minimalist attached two-car garage photo

[inlibrisveritas]

Basement - Walk Out Inspiration for a small contemporary walk-out light wood floor basement remodel with white walls and no fireplace

[goth-mami-writer]

💙 Reserve 💙

~ (AU) Leon Kennedy × f!Reader one-shot/drabble

~POV: You're an exotic dancer who is a potential lead on the missing person's case Leon is assigned to. When his chief suggested that Leon provide round the clock supervision for your safety as the case continued …it was the least to say that he wasn't happy.

☆☆☆☆☆

《 “Well-” Leon's boss suggested as they both sat in his office that morning, “I can't put her with one of our married men around here, Kennedy. She's a stripper for God's sake!!”

Leon hung his head in defeat, not wanting to argue with his chief further on how exactly they needed to keep you safe as they caught this perp. He was profiling dancers in nightclubs, and the disappearances just kept coming.

You worked at one of the more lucrative clubs in town, so you knew johns that came and went throughout the night. Your information would lead to a breakthrough in this case. He knew it. But Leon shook his head wondering why he needed to be the one to babysit you.

In his own home?

“Leon, the mayor is on my ass about this-” The chief murmured, lowering his voice when he mentioned the mayor,

“I know it ain't ideal. But just keep her shacked up for a couple weeks, eh?”

He agreed with a heavy sigh and said unamused, “When do I pick her up?”

The chief mentioned that you were already waiting in his office, which meant that this little meeting was more-so a warning than a suggestion. Leon rolled his eyes and stood now to retrieve you.

It wasn't that he disliked you. It wasn't some kind of bad stigma with your career either. In fact it was the opposite. He'd only spoken to you twice and it was easy to say that he was attracted to you. This little infatuation distracted him from his work on the case. Even as he enjoyed your overly friendly attention, he sometimes wondered if it might be some kind of seduction plot just for your own entertainment.

You liked watching him squirm and wince with flattery from your flirts and teases. He knew the redder he grew in the face while next to you, the more joy you'd find in torturing him slowly. But he had a job to do and he couldn't afford any detours in his focus.

He opened the door to his office and saw you sitting in the chair across from his desk. Your long legs were crossed, already in high heels at 9am. Clearly, your hair was wet from a shower, probably from being woken by an early call about this new living arrangement. Even in a thin sleeping slip that your mink coat covered- God you were beautiful. You just didn't need the makeup and club attire.

Your eyes shot up with an alluring, mischievous smile that wadded his insides every time and you purred as you greeted him playfully,

“Mornin’, Roomie.”

He scoffed with a smile and closed his door, knowing he wouldn't need anyone seeing him get flustered just by talking to you. He felt stares already from just hearing your voice inside of his office.

“I take it you heard the plan.” He said, noticing that you came with a duffle bag and a backpack, undoubtedly full of your clothes and other belongings.

“Oh, yeah.” You said bouncing your ankle softly as you spoke,

“Bossman and I hashed it out. I'm not gonna cramp your style, am I?”

He wondered if you were serious with that remark. Tensely, he came close, sitting in the opposite chair to speak to you with what felt to be an urgency about how this living together… thing would work out. He mostly wanted to lay down ground rules about how busy he would be during the day. And how he couldn't have any nighttime temptations to deter him away from work.

You watched as he tensed his hands together, trying to gather words but your attention quickly fell to the eyes that peered into his partition glass. You recognized a few of his coworkers as once paying customers and it made you chuckle softly. Leon watched as you raised your hand up to wave facetiously across the office and he yanked the blinds shut aggravatedly.

He sighed your name with the bridge of his nose pinched stiffly and you shook your head before mentioning the obvious,

“Detective, you're a little inexperienced with ladies, aren't you?”

“I'm not a virgin-” He snapped back defensively in a mutter with his face red.

You gasped to hear that his first interpretation of that mention was about sex. Your catching smile grew at its widest when you finally sized him up just right as to why this new change in setting would be so hard for him,

“Well, I didn't say anything about screwing, honey. That was you. ”

Leon shrunk back defeatedly after realizing he had given his true feelings away just then. He scoffed in surrender and looked at your silent enjoyment of his misery, making him become a little vulnerable.

Truth was, when he spoke to you he was always so strangely…comfortable. You treated him like he was understood and validated in his woes and worries. It was part of the turn-on. Besides the obvious show-girl appeal that he was reluctant to admit that he liked.

When he finally spoke, his words moved slowly with careful emphasis,

“I won't ask you to do this again. But..can we keep this little talk between us?”

You smiled, becoming fascinated by his means of discreteness and you nodded, telling him to be as honest as he liked, you could handle it.

“...I'm gonna fuck up this case if you're bunking with me. I just know it.” He said with softer eyes that begged for you to understand where he was coming from. You smiled to reply now in that playful, come-hither tone that often made him twitch,

“Why is that, detective? Am I a distraction? Come on. It's not like I'm strutting around naked-”

Your eyes narrowed in to antagonize him but he didn't falter when he replied with words that froze your playmate demeanor from moving any further.

“-You don't have to be.” Leon said before you finished your thought,

“You look at me, and I'm distracted.”

He thought in that fleeting moment of the first time he saw you. After speaking with him on the phone, you invited him down to your club for a one-on-one about the goings-on that could lead to a break in potential suspects.

He felt dirty walking into a gentleman's club, even a high-end one. Especially when he had to ask for one girl in particular using a rather salicious stage name. But when you crossed the floor, he realized that this couldn't have been something he regretted.

You were cunning and witty. Obviously, you knew the ins and outs of conversation. He couldn't play into the back and forth, but God, he wanted to tell you that you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever talked to. Even about nothing more than the case.

You felt your jaw drop for a different reason now. Secretly, you expected some half-cocked fantasy of what he wanted to do with you when he took you home. Not this. Not this softness and sincerity. You shifted uncomfortably now, but only because that chord struck differently than the others.

The truth was…it wasn't an act. You didn't put on bedroom eyes to play your part in being the warmly erotic, street-smart dancer that was too good at her job. Leon was desirable. Not just handsome or intelligent. Your very feminine nature made you pursue him for his level headedness and maturity almost as if it was instinctive. As if even your insides knew he was a good man.

You leaned forward now to match his discreet manner and motioned with a finger for him to do the same.

“Is it my turn for secrets?” You asked in a soft murmur as you stared right into him.

He smiled, being quiet for you to tell your side of the situation,

“Every night that I work, I always have men tell me how bad they want to sleep with me and air out their dirty little secrets about me. But you know what I really like in a man? Something that I can't find in a room full of them?”

Leon felt his eyes focusing in and he asked what it was. But you waited. You knew how you wanted to answer but it was something you didn't want to tell him.

You wanted to show him.

You stood from your chair, not letting a sound escape from your throat other than the breath of courage it took to do this to a cop. One that wasn't paying for it, at least. Your knee planted down beside him before you straddled his waist entirely, letting yourself now gently sit in his lap to face him.

This was always the position you assumed right before a lap dance, and Leon tried not to gasp when you became so close. He could smell your sweet perfume - feel the warmth of your body.

You felt his chills and saw the breath he shakily let go of. It was a face you saw everyday. But his bothered expression was far from a dime a dozen. It was a work of art to see before you now. Your hands slid up his arms, your middle finger dragging against his sleeved shirt to feel the soft tone of muscle and brawn below. He must have been a masterpiece naked but you put that to the side for the sake of your own bothered expression appearing.

Leon's pulse throbbed but his hands remained on the arms of his chair as you touched him. He swallowed heavily and kept his eyes with yours, trying his best to judge what exactly you were doing. It felt so real. But was it? Nothing could have brought it on. Was it a test?

His eyes searched in yours to find the answers to the questions that were surmounting as his blood turned hot, flushing his face when your hand gripped at the choke of his satin tie, loosening the bind from his collar. He huffed in want when you looked to his mouth, leaning in for what he prepared to be a kiss but he closed his eyes, not leaning forward to meet your lips.

"She knows I'm at work. She knows I can't do this. This is a test.” Leon thought behind his closed eyes as your lips brushed against his with the same gentleness as a breath.

You opened your mouth, wondering if you could entice him to move- to follow his want for touch when a girl like you was perched in his lap.

You made one last move to prove your jagged point and you said breathily with what you knew to be a voice latent with desire,

“Touch me, Leon.”

You watched his hands remain still, glued to the chair practically and his eyes were begging you to have mercy on his needs.

He answered, firm and calculated in a grunt,

“No-...No.”

“There it is.” You said warmly in his ear, confirming to him that this was in fact nothing more than just a little test of his nature.

“Reserve. That's the sexiest thing a man can have for me. Men tell me that they'd scream from the rooftops to sleep with me. But I've been looking for the one that'd watch his hands shake just by the thought of it.”

Leon's heart drummed in realization that the feeling was mutual when he looked down to his trembling hands. Of course he'd never touch you for his own gratification alone. Even if you performed for money. He wanted you in ways that went so far beyond seeing you naked in a dark room. It was an attraction. But lust was merely the surface.

He was unsure still if he should try to make a move but your weight shifted. He sighed in relief when you climbed down from his chair, returning to your own with a small chuckle to his spent expression as he readjusted his tie.

“I hate to rush- but 9 in the morning is the middle of the night for a night owl like me. Think I can go ahead and get a tour of where I'll be sleeping?”

Leon still needed a second to recover from that rush of adrenaline but he nodded with a sigh,

“Yeah, I'll get you home. I'll make up the guest room for ya.”

“Aw-” You mentioned with a playful act of disappointment as you gathered your bags when he opened the door to his office- en route to the car,

“No room in your bed? I'll scoot over?”

“Don't-” He said, trying not to laugh, feeling that involuntary smile find his mouth. You'd caught on that he enjoyed the teasing, but just how much was something he'd still like to keep under wraps.

For now at least. There was a still a case to solve.

“Don't push it, okay?” 》

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[cityof2morrow]

CDK: Customer Service

Published: 9-14-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY Use the Cubic Dynamics Kitbash (Simmons, 2023-2024) collection to set up corporate, exposition, and office environments. Envisioned as an add-on to the Cubic Dynamics set (EA/Maxis, archived at GOS), it features minimalist and retro-futuristic objects. Find more CC on this site under the #co2cdkseries tag. Read the Backstory and ‘Dev Notes’ HERE. Set up an area in your business for routine customer reception, processing, and other service-related work with the CUSTOMER SERVICE SET.

DETAILS All EPs/SPs. §See Catalog for Pricing | See Buy/Build Mode You need the Company Expo (Mesh Pack) set (Simmons, 2024) for TXTRs to show properly in game. ALL files with “MESH” in their name are REQUIRED. Several objects in this series are oversized/offset. You may need to shift an objects upwards once to level it, and you may need “move objects” and “grid on/off” cheats to place them to your liking. When placing partitions/floating shelves and tables/desks/counters on the same tile, place the partition/shelves first. I recommend using this set with Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023), which includes Numenor’s fix for OFB shelves (2006), for easier use overall. ITEMS Bench (1735 poly, HIGH) Comfort Chair (496 poly) Counter (610 poly) Counter Desk (288 poly) Counter Island (500 poly) Fence (~424 poly) – not included in collection file Partitions 001-003 (40-132 poly) SimSafety Glass Partition (48 poly) – thumbnail looks “blank” but isn’t Table (64 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA COMPATIBILITY AVOID DUPLICATES: The #co2cdkseries includes edited versions – replacements - for items in the following CC sets: 4ESF (office 3, other 1/artroom, other 2/build), All4Sims/MaleorderBride (miskatonic library, office, postmodern office), CycloneSue (never ending/privacy windows), derMarcel (inx office), Katy76/PC-Sims (bank/cash point, court/law school sets, sim cola machine), Marilu (immobilien office), Murano (ador office), Reflex Sims (giacondo office), Retail Sims/HChangeri (simEx, sps store), Simgedoehns/Tolli (focus kitchen, loft office, modus office), ShinySims (modern windows), SH (reverie office, step boxes/shelving), Spaik (sintesi study), Stylist Sims (offices 1,2, & 3, Toronto set), Tiggy027 (wall window frames 1-10), Wall Sims (holly architecture, Ibiza). *The goal is to link the objects to the recolors/new functions in the #co2cdkseries without re-inventing the wheel! Credit to the original creators.

CREDITS Thanks: ChocolateCitySim, HugeLunatic, Klaartje, Ocelotekatl, Whoward69, LoganSimmingWolf, Gayars, Ch4rmsing, Ranabluu, Gummilutt, Crisps&Kerosene, LordCrumps, PineappleForest. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik). SEE CREDITS (ALT)

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 16 - Exhibitionism

Papa Emeritus I x Reader

You are a sex worker at the Ministry, performing sensually behind double-sided glass, indulging in fantasies of being desired by Primo. As Primo watches you with intense longing, he succumbs to his own pleasure, yet his desire for you only deepens, fueling a craving to possess you completely.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 4.4k.

Reading Time: 18 min.

Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, gang bang fantasies, masturbation, mentions of gang bangs, nipple play, objectification, self-objectification, vaginal fingering, voyeurism

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

Author’s note: Hi, everyone!

Today’s fic draws inspiration from the Edo-period (1603–1868) red-light district of Yoshiwara, where peep shows were a popular form of entertainment. Although the exact names of these peep show structures are not well-documented, they provided secluded, intimate viewing spaces. Visitors would discreetly observe courtesans or sexual performances, reflecting the controlled nature of these environments.

These voyeuristic setups were part of the broader ukiyo (“floating world”) culture—a space dedicated to escaping societal norms through pleasure, indulgence, and art. Activities ranged from public erotic performances to private encounters facilitated by intermediaries, such as in tea houses or pleasure chambers. Yoshiwara wasn’t just about sexual activities; it also fostered artistic expressions like ukiyo-e prints and literature, capturing themes of fleeting pleasure and desire.

In modern Japan, venues like Nozoki Beya (peep rooms) mirror some aspects of these historical practices. Nozoki Beya allows customers to watch performers engage in erotic acts, either live or behind glass partitions. These booths offer a voyeuristic experience similar to the setups of Yoshiwara, with a strict separation between viewer and performer.

The popularity of establishments like Nozoki Beya grew in part from legal loopholes created by Japan’s 1956 Anti-Prostitution Law. After World War II, Japan saw a rise in unregulated prostitution and forced sexual slavery. To combat this, the law banned prostitution (defined as vaginal intercourse for money). However, other sexual services—such as non-penetrative acts—remained legal, leading to the growth of businesses like Nozoki Beya.

These venues operate within legal boundaries by prohibiting direct physical contact between customers and performers. They require local government licenses and are subject to zoning laws, which restrict their operation to areas like Kabukicho in Tokyo. Adult entertainment businesses cannot operate near schools, parks, or residential areas, but the ambiguous nature of Japan’s laws creates some gray areas. Venues often navigate the fine line between legality and illegality, especially when performers’ actions approach the limits of prostitution.

While this fic takes inspiration from both Nozoki Beya and the historical practices of Yoshiwara, it is not a direct depiction of these activities. All characters featured are adults above the age of 21, and everything in the story is entirely consensual.

Enjoy the story!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The red glow of the octagonal room enveloped you, the soft light casting playful shadows that danced across the mirrored glass. You settled onto the padded lounger at the centre, the silk of your robe clinging just enough to tease the senses. This was your space, a sanctuary of seduction where you could lose yourself to the performance, even if the audience remained unseen.

You adjusted your position, allowing the fabric to slip from your shoulder, exposing a hint of skin. You caught your reflection in the glass—a captivating sight that both excited and empowered you. You loved the way it felt to perform, the thrill of revealing just enough while holding back the rest.

But tonight, beneath the intoxicating haze of incense, there was a yearning that stirred deep within you—a desire for a particular gaze. You wished Primo would come to watch. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, the ache of wanting to be seen by him amplifying the heat radiating in the room. You imagined his dark eyes on you, exploring every curve and movement, but the truth was, you had no idea if he would show.

With each languid stretch of your limbs, you painted a picture for the invisible audience. You smoothed your hands over your thighs, the subtle caress igniting a fire in your belly. In the back of your mind, you whispered a silent plea for him to appear, to share in this intimate moment, even if he remained hidden behind the glass.

You leaned back against the cushions, your lips parting ever so slightly as you exhaled, an invitation carried through the air—a sound meant for him, even if he was still just a thought. In this world of shadows and reflections, you held onto hope that he would find his way into your light.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the rhythm of your breath guide you. The anticipation thrummed in the air, urging you to embrace the performance. With a soft smile playing on your lips, you let the tension ease from your body, focusing on the sensations that rippled through you.

Opening your eyes, you began to move, each motion fluid and deliberate. You arched your back slightly, allowing the fabric of your robe to slip further down your shoulder, revealing more of your collarbone. The mirrors caught every angle, reflecting a beautiful illusion of yourself—a vision you hoped would entice anyone watching.

You leaned forward, your fingers grazing your thighs, slowly tracing circles on your skin as if inviting the audience to feel the heat emanating from your body. The room felt electric, each subtle movement weaving a spell of seduction that filled the air. You thought of Primo, picturing him in your mind as you performed, his presence a silent motivation that pushed you deeper into the moment.

You turned your body slightly, allowing the curves of your hips to catch the light, shifting to give the reflections a tantalising view. You imagined Primo’s gaze, how he would study every detail, and the thought quickened your pulse. Would he appreciate the way you teased the fabric, pulling it closer to your body, then letting it slip away again?

As the performance intensified, you let your hands roam, exploring your own body as though it were a work of art. The sensuality of it filled you with a confidence that radiated through the glass, mingling with the faint scent of incense in the air. You could almost feel the heat of his gaze upon you, igniting a deeper yearning that urged you to give more.

You shifted again, propping yourself up on one elbow, your body poised in a way that accentuated the curve of your waist. You locked your eyes onto your own reflection, the desire within you manifesting in a wicked smile as you teased the edge of your robe, letting it slip just enough to suggest what lay beneath.

With your heart racing, you let the energy of the moment sweep you away. The way the fabric caressed your skin sent shivers down your spine, urging you to explore further. You took a deep breath, focusing on the sensation of your body and the power it held in this intimate space.

You shifted again, letting your legs fall open slightly as you reclined back onto the lounger, propping yourself up on one elbow. The angle provided a tantalising view, showcasing the curve of your hips and the softness of your thighs. You could almost hear the whispers of admiration from an invisible audience, and you imagined Primo’s eyes drinking in every detail, a mixture of longing and desire.

You began to play with your hair, letting the silken strands cascade down your back and across your shoulders. With each movement, you wove your fingers through your locks, drawing attention to the graceful lines of your neck and collarbone. You could picture him captivated, lost in the way you transformed even the simplest actions into something alluring.

Feeling bolder, you lifted your hand to your chest, tracing a path down the fabric of your robe, teasingly pulling it aside just enough to reveal a hint of skin beneath. The warmth of your own touch sent a rush of heat through you, and you relished in the delicious tension that filled the air. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze pressing against you, urging you to go further.

*

Primo stepped into the booth, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and excitement. The moment he entered the dimly lit space, he was enveloped by the warm glow of the red lights that pulsed softly around the octagonal room. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight before him.

There you were, a vision of seduction reclining on the lounger, the silk of your robe glistening under the soft light. The way you moved was hypnotic; your hands glided over your skin with an elegance that left him entranced. Each deliberate stroke drew his gaze, the rhythm of your touch igniting a fire within him.

He watched as you leaned back, arching your back just enough to accentuate the curve of your waist. The robe slipped slightly from your shoulder, revealing the delicate expanse of your collarbone. He felt a surge of desire at the sight, his heart pounding as you showcased your body, unhurried and deliberate.

Primo shifted in his seat, the anticipation thick in the air. He didn’t want to miss a moment; your every movement was a tantalising tease that left him yearning for more. He could hardly believe his luck in being here, hidden behind the glass, able to witness this private performance. The thought of you, completely unaware of his presence, only deepened his desire.

As you ran your hands over your thighs, he could feel his pulse quicken. The way you traced your skin, as if awakening every inch of your body, sent a shiver down his spine. He leaned forward, entranced, hungry for the sight of you unraveling before him. The intimate atmosphere heightened every sensation, each flutter of your fingers igniting something primal within him.

“Sathanas, you’re stunning,” he murmured under his breath, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to draw you closer, but the barrier of glass kept him safely on this side of desire. It was both exhilarating and torturous, and he found himself lost in the depths of your performance.

You lifted your hand to your chest, teasing the fabric of your robe, revealing just enough to stir his imagination. His breath hitched as you let the robe slip further, showcasing your curves, your skin glowing in the red light. Every moment felt electric, the connection between you palpable despite the separation.

Primo’s breath caught as you pulled your robe down, revealing the soft swell of your breasts. The sight sent a jolt of desire through him, tightening his grip on the edge of the booth as he leaned forward, completely captivated. The delicate curve of your body, coupled with the seductive way you played with your nipples, was intoxicating.

You teased the sensitive peaks, rolling them gently between your fingers as you gazed at your own reflection, lost in the moment. Each flicker of your movements seemed to pulse with life, and he could hardly contain himself, the urge to reach out and touch you almost overwhelming. The glass barrier between you was both a comfort and a torment, separating him from the intoxicating beauty before him.

He adjusted his position, feeling the fabric of his papal robes shift against his skin, the weight of them rubbing against his hardness. The thrill of being here, watching you—bare, uninhibited, and so incredibly alluring—left him with an insatiable hunger that only you could satisfy.

The way you surrendered to your own pleasure stirred something primal within him. He imagined the soft sounds of your breaths, the way your body moved with an almost liquid grace. The tension between you and him felt electric, charged with the unspoken connection that bound you in this moment. He wanted nothing more than to see how far you would take this performance, to witness every nuance of your desire.

“Damn it,” he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away. You were exquisite, a living embodiment of sensuality. The thought of you writhing beneath his touch sent a rush of heat through him, and he clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to reach out and break the barrier that separated you.

You sneaked your hands lower, fingers gliding down the curve of your waist and past your thighs. The air in the booth felt charged, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away as you spread your legs, revealing everything to him. The intimacy of the moment was electrifying, leaving him breathless and entranced.

The soft glow of the room highlighted your most intimate parts, and the sight left him utterly captivated. His heart raced in his chest, the primal urge to reach out and touch you coursing through him with every passing second. You were so beautifully exposed, unashamed in your sensuality, and it took everything in him to remain still behind the glass.

He watched as you let your fingers explore, your touch delicate yet purposeful. The way you arched your back, the soft moans that slipped from your lips, ignited a fire deep within him. His pulse quickened with each small movement, every sigh echoing in his ears like a siren’s call, drawing him deeper into your world.

As you continued to caress yourself, he could see the way your body responded to your touch—the slight quiver of your thighs, the way your breath hitched as you sought pleasure. His fingers itched to feel your skin, to explore the soft curves that were so tantalisingly close yet impossibly out of reach.

Every instinct urged him to close the distance, to step through the barrier and claim this moment for himself. The tantalising notion of being the one to elicit those moans, to draw forth your pleasure, filled his mind. It was maddening, the way you performed with such confidence, utterly unaware of how completely you had ensnared him in your web of desire.

With a quick glance around the booth to ensure his privacy, he reached beneath the soft folds of his papal robes. His fingers brushed against his arousal, a low groan escaping his lips as he began to pleasure himself. The sensation of his hand moving over his skin was electrifying, an echo of the pleasure you were experiencing, and the thought of you heightened every stroke.

His eyes never left you as he matched his rhythm to the movements of your hands, each caress of your body a tantalising tease that drew him deeper into desire. You were a vision of pure ecstasy, and he could hardly contain himself as he watched the way you surrendered to the pleasure, each sigh and moan igniting a fire within him.

As he pumped his hand in time with your movements, he imagined what it would feel like to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. The fantasy of being with you, of tasting the sweetness of your body, pushed him closer to the edge. He bit his lip, stifling the sounds of his pleasure as he focused solely on you.

You were an exquisite performer, every inch of your body a work of art that left him breathless. He could see how you arched your back, the way your eyes fluttered closed in pure bliss. It drove him wild, the thought that you were lost in your own world while he was completely entranced by the scene before him.

“Please,” he murmured, the word slipping past his lips unbidden, a silent prayer to the universe for a chance to be closer to you, to feel your body entwined with his. The moment felt electric, every touch of his hand against himself echoing the rhythm of your exploration.

Primo’s breath came in ragged gasps, the world around him fading away until there was only you, your body, and the sweet tension that hung in the air. He was lost in the spectacle, a willing captive to the allure you created, his pleasure entwining with yours in a beautiful, forbidden dance.

*

As you reclined on the lounger, every movement felt amplified, each stroke of your hands igniting a flame of desire within you. The soft glow of the red lights illuminated your skin, highlighting every curve and contour, and you revelled in the feeling of being on display. There was something intoxicating about knowing that people were watching you, their eyes glued to your every movement behind the glass.

With each slow caress of your body, you felt a surge of confidence. The sensation of your fingers gliding over your skin was heightened by the knowledge that you were captivating someone—drawing them into your world of pleasure. You leaned into it, letting your hands explore, each stroke deliberate and sensual. The heat pooling in your belly grew as you imagined the desire radiating from the booth, the silent, hungry gazes locked onto you, drinking in the sight of your performance.

Being on display like this was thrilling, a rush of power that electrified your senses. You relished the idea that your body was an object of desire, a canvas upon which fantasies were painted. There was a heady mix of vulnerability and empowerment in sharing such an intimate part of yourself, and you leaned into that feeling, letting it wash over you.

The glass separated you from the outside world, creating a cocoon of intimacy that made the experience all the more exhilarating. You caught glimpses of shadows moving behind the transparent barrier, a silent acknowledgment of the connection being forged in that space. Each sigh that escaped your lips felt like a call to them, an invitation to join you in this moment of pure indulgence.

As you spread your legs wider, the thrill of being so exposed sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You played with your nipples, your body responding eagerly to your touch, and you savoured the sensations that coursed through you. The slight pressure, the way your skin tingled, all combined to create a symphony of pleasure that resonated within.

You felt like a goddess, commanding attention and desire, the thrill of the performance fuelling your every move. You enjoyed putting on this show, the way it pushed you to explore the boundaries of your own pleasure. You knew that your every gesture, every gasp, was met with rapt attention and longing, and it filled you with an exhilarating sense of purpose.

As you dipped your fingers inside yourself, a wave of pleasure coursed through you, intensifying the connection between your body and the exhilaration of being on display. You closed your eyes for a moment, surrendering to the sensations, but your thoughts drifted to him—Primo—and the way he would be watching you with such intensity.

But then your mind wandered further, teasing the edges of fantasy. What would it be like to be ravaged by all three papas? The thought sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You imagined Secondo’s bold, dominating presence, the way he would claim you with a fierce passion, igniting a fire within you. His touch would be rough yet tantalising, pushing you to the edge of pleasure and beyond.

And then there was Terzo, with his playful charm and mischievous grin. You could almost feel his hands on your body, exploring and teasing in ways that made your breath hitch. He’d pull you into a world of sweet torment, drawing out your pleasure until you were begging for release.

But it was Primo who held your attention now, the way his gaze penetrated you even from behind the glass, a silent promise of what could be. You pictured him joining in, commanding the room with his presence, taking control of the scene as he directed the two others to pleasure you together. The thought of being surrounded by them, each one focused solely on your pleasure, sent a wave of desire washing over you.

You thrust your fingers deeper, letting the pleasure build as you imagined the three of them, each taking their turn to ravish you, to claim you in their own unique ways. The heat coiled tightly in your belly, and you could almost hear their voices urging you on, calling you to lose yourself in the moment.

The fantasy felt so real, your body responding to the idea of being the centre of their attention, of being worshipped and desired by all three. You envisioned the scene vividly—bodies entwined, hands exploring, the air thick with the scent of desire and the sounds of pleasure. The thought of being at their mercy, of being claimed by each one in turn, made your heart race.

As you continued to pleasure yourself, you moaned softly, your breath hitching as the fantasy enveloped you. You were lost in the throes of ecstasy, the image of the three papas circling your mind, igniting a fire that left you gasping for more. It was a delicious thought, and you reveled in it, letting it guide you deeper into pleasure, unashamed and utterly consumed by the fantasy.

You thrust your fingers deeper inside yourself, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure radiating throughout your body. With each movement, your mind remained locked on Primo—the way he watched you, those intense eyes filled with desire. The thrill of being on display for him alone heightened every sensation, every gasp that escaped your lips.

You imagined him leaning closer, captivated by the sight of you giving in to your own pleasure. The very thought of him watching you, taking in every intimate moment, stoked the flames of your desire even higher. You could almost feel the heat of his gaze enveloping you, making you feel alive and exposed in the best possible way.

As you continued to tease and caress your body, you relished the idea of him being the sole witness to your pleasure, the one person who understood the intricacies of desire. You could picture him leaning against the glass, his breath hitching as he watched you pleasure yourself, each gasp and moan pulling him deeper into the web of your exhibitionism. You reveled in the idea of being the star of his fantasy, a beautiful spectacle designed solely for his enjoyment.

The way he must have reacted—his breath quickening, desire coursing through him like wildfire—made you want to push even further. You arched your back and spread your legs wider, giving him an even better view, and you felt a thrill race through you. You were not just performing; you were offering yourself to him, inviting him into this moment, even if only in his imagination.

With each thrust of your fingers, you thought of how he would react, the pleasure reflected in his eyes as he watched you give in to the waves of ecstasy. The connection between you two felt palpable, as if the glass that separated you was nothing but an illusion. You imagined him whispering sweet nothings, encouragement urging you to let go, to revel in your own pleasure and the thrill of being seen.

You could feel your climax building, a wave of heat pooling low in your belly, and you surrendered to the fantasy of him—his presence dominating your thoughts. The intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, and you savored the connection that seemed to transcend the barrier between performer and observer.

As you neared your release, the thought of his eyes on you, filled with longing and desire, pushed you over the edge. With a final thrust of your fingers, you cried out, the sound echoing in the intimate space as pleasure coursed through you. In that moment, it felt as if it were only the two of you in the world, lost in the shared experience of desire, connection, and the exquisite thrill of being on display for him alone.

*

Primo leaned back in his booth, the glass between him and you amplifying the thrill of the moment. Watching you was intoxicating, a sensory overload that consumed him entirely. The way your fingers glided over your skin, the gentle arch of your back, and the soft sighs escaping your lips stirred something primal within him. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement as he realised how much he craved this—craved you.

His heart raced as he observed every intimate detail of your performance. The way you surrendered to your own pleasure, completely unguarded and exposed, ignited a fire deep inside him. He imagined what it would be like to join you, to feel your body beneath his hands, to taste the sweetness of your skin. The fantasy enveloped him, pulling him deeper into the realm of desire.

He watched as you dipped your fingers inside yourself, the sight sending a rush of heat through his veins. It was a sight he could have only dreamed of, and the knowledge that you were performing just for him heightened every sensation. Each thrust of your fingers seemed to draw him in closer, making him feel as if he were part of the scene, even from behind the glass. He could hardly breathe, caught between the beauty of the moment and the longing that surged through him.

Primo’s hand moved instinctively, mirroring your movements as he began to pleasure himself. He matched the rhythm of your fingers, the connection between you two electric. Every moan that escaped your lips was like a sweet invitation, urging him to give in to the raw, primal urge coursing through him. He imagined the warmth of your body, the taste of your skin, the sound of your breath—everything combined to create a world where only the two of you existed.

He could feel the tension building within him, an overwhelming urge to break through the barrier and claim you. The thought of being the one to worship your body, to push you to new heights of pleasure, sent shivers of delight down his spine. You were a vision of pure ecstasy, and the sheer thought of you belonging to him, even for just a moment, was enough to drive him wild.

As you reached the peak of your pleasure, the sound of your cries echoed in the small space, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. Primo’s own release was imminent, and he let himself be lost in the moment, caught in the exquisite blend of desire and satisfaction. The image of you, utterly consumed by your own ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that washed over him, feeling every pulse and throb as he gave in completely.

As the wave of pleasure crashed over him, Primo surrendered completely to the moment, his body tensing with the intensity of his orgasm. He watched as his release spilled forth, hitting the floor in rhythmic splatters that echoed softly in the intimate space. The sight was primal, raw, and it only heightened the exhilaration coursing through him. Each pulse sent shivers down his spine, a testament to the fierce desire that had been building within him since he first laid eyes on you.

But even as he rode the waves of his climax, his thoughts remained fixed on you. The scene was etched into his mind, the image of your body writhing in pleasure, fingers buried deep within yourself, and that glorious expression of ecstasy on your face. It was intoxicating, and as his heart raced and his breathing began to steady, he felt an even fiercer craving ignite within him.

Despite the release, his desire for you burned hotter than ever. He longed to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to taste every inch of you that had been laid bare before him. The throes of his orgasm only served to amplify the need that coursed through him—a desperate ache to possess you completely.

Primo could still see you, the way you were lost in your pleasure, utterly uninhibited and inviting. The thought of all the ways he could worship your body, of how he could take you higher, sent a fresh rush of need through him. He wanted to be the one to make you moan, to feel you quiver beneath him, to guide you to the brink of ecstasy time and again.

He leaned closer to the glass, a silent vow forming in his mind. This was only the beginning. The tantalising connection he felt—though brief—had awakened something within him that couldn’t be easily quelled. Each pattern his release left on the floor was a reminder of the intensity of the moment, and it made him crave you even more.

Even as he began to come down from the high of his orgasm, he knew one thing for certain: he wanted you. The fierce desire that coursed through his veins felt almost unbearable, a need that demanded to be fulfilled. The thought of you lingering in his mind, a haunting echo of what he had just witnessed, was enough to stoke the flames of his passion anew.

He wanted to know the taste of your skin, the feel of your body beneath his, and he could only hope that this performance was just a prelude to something far more intimate. For now, he was content to watch, but deep down, he knew that he would do anything to make you his—now and forever.

Prev./Next

[courtingchaos]

Anything with Steve! LOL

Dream Barista

Nightmare!Steve Harrington x Fem Reader

A/N: My dearest @bettyfrommars has let me borrow her Nightmare Steve for this little ditty. I’ve been thinking about the blurb she wrote for me during her prompt requests and I really just wanted to toss him in a situation. I’ve been suffering a bit in these first few weeks of summer so here’s a little spooky season for you.

No warnings!

18+ No Minors

“Do I know you?” You’ve been staring at the barista making your coffee for almost five-no…five minutes? Seriously how long has it been?

“Me? I’m not sure, I think I’d remember you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You frown when you say this, banter that feels weird in your mouth. Come to think of it your mouth just feels weird in general. Dry and cottony all of a sudden and a too big tongue. “I’m sorry, this is gonna sound stupid, but what did I order?” You’re eyes have not left this man but when he dips down to pull a container of oat milk out of the fridge there’s a flash of red, the back of his neck deep crimson under his fluffy brown hair.

He holds up a paper cup with your name scribbled on it. “Hazelnut Macchiato.”

There’s a huff behind you, a customer upset with their wait and the packed cafe probably, but you lean forward into the glass partition to get a closer look at the scribble. “I don’t usually get hot…drinks…” The black marks mean nothing. That isn’t your name and whatever has been written isn’t legible. Another huff behind you, closer now and you can feel the heat coming off of this person. “I don’t think that’s my drink.”

The barista suddenly seems nervous, eyes flicking behind you a few times before you catch his gaze again he smiles tightly at you. “This is gonna be stressful, I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it’s just an iced coffee.” You try to make a joke but it comes out more like a cough when one of those bodies behind you bumps you forward into the counter. Words knocked out of you in a puff you try to turn around to ask what their problem is when you notice the cafe is packed. Full to the brim, to the gills, with a crowd of black eyed anger. People in all states stare at you as their voices raise to yell about wasted time. Meetings they’re late to. Children they have to pick up. Useless employees who can’t move faster. Rooted to the spot you stare back at them and panic. This really is your worst nightmare when they start moving forward to press the counter and you do the only thing you can think to do; climb up and over the counter and partition, kicking the espresso machine and banging your knee on your way down the other side.

No other employees are there as steam wands continue to push steam and grinders pull beans. A clatter behind the register makes your head snap over and there is one barista, the brunette man that was making not your drink. He’s taller than he was a moment ago and you try to say sorry for climbing over the equipment and breaking about a hundred food safety rules but the flash in his fist makes you choke. Long bread knife pointed at you-no, past you, but he advances with an apologetic look pinching his face. That crowd that grew is suddenly climbing like you did and you decide to run for the swinging black door to the back, hoping that you’re not making a mistake. It’s cramped and twisted but the chaos behind you pushes you forward into the maze, especially when you catch sight of that knife behind you. The twists are sharp, too many to make any sense but you can’t think of that right now, you need to get to that back door. Find that cold air outside and the stretch of highway that has to be out there where you can run in the open and find someone, anyone.

Like a mirror in a funhouse that fire exit is right in front of you for you to slam your body into, hands grasping at the large push handle that won’t budge. Voices raise in a cacophony of accusations but one rings out clear with your name. Of course it would be the knife wielding possible red skinned barista but when he makes it to you it almost looks like he smiles at you. The handle pushes open suddenly with a hard slap of your palm and cold air fills your lungs just before you get taken out at the knees with the large trash bin. Tangled immediately in blue bags of grounds and paper cups you feel the bin roll. Fingers grasp for the edge of plastic that should be right there but instead you grapple with bags that try to drown you, right until they don’t. A large hand pushes through and grabs yours, pulls up hard and there he is.

“Time to get out of here, if you know what I mean.” He grins and suddenly it dawns on you as he looms over you with longer hair curling up behind his ears. Paper with string and then red skin and dark eyes. “Devil.”

“Yes! Devil!” He points at the enamel pin on his black apron, a little horned devil next to a grinning skull. “You do remember me.” He smiles even as the beating behind the heavy door continues, even when it bucks against his impossible hold on it. The bright joy takes over and you can feel yourself smiling too, right until you get a tingle up your spine. Hairs on the back of your neck stand upright just before the air smells of ozone and lighting strikes the blacktop next to you.

You barely scream before he’s pulling you out of the large bin and dragging you across a parking lot that seems to morph under your feet. The horde from inside streams out from the back door now but the asphalt buckles and craters as more of them follow. Somehow the two of you walk fine but these monsters seem less monstrous now as they fumble and fall, grasping onto one another for balance as the coffee house parking swallows them up in big black clouds of dust.

“Steve what is-”

“Hey, you remembered my name!” He turns back to you fast and you’re not sure if you see it right, if his eyes were black and then soft brown. They’re warm when they’re on you though, smile touching the crinkles in the corners.

“Of course, I just don’t…what is going on?” This has to be a dream. A nightmare actually when you think about the customers turned hungry mass and the thunder that has suddenly shown up. Before you can pull at him to slow down it’s like a switch is flipped. Rain falls in a sheet turning the world grey. “Steve hold on!” You have to shout over the din of the rain hitting the ground, spattering in the mud that your shoes are stuck in now and-

“Am I dreaming?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” It’s obvious now. Is this what lucid dreaming is? You look around to see the world has changed. Through the heavy rain you make out small hills around you, molding you and Steve into a valley wreathed in trees showing off their golden colors. Thick maple leaves cling to branches and wispy ginkgo flutter to the ground as the rain begins to lighten up. Your fingers still clutch at Steve’s but it’s only drawn him in closer, another shift in reality as he holds a leather jacket out to you from seemingly nowhere.

“Here, it’s gonna get a little cold.”

It’s warm like he’s been wearing it the whole time and he holds the collar up so you can slide your arms in. “I’m really confused.”

“I bought us a little more time.” He nods his head towards an incline and holds up an arm for you to fall under. “Not much, but enough for me to actually show you some stuff. No mermaids tonight though.”

“The face eaters?” You remember this suddenly, a motorcycle rumbling between your knees as you clung on for dear life before…before what you can’t remember that but it doesn’t matter right now. Steve is warm and he holds you against him as he takes you around a thicket of trees to a little set up.

“Did you make a picnic?”

“Kind of.” He’s bashful and you finger the pins on his lapel, nail tracing the raised edge of the devil horns. “More of a resting place.”

“Oh, morbid. I like it.” The flannel blanket is soft under you. The sunset burns oranges and purples in unrealistic hues and the trees around you drop endless leaves that tap lightly on their falls. Steve sits beside you, quiet and watching the side of your face, studious like you might disappear at any moment. If you’re right and this really is a dream, you suppose that could happen. Tonight though you’d taken some of those sleep gummies so maybe he’d be stuck with you for longer than planned.

“That doesn’t really have a lot of bearing on all of this.”

“Can you read my mind?” You ask with a laugh and sharp look. Steve shrugs and sighs before he winds a hand around your hip to pull you closer and back towards him where he falls backwards onto the blanket.

“A little?” He says it like a question but you find you don’t much care. Not with him it seems, not with this comfort you’ve found in sleep, something that has eluded you for most of your adult life. The sun isn’t setting like it should, it just hovers along the horizon and you watch little smudges of black flit across the light, either bats or birds or something other. Trying to get comfortable against Steve’s shoulder you realize your hair is still wet while the rest of you is dry like the grass around you.

“Sorry about that, I just needed a quick transition.” His smile is soft like his hair and his eyes and you feel lulled. Safe and comfortable like you’ve made a bed out of nature and him and dreams.

“I like the rain, it’s just sometimes the thunder scares me. Makes me feel like the world is gonna spin out.” You curl into his chest and catch a whiff of coffee for just a moment. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids suddenly. “Were you…did you make me coffee earlier?” Sleep has caught you it would seem and you can feel how lax you go, fingers falling out of their places twisted in his shirt as his own grip tightens around your shoulders. Under the roasted scent there’s a latex smell, something sweet and aged with a hint of pumpkin. Cinnamon? God it smells like something you can’t put your finger on.

“Maybe. I do make a great a cup.” He’s quieter now as you seem to fade fast, his grip more secure as you relax further. “Next time I won’t chase you out with a bread knife, okay?” He whispers into the crown of your head and it gets a tired chuckle from you. “I’ll leave the thunder out too, I just needed you a little scared so I could get some more time.”

“No I liked the storm. Bring that back with you.” Another deep sigh before it feels like you’ve missed the last step into the basement and suddenly, you remember. “Halloween.”

“What?”

“Halloween boxes, decorations. It’s your mask.”

He feels your last words spoken into his shoulder as you mumble them against him and he can smell it now too. In your hair and his jacket, something sweet and warm that makes him think of aisles of masks and taper candles. Pumpkins that match the ever present deep sunset on this horizon and the dry leaves that stick to the damp, dying earth.

You’re gone before he realizes it and he slaps a hand down hard on the flannel blanket where you just were. The stage under him reverberates with his hit and the lights above him switch from warm tones to cool. He can’t linger for long, not when Ed has already brought more eyes down on this department, but he does linger. You remembered the mask and his name and next time? Next time you’ll remember the sunset and the warmth. When he stands and picks his jacket up he catches the fading scent you brought with you and he braces himself to leave the small sound stage.

Tomorrow night, he thinks to himself, tomorrow night I’ll bring you a sweeter sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 9

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

(Yes I'm procrastinating rn)

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

The other girl in this one is from Black Light

Part of The Club AU

You sit behind the glass and yawn in the deathly din of the transit office. You lazily scroll a finger over your phone. The brief rush has dissipated so now you're free to read old forums about the cult classic show you've been bingeing.

Despite your hours being cut, every shift feels too long. The time is dull as most people buy their passes online or get tickets at a kiosk in the mall. So you work is minimal and the pay even less. Not to mention, your patience.

You lean your chin in your hand and press your finger to your lashes, trying to keep the old mascara from stinging your eyes. The chirp of the sensor has you sitting up and you nearly bite your tongue as you try to greet the customer. Not him!

“Closed,” you lie and reach for the metal gate above, struggling to clasp onto the handle.

“Hours say–”

“Get the fuck out, dude,” you snarl and hop, rolling down the grate and slamming it into place.

You swear as it hits your phone, knocking it through the small slot under the glass partition, locking it out and you in. You lock the bottom, not caring about the burner. Fuck it, you only ever text Snicky.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky stops by your phone, bending to pick it up, “how many of these you lost so far?”

He wiggles the phone at you, am eighty dollar Polaroid piece of shit.

“Leave me alone.”

“Ah, what's happened to customer service these days?” He tuts and comes closer, shoulder broad and rolling. “Look, I'm not here for me, right?” He tucks your phone in his jacket pocket, “my friend, Steve, the string bean, he likes you.”

“I don't fucking know you. Or him. And I don't wanna know you–”

“You don't? Cause I think I got to know you pretty well–”

“Fucking ass–”

“Let's not keep going through this, alright? Now, I've been pretty damn nice. Do you know how much you can learn from a phone? I know you're about thirty-seven dollars in overdraft and your Instagram keeps popping up with pictures of that dumb girl that hangs off you.”

“How, I–”

“Locked me out? You think,” he taps on the glass on the other side of the gate, “what if I made you a deal?”

“I'm not into the hard stuff,” you scoff.

“Didn't seem to mind it,” he winks, “maybe coulda gone for something lighter…”

“What do you want?” You bark.

“Alright, alright, like I said, it's not me,” he smirks, his gaze creeping up and down your figure. “My friend, he's got no luck with the girls. Told me you stood up for him. That's sweet despite… being you.”

“So you wanna be my pimp? Oh, fuck off–”

“A date. That's it.” His hand tightens in his pocket, gripping your phone. “Humour him. He's been moping about you all week.”

“Yeah right, I'm not stupid–”

“You won't see me. Really, I got plans. Saturday's are good for business, not worth the cut.”

Your nostrils flare. You want to be done with it, him, that club, and all the losers who hang out there. You bite down and cross your arms, glaring at him.

“How about… three hundred?” He offers. “Up front.”

He shifts and pulls the phone out of his pocket. He sets it before the slot in the window then reaches into his back pocket. He takes out his wallet and counts several bills.

“He'll pay for dinner. He's the old fashioned type, you know? Just wear something sexy.”

You scowl, furrowing your nose as your mouth dries. You can't believe you're even considering this. Are you that low?

Well, hes offering as much as you get in a week and the last chunk of your rent. So yes, you are.

“Saturday?” You ask crisply.

“Seven,” he slides the money and phone against the bottom of the gate, “I'll send you the time and place.”

“If I even hear your name–”

“Relax,” he backs up, “I got mine. Just take it easy on my pal.” He smirks and uns his thumb along his bottom lip, “he's a virgin.”

“You're nasty.”

“Oh I know I'm just your type but he's better for you,” he chuckles and turns, stalking to the door, “and if you don't show, I'll be back to collect and trust,” he pauses, “I always get what I'm owed.”

The door swings shut and you stare after him. Slowly you look down and unlock the gate. You push it up and reach for the phone and the bills. The skinny one can’t cause you that much trouble, can he?

[taghardwareca]

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[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part twelve] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two-and-a-half-hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Jisung. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Jisung and Felix bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Minho flicking them off. 

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Jisung noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits. 

You almost wished the Hans hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that. 

If Jisung noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care. 

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Felix asked, stretching his arms above his head. 

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Minho had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status. 

“Y/n,” Minho answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like Korea has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“Okay, but it’s the other way around for us. At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Felix interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Jisung shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Minho continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

-

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?” 

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hans. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra beneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Minho’s polite smile. 

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours. 

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time. 

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Minho’s legs down. 

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Minho said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response. 

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Minho. Jisung was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward. 

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Minho outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit. 

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?” 

“Identity theft,” you sighed. 

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Minho replied, false sympathy rolling off his words. 

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you. 

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit. 

Minho made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you a famous dancer?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Choi Minho,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!” 

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that’s on me, so…”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hans were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance. 

“It’s about time!” Felix yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you. 

Jisung grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hans were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked. 

Minho nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Jisung. 

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Jisung hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Jisung’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Jisung’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience. 

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at… this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Jisung asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Minho chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Jisung. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Felix groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Minho, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Jisung tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

-

“Ji and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Jisung’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel… cozy.

Felix and Minho traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Minho again it’ll be too soon,” Felix sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Minho scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“That’s only because you’re wearing boots.”

“Whatever,” Felix grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Minho slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Felix whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Jisung explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hans.

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. We used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“All boys… I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Felix muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Jisung shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Jisung warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Jisung snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Jisung replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jisung growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Felix!” Jisung and Minho shouted, Minho going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Felix.” To your surprise, it was Minho who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Felix took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Jisung was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Jisung, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for… other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Jisung’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Jisung, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Felix was already fast asleep, but Minho and Jisung were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Jisung was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Minho didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Jisung’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Jisung and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other’s arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Jisung were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Jisung spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Jisung.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Minho stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Jisung standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Jisung’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Jisung just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Minho. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Jisung.

“Why do you ask?”

Minho shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

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The Anatomy of Love Chapter 46 has been updated!

Read on ArchiveofOurOwn

Chapter preview:

It was stifling in the car. The sole window cracked open was the driver’s window, but the tinted partition of glass seemed like an extra barrier to the little ventilation. 

Sakura stared at the headrest before her, too frozen with fear to turn her head and look her fiancé right in the eye. She couldn’t quite understand her own body’s reaction. 

He was rich. So what? 

He was (allegedly) a handsome young man. Who cares? 

At the start of the semester, that would’ve been enough to intimidate her—keep her mouth shut lest she say something stupid. But having met and gotten to know Kakashi, a man of equal influence and attraction, Sakura had grown somewhat immune to all that. 

But there was just something about Sasuke’s presence—something Sakura couldn’t put a finger on—that made her blood run cold. She felt like she was sitting next to Death itself, if Death wore a custom-tailored suit as a shroud, along with a red silk tie that ran like a river of blood down his chest. 

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