#EDIT: THERE WERE MORE TAGS AFTER THIS AND THEY WERE CUT OFF

[felixisfruity]

does anyone know if there‘s a tag limit

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[sundrop-writes]

Need

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Daryl comes back from a run acting strangely needy, and you find out that Zach made him jealous. (You may have to thank Zach later.)

Or - Daryl fucks your brains out to prove to himself that you're his.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during early Season 4/The Prison Era.

Word Count: 3,000

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is mainly a smut fic - the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader and Daryl have a sexual relationship that skews slightly romantic; the reader's age is not at all specified; Daryl being very needy (hence the title); Daryl is more dominant the reader is more submissive, but there is no laid out rigid roles; Daryl is jealous and trying to 'claim' the reader after someone else makes sexual comments about her (when she is not around to hear those comments); mentions of Daryl drinking alcohol and smoking (does not take place during the fic, just a background element); some manhandling - from Daryl towards the reader (nothing unrealistic or beyond Daryl's known strength); oral sex - reader receiving (Daryl certified pussy eater); references to hunting/killing animals for food (come on, this is a Daryl fic); Daryl is slightly mean in this (he tells the reader to shut up) - but he's not vengeful or mean on purpose, he's just in a mood; spit kink - Daryl spits on the reader's pussy; pussy spanking (this was such a last minute addition and I am so glad I did); Daryl calls the reader 'woman'; overstimulation - towards reader; mention of the reader crying/having tears in her eyes (due to overstimulation); Daryl being very possessive due to his jealousy; hair-pulling - Daryl receiving; very slight anal play (Daryl tongues the reader's asshole - juust a bit); penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex - they don't use a condom and there are no mentions of other forms of birth control (don't be like them); there is no mention of Daryl cumming inside the reader, though because the fic ends before we get to his orgasm (sorry, Daryl); slight cockwarming; the sex gets rough toward the end; I believe that's it for this fic?

A/N: No, this was not the winner of the poll. But right now I am in a mindset for TWD fics because I have been watching the show and I think it's a good opportunity to get this one out of my drafts - especially because it's shorter and easier to edit. If it's not your thing, feel free to ignore it. Also, I am not doing a taglist for this one because a lot of people on the taglist last time did not follow my taglist rules (basically, they were tagged and they didn't show up to read the fic, so it feels like a 'why bother' type of situation). So I'm gonna clean out the taglist and after such a short time, I am considering quitting taglists altogether. Anyway, if you do read it, I hope you enjoy the fic.

...

Need. 

That was the only word you could use to describe Daryl in those moments as he threw you down onto the cot and ripped your pants off with record speed. The air was absolutely ripe with need, the likes of which you had never felt or seen from Daryl before. Especially not in this magnitude. 

Daryl Dixon was someone who rarely came off as needy. 

Since the two of you had started this relationship (it was strange to call it a ‘relationship’ when there was so little conventional romance to it, and so few words) - Daryl was never someone you would have described as ‘needy’. He was always the definition of calm. He was level-headed, quiet, reserved - even more so in the face of your intense needs. The more you became a puddle of melded need, when you boiled over into pure want, especially in his presence, the more he turned into a stone wall of uncrackable cold hardness that you wanted so desperately to see crack. 

It was a game the two of you had been playing since day one. And he hadn’t lost yet, not once. 

Of course, the sex was amazing - even if he never let that facade down. He made sure that your overwhelming, unhidden need always came first. He made sure that you had cum first - usually more than once - before he even considered sticking his cock inside of you or letting you drop to your knees in order to serve him. He was never selfish - a man that lived to serve, in fact. 

That was why it surprised you when he came back from a run that day and grabbed you by your arm, practically dragging you out to the admin block. It was a place that you and Daryl had set up a little nest for personal privacy in the old warden’s office. Daryl had chosen the location both for its privacy, and for the wonderful irony. 

He found it downright hilarious that he was someone who had been reprimanded by cops before the total collapse of society and had been nearly arrested half a dozen times (he liked to put the emphasis on nearly, because he was a fast runner and often disappeared into the woods where they didn’t care to chase him, in contrast to someone like Merle, who was a known drug dealer was of far more interest to them - and much slower). Daryl was someone who could have easily ended up in prison, and now he could sit behind a warden’s desk and smoke a stash of fancy cigars that he had found hidden, and he had polished off the fancy whiskey in between fucking you. 

And he took an even greater enjoyment in fucking you pinned against the warden’s desk - but for practical purposes, he had lugged a cot into the office and set up a more comfortable space for the two of you there. The two of you even slept there sometimes because he still refused to sleep ‘in a cage’ - as he put it. Everyone else in the prison liked to fake that they didn’t know where the two of you went, but really - they were just glad that your love nest was far enough away from everyone else that they didn’t have to be subjected to the sounds you and Daryl made. 

And you were glad that you didn’t have to pretend to go hunting in order to escape to the woods for some privacy. Especially because, even as capable as Daryl was, the threat of Walkers looming over your head while he fucked you did make it a bit difficult to get fully lost in the sensations. 

But all of that was far at the back of your mind while he shucked off his crossbow and tossed it aside carelessly (usually he was someone who was careful to put away his weapon, not wanting to damage it so that he wouldn’t have to waste precious time on repairs) - but today, there was something simply rabid about him. Something itching and impatient. 

You couldn’t deny that it turned you on, but you had to question what had caused the shift in him. Especially when all of your little games - your teasing, your flirting, your dirty words - hadn’t been able to crack him for months. 

“Daryl, what’s gotten into-?” 

You couldn’t even finish posing the question before he began ripping on the waistband of your pants once again. That tense irritability became potent in the air once again when the fabric got caught up in your boots, Daryl letting out a deep grunt and glaring at the obstacle. 

You reached for the laces in order to get everything off, thinking this was what he wanted, but he simply put two large, commanding, calloused hands on the backs of your thighs and shoved down - hard. He pinned you down to the cot with a tough force, something that made the metal of the supposedly temporary furniture squeal with a worrying sound. You almost didn’t hear it over the pitiful, whorish gasp that escaped your lips. 

He was never like this. He was never so desperate. 

You loved it. Your body was flooded by heat, equally as desperate within seconds. 

“Daryl!” You cried out, half confused, half hot red and turned on. 

Your cunt ached fiercely and clenched around nothing and Daryl locked eyes with that pulsing gash, letting out a pleased hum. There was barely a blink before he dove between his own hands, digging in his fingers in tightly where they held onto your quivering muscles and immediately he licked a long, hard stripe up the center of your pussy. 

Hungry. 

That was a word you would have used to describe Daryl many times before.

He was messy and shameless when he ate meals. You had seen him dig into game bloody and raw when he had taken you out hunting, when he was starving and impatient and truly treasured a fresh kill. 

Currently, that’s exactly what you felt like - a fresh kill, recently captured by him, a true prey animal under his grasp being absolutely devoured while you could do nothing more but lay there and take it. 

It felt utterly amazing. 

It felt like where you belonged. 

The room soon became filled with sounds - loud, adamant slurping as his tongue furiously worked over your cunt, creating the same kind of shameless slobber that he did when he was thoroughly enjoying a meal. Your gasps and moans shuddering through your lungs as the sensations rocked your body, the pitiful squeaking protests of the cot as Daryl leaned against you more, putting more weight on those rusting springs. 

He began moaning against your heated flesh while he continued to hold you down by your trembling thighs, and while your ears rang with blood and your face bloomed with heat, you soon realized that the distant, repeated keening sound you could hear - almost like a dying cat - was you. 

You were having difficulty catching your breath and you quickly became dizzy from the hot, heavy pleasure vibrating up your body from his tongue. Made even better by the feeling of his coarse beard rubbing against your sensitive pussy lips, and the deep vibrations of his moans against you. 

All you could do was tightly clutch onto the blanket you had used to make up the cot and buck your face against him, hoping for him to shove his tongue deep inside of you or put some more persistent attention on your needy, throbbing clit, rather than simply grazing against the sensitive organ with each pass, making you more and more needy - 

Daryl groaned into your cunt and then, much to your frustration, he pulled away completely. 

“Stop squirmin’.” He grunted at you, his voice a whole new shade of dark and lustful thick that you had never heard from him - one that made your whole body quiver. 

You let out a pathetic moan, more wetness gushing out of you. 

“Daryl, please-” 

“Shut up.” 

Somehow, him barking this rudely at you made you even wetter. 

You squeaked out another pathetic little sound, expecting that he would get back to devouring you like you were his last meal, seemingly for his own pleasure - but then, he managed to surprise you yet again. 

He used his hold on your thighs to spread your legs (as much as he could with your pants still tangling your ankles together). And then he pursed his lips and heaved a thick, heavy glob of spit onto you - aiming perfectly and causing it to land right on your sensitive, swollen clit. 

Just like his perfect mouth, it was hot and slick, and simply seeing the shiny bead come from his lips to land on you caused you to scream and buck against him like a cow being branded. Which is exactly what he had intended - for you to be branded by him, marked as his, fully owned by him. 

Hot tears of pleasure escaped your eyes and he locked right onto your gaze - even through the choppy dark curtain of his too-long bangs, his steel blue eyes pierced into your soul and the burning lust you saw there punched you in the gut. When he took one of his hands off your thigh, you didn’t have a moment to think about what he was going to do before he brought the heavy pads of his tough, well-worked fingers down onto your already sore clit and spanked you. 

Once, twice, three times - something he had done to you before, knowing exactly how hard to hit you without making it painful, just enough to jolt shocking pleasure through your body and make you sob. 

“Listen, woman.” 

He ground his voice again, lowly, making you shiver when he leaned in and gripped your face with that now wet hand, forcing you to face forward and pay attention to him. You stared at him through tear-misty eyes, absolutely enraptured and lustful, wanting nothing more than him. 

“This is mine.” He growled these words with quiet power, driving his point home with another smack to your cunt that had you crying out and seizing against the touch. 

“Yours.” You chirped back, eager to affirm it, your brain filled with nothing but him. “Yours, all yours. Daryl-” 

Before you could babble out any more affirmations, he took an even tighter, possessive, bruising death grip on you once again. One hand on your hip and the other on your thigh - trying to keep you right where he wanted you as he dove back in, just as hungry. This time he gave into exactly what you wanted, seemingly because your words had been what he wanted. He knew you all too well even without words, and he latched his mouth around your mound with intent, laving his tongue furiously across your clit without relenting. 

You weren’t sure which was worse - the teasing, or him tongue-fucking your clit like he was trying to drive you insane. 

Your hand flew to his hair with the intention of shoving him off as white hot sparks of overstimulated pleasure-pain flew up through your gut, but your muscles curled instinctively and you wove a tight grip into his locks without thinking. Unintentionally drawing him closer and locking him in place as you gurgled out cries of wounded pleasure and he continued to moan against you, almost making your poor clit numb. 

But of course, being as perfect at this as he was with everything else, he drew an orgasm out of you just as he wanted to. 

“Daryl! Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m - ah!” 

He moaned against you in pure pleasure as it happened, and then he retreated down your pulsing hole to lick up every single bit of your wetness as it freshly flowed out of you. He continued to moan, slurping and flexing his tongue so he wouldn’t miss a drop, eating you like the finest delicacy he had ever experienced. His tongue even strayed down your perineum, dipping into your other hole a bit, clearly unafraid and never shy, not wanting to miss a single bit of your taste. 

You were left panting, desperate to catch your breath, and with your brain still completely out of commission, he stood up, his mind already on an entirely new track. You couldn’t contain your whine of disappointment when all of his warmth was suddenly gone, even his hands losing contact with your thrumming skin. 

“Daryl-?” 

You didn’t have long to question it before you heard the sound of a zipper. 

Not even knowing when you had closed your eyes, you whipped them open to see him shoving his pants down to mid-thigh and pumping his cock in hand a few stray times before he stepped toward you. You weren’t the biggest fan of the ‘bent in half like a pretzel’ position, as your back was starting to ache slightly, but he took the look of pure hunger in your eyes was all the consent he needed (especially with the way your gaze was focused on his cock, the slight glisten of precum beading at the tip). 

He was secure in knowing that you would stop him or tell him no if you needed to. 

And there were absolutely no thoughts of stopping on your mind when he put a hand back on your hip and used the other hand to guide his cock into you, sinking deep inside of your slicked, hot cunt in one smooth movement. 

Fuck - he always filled you up so fucking good. 

“Dar-” 

“All fuckin’ day.” Daryl growled out, tight through his teeth, taking only a single moment before he began to pump his hips forward, fucking into you. 

He wasn’t quite as furious as before, his pace slower now. Seemingly, he had gotten some of that pure need out of his system by eating your pussy. He began to thrust in and out of you at a leisurely pace, making you feel comfortably, pleasantly full. 

“All fuckin’ day, I had to listen to Zach’s goddamn yappin’.” 

Your brain was slowly coming back into function. 

He had gone on the run with Zach and Sasha. 

You thought Daryl liked Zach? 

Surprisingly, Daryl then reached for your shoes and began undoing the laces - perhaps now finally interested in getting your pants and shoes out of the way. You just laid back and let him do whatever he pleased, your cunt flashing with a warm, pleasant feeling - simply enjoying that it was Daryl fucking you. 

“Had to listen to that little smart-mouthed fuckin’ asshole-” 

Daryl let out another grunt, smacking his hips into yours particularly hard, causing you to let out a gasp. He took off one of your shoes and dropped it to the ground. 

“Had to listen to him go on and on about you.” 

What? 

Then went the other shoe. 

Your jeans followed soon after, easily untangled from your legs by Daryl’s deft fingers, making your legs free up to spread widely, inviting him in further - he laid himself down against your body, and you found your muscles much less stiff with your knees bracketing around his waist. There was another moment of comfortable fullness - stillness, as he laid there, nosing at your neck, seemingly enjoying your scent with deep breaths. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked, boiling over with curiosity until the question leapt out of you. 

“What happened with Zach?” You had to ask, still slightly fuck-dumb and confused. 

You didn’t know it, but hearing the name come off your lips was enough to trigger another intense wave of that feeling in Daryl. The jealousy, the neediness, the urge to claim you. 

Daryl let out another harsh growl - a sound coming from him that made your pussy leak around him and clench down hard on his cock. He grabbed both your hands and entwined your fingers with his - a fierce, demanding grip rather than a romantic one. He kept you pinned in place, right where he wanted you, and he began fucking his hips into you at a fast, hard pace that was enough to push a scream right from your lungs. 

“He - would-n’t - shut - the - fuck - up.” Daryl grunted in your ear, emphasizing each sharp syllable with a deep, harsh pounding of his hips into your pussy. “About you.” He whispered those words lowly, dangerously into your ear. 

“Daryl-” You gasped, your whole body dizzy and vibrating with that electricity once again. 

“About your ass-” 

He reached down and grabbed your ass - harsh, digging his fingers into the flesh with a possessive touch that made you cry out. He hammered his hips forward and used that touch to drag you toward his cock, fucking you onto him like a fleshlight for a few moments before he continued speaking. 

“About your tits-” 

He reached up and groped your breasts aggressively through your shirt, popping one of the tiny decorative buttons. A wreckage that would only serve to show off more cleavage in the end. Your nipples instantly became stiff under his touch and you arched into his hands - only for the rough, wonderful feeling to be gone too soon. 

“Daryl,” 

“He wouldn’t stop talkin’ bout what you might look like when you cum.” He growled out. “When he ain’t never gonna get to know.” 

It was thrilling, him being so possessive of you now. But you knew that it was so Daryl. Him being angry at Zach for speaking about you in a vulgar way, but holding his tongue - not speaking up then because he wanted to keep your relationship private, didn’t want to claim you in front of someone publicly. 

Or he simply kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want to lose his temper when they had a job to do. 

“He wouldn’t stop-” 

“Please, I’m yours.” You moaned out, grinding your hips into him desperately, needy for his full and focused attention. 

As much as you enjoyed the jealousy streak that had started this heated encountered, you needed Daryl to focus on you now - not on the words of some petty boy who had either been trying to rile Daryl up or didn’t even know the two of you were together because of the lack of PDA in your relationship. 

“Daryl, please. I’m yours.” 

“Tha’s right,” Daryl growled out, his voice dangerously low. “You’re mine.” 

He leaned tightly over you once again, and when his hips picked up speed - you were done for.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has already been written. If you like this and you want to see more of my fics in my style, you can check out my most recent fic Heaven's Gate, which is also a Daryl Dixon x Reader fic, or you can check out my other TWD works on AO3.

[grabby-smitten]

Hybrid!Sylus

Pairing: Sylus Qin x Reader

Word count: 1k+ words

Content: Hybrid AU, fluff mostly, domestic stuff, Headcanon-ish format, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, tried to write it as gender neutral as possible, idk… let me know if i missed anything.

Hybrid!Sylus was part of an illegal fighting ring. So far none could find his hybrid specie. His ears, tails and any other hybrid features were cut off. When fighting, other hybrids could latch onto him so his previous owners made the decision to cut them or so you were informed.

Hybrid!Sylus who was rescued by your team from the illegal fights. All ferals were to be put down but you couldn’t get yourself to do as the higher ups ordered. As soon as you saw him bloodied and chained up in the lowest levels of the building, your heart sank and something deep inside you snapped.

Hybrid!Sylus who saw you first and instantly was struck by your scent. Almost all his life he has only known the smell of blood and grime but when he caught just a sniff, his nostrils flared and his mouth salivated. All He could see, hear and feel was you.

Hybrid!Sylus who began to growl and pull at his chains when you got nearer, but surprisingly you didn’t feel treated. Ordering your team to back away and leave you alone with the supposed feral was your best call. you instantly noticed he relaxed his posture but the animalistic sounds didn’t stop.

Hybrid!Sylus who didn’t let anyone near him or you as you transported him out of that disgusting place. Through the whole process of getting him checked by doctors and staff, you had to be there by his side, otherwise he would snap at every and any person or thing.

Hybrid!Sylus who was going to be sent to an experimental facility but you argued that it wouldn’t work. He had already stablished a connection with you and separating the two of you would threw him even more off balance. After hours of talking and waiting, you got the approval to officially adopt him. Sylus was under your care from then onwards.

Hybrid!Sylus who heard everything that was said about him and saw how much you had pressed for him against everyone’s wishes. Even he thought some of your colleagues had good arguments about why you shouldn’t adopt a feral, but alas, you were a stubborn thing. So here he was in a new home with a curious little female and he was not sure what to do with you.

On your part, you also didn’t know what propelled you to make such a bold decision. Now you watched a giant man— wait no, scratch that… hybrid? Yes, hybrid of an unknown species standing in the middle of your living room. What a disconcerting picture this painted…

Hybrid!Sylus who has been your companion for a few months now. He wasn’t as hard to take care as you thought. He seemed calm most of the time and listened to everything you told him. All the growling and aggressiveness from your first encounter looked like a feverish dream. Well, except when a third person was involved. Like the mailman. Poor delivery drivers suffered too and you couldn’t get Sylus to stop.

“Sylus! Stop!” You scolded him, “the mailman is not a threat!” Wrapping your arms around his waist and trying to pull him back inside was the best you have come up with so far.

“How so, kitten? He knows where you live. That’s threat enough for me,” he told you as his red eyes still followed the delivery truck.

“That’s the whole point of a mail delivery system,” you spoke out of breath.

once the truck was out of sight, Sylus finally let you— key words: let you— drag him back inside or more like he walked back inside with you hanging off of him.

Hybrid!Sylus who seemed suspiciously eager to wear a collar with a tag containing his name, yours and your number.

“I think it suits you,” you walked around him, straining your neck a bit so you could get a good look at the red collar around Sylus’ neck.

“So you like me in a collar?” Sylus deep timbre and alluring eyes made you freeze in place. A small smile adorned his lips at your very clear reaction to his words.

“Why are you making this conversation sound so dirty?” You retorted, a frown began to form on your face.

“I merely spoke a few words, that’s all on you, kitten,” with that stated, Sylus smile grew once he saw your face reddening.

Hybrid!Sylus who hated winter. You began to notice how every time it got colder he moved slower than usual and his intake of water decreased which worried you. Such actions gave you clues as to what species he could be, but nothing concrete.

Hybrid!Sylus who seemed to be suffering alone in his room in the cold months and your heart couldn’t bear the thought of it so you relented and allowed him to sleep with you.

Hybrid!Sylus who tried to hide how eager he was for your offer. He nonchalantly nodded as he heard your words but when it was time for bed he was already buried deep in your bedsheets.

Hybrid!Sylus who instinctively seeked out your body heat for comfort and reassurance that a you were near him in the cold nights.

Hybrid!Sylus who in the middle of the night made you his own body pillow. Morning came and you couldn’t move, a heavy body draped over yours and a pair of arms restricting all your movements. Even your lungs began to struggle.

“Sylus? Baby?” your muffled voice barely above a whisper, “Sylus?” As you increased the volume of your voice, you tried to push him off but all efforts were futile. Sylus was pure muscle.

You just laid there for a while and waited for him to wake up which was interrupted by the sudden pressure of your bladder. Now with a real reason to escape your imprisonment, you began to squirm and wiggle with more intensity in between Sylus’ arms. When out of nowhere, you felt a gravelly and hoarse sound. You stopped all your movements as vibrations that shook you to your core soon joined the haunting sound.

“Did you just growl at me?” You asked in disbelief. A bit startled, it made your stomach churn, your chest filled with a warm sensation that expanded up to your throat and cheeks.

“Sorry,” came quick from Sylus behind you. He released you from his constricted grasp just as fast.

“I thought so,” you huffed and jogged to the bathroom not seeing the longing gaze he directed at you. As if you're miles and miles away, yet you're a few feet from the bed and walking barefoot.

Barefoot, he realized. In an instant, Sylus stood up, picked up your shoes and made a beeline for the bathroom.

“Shoes,” you heard him said from your place in the toilet seat. Looking up, you were about to chide him for coming in without knocking but he continued. “The floor is cold,” and just like that you couldn’t be mad at him anymore.

Hybrid!Sylus whose story with you has just began…

AN: well, well, well. Guess what type of hybrid he is. Alsoooo this is my first fic thingy in like 3 years and I’m testing the waters and I wrote out of desperation. I lost my English and I’m this close to downloading Duolingo just to refresh my brain so I’m sosososososo sorry.

AND IF ANYONE HAS RECS FOR LADS HYBRID FF PLEASE SEND THEM MY WAY BECAUSE I CANT FIND MORE AND IM DESPERATE.

[esouliie]

WILL YOU SLEEP ALONE TONIGHT?

(rio vidal x reader) (agatha harkness x rio vidal)

synopsis | you finally see her again, after what feels like a century apart. but she's not the person you remember—her smile is wrong, her eyes colder, and her voice carries an edge that cuts through nostalgia. something is off, something you can’t name, like death painted in the wrong shade of blue: unfamiliar, unsettling, and hauntingly beautiful.

tags | angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love and ohh it burns, it’s set after end of agatha all along sooo, open ending, everyone’s crying :(

word count | 2k

authors note | i’ve not written in a while but this lil thing was inspired by my recent obsession with aubrey plaza & my friend’s constant need to bombard me with sad agathario edits - @cuinaminute229

The air was heavy with silence, save for the faint hum of the single streetlamp casting a pale glow over the cracked pavement. You clutched your keys tightly, the cool metal digging into your palm as you walked across the empty parking lot, your dingy car left on the other side. The forest loomed at the edge of your vision, a wall of shadows that seems to lean closer the longer you look at it. The lamp flickered once, then twice, as if unsure of its purpose.

She’s not hard to miss, sat on the weathered bench beneath the light, her silhouette fragile against the darkness. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, and her eyes—a vivid, unnatural red—glint like dying embers. Old tears tracks carved glistening paths down her cheeks, catching the light like molten silver. You stopped mid-step, unsure whether to approach or retreat. This was something completely new to you. Rio was never one to let her emotions spill out, never the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, her true form bare for all to see. With you, especially, she was a fortress: stone walls, guarded gates, and windows so shuttered even the light struggled to slip through. Your time together had always been private, locked away behind closed doors and tangled in the heat of shared breaths and whispered sighs. It was nothing serious—that had been the deal from the start. No expectations. No promises. You’d both agreed to keep it light, easy, uncomplicated. It worked for her, and you thought it would work for you, too. After all, you weren’t exactly searching for a fairy tale with a happily-ever-after. But Rio had a way of upending expectations without even trying.

To you, she wasn’t just beautiful—though she obviously was. It wasn’t just her sharp jawline, her dark, stormy eyes, or the way her lips curved when she was amused. It was how she moved through the world: always untouchable, always unbothered, and entirely herself. Rio was the kind of woman who could make you feel insignificant and seen all at once. You told yourself it was harmless, that the smirk she gave you when you made her laugh didn’t mean anything. That the way she pulled you into her arms each night, her hand firm on your wrist, wasn’t your undoing. But oh, how wrong you were. She’s not the type to play fair, and you knew that from the start. Still, you let her draw you into her world, a place where shadows whispered secrets and the nights stretched endlessly. Every time she tilted her head and smiled at you, the world narrowed until it was just her, framed in smoke and fleeting light.

You weren’t supposed to fall for her. You should’ve listened to her warning. But you’ve always had a reckless streak, haven’t you? Life, after all, has a funny way of dancing with Death herself. And to you? She’s never been more beautiful.

“Go away.” she said, her voice stripped of its usual playfulness. The sharpness of her tone stung more than you’d like to admit, being the first you had heard from her in a century, but you stayed put, feet rooted to the cold pavement. She’s sat there, trembling, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like they could somehow block out the chill setting in her bones. Her shoulders hunched forward, defensive and small, nothing like the powerful witch you once knew.

Without thinking, you untangled the scarf from your neck. The soft beige fabric still holds the faintest trace of warmth as you gently draped it around her shoulders. She doesn’t resist, but she doesn’t thank you either. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, just for a moment, guarded and unreadable, before dropping back down to her pale hands. Those hands clasped together tightly, her knuckles white from the effort, as if she’s trying to trap the heat that’s rapidly escaping her. You sat beside her on the bench, closer than she probably wants, until your knees press together. She doesn’t move away, but her silence felt heavier than the night air. Carefully, you reached out, cupping her cold fingers in your hands. They’re frozen to the touch, long and elegant as always, despite the way they’re trembling slightly, itching to flee from your touch, and yet, desperate for the heated comfort.

“I don’t have any gloves,” you murmured, a poor excuse for an explanation. Not that it matters. Your hands were always warmer than hers and always managed to make their way into hers.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Her shoulders softened, just barely, and you think you might feel her fingers shift slightly against yours, hope you might feel her palms twist to wrap her fingers around yours.

But she didn’t.

“You shouldn’t…” she started, her voice quiet, fragile, but the words trail off into the cold.

You shouldn’t be here.

“I know,” you said softly, cutting her off. “But I am.” You saw the look in her eyes—the shift of calm waters against the storm brewing beneath her tightly clenched jaw, her ragged breath betraying the composure she so desperately tries to hold.

“Rio, what’s wrong? Where’s Agath—”

Before you could finish, she snatched her hands from yours as though your touch had burned. The abrupt movement knocked you against the back of the bench, as if she had actually pushed you away. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed off, her pace frantic, shoulders trembling. “Rio? Wait!” Your voice cracked as you called after her, your legs already moving to close the growing distance, “Rio, please! What’s happen-“

”Shut up,” Rio spat over her shoulder, her tone cruel enough to freeze the words in your throat. But as she glanced back, her eyes betrayed her; and there lied the truth. Her cheeks glistened in the dim light, a fresh stream of tears cascading down her face like a quiet admission of defeat. “Rio,” you said again, softer this time, cautious, of the wounded woman.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “Don’t say it like that.”

You know what she meant.

Don’t say it like you care for her.

Like you’re in love with her.

Her steps faltered, and she turned to face you fully, her arms crossing over her chest like armor hastily thrown up against your probing gaze. She looked like she wanted to fight you, to lash out and drive you away as she hid herself behind walls, but the anger in her eyes was tempered by something else—something fragile and crumbling. That part of her soul she had shared with you once before. This wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed Death’s cruelty, the way it tore through lives and left people hollow. You had seen it before, but this time, you weren’t going to let it win. Not with her.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered, stepping closer, nimble fingers hesitating, waiting for the slightest indication she’ll let you in, for the remnants of her walls to fall down.

“Don’t hide from me, Rio.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her name. The way it left your lips felt like a one last touch, one last plea, one last kiss. For a moment, you thought she might lash out again, her walls snapping shut, impenetrable. But then something shifted. Her shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her like a tide retreating from the shore. She stared at your hand, her eyes flickering between your outstretched fingers and your face. You don’t wait for her to make the first move, hands pulling her face into the crook of your neck, her shuddering breath warm against your skin. Her whimpers are quiet, but they echoed loud into your chest, her heartbeat rapid and raw against yours.

You heard her muffled words against your skin, faint and broken, and pulled her away just enough for your eyes to meet. Your thumbs brushed against her wet cheeks, coaxing her to speak again, though the tremble in her lips warned you of the weight of what she was about to say. “She’s gone,” she whispered, voice cracking under the pressure of holding herself together. You tightened your hold on her, pulling her closer as though your arms could shield her from the grief threatening to consume her. Your hands continued their futile attempts to wipe away her tears, even as fresh ones cascaded down. You pressed your forehead to hers, a silent plea for her to keep going, though you knew a part of you already dreaded what she would say next, of what really happened to those close to Death.

“I killed her.” The words ripped from her lips in a guttural sob, the kind that seemed to tear her apart from the inside. She collapsed into you, her weight nearly buckling your knees as she clung to you with desperate force. Her face buried itself into your neck, her tears soaking through your shirt as she poured her anguish into you, her cries now raw and unrestrained. You stood firm, steadying her as best as you could despite the waves of emotion raging between you, and for the grieving woman before you. Your hand found her dark curls, stroking them in soothing motions, while the other rubbed slow circles against her back all the way to her neck. “I’m sorry,” you murmured over and over again, your apologies feather-light against her crown. They felt insufficient, hollow even, but they were all you had to offer.

You weren’t entirely sure of the relationship between Agatha and Rio. She had never explained it fully, and you had never pressed her. From the outside, you had assumed it was similar to your relationship with Rio—intimate in a way that didn’t require a label but never crossed certain boundaries. But then you started to notice things. The way Rio’s eyes lit up whenever Agatha entered the room, as though her very presence ignited something within her. The subtle changes in her voice when she spoke to Agatha compared to you—softer, warmer, tinged with something more. And the way she leaned into her touch, like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. The only thing worth spending an eternity on this plane for. You had tried to dismiss it at first, the ignorance extending beyond your grasp, but now, holding her like this, the depth of her devastation told you there was more to it. Agatha wasn’t just someone Rio cared about—she was someone Rio loved, the only person she ever truly loved.

Rio’s sobs continued to shake her tall frame, and you held her tighter, even through your own suffering, as flashes of your last moments together crashed into you. It all made sense now. The distance. The arguments that spiraled out of nowhere. The way she’d simply disappeared, leaving you with questions that burned like open wounds, and a heart wounded by her cruelty.

She had fallen in love.

She had fallen in love with someone else.

The thought sliced through you again, sharper this time, and you had to fight the urge to pull away. To protect yourself. To let the hollow ache in your chest guide you into a defensive shell. Instead, you stayed. You held her. Because even if her heart had chosen someone else, yours still belonged to her. And you wanted to say something, anything that could offer solace. Words teetered on the edge of your tongue—a joke to lighten the air, a reassurance that she’d be okay, a confession, never able to see the light of day, that you’d buried deep for so long you weren’t sure it could ever surface. But the words lodged in your throat, too heavy, too tangled with your own grief.

So you stayed silent. This wasn’t the first time you had carried her pain over yours, and you suspect it won’t be the last. Her tears soaked through your shirt, hot and unrelenting, and her sobs turned to shuddering gasps. She clung to you as if you were the last solid thing in a world crumbling beneath her feet. And maybe, you were. Right now, you’d be whatever she needed. You pressed your lips against her cold cheek, arms still wrapped around her trembling form, “I’m here. Always.”

Even so, you couldn’t offer her what she sought, the life she once had with Agatha. That kind of love was never yours to give, never wanted by the woman in your arms. Death was never yours. But you knew you could offer her this: the steady, unwavering presence of someone who cared.

Someone who has and will always love her.

[whowantslovergirl]

An: this picture is very dear to my heart

Celebrity Crush

Kate Martin x influencer! reader (reader is female with she/her pronouns)

warnings: reader goes to umich, cursing, this was before the umich vs iowa game and let’s pretend it was a home game for Michigan, reader is a beauty influencer, Kate being whipped, timeline of the relationship 😝 wbb masterlist

Summary: Kate goes on live saying the famous beauty influencer N/n L/n is her celebrity crush

posted: July 25, 2024

The question that started it all:

Jada was live and Kate was seen in the background listening and scrolling on her phone. Jada was looking through the comments trying to find something to respond to.

katemartinsgf: who’s yall celebrity crush??

“My celebrity crush is my boyfriend. What about you Kate?” She looked up. “What?”

“Who’s your celebrity crush?” She got up with a smile super excited to talk about you.

“It’s that one girl, she goes to umich and she does like day in the life and like get ready with me’s. I forgot her name!”

The comments immediately knew who she was talking about.

user1: OMG N/N L/N

user2: ITS N/N L/N

user3: OMG N/N L/N I LOVE HER SHES SO FUNNY

user4: N/N L/N

“Everyone’s saying N/n L/n.”

“Yes, that’s her! She’s so pretty oh my god.” Kate talked about you the whole live.

That one clip went viral, but you never seen it.

______

You were scrolling on TikTok, and your notifications went crazy. People kept tagging you in this video, but you never checked it and just silenced mentions.

Thank God your friend asked if you wanted to go to the basketball game next week.

How N/n and Kate met:

“Hey guys! So today we are going to a basketball game. A girls basketball game because women sports are better and more entertaining.” You were vlogging your time before, during, and after the game and you were with your friend in the wolverine colors.

“Who’s playing?” You ask your friend.

“I think Iowa and I heard that they’re good so this will be fun.” They responded.

_____

“So we’re getting some snacks from the vending machine because the food that they sell is-.” Your friend cut you off.

“Fucking terrible! Omg did I tell you when I literally got food poisoning from it? Almost died for real.” You were shocked because they never told you that. They laughed at your reaction.

______

While you guys were getting snacks the Iowa team were coming into the locker room. While they were walking Kate saw you at the vending machine and freaked out.

“Jada! Jada! Look who’s at the vending machine!” She looked and started going crazy with Kate. Gabbie saw this and just had to ask. “Why are yall freaking out?” They just pointed to the vending machine.

“Oh my god! Is that N/n L/n?!” They nodded out of excitement.

“Kate get her number!” Jada exclaimed. Kate looked at her with wide eyes. “What! No!”

“Why not? Just go!” She pushed Kate and you saw her, and it looked like she tripped so you went up to her.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” She looked up and widened her eyes. “Yea yea I’m fine thanks for asking.” You looked at her and your jaw actually dropped. Her height alone was very attractive and her eyes oh my. "Oh ok, wait are you on Iowa?"

"Uh yea I was just going to the locker room."

"Oh well I'm Y/n or N/n whatever you feel comfortable with."

"I'm Kate." She smiled and turned to Jada; Jada mouthed "get her number now!" She turned back to you. "Do you think I can get your number?" You raised your eyebrows, and you looked shocked. "If you're not into girls its fine I'll just go-."

"No, it's fine and yea you can get my number." You gave it to her and went back to your friend who was recording the whole thing. Jada was jumping up and down out of excitement when Kate came back.

After the game you started editing your video and left in your interaction with Kate and the comments went crazy.

user5: I just know Kate is happy asf 💀

user6: AHHHH IT HAPPENED

user7: our dream came true guys

user8: they better get together istg

user9: this cured my depression

First facetime:

You and Kate have been texting back and forth with each other even if you guys live a few states apart it never stopped you guys from liking each other. Then you suggested that you guys should facetime more, and Kate freaked out.

_____

"She wants to facetime! Do I look okay?" Kate asked Jada as she was trying to fix her hair. "Yes, Kate you look fine."

Then you called. "Oh my god she's calling!"

"Then answer it, Kate."

_____

"Hey N/n"

"Hey Kate. Wait I feel like you should have a nickname too." She smiles. "Oh yea? What should it be?" You shrugged. "I don't know like martin the martian or something." She busted out laughing. "Extra points for creativity N/n." You smile. "Thanks! Really thought about it."

You guys fell asleep on the phone together.

When Kate and Y/n finally became girlfriend and girlfriend:

Kate was planning to fly to Michigan to visit you and you were very happy. Her plane just landed, and you are almost on your way to pick her up.

_____

You saw her come out and got out of the car to hug her. You jumped in her arms, and she dropped her bag.

"Hey N/n."

"Hey martin the martian." You guys got in the car and drove to your apartment.

_____

You guys are watching a movie, and you guys were on the part where the guy asks the girl to be his girlfriend. "That is so cute. So simple but so cute." You said and Kate looked at you. "So, you don't want anything extravagant?" You shook your head. "I feel like something private between two people is better than something public."

"So do you want to be my girlfriend?" You look at her in shock. "Are you serious?!" She nodded. "Yea I'll be your girlfriend." You smiled.

When Y/n surprised Kate:

You and Kate haven't seen each other in three months. Since it was winter it was very hard to find a flight that wasn't getting delayed or cancelled but luckily you found one and are on your way to Iowa now.

You told Kate that there was a big snowstorm coming and you couldn't come until next week. That was obviously a lie. You were informed by Caitlin that there was a team dinner tonight and you should surprise her there. Right now, you are vlogging your trip to Iowa and now in a hotel room with Caitlin. "Alright guys I'm in Iowa right now with Cait." "Hey everybody!" She yelled. "But we are getting ready for the team dinner and surprise Kate. So, this will cut to when we're ready."

______

"Hey guys so Y/n is still not ready so I will be occupying you guys." Cait said while setting up the camera. Before she can you came in. "Oh my god she's here guys."

"I did not take that long!" Cait just rolled her eyes. You picked up the camera. "Ok so we are going to show our outfits even though they're basic black dresses." You flipped the camera to show Cait and she started posing dramatically. Then took the camera to show you and you did the same thing you both laughed, and it cut to you hiding in the bathroom of the restaurant.

______

"Right now, I'm hiding in the bathroom waiting for my signal." You said while whispering. "Jada is going to knock on the stall and Ima come out. We are doing it after dinner so I'm going to be here for about an hour but it's fine because I'm playing episode, and this story is so good oh my." After an hour passed Jada knocked on the stall and you rushed out and Jada was holding your camera. "Is it recording?" You shook your head and turned it on. "She was literally talking about you the whole dinner." You laughed. "No really, she was like 'I miss N/n' 'I'm seeing her next week, but I wanted to see her today.' You took the camera from Jada.

"Yall heard that? My bae loves me."

"No, she actually does guys." You and Jada laughed.

______

The team was getting ready to leave when Coach said they're going to take a picture. Lisa was in on it, and she saw you and asked to take a picture. "Hey, can you take a picture of us?" She says smiling. "Yea of course." Kate recognized your voice but didn't turn around because you're not here anyway. You took her phone to take the picture and Kate's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. You took the picture. "We should retake it because Kate's face ruins the photo." You said laughing. She ran up to hug you. "What about the snowstorm?"

"Babe there was no snowstorm."

______

When you guys got home you went to edit the video after spending time with Kate and the team. "What are you titling it?"

'Surprising my Iowa bae'

She laughed and you posted it.

user10: this is so cute omg

user11: I LOVE THEM OMG

user12: THIS IS HOW I FOUND OUT????

N/nreplied: girl where you been 🧍‍♀️

Random N/n and Kate video:

You and Kate were going to eat dinner together. They got Culvers when Kate had an idea for a video. They were going to eat while answering questions.

"Hello everyone, today we are going to be answering questions that you guys have. I was going to do something like this, but Kate wanted to do a video so bad."

"Not true." You just looked at her. "Okay before she starts lying even more, we are going to start."

_____

"Alright them what you got babe." Kate started showing her food. I got the cod fish burger withe extra tartar sauce with fries and a lemonade."

"She has to be healthy because she's an athlete or whatever, But I got a double butter burger with a large fry and a large Dr. Pepper. Also, some vanilla custard." She looked at you. "You're so big."

"Shut up! Ok let's eat and answer your questions!"

What's one thing you guys like about each other? And one thing you hate?

"I like Kate's smile and I hate when she makes a joke and she like looks around to make sure you laughed, and she always looks a dad waiting for his kids to laugh with like a huge smile on her face." She was laughing. "No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"My favorite thing about N/n is her humor and one thing I hate is how she makes fun of me." That made you burst out laughing. "I don't make fun of you." She looked at the camera with her jaw dropped. "Shes lying to you."

Favorite memory of each other?

They both were silent, trying to think of their favorite memory. "I don't really have one." Kate said and you nodded. "We only been dating for like six months-."

"Seven." Kate corrected. "Sorry seven months and we only spent like four of those together, so we don't really have that much." You shrugged.

First impression of each other?

"When I first saw N/n for the first time I freaked out you can ask Jada. I freaked out."

"Was that the first time you saw me in person?" She nodded.

"My first impression of Kate was I thought she was clumsy because I thought she tripped and then seeing her up close I was very attracted to her."

"Awwww you love me!" You rolled your eyes at her statement.

_____

After a few more questions, you ended the video and posted it without editing.

user13: them arguing is hilarious

user14: N/n and Kate world domination

user15: KATE CALLING N/N BIG BYEEEE

user16: i love their relationship like when is it my turn :(

The WNBA draft:

"Good morning! Today is the WNBA draft and Kate is getting drafted-."

"We don't know that for sure!"

"Shut up!" You wanted to vlog Kate drafted because you know it's going to happen. "Kate doesn't think she's getting drafted, but I believe that my bae is getting drafted."

______

"Ok guys were getting ready and looks who's here!" You pan the camera to Jada and Gabbie, and they cheered. "So, I know some people here, but I never really watched college sports since I met Kate soo and from the people I had seen so far. By far the most attractive women I ever seen." Everyone laughed. "So yall know the drill we are going to be ready after this cut."

______

"Look at us!' Kate exclaimed. "We are on our way to the draft guys. I'm so excited!" You said.

______

"So, we are in our seats, and I don't know if I'm allowed to film so you guys are in my lap." You whispered. "We are almost done on the first round of picks and Kate will be chosen the second round."

"You don't know that." She whispered back and you just ignored her.

"She will be picked."

______

On the 17th pick you are starting to get nervous because Kate didn't get chosen yet. They are about to announce the 18th pick for the Las Vegas Aces.

"For the 18th pick of the 2024 WNBA draft the Las Vegas Aces select.... Kate Martin." You screamed out of joy and jumped up causing your camera to fall. You hugged and kissed her with a huge smile on your face. You picked up your camera real fast so you can film Kate holding the jersey.

______

"My Martin the Martian is a Las Vegas Ace!!!" You screamed in the camera with an Aces hat on. "Guys didn't I say she was going to get picked? Yea and guess what happened? She got picked!"

Since you were so happy you completely forgot that Kate will be all the way in Las Vegas.

user17: YESSSSSS SHES AN ACE

user18: I love how supportive N/n is 😍

user19: THE CAMERA BYEEEE

user20: so cute :)

Kate surprising Y/n:

It has been four months since Kate and Y/n been apart. They're still going strong because they're used to doing a long-distance relationship, but they miss each other dearly. Kate been planning on surprising you in Michigan when she goes to play a game there and she filmed most of it so you can post it.

‘Martin the Martian takeover’

______

“Hey guys so I am going to surprise N/n today because she doesn’t know I’m going to Michigan. Since she graduated she is doing her masters online which is amazing clap it up for my girl.” She started clapping. “She’ll add clapping sounds don’t worry guys.”

“But anyway I’m on my way to Michigan now and I’m very excited to see her cause I haven’t seen her in like four months.”

“She tells us all the time!” Aja exclaimed in the background. Kate looked at the camera and ended the video.

_____

Kate is in Michigan and you are at your parent’s house just until the apartment you have gets ready for you. Your parents know that Kate is coming over and it’s killing your mom that she can’t tell you.

You got a call from Kate and you answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey N/n I sent you a little present and it says it delivered say can you check if it’s there?” You had a confused look on your face. “Ok?”

You went downstairs to see if the ‘present’ is there. You opened the door and screamed. Kate was right there filming your reaction. “Look babe I’m vlogging!” You laugh and jumped into her arms. “I missed you.” You mumbled into her shoulder. “I missed you too baby.”

“I actually got you a gift though.” She took her jersey and some tickets out of her bag. “There’s three if you want to invite your parents or friends.” You teared up. “Thank you Kate.” You give her a kiss. She ended the video and you guys hung out before you guys went to the game she left a little earlier but you were still there.

______

Kate sent you the videos she made and you edited and posted ‘Martin the Martian takeover’

user21: the fact that she vlogged this knowing that N/n would want a video I LOVE THEM

user22: no they’re honestly the cutest

user23: yall better marry each other 🙄

user24: i love them

By the way this was all because Kate said N/n is her celebrity crush.

An: ending was ass BUT HOPED YOU ENJOY MY LOVERS 🤍🤍🤍🤍

[ktaerssoi]

blabber mouth

summary: the multiple times you were caught having an interaction a little more than friendly with paige.

paige bueckers x fem!reader

(582)

notes: not proof read sorryyyy. also sorry for disappearing for the past three days i was preoccupied. anyway i actually like this i hope im not wrong. i keep watching this one caitlin clark edit someone save me she is so fine. - kate

1.

you had been known to the fans of UConn women's basketball, usually hanging out with the girls. you had met them through azzi, the both of you majoring in communications, and eventually, you had been indoctrinated into the team. you had grown close to many of the girls, befriending everyone. and maybe even going on a few dates with a special girl you had the privilege of meeting.

that being said, it wasn't common for you to be seen in tiktoks or lives. that's why fans went borderline insane when they saw you leaning your head on paige's shoulder in the background of one of ice's lives.

rumors of you being in a relationship were swarming the internet, fans trying to find even more "proof" of you together. they had been right, you were dating, but no one else needed to know that.

that's why you posted a video on paige's tiktok making a disclaimer that you guys were "just friends." however, the fans had gotten a taste of you two together, and weren't about to stop the edits or comments.

2. 

being a secret girlfriend to UConn's star player wasn't easy, you needed to go to all of the games to make paige happy, but you also couldn't be too public about your relationship.

you had thought you were doing a pretty good job, you sat directly across from the home bench and cheered when acceptable. you had been recognized more and more often now as you had officially posted with the team and were with them almost all the time.

your phone was blowing up with follow requests and tagging notifications, and your newfound fans wanting to get to know you outside of the girls. checking through notifications one day, you saw you had been tagged an abundant amount of times on one post.

clicking on the video, it starts to play a lovey-dovey edit audio as you watch clips of you a paige at the games. her pointing to you in the stands, you cheering as she shoots a three, and her hugging you after a game were all clips included in the edit. 

needless to say, that was not the last of those edits.

3. 

you and paige had been going on date nights frequently throughout your almost year-long relationship. along the way you guys had gained a bit of a following on social media, being spotted almost everywhere it was difficult to just be a couple in public.

you and paige had finally had a good amount of time where the both of you were open and could do anything, deciding you would go to a nice little restaurant near by your shared apartment.

you had been laughing about some funny story paige had been telling about her day when a fan came up to your table. "wait, oh my gosh, no way, ohmygosh, you're paige bueckers! and you're her girlfriend!" you had gotten flustered at the correct assumption, not wanting to deny it but knowing you would have to denounce it to protect paige's future.

"oh um," you were cut off by paige grabbing your hand, giving you a look before turning to the girl. "that's me, do you want a picture? i have some time."

you smile as you watch her pose for the photo, what you hadn't realized was that you were visible in the background admiring her like she was the sun.

the fans had a field day with that single photo.

[hannieween]

pushing and pulling | joshua hong

› pairings: joshua hong x female reader › genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) › aus: nba player joshua, playboy joshua, love affair › word count: 8k

› 🎧: take you down – yugyeom | do me right – gemini | pushin' n pullin' – red velvet | middle of the night – monsta x | 100 ways – jackson wang | dumb – i.m | guilty – taemin

this post is connected a nba joshua playboy request (you can find it in my page on the reqs tag)

› nsfw tags under the cut

› warnings: slight hurt/comfort, toxic vibes, reader is married, body worshipping, oral sex, pussy drunk shua, soft-dom joshua, oblivious pining, love making, unprotected p in v sex, lotus position, a bit of cockwarming, creampie, reader is on the pill, joshua is kind of a jerk but sweet in some way, pet names: baby (hers)

› big big thank you to @cvntrlseecvntrlvee who beta read this for me and helped me edit and with the more tricky aspects of joshua pouring his heart out to you ( > 〰 < )♡

› also thanks to @glowunderthemoon who brainstormed with me and recommended 100 ways by jackson for this chapter. i wanna kiss your genius brain

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

pushing and pulling

The elliptical beeped softly as Joshua forced it to a stop. He kept his breathing steady, but he couldn't ignore the impulsive need to wipe the sweat off his face.

He looked closely at his progress. Feeling content, he climbed down, wiped the machine and walked away to finally commence his general training.

The gym was particularly deserted. As expected from a Friday afternoon. Joshua had just finished warming up and moved to do some bench presses. It was his usual Friday routine, except he mostly went during the mornings.

But last night he couldn't sleep. And he didn't have any plans for the rest of the night, so, the gym it is.

He kept the music in his earphones at a high volume to drown out the music blasting from the gym's fancy sound system and the lonely goers who were working on the other weight machines.

Why do they have to let the weights drop that loud? So noisy.

He kept pushing the bar up and then slowly pressed it back down with a controlled motion, letting strained exhales escape his mouth. It was one of his favorite exercises to do. He was lying back on the bench, and staring at the ceiling, listening to music—he could reflect like this.

Until he sat back up on the bench, having finished his rep, and stood up to look for something to clean up the bench after him. That was when he caught sight of you, in the far distance of the gym. You were using a treadmill, looking straight at your reflection in the mirror up front.

Maybe you just got to the gym, he thought from the look of you. Your well-kept hair was braided, there was no sweat on your face from what he could see and well, he hadn't seen you until now.

Joshua kept doing his exercises as normal. But he couldn't shake off the tight knot that had parked in his stomach since he saw you there.

In fact, every time you crossed his mind he felt that way. And he thought of you constantly. He replayed over and over in his head the memory of the events that led you to the first time you kissed him.

It had been a rushed, heated kiss—but everything that happened before it took its time. At every chance, when you crossed paths, you'd sent him glances that,  at first, obfuscated him a little.

Until one night, at a private event. After many suggestive looks exchanged between Joshua and you, in a perfect moment, your husband was out of the way and you got Joshua to follow you down a fire exit. One thing led to the other.

He didn't know you went to the same gym as him—though it could be something he expected since everyone on his team used it. It was quite the exclusive place.

He kept checking on you every now and then. It seemed that you were just running because half an hour passed and you hadn’t left your spot.

That's how he slowly gathered the little details about you, the bags under your eyes, the sad look on the features of your face.

So he kept to his regular training—working his lats, his triceps, biceps and then finishing with abs. Push and pull kinda day. It was supposed to be only pull but well, what gives.

Joshua moved from the last machine, cleaned it off, threw the towel away and walked towards the locker-rooms. Thinking of getting a shower, grabbing his stuff and heading home. Maybe drink a beer and hopefully, sleep.

"What are you doing here?"

Joshua removed his earphones. You had cornered him almost as if you had planned it, and possibly did. He looked over his shoulder as a precaution, the hall was empty.

"What are you doing here?" you repeated, your tone anxious and shifty eyes roaming all over him.

"Baking a cake," he responded nonchalantly.

"Tsk, fine," you scoffed and looked the other way.

Joshua paused and took consideration over what he saw in you, the stale, emotionless about you. Unusual. The features of your face looked torn, instead of the usual kindness he usually saw in them. He confirmed his suspicions that you weren’t sleeping well either when he saw the darkness under your eyes, and the paleness that stole the color from your lips. 

Even with that dead look in your eye, Joshua was convinced that you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Although all you and Joshua ever did was throw snarky comments at each other, sometimes while fucking, even then, he always thought you were sweet and cute. 

"How about we start over?"

"What?"

"Hi?" Joshua joked. "How are you? No?"

"Josh," you sighed and took a hand to your forehead, where your fingers rubbed your frown tiredly. "Sorry, you know what, you're right. I'm being a little on edge."

Joshua couldn't blame you for that. In fact, he felt like he might be the only person in the world that would understand what you're going through.

He leaned in, his doe eyes reading you carefully. "Do you need to talk?" he asked, his voice devoid of all snarkiness. It was his usual tone, honeyed.

You raised your eyes at him, glinting in such a way that it only made the knot in his stomach twist harder. "Yeah, I–," you choked up. "I... uh..."

"Did you come here by car?" he promptly asked and he saw the spark in your eyes change. Excitement, fear, as if the answers you desired so greatly were all found in him, in that question.

"I walked," you frowned softly. "Why?"

Joshua dug on the inside of his sweats and pulled out the key to his car. "Black Audi A8," he instructed: "Wait for me inside. I'll take no more than 10 minutes."

You pocketed the key in your gym bag quickly. "What are you going to do?"

"Take a shower," he said and started to turn to walk down the hall. "See you there."

Joshua closed the door of his car, settling on the seat.

You handed him the key to his car. "Hi," you mumbled shamefully.

"That's better," he joked, taking the key and thrusting it into the ignition. He drove away from the underground parking lot. As soon as he was within the vicinity of his place and the silence had turned somewhat unpleasant, he sent you a glance. "It's been a while."

You had been keeping your head turned to the side. But you nodded, and you met his brief gaze. "Yeah I've... been busy."

Joshua kept his comments to himself from that point. His mind had started reeling instead. He parked on his spot and as soon as he turned the engine off, he opened the glove compartment, pulling out a cap.

"Here," he offered you the cap.

"Are you serious?" you asked, sending him a bewildered look.

"Listen, I'm not risking someone seeing you here with me and start asking questions," he emphasized those words, knowing what value they had to them.

Because he was the nation's favorite playboy. The one who’s got the eyes and heart of the media. The heartthrob. Ever since his career skyrocketed, this fame, this persona, it had been following him close by like a shadow.

Though all a lie, it seemingly had fooled you too.

"Fine," you said, taking the cap, which was his team's merch, putting it on with a huff. Then you mumbled with dry sarcasm: "How do I look?"

"Pretty, as always," he smirked and pushed the door to get out of his car.

You followed him inside the elevator, down a hall and into his apartment.

"I would've assumed we'd reach the penthouse," you quipped as soon as you were inside.

Joshua turned the first lamp in the corner of the living room. The curtains were drawn wide open, letting in the view of the skylight. He snickered as an attempt to deflect from the constant judgment of his character.

"Why is that?" he asked with a low tone and motioned you over with one of his large hands.

"I dunno," you mumbled and walked over to the fancy large couch. "May I?"

"Of course," he replied and went over to the open kitchen to open the cabinet, grabbing two short glasses. "Drink?"

"Sure, uh," you breathed out shakily. "I only assumed that you'd be like the rest of 'em, you know. Showy, living on the top of the highest building, throwing out money wherever you go."

"Pff," he scoffed, throwing some cubes of ice into each glass. "You've known me long enough to know that's not my style."

That comment seemed to rattle you a bit. You stilled in your seat and when Joshua offered you the glass of whisky, you stared at the ice cubes for a moment.

Joshua was your husband's best friend. You have been part of each other's lives for long enough to know that his lavish lifestyle was nothing compared to the one of your husband's.

But Joshua is nothing like your husband.

Jake, your husband, is the one that the media loves. He is the golden boy, team captain, the one with the most deals, money and fame. The guy who gets all the recognition for being such a good husband.

"Jake is cheating on me," you breathed, letting those words out for the first time since you found out. They hit you like a punch in the gut, and your eyes instantly brimmed with tears of shame, guilt and regret.

Joshua was still standing between the couch and the coffee table, right in front of you. So he sat down by your side, leaving his drink beside yours, not quite looking in your eye as he sighed.

"I know."

Of all the reactions you were expecting, all the scenarios you ran in your mind, you never thought that he would say that.

Because he was your secret.

"How long have you known?" you demanded with a strangled tone.

He turned his head to look at you now, your gazes met and he decided to take a large gulp of his whisky before replying: "Ever since he slept with the first girl."

"Then you've known for..."

"Does it matter?"

Your eyes stopped shifting from side to side, the frantic train of thoughts slowed down. "Yes," you said slowly. "How come you've never told me?"

"I was going to but," he exhaled softly. "You sought me out before I could."

"So you were fine with us fucking and never acknowledging it?" you were quick to put two and two but then, "Why?"

"I thought that was what you needed."

"Joshua..." you whispered. "Why? Are you okay with–, why would you never say something about it?"

"I'm okay with whatever you want me to be," he muttered, looking straight into your eyes now. "I knew you needed me, you didn't need to tell me why. I knew."

"So all this time, when you've taunted me about it, to tell him... was it all just for fun? To get yourself off, to make yourself feel better–"

"To play my part," he sighed and went for another gulp of whisky and when you didn't say anything, he elaborated: "Famous playboy. Isn't that the reason why you went to me?"

You looked away in shame. "You're also his best friend. I figured the more excitement you'd get the less I would have to explain," It was your turn to drink from your glass, which you did so slowly.

"Was."

Your stomach dropped. Something in you had worked that out already, but you needed to hear the confirmation from him.

"What?"

Joshua took the glass between his lips, pouring the gold liquid down his throat. "Soon as he started boasting about it. I went low contact," he paused, the glass still lingering in front of his mouth before adding with a hint of disdain: "The dumbass hasn't even realized that I don't want to talk to him."

He looked at you with caution, expecting to see you crying, showing some emotion. Instead, you were mindlessly staring at the ice cubes sitting at the bottom of the now empty whisky glass.

"How did you find out, anyway?" he risked asking, trying to keep your attention still. He felt like you slipping away in your thoughts was dangerous.

"He stopped paying attention to me completely, he even recoils from my touch," you mumbled and your lip quivered a little. "So I started suspecting."

A silence followed and as the seconds went on, Joshua started getting anxious.

You licked your lips, raising your eyes and finding his. "He keeps things from the girls he sleeps with inside a box," you rasped out dryly. "Lingerie, earrings, hair ties... I'm also sure he's taken them to the house."

"Jesus," he hissed, downing the rest of the liquid to discard the glass on the coffee table and rubbing his hands on his face, trying not to succumb to the overwhelming rage he was feeling. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm not sure if he either wanted me to find it or he's too stupid to actually keep it well hidden," you sighed. "It's driving me crazy these days."

"Do you have a plan? Do you know what you'll do?" he asked, trying with all his might to derive his attention back to you.

"I have nothing," you whispered.

"Does he know you went out tonight?"

"Jake's not in town. He flew out to visit his family and friends," you rolled your eyes and scoffed.

Joshua didn't need proof to know that was a blatant lie. And it seemed that you knew it too.

You finally set back the empty glass on the coffee table and let out a tired sigh.

"Can I ask you something?" you muttered with a tiny voice.

Joshua knew what was coming. So he relaxed on the back of the couch, shifting one leg over the seat to sit facing your body. He even propped an elbow on the headrest of the couch to lean his head on his fist. 

"Shoot," he mumbled.

"Why are you doing this?" you glanced at him shyly. "You said that you no longer speak to Jake, but you pressure me to tell him either way. Are you–," you choked up again, but now due to your nervousness you started blurting: "Why do this, why agree to have an affair with me?"

"At the beginning, I felt sorry for you," he said reluctantly, feeling ashamed of himself as he looked away briefly. "You looked lonely. And I knew why. So."

"That still doesn't answer my question," you whispered, trying to read his doe eyes under the soft glow of the lamps.

He leaned his head on one side, reading the expression on your face. Your features had relaxed, no longer containing the anxiousness from before.

"Is it not obvious?" he asked back and felt his own heart race slightly, he paused and decided to say: "I'm also lonely."

You made no inquiry about the alleged rumors, everything that the media says about the women who keep coming and going in his life. But he hoped that you would catch onto slowly that it was all an act created by the media to attract people in. And he was their puppet.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" he returned, blinking slowly at you, unable to look at anything else but your face.

"Shoot," you echoed with a shadow of a smile.

"Do you still love him?"

You held your breath and avoided his gaze again. "No," you blurted out, guilt washing over you. "I haven't for a while. Thought that much was evident, though."

"I needed to know," he replied, feeling a light rush of ecstasy run through him upon hearing your answer.

You smiled, but there was no happiness to that smile. It was sad, and had bitterness written all over it. Joshua had to understand then that you lost a good chunk of your life when your husband decided to sleep around recklessly.

But besides the empathy he felt for you, he was livid. He wasn't a man to endorse violence, but he couldn't deny the fact that he has had to contain himself several times before when your husband was boasting about his affairs.

"Hey," Joshua whispered, running the back of his index finger on your cheek. "I'm sorry you're going through this. I really am."

Your brow furrowed a little and your eyes widened, making you look a little lost. "Thank you, Joshua. I'm sorry this probably wasn't the way you wanted your Friday night to go."

"I had no plans for tonight," he explained, blinking slowly at you, an endearing look in his eyes.

"What would a regular night look like for you anyway?" you asked, leaning back on the couch, looking at him with curiosity.

"You're looking at it," he shrugged with ease and nodded. "Minus you being here, of course."

"Be serious," you scoffed at him.

"I am," he rolled his eyes with feigned annoyance. Joshua only kept his playboy image by flirting around. every once in a while, he would take a pretty model or actress to dinner.

You seemed to ponder for a second, without tearing your eyes from his face. "Well, you not being what the world says about you is definitely something I didn't expect," you confessed.

It was Joshua's turn to smile bitterly. "Yeah, who would've thought that the real playboy was the team captain, right?"

Your husband was the team captain. You immediately flinched a little with the realization that your husband's whole public image of being the perfect man was tainted not only by himself.

"Too soon?" Joshua mumbled shamefully.

"No, it's okay," you replied and cleared your throat.

But Joshua could see the gears in your brain turning. He couldn't blame you, he knew the feeling too well. It robbed him of sleep and held his peace of mind hostage every day.

"I'm sorry for pulling you into all of this," you told him. Your eyes were sincere, dimming with some regret just before you looked away.

"Don't be," he muttered softly, putting a hand on your knee to bring you some comfort. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't want any of it."

The features of your face relaxed at that and you met his eyes again. Your pretty hand slid on top of his in a gesture of gratitude. Then a thought crossed your mind—it seemed a little crazy that in all of this mess, you'd find a friend.

Even if the lines of that friendship had become blurry.

Joshua turned the palm of his hand over, so he was properly holding your hand now. You gave him a gentle squeeze, a warm feeling flooding in your chest and that made you sigh.

Then without thinking too much, he took the cap off your head, pushing some hairs off your face with his free hand. You didn't care how tender his touch felt, you welcomed it.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asked with a low honeyed voice.

You shook your head silently, your hand was still in his so you just took the liberty to play with his pretty fingers, lacing them with yours.

"No one is waiting for me there," you muttered with a tiny voice and Joshua felt your words punch him in the chest. He felt overwhelmed by the urge to make you feel better, to take the pain from you.

So he just let it overpower him.

His hand came up to cradle your cheek, driving your gaze back to his again. What he wasn't expecting was you leaning your face against his touch, your free hand sliding on top of his and you closing your eyes.

He ran the pad of his thumb on your cheek, feeling your soft skin, then trailed to your lips, caressing them carefully until you opened your eyes again to find his.

You pressed your lips on the pad of his thumb. It wasn't a suggestive kiss, there was nothing in your eyes that meant that fiery need to which you had pulled him out the fire exit that first night he kissed you.

It was an affectionate kiss. But it only made him want more. He craved the softness, the tenderness, he needed you wholly.

So he took his shot, leaning in to rest his forehead on top of yours, the tip of his nose pushing against yours gently and he heard your breath hitch with a tiny moan as your lips brushed against his. He waited like this, waited for you to protest against this, to push him away.

But you gave in not a second later, pressing your soft lips against his own in a slow, tender kiss. You sobbed out some nervousness when you broke away, only to dive right in again with a deeper kiss, wet lips locking slowly, as if meeting each other again.

Joshua released your hand that was previously laced with his, using it to find your waist and pulled softly, motioning you closer. You understood what he meant without him having to break the kiss to say it.

So you sloppily moved your knees on the couch to sit on his lap, straddling him. Your hands cupped his face, now demanding a hungrier kiss from him, which he responded willingly with a low grunt that coiled in his throat.

The kiss suddenly came to a stop with a smacking sound. Heavy breathing filled his ears before he opened his eyes to see the light frown on your face, your eyes desperately reading his features.

"What are we doing, Joshua?" you asked. Your voice sounded shaky and breathless.

"Going with it," he replied, heart pounding against his chest.

"But, after this. Where are we going with all of this?" you demanded and he knew you needed to get ahead of this. You were hurt and probably weren't looking to be hurt again.

Joshua squeezed your arm gently. "Wherever you want it to," he replied sincerely, his doe eyes looking up at you.

"Josh," a question formed on your lips, but then you leaned in to meet his lips with your own.

"Mm?" he responded, the soft lines between his eyebrows seemed to mark a little.

"Just..." you shook your head slightly and swallowed hard, thinking of the warmth in his hands parked in the small of your back.

Joshua understood the restlessness, the danger that you were putting yourself in by being with him like this. He felt it too. But he also knew that you thought about him everyday, all the time. Just like he thought about you.

He blinked slowly at you, with a warmth and homeliness that swept through him. "What do you want?" he asked.

You paused, seemingly absorbed by the question for a second. It was the first time in a long time that someone asked you that—it had been a while since you took into consideration what you wanted, too.

When you started this, you thought that having an affair with Joshua was a form of revenge. To get back at your husband for betraying you. But it slowly became something you couldn't stop, you became greedy about it.

Now, you weren't sure if greed was the only thing that you felt.

"I want you," you whispered, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through your body upon confessing it. "I don't care how. I just know that I do. I think about you every day and it's driving me crazy."

Joshua's heart pounded frantically against his chest, his eyes reading your face, trying to gather every detail in your features. He knew it already, but hearing you say it sent him into a frenzy. Nothing else mattered anymore.

His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss, lips sealing yours with a passion he didn't know he had inside him. He blindly searched for the scrunchie that secured your braid and pulled it, freeing your hair with a groan.

You shuddered when his fingers sank in your hair, grazing your scalp, holding a fistful to keep you in place as he kissed you hungrily, his plump lips exploring yours.

It was the first time he kissed you like this, without the haste or the snark. There was no fear of getting caught, no need to rush anything. 

"Stay the night with me," Joshua whispered into your lips, feeling his breath catch under a surge of emotions.

"Okay," you whispered back without hesitation.

"Please," he added.

"I'll stay the night," you reassured him.

"Okay," he settled, pulling you into his arms, wrapping you as he kissed your lips hungrily, a soft moan spilling into your mouth when your hands cupped the back of his head.

Joshua felt torn between the need to do things slowly, he hadn't had the chance before to have you like this. Every time he's had the opportunity to kiss you or to have sex with you it's been in lonely corridors.

He didn't want to think about whether he would ever have you here like this again. He didn't want to think of the future and that made him irrational, careless.

Blindly searching for the hem of your clothes, he broke the kiss only to start undressing you. You raised your arms when he got rid of your hoodie you didn't see where it was thrown, Joshua was on your lips again, kissing you with urgency.

"Joshua," you muffled in his mouth. "Let's go to your room."

He nodded and wordlessly motioned you to stand up from his lap, fumbling for your hand to lead you down a dimly lit hall and pushed a door open, turning on the lights to the bedroom.

The room seemed dark upon first glance, the gray bedding contrasting only with the white pillows and the dim lighting of the overhead lamps. To your surprise, the scent of cinnamon hung in the air like a vague memory. As if a candle had been lit moments before he left the apartment to work out at the gym.

Joshua tugged at your arm, pulling you to his body so that he could wrap his arms around your body, leaning his head down to capture your lips with his own with a clumsy kiss as he walked you backwards until the back of your knees touched the edge of his bed.

"Sit down," he instructed softly. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

Your breath hitched slightly, as your body began to heat up as soon as you sat down on his bed.

In one motion he pulled off his sweatshirt, exposing his bare torso. He had minor bruises and scratches on his sides and chest, but you knew it was normal, either from training or from how easily his skin bruised. Or both. While some looked old and faint, other bruises looked black and blue.

With little care for taking his time, he removed your clothes, he wanted you bare as soon as he could so he could finally see you. All the times he has been with you like this, all the times he's had sex with you have been fully clothed.

So when you laid in his bed, wholly naked below him, he sighed out his delight over you. He pressed a knee on the edge of the mattress, placing his hands at each side of your head to lean over your body.

He hummed as he pressed kisses in your lips, once, twice. "You're so beautiful," he muttered in between as his lips moved in yours seamlessly, melting into a more demanding and passionate kiss. 

Your eyes sparked with some amazement when he pulled back. He wondered if your husband ever said that to you, because you looked befuddled for a second.

"Yeah, you are," he muttered, a small smile crowning his pretty lips. "The prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"Josh," you chuckled warmly. "Don't go all sweet on me now."

"What, you thought I couldn't be anything but horrible to you?" he teased, kissing the apple of your cheek.

"I like the way you are," you confessed when his lips trailed down to the underside of your jaw, making you whimper a little when he placed an open kiss at the base of your throat.

"Yeah?" he muttered, ignoring the feeling shaking his heart. "Why?"

"Y-you're softer than you let on," you stammered, fingers trembling as you grazed his scalp to grab his hair. "You are kind and fun to be around. You're nothing like the world says about you."

"Mmn now who's going sweet on me," he teased, reaching down to kiss your tits, littering kisses all over, not trying to be sensual or to arouse you. He was simply exploring your body with his lips.

But it was quite obvious that you would become aroused. Your body responded by tensing up under his, your fingers clenching into fists, one gripping the bed covers, the other in his hair.

"Josh," you whimpered, when his tongue lapped around one of your nipples, now teasing it with the tip of his tongue, tasting your skin with a delightful groan.

While he did the same to your other nipple, his hand cupped your breast fully, his fingers gently digging into your soft skin, licking your nipple, his tongue swirling around it. His lips wrapped around your hardened nipple and suckled at it slightly.

"Fuck," you breathed, your thighs clenching when a sharp arousing feeling shot through your body.

Joshua hummed softly, detaching his mouth from your nipple with a soft smacking sound and moved to plant a soft kiss on your lower lip. "Will you let me eat you out, baby?" he lifted a hand from the mattress to pinch your chin. "Mn?"

A hot wave sizzled beneath your skin in anticipation. "Yeah," you choked nervously. "Please do."

He smiled before diving in for another chaste kiss and climbed down the bed. His hands came up to grab your thighs from the underside of your knee and pulled your body down so your butt was aligned to the edge of the bed.

Joshua got down on his knees and you propped yourself on your elbows on the mattress to follow his movements, his hands motioning your legs to rest on his shoulders, holding your thighs to help you do so.

"You have the prettiest pussy," he sighed before pressing his lips on your pussy lips, right before lapping his tongue on your folds with a broad stroke, his hands gripping your thighs decisively. 

You let your head hang back with a low cry of pleasure, sneaking one hand to grab at his hair again, holding for dear life. His tongue explored your cunt fully, not neglecting a single inch of skin, of your folds, drinking in your arousal. 

Joshua darted a look at you. Your head was thrown back and your chest was heaving slightly, only to suck in a breath as his tongue slowly made its way up from your entrance to your clit.

"Oh, god," you gasped when he started pushing his tongue against your clit gently, teasing it first to get it to swell. The sizzling sensation beneath your skin only intensified, making you moan through clenched teeth.

A hand climbed up from your thigh and parked on your lower tummy, palm pressing back on your skin just as his tongue swirled around your clit in swift figure eight motions, unrelenting in their pace, perfectly drawing you closer to the edge.

You eased back on the mattress, biting your lip to focus on the flicking of his tongue on your clit, the way it made the muscles of your inner thighs twitch in response to the sweet teasing. "Joshua, 'm close," you sighed.

Joshua hummed in response, applying more pressure to his large hand on your lower tummy, his low moan vibrating against your sensitive bud.

You slowly fell apart, moaning his name loudly as your sweet orgasm sizzled beneath your skin, washing over you completely, making you tremble on his bed until you are half conscious.

"Joshua," you repeated his name over and over breathlessly. You had released his hair, laying languidly on the edge of his bed as you slowly came down from your high.

But Joshua wasn't done.

His tongue lapped between your folds, dipping into your entrance with a soft groan upon finding that your core throbbed for more. With a soft hum he returned to give your cunt a deep open kiss, making you flinch slightly.

"Josh, please," you breathed out. "I need you... right now." 

You sat up clumsily just as he detached his mouth from your cunt, a shudder going through you when you saw the glistening wetness dripping from his mouth and chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand.

"Come here," you motioned when he stood up and you reached out to hook your fingers on the band of his gray sweats, looking up to his eyes as you pulled both his boxers and sweats down for him to step out of them.

You grabbed his cock with one hand, rolling your hand over to his bulbous head, smearing the precum gathering on his slit to give him a few pumps. You brought his tip to your mouth, giving him shy kitty licks before darting a look to his eyes.

His hand brushed your hair gently before cupping the side of your head. "I thought you needed me, baby," he teased and nodded his head to the bed. "Lie back."

You crawled backwards on his large bed and lied back at the same time that he crawled on top of your body, slotting himself between your thighs with a sigh.

"Let me be on top," you breathed, bumping the tip of your nose against his before kissing him. "Please?"

Joshua looked at you with some amusement written in his eyes, he thought of a snarky remark, to tease you before giving into your request. But instead of that, he nodded and rolled over.

"Sit up," you asked softly, moving on your knees to straddle him.

Joshua smiled and sat up, his hands immediately reaching out to grab your waist. "What are you doing, baby?" he chuckled breathily as you sat on top of him, clumsily wrapping your legs around him.

"Just let me do this," you said with a furrowed brow, scooting so that you could align your core to his cock, guiding with your hand before pushing your hips to sheathe him inside you with one thrust.

"God," he breathed out, the tone of his voice raw as his head dropped on your shoulder. "Fuck, baby."

"D'you like that?" you asked innocently, swaying your hips gently against his and biting back a moan over how good he felt stuffed inside you.

He slowly lifted his head to face you. "Yeah, baby," he sighed with an embarrassed smile as he added: "I missed you."

You shuddered upon hearing his confession. "I m-missed you too, Josh."

"Yeah?" he mouthed.

You nodded shyly. "All the time," you admitted.

You realized that you didn't have to go fast to achieve a high, you were just fine with rutting against his hips, feeling every inch of his cock sheathed inside your warmth. The pleasure written on his face was enough for you to stifle a moan, biting your lower lip.

His dark eyes glimmered under the soft glow of the overhead lights of his room, you saw his mouth part a little before he blinked and dropped his head in your chest, muffling a raw moan in your tits. His hands firmly placed on your ass, pressing down each time you sank down on him.

"Leave him," he muttered against your chest, leaving a trail of kisses leading to your heart.

"Joshua," you whispered, your hand slid up his nape, feeling his soft black hair.

"Leave him," he asked again, now lifting his head from your chest to lock eyes with you. "Please."

You thought of telling him all of the implications of that action alone. Because you've thought about it, you wanted to. You've thought about it countless times but there was always something in the way.

"I'll help you," he swallowed hard. "I'll protect you."

"Joshua," you insisted again. "Please, don't. I can't get you more involved."

Joshua let out a breathy laugh. "I think it's a little too late for that, baby," he said slowly, his eyes glinting with some emotion as you kept bouncing gently on top of him.

You read his face, the honesty in his eyes as he kept looking at you. "Are you sure?" you muttered, holding onto his shoulders with your hands to keep your pace steady.

But he held you through, guiding the sway of your hips with his pretty hands. He nodded with his head. "I've never been more sure about something."

A sharp pain twisted inside your chest, you shuddered and rested your forehead on top of his. "Why? What changed?" you whispered against your better judgment. But you needed this.

"I want to do this," he said, but that wasn't the whole truth.

"I don't want this to hurt you in any way," you muttered.

"Come on, baby," Joshua smiled softly at you, his hands sliding up the line of your back wrapping his arms around you. "Don't go all sweet on me."

"Please Joshua," you insisted, a slight tinge of urgency humming in your tone and you pulled your forehead back to see his face fully.

Joshua's mind began to reel. He considered two things, his most instinctive reaction was to lie and deflect the very evident truth (though not to you) that he was in love with you. The second one, and one that he wasn't too keen on, was to just tell you later.

His hands traveled down to your lower back, grabbing your hips to help you move on top of him with more urgency. He didn't need to finish, but he was hoping he would distract you.

You dug your heels into the soft covers to anchor yourself and started pushing against his hips purposefully. "Why now? Tell me," you whispered. And he saw it in your eyes, you were already suspecting.

"Stay with me," he replied, his voice low but full of certainty.

"I'm not going anywhere, I told you I'd stay," you replied, your sweet voice taking a tinge of concern.

He shook his head slightly. "I don't want you to leave," he said through a ragged sigh. "Stay with me."

He knew he was crossing a line, he was about to find out if you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Your eyes remained on his, and he wished for a second to know what you were thinking. The rolling of your hips came to a stop and Joshua thought that you'd get up and leave. His heart vibrated against his chest frantically.

You gave him a slow nod with your head, it was almost a mechanical movement. Okay, you mouthed, okay.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his eyebrow arching slightly. He licked his lips before bringing a hand up to cup your chin and kissed your lower lip softly.

You nodded with eagerness now. "Yeah," you let out a soft laugh. "Why, where does this come from?" you asked.

"What do you mean?" he hummed, egging you to retake the movement of your hips, wanting to feel your tight walls sliding on him again.

You tilted your head back as Joshua moved his lips down your chin, trailing along the line of your jaw. And you let your eyes close to focus back to the motion of your hips, his hard cock on your fluttering walls and you moaned when his lips reached your throat.

"You were meant to be mine," he murmured against your skin. "He was introducing you to me, before everything."

Jake was supposed to introduce you to Joshua. But then he decided he wanted you for himself and you didn't meet Joshua until you were already dating your husband. And it was fine by him, he thought nothing of it at first.

But then he got to meet you.

"You are..." Joshua dipped his face on the crook of your neck, letting out a soft sigh against your skin. "You are the sweetest girl I've ever met."

His lips left an open kiss on your throat, making you squirm a little and moan. Your hand shifted from the back of his head to cup his cheek and you leaned your head, breathing erratically due to the movement of your hips on him.

"Leave him," he said again, but now you felt like you were losing him to a frenzied trance. His eyes were doing that thing again, glimmering under the soft lighting of the room.

"I will, I'll leave him," you hummed and your heart stuttered, breaking over the man that was looking at you like a lost puppy.

He moaned softly when you captured his lips with your own, his hands held your body, shifting to feel your skin, your back, your arms, until they parked at your thighs, kneading softly at the rhythm of the gentle sway of your hips.

"Joshua," you sighed a moan with some urgency.

Joshua turned your body over, pressing your back onto the mattress and slotting himself between your parted thighs to sink into your walls again with a loud groan from his part.

Now on top of you, he could do what he hadn't had the chance to until that moment. As he pulled his hips back, to then press against yours again, his cock dragging in and out of you, fucking you slowly, he could only think of one thing.

"Let me love you," he muttered with a raw tone, looking into your eyes, his hand met your cheek. "Be mine."

A sob coiled in your throat, making his eyes shift to your mouth and back to your eyes. He knew he had struck something in you, and he knew what you felt.

You gave him a fucked out nod, parting your mouth but no words came out.

"Mn? D'you want me to love you?" he asked with a honeyed purr, a smile stretching his pretty lips when you nodded again. "Are you mine?"

"Yeah, yeah," you whimpered between gasps he drew out with each thrust.

He grabbed your leg, hiking your knee up his shoulder to push deeper into you again with a loud cry of pleasure from your part, making tears gather on the corners of your eyes as he started sinking his cock in your walls again.

"I'm gonna love you," he gasped, the enunciation alone robbing him of air as he slowly pushed himself into a mad love surge for you.

Pleasure bloomed inside your body, inundating you with overwhelming waves, your mouth parted further and your brows knitted. The hand that wasn't holding onto him cupped his cheek, driving his gaze to yours.

"Are you gonna come, baby?" he hummed, enjoying the look on your face when you were close.

"Yeah," you gasped out lewdly, closing your eyes to welcome in the sweet wave of pleasure that shot through you briefly. "'m so close."

"Mmn, yeah baby? Gonna come with me?" he grunted, pushing his cock into your walls, his lip quivered slightly, letting out a raw moan through. "Want me to come inside you?"

"Yeah, please. Please, Josh," you whined pathetically, letting out a strangled moan as you slowly started to lose control, sweet pleasure washing over you, making your thighs shake. "Ohh god, mn, 'm gonna–'m–,"

"I know, I know, baby," he replied gently, feeling your walls clamping down around his cock, your warmth swallowing him, tipping him over the edge too. Joshua moaned in your mouth, spilling himself into you with deep hard thrusts.

"Joshua," you squirmed under the weight of his body as he fucked you through your long and sweet orgasm, making a mess on the bed covers.

With a couple of sloppy thrusts, he waited until you stopped shaking to ease your leg back to the mattress, carefully and pressed his chest against yours. He decided to remain quiet, relaxing into the gentle shock of confessing so much in a span of a couple of minutes.

But he just turned his head, bumping the tip of his nose against the underside of your jaw before pressing a kiss on your skin. Breathing tiredly under his weight you caressed his back with your hands, feeling his soft skin and you let out a soft hum.

"Should we... let's get cleaned up," you muttered after some time, breaking the peaceful silence.

The weight of his body between your legs had started to cause some discomfort around the joints of your hips, but even then you didn't want him to break away from you.

With heavy reluctance, Joshua peeled from your body, climbing off the bed and offered you his hand again to follow him down the hall and to the bathroom, where you washed.

"I can lend you some of my clothes," he offered quietly when you came back to his bedroom, wrapped in one of his bathrobes.

He finished putting on some black boxers when he raised his head and found you standing in front of his large bed. He sat down on one corner, reaching over to you and wrapped his long fingers around your wrist to motion you between his thighs.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he asked, reading your face, he saw that the color had returned to your lips.

"Yeah, I am," you whispered, caressing his shoulder with the palm of your hand. "I'm a bit scared, Josh."

"I know," he admitted, brushing your damp hair with his fingers and tucking it behind your ear carefully. "But we can plan this together. You're not alone."

That made your glimmering eyes lock with his. It felt like a blow to your chest to come to grips that Joshua was willing to help you and even more so, that he loved you.

"Thank you, Joshua," you said, the knot coiling in your throat stealing your voice. "For everything."

Joshua just nodded silently, bringing your hand to his lips to press soft kisses in your knuckles. "Let's sleep, okay? We'll plan tomorrow."

You wore one of his t-shirts to sleep, wrapped in his manly scent and his gray bed sheets.

At the beginning, you laid facing each other at arm's length. He assumed that you needed space, as it was the first time you slept with him.

So he was beginning to prepare for another sleepless night, but this time he was looking at the subject of his unrest. Even if you were right there with him, the pressing matter of getting you out of your failing marriage by any means necessary was causing him worry.

It took him several seconds to realize that you were still awake. Your eyes were closed, but you slowly moved your body closer to his, until your face nestled into the warmth of his neck. Joshua sighed with a smile and that made you tilt your head back so you could see his face.

"Go to sleep, baby," you whispered, looking at him fondly. "We'll plan tomorrow."

At that moment, he wrapped his strong arms around you, giving you a slow, languid kiss that went on until he couldn't kiss you anymore, until his body begged him to rest.

Joshua doesn't know how he managed to fall asleep in your arms, he believes that it was the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat that served as the best lullaby he could ever ask for.

He wished for more nights like this with you, though he wasn't sure when that would be possible.

Nor of the consequences it would bring.

› a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble

but to answer your question @thatgirlfromwindsor: i think joshua is an ass man. yeah 🤔

if you liked this, lemme know! a comment, a like, reblog, anything is appreciated! drop me an ask if you wanna, send me your filthy reqs, or not ᨐฅ💖

anyway now, i swear that next update will be city lights pt 8, i promise hehe

love you all (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)♡

toodles

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© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[joosthead]

finally // beautiful stranger || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ part 3/prequel to normal au — this is a standalone fic but here’s part 1 and 2 if you want a little lore down the line : ). or if you’ve already read p1&2–this is how normal au joost and reader meet :3. set in december 2019.

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader. notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not from nl

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 11k (exactly !! :3)

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (strangers to…lovers?, f&m!receiving oral, eating it through panties, protected piv), smoking, drinking. mentions of violence. reader and joost are kind of dicks to each other + pouty and annoying but dw it's ok bc theyre cute. unironic use of the word yolo. reader is apprehensive about receiving oral—references being self-conscious because it’s been a while. unironic ome robert during sex : ( teehee op does not drink or club sorry for inaccuracy

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “finally // beautiful stranger” by halsey :'')

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: plushies!!! thank you for your patience and the love on normal au :''') i absolutely adore this au and i'm so glad to know you guys do too!! much more to come ;)))) honestly this isn't extensively edited i was just so excited to drop it : 3 thank you so so much to @howisjoostfanfictionforfree and @killerlookz for hearing me out on my decisions on how to place this in the normal au verse >-< I SO APPRECIATE YOU GUYS!! <3333

₊˚⊹⋆ translation: "Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk." - "So beautiful, I'm so lucky." / "Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig." - "You taste so good, I love it."

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

You should’ve brought a jacket. 

If you were someone else, you’d have blamed it all on your roommates, their insistence that since your shared townhome was “only a few blocks away” from the club you were going to and “the snow isn’t even that bad” and “see it’s not even that cold” convincing you that an extra layer wasn’t needed. You’re you though, and you’re bearing the entire brunt of your regret as you trudge through the sleet covered footpath, the snow shoveled to the side and yet still not enough to keep the wetness off of your strappy heeled feet.

Why didn’t you bring a jacket? Why is it so cold in the Netherlands? Why did you move here for university? Why did you even sign up for that many courses this term, and why did the weather have to be like this right after you took your last final?

When will it end? Never, you think, but at the very least—tonight you get to party. After trudging through a kilometer of snow, of course, your roommates trudging right in front of you and suffering just the same. The snow that falls melts as soon as it hits the ground, your skin, dampening your hair and chilling you with the wind that whistles past. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have even gone—but you promised that you’d loosen up after how hard you’d been going at work and school. Either way, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to meet your roommate, Ruby’s…Ruby’s boy-thing, an up and coming music producer with big eyes and a soft voice stage-named Tantu; and you wouldn’t pass up seeing Alanis, too, an acquaintance of your other roommate, Marina, turned your own friend. 

It’s okay. Before you even know it (feels like an eternity), you’re through the line and through the threshold of the club (after getting squished and cut in front of and annoyed), and now you stand in front of the bar, trying (and failing) to get the bartender’s attention. 

The club is packed to the gills with people—it is a raucous Friday night, and it’s been months since you’ve been in a place so full of people that wasn’t a library, a lecture hall, or some work event you had to attend. Still, though, it feels natural getting back into the groove of things, holding hands with Ruby as she leads you through the dance floor, checking on Marina behind you before she leaves to find Alanis. 

The cold you were blanketed with outside is no more, not even close now that you’re slipping in between and through grinding bodies and flashing lights, the background music to your night a thumping beat you’ll feel in your bones tomorrow and a fast rapping Dutch voice over it. It’s overstimulating in a good way, you think, much preferred over the overstimulation of your packed schedule—you'll have a few weeks of this before it all starts again, and you're happy to be here at the end of it all. 

Eventually you make it to the bar. Someone stepped on your foot on the way there, you lost sight of Marina, you have to adjust your little black dress constantly—whatever. Ruby’s boy thing is unmistakable, giant blue eyes and typical dad cap, and he stands at the bar with three shots waiting for you both.

“You must be Ruby’s other roommate!” he yells over the music and you nod, smiling at him as Ruby goes to hug him around the waist, giggling as she does. 

You prop your elbow up on the bar for support—god, these shoes suck—and yell back, “You’re Teun? Is this your song?” 

“This is my friend’s song, actually, Joost!” He looks around for a bit before giving Ruby a smile; her excitement is contagious owing to the fact that she’s almost never so animated, like she’s bouncing on her heels with her movement. “He’s supposed to be here tonight, I think he’s late.” 

“Joost?” you yell, and he nods—you nod back in approval. Very pop, very gabber (if you’ve judged the subculture correctly in the 2 years being here), very loud, but you like it. 

“He’s a really cool guy, I promise!” Ruby says, giggling even more and sharing a mischievous look with Tantu that you’re not sure means something. 

“Mmm, sure,” you smile, scrunching your nose. You have a feeling that Joost, whoever he is, will become someone important later on in the night, but you put him on the back of your mind as you pick up your shot glass alongside the two of them and down it—you expect it to burn on the way down, seeming like some kind of vodka, but it’s smooth and sweet, only slightly burning. “Thanks Tantu,” you say, holding your hand up for a high five which he reciprocates, laughing. 

“You’ll like Joost, I think,” he nods, and you cock an eyebrow. 

“Are you trying to set me up with someone?” 

“You need something to distract you from all your work, babe,” Ruby says, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Hopefully expensive vodka will loosen you up a bit.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “I didn’t ask for a distraction.” Work and school are already difficult enough to juggle as is, let alone your abysmal social life only kept alive by Ruby and Marina’s wide circle of friendly, eccentric creatives. You’d rather just keep your circle small, keep your head down and focus, but your friends always have things up their sleeves. 

Ruby orders 3 Bacardi colas for your small group and turns back to you. “We’re gifting you one, okay?” 

You shake it off, focusing more on the lovely rum and cola once it comes into your possession. Sipping at it, you follow Ruby and Tantu onto the dance floor, the bustling crowd jostling you around as you teeter on your heels, keep your purse close to your body, and try to keep your drink from spilling. 

Truthfully, the purse (the purse!!!) is one of your most prized possessions—you don’t think yourself too materialistic, but scoring a 90s Dior saddlebag for less than a thousand euros, with your first big paycheck… you reason that that’s more than enough to get you to be materialistic. 

You cover it with your arm as best as you can as you try and follow Ruby’s pretty lion’s mane of brown curls, turning to make sure you’re still there every once in a while but mostly just hanging onto Tantu’s hand—you don’t mind third wheeling when Ruby’s being so cute, a side of her you've never seen before. 

The three of you make it to the heart of the crowd, running into Alanis and Marina and picking them up along the way, the thrumming beat of some early 00s song until it transitions to something so hyperpop your eardrums might rupture. 

You mouth the lyrics, bright lights shining into your eyes, your dancing constricted by being way too close for comfort with a bunch of drunk and sweaty strangers, but. You’re trying. That’s for sure. 

Marina’s hands snake around your waist as you sway together to the music, eyes closed and letting the alcohol get to you; you would go back to the bar and get another drink if it wouldn’t be such a damn hassle to do so. 

You’re enjoying every single moment, the time passing by in a blur of dancing people and loud voices and sweaty bodies—you’re almost in a haze, all you’d need is a drunk cigarette to make this night perfect, but then Marina lets go of you, and you get disoriented. So many lights, so many people, not enough of your people. 

You get elbowed in the back by someone and it takes you out of your trance completely. You look back in annoyance, the culprit being a tall blonde guy with douchey sunglasses who’s whooping and hollering with a friend who looks just as rambunctious as he is. Scowling, you turn back to where Ruby and Marina are, speaking/yelling with Tantu and Alanis, somehow several feet away, but then you stumble over your feet, and the guy behind you stumbles into you, and you feel a cold liquid run down your arm, your side, all over your dress. 

Shocked (and frankly, about to cry) you look down at your now dripping arms, your purse and the stains on it obvious even now in the dim club light. A mixture of anger and pure disdain for the guy behind you comes over you as he turns around—what the fuck!!! Almost four months of utter bullshit at work and university and this is what happens to you the night you get back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it, just find me later!” he yells, looking down at you, turning back to his friends and laughing, and you practically gasp in shock with how rude he’s being. Can’t even give you the time to make things right now, what makes him think you’ll trust him enough to leave it later? 

You tap on his shoulder, making him turn his attention back to you. He’s wearing earphones for some reason, and the big sunglasses really are so douchey. You’re normally not so judgmental—but he ruined your night. “Are you fucking serious? Sorry doesn’t cut it—this is vintage,” you shout, pointing at your poor purse. “And you’re a fucking asshole!”

“Oh, it’s vintage?” he scoffs, and you—you want to punch him in his smug face. You can’t even look him in the eye, his stupid sunglasses blocking your vision of him, but you know that you’re glaring holes through him. 

Any night else, you would’ve left it alone, probably. At the very least, get a yell in; at the very least, get his info and give him an angry text the next morning. Tonight, though, you have nothing to lose and a chip on your shoulder. You get up closer to him, in his face as best as you can with the height difference and the close quarters. 

“You wanna take this outside? You can yell where I can actually hear it, my music’s playing too loud!” he smirks, tapping on his stupid earphone, then pointing to the ceiling as the music keeps playing around you, as the people around you still keep dancing and hollering. He starts moving away from you, and you catch a glimpse of all of your friends—the puzzled stares from Ruby, Marina, Alanis, the concerned expression in Tantu’s eyes. You can't pretend to care about what you look like at the moment, except that’s all you care about at the moment. Your once perfect black dress, your mint-condition bag. 

You bring your purse up to your nose—fucking Baco, not even a clear drink that you can get out relatively easily. Maybe if you’d just brought a jacket, you wouldn’t have a Bacardi cola spilled all over everything and ruining your life. You forgot how intense you are when you’re tipsy. 

You follow behind him, practically stomping—you notice that people are parting for you more than they did in the beginning, and it’s likely because of the anger just radiating off of you in waves as you fume. Every once in a while, he turns and sees if you're still following…of course you are. You're not going to let him off the hook that easily. Any of your other friends would handwave it and just go back to partying. You’ve got an agenda, though. 

When you make it out of the club, jostling through what feels like a million people, you're a bit sobered up and it’s so late—it’s so cold. In the lamppost light, you see he’s much taller than you, wearing a heavy jacket and a wrinkled white button-up underneath it, baggy jeans with writing over the crotch. He looks exactly what you’d expect. “I already said I’d pay for your things,” he says, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and offering you one, which you take as you roll your eyes halfway to the back of your head. “You have a stick up your ass.”

You take the cigarette between your fingers, bring it up to your mouth and he cups the end, holding the flame of his lighter to it—it sparks, and you take a long pull before sighing, “It’s gotten me much farther places than you, I know that for sure.” A smile teases on his lips, and you can't help but smile back, your anger already melting away like the snow on the ground. The two of you walk a little ways down, trying to get away from the loud clubbers and failing. It’s peak business right now; you couldn't escape them together even if you tried. 

In your head, you tell yourself that it’s because of the nicotine, the smoke in your lungs, but you have to be real with yourself. Whoever the asshole who ruined your night was, whether he was a friend of a friend or the soundtrack to this club—he has pretty blue eyes and a prettier smile, and you…you are weak. And sobering up and realizing that making a scene was a bit embarrassing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, proudly, smugly, because you'd earned the right to after the way your life has been the past few months. “Sure it has.” Mood ruined again. You walked straight into that. 

Again, you roll your eyes. “I'm not here to try and convince you of my accomplishments.” 

“‘Accomplishments’,” he says, lighting up his own cigarette. “So accomplished but you didn’t bring a coat for this weather. Smart.” 

This makes you realize just how freezing you are, one of your arms hugged close to your body for what little warmth you can muster from it—your dress is quite short, not to mention damp from this guy’s Bacardi cola spilled all over it, and you’re feeling the consequences. Goosebumps line your skin all over, the breath that leaves your mouth is not only smoke but the cold condensation in the chilly air, and you shake your head. 

“I didn’t think I’d have to come out here and yell at you, but here we are.” 

“How much is your dress? Your purse? I'll send you the money and more for your trouble.” 

“I can't just replace vintage,” you fuss, looking down at your outfit. Your purse was once pink and white and Dior-monogrammed—now it is a muddy brown. Still Dior-monogrammed, but uglier. You never thought yourself a fusser—maybe this season of your life has changed you more than you thought. “I got this at a thrift in Berlin, you know how hard that is these days?”

A heavy weight gets put upon your shoulders; his jacket that he places around them wafts the smell of expensive men’s cologne and smoke. You look at him, incredulous; he gives you a quick glance, then averts his gaze. “You're shaking like a dog,” he says, taking a puff from his cig. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” you nod, and he gives you an acknowledging hum. “You don't have to. I was an asshole to you and you give me your jacket.” 

“Don't apologize for something that was my fault.” 

“It was both our fault.” 

The night is silent as it can be—not silent at all with clubbers streaming in and out, the music and the talking leaking to the outside. The two of you are a bit farther away from all the people—everyone is walking the other way to another club or bar to continue their outings. 

“Do you want to sit down? We can exchange info and stuff here. Your shoes look uncomfortable.” 

Now that you’re warm, you realize another thing: your feet are aching tired from the dancing, the minutes of stomping after him. The curb in front of you is damp from the snow, but his jacket is so big on you that it can cover your ass—it’s not like you have much else to lose with this outfit, anyways. You sit and he settles down next to you. The sky is a deep purple canvas marred by light pollution, yet you can still see a few stars. Same stars here, same stars back home. 

Another realization: you’re sitting in a foreign country, in almost silence next to some stranger, smoking a cigarette, wearing his jacket after calling him a dickhead and after he’s implied that you’re some airhead. 

Maybe you're just boring (you're not), but life has never taken you to a place like this before. 

To the side, he stubs out his cigarette, and you take a better look at him. Pink creeps up his neck, and when he turns back, you see how vibrantly rosy his cheeks are. If you're seeing it right, his eyes are a little heavy lidded, probably as a result from all of the alcohol. He has a beauty mark underneath his lip, and his lips are just as pink as his cheeks as he brings another cigarette to his mouth. “Do you want another? Or do you just want to keep staring?” His voice is playful, enough so that you bite your tongue for the quip back. 

“I shouldn't. I’m trying to quit, anyway,” you say, still breathing yours in. He nods and you notice that you can actually see his eyes now—no douchey sunglasses, or whatever you called them in your head back there. “Why aren't you wearing your glasses anymore? The ones you wore inside?”

“I don't need to wear them now that the lights aren’t crazy. It gets very overstimulating in there, the glasses help.” 

“I assume your earphones are for the same reason?” You point at his dangling white earphone, and he nods. “I should try that. Maybe it’ll stop me from yelling at strangers.” 

“Maybe it will help you, too. Want to listen?” 

He offers it to you, tonight’s symbolic olive branch, and you take it. “Sure,” but you take it out of your ear almost as soon as you put it in, the music extremely loud and blaring. “How do you not lose your hearing?” 

“I’ll lose it anyway—YOLO,” he says, shrugging, and amuses you how serious he seems saying it. “YOLO” is a fitting mantra for him. “I'm a performer, anyway, so—YOLO! Accelerate the process.” The music turns down considerably; if you're hearing it right, it sounds like Flemish dad rock, something you'd hear on the radio if you grew up here. 

“YOLO, I guess,” you laugh, and he nods like he’s proud of you, laughing himself. It sounds more like a bark, voice now raspy because of the cigarettes, because of the cold, but it sounds nice. “You’re a performer? What have I seen you in, then?” His appearance is so distinctive—hair so bright it almost glows, eyes reflecting an icy grey from the dark of the footpath in front of you. His style is even more distinctive, all Supreme and Bathing Ape and hype beast brands you’ve never heard of. 

But it is Amsterdam. Curly blonde haired, blue eyed hype beasts are a dime a dozen here. You’ve probably seen him around somewhere, it seems like even your roommates know him pretty well through their scene of creatives—but you can’t seem to connect him to anyone you’ve ever watched or heard before. 

“Let me pull up my music for you.” 

“Soundcloud rapper?” you tease. 

“Adjacent.” 

He takes his phone out of his jeans pocket, and you peer over his shoulder, watching as he scrolls through a different playlist. He looks back at you, smiles, looks at your lips then back up at your eyes—it takes a little out of you to keep from rolling your eyes, it takes a lot out of you to keep your composure when he does it. Ugh. “I don’t know what to play you,” he admits, turning back to his phone. “Feels like you’re just going to mess with me when I do.” 

“I'll try not to. Can't promise anything, though.” 

You put your hand on his shoulder—he feels warm, sturdy, and he’s taking way too long to pick a song out of the apparently many he has under his name. 

Finally, he clicks on a title and it begins playing; 1 second in, you say, “Skip,” just to fuck with him, and it works well—he looks back at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, expression so earnestly incredulous you have to laugh. Your faces are closer than they have been the entire night, but you can't even focus on that as you laugh. “Skip?!” he exclaims, getting closer to you, all up in your face. 

“Yeah, skip,” you giggle, nodding exaggeratedly as you lean into him like he just did to you. He’s so close, and he grins at you as your noses come close to brushing. 

“This is the first song of mine I’ve played the entire time, and you want to skip it.”

Obviously, it isn't actually a skip for you—”Ome Robert,” a really fun song about…sucking dick? Being a god? Either way, it’s incredibly catchy and well produced, but you don’t want to let him know that just yet. “Yeah, I wanna skip it. You’ve gotta have better than this.” 

“I work hard on this song, I release it myself, it goes platinum in the Netherlands, I make it to impress beautiful strangers at the club just like you—and you want to skip it. All that work, what did it even get me?” 

Beautiful. This counts as a win. “I admire your work ethic and I think it’s so commendable that you set up a record label for you and your friends—but it’s a skip, I’m sorry to say.” You shrug, putting your hands in the coat pockets once you stub your cig out. The air is so cold—honestly, you worry for him, his disheveled white button-up the only thing shielding him from the weather now that he’s given you his coat. 

“Tell that to everyone in the club, you saw it back there. You probably even danced to it, too.” 

“Did you have to pay the DJ to get him to play your song?” 

“No, we’ve been friends for years.” 

“Ah, so it’s nepotism. I see,” you state proudly, and he groans.

“Nepotism? I will let you know, I established a record label myself. Fully independent, no nepotism.” 

Though Joost’s tone is annoyed, there’s nothing but an amused grin on his face; you smile back, “Is he signed to your label?” He nods, and there, just as easy, you have another piece of ammo. “Ah, so he’s kissing up to the boss.”

“You—“ he starts, eyebrows furrowing, then stops, shaking his head at you. “I've been talking to you for an hour and I don’t even know your name.”

“We’ve been busy.” 

You offer your name and he repeats it, question mark at the end. You nod and he smiles bigger, if that’s even possible. In the streetlight, his eyes shine, long blonde eyelashes almost covering them. “We’re supposed to meet, did you know that?” 

“Really?” 

“I’m Joost. Friend of Tantu and Alanis. They said they wanted me to meet…their friend’s friend? If you are that. Friend’s roommate?” 

“What a way to meet.” You didn’t think this would be the Joost that Tantu was talking about at the bar, fiery yet sweet making loud and proud music you’d never heard before. 

“We made great first impressions on each other, I think. You are unforgettable.” 

“Mine worse than yours,” you sigh, and Joost hands you his cigarette to smoke the final few puffs. You take it even though you should quit, even though you told him you’re quitting, your lipstick staining the butt. 

“We can put it behind us, yeah?” he says, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Friends?” 

“Acquaintances, for now,” you tease, but shake his hand anyway. “Fuck, dude, your hand is so cold.” Your brows furrow in concern as you squeeze his hand, surprisingly freezing, surprisingly soft save for a few callouses.

Joost laughs smaller than you’ve heard him all night, your hands practically in his lap; his cheeks are glowing pink with how long you’ve been out here—your cheeks are warm, but likely not for the same reason.  

“Acquaintances? Don’t play hard to get.” On instinct, you wrap your other hand around Joost’s in an attempt to warm it. “Your hands are so warm, I appreciate you for trying,” Joost remarks. “Very small, too, Christ.” 

“Oldest trick in the book, Joost, my god,” you laugh, exasperated, yet still, you let him move your hands so they're flat against each other, palms touching. He holds your wrist gently so he can line your hands up; his fingers are much longer and thicker than yours, and the sight brings warmth to your cheeks—it shouldn’t have the effect it does on you, but it does. 

“It’s working, isn’t it?” 

You bring his hand into the coat pocket with yours—it worked enough for you to now willingly share this tiny pocket, that’s for sure. “It’s working,” you say softly, averting your gaze now that you both know that whatever it is is something that’s felt mutually. “Do you do this with every pretty stranger you meet in the club?”

If Joost is a performer like he says he is, a big time independent record label owner like he says he is—there’s sure to be a line of people out the door, or at least a few groupies or someone. Someone in that club who recognized those songs, recognized the mop of blonde hair sitting in front of you now. Over several failed situationships and romps with people this side of Europe, you learned: there is always someone. Someone who’s less busy, less distracted, more interested. 

You know you fit the bill for the interested part, at least—less busy is something you’ll be for a short time, less distracted…well, you have your full attention on him right now, don’t you? It’s been so long since you’ve done something like this, maybe you’re just feening for an excuse to check your own boxes for him, maybe you want to do this for the sake of the line out the door or the groupies. 

Or maybe he’s just Joost. Whoever Joost is, considering you just met him. And maybe you just want him to keep holding your hand, or talk to you more, show you more of his music or go back home with you, slip into your bed, stay until the morning. 

“I can't say I have. I’ve never had a conversation like this with anyone, really, so it wouldn’t even be worth it if I did,” Joost says. Your faces are close again—you would bridge the gap if you just let yourself, but you can’t; you can only muster the courage to let your noses brush against each other, only the courage to smile. “Can I kiss you?”

It seems, he’s checked your boxes for you. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” you scoff, though you lean in at the same time. Joost leans back when you do, teasing grin upon his lips, and you furrow your brows, shaking your head. “Don’t play hard to get,” you mumble as he untangles your fingers in your coat pocket, takes your face in his cold and gentle hands and presses his lips to yours. 

He tastes like cigarette smoke; his Bacardi cola on your dress and your shoes, and now the taste on your tongue; he tastes like smiling into a kiss with a pretty stranger, the way you both do now. 

Joost kisses like he’s scared to broach you, like it’s the first time he’s been delicate in a while—you kiss like you’re hungry for him, because you are, not a single care about your lipstick on his face or the people walking past or the fact that he’s a stranger. His hand slips under your coat, gripping your hip as you pull him closer by the lapel; you beckon him to kiss you harder when you let him lick into your mouth and you lick back. 

It’s your turn to pull back, come up for air; Joost chases you when you leave, hand running down your body as you go to stand up, a soft little, “what no” leaving his mouth when you do. The look on his face—his face!!! Fuck.—is so cute, big wide eyes and hand on the back of your thigh. You cup his face (is this too tender?), rub your thumb at the edge of his lips where your lipstick has smudged in an attempt to clean it off. Turning his head, he kisses your palm, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Wordlessly, he gets up, stands next to you. “What the fuckkkk!!!” he whisper yells, gesturing wildly, and the street echoes the sentiment back. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, laughing, and then stumbling because he’s gotten you in his arms again, kissing you, stumbling with you back against the brick wall of the building behind you as he laughs into your mouth to your whining between giggles about how he almost made you trip. 

Caged between his arms, you wrap yours around his neck so you can get up higher to kiss him—“I don’t regret spilling my drink on you at all,” Joost mumbles when you kiss his chin, nip at his jaw, go down to suck at his pulse point and nip at it too. “Can I touch you like this?” he whispers, and you nod as he brings his hands down to your ass, presses you harder against the wall, grinds against you as you kiss him breathless again. 

When Joost pulls away, you know—you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Breathing almost heavy, pink lips dropped open, face more serious than he’s been the entire night and scanning your features in a way that is truly disarming—you don't want to admit it, but Joost has got you wrapped around his finger, too. 

A group of people from the club pass behind—you hear a few whispers of, “Is dat Joost?” and a few wolf whistles. Someone gives him a few congratulatory claps on the shoulder which he cringes at, giving you an apologetic smile. “Don’t listen to them.” Once more, he kisses you.

“Your place?” he breathes, and you sputter for a response. This is going a bit too well. Your silence seems to speak for you, but really, you're just thinking about if your room is clean, if your everything shower was enough, if you’re ready to do this with him. “Too much?” he winces, giving you a weak smile, and you shake your head. 

“No, no, my place is fine—my roommates might be home, though.”

“I can be quiet.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” 

“It’s a half-truth.” 

“I’ll take that.” 

—

After a kilometre walk the direction of your house chock full of giggles and pauses to keep kissing against brick walls, dark store fronts, alley entrances, you finally make it back to your house. 

You hurry up the icy steps to your townhome, taking Joost by the hand as he trips his way up the flight. “Schat,” he breathes, and the pet name makes your heart skip a beat, “My house was closer the other direction.”  

“You suggested my place, Joost,” you laugh as you unlock your door and step in your warm foyer—you wave him in, kicking your heels off and stepping onto the cold wood floor as he does the same with his shoes. 

Closing the door behind you, you listen for a beat…voices. The walls are so thin here, you’re unsure if the sounds come from your next door neighbours or your potentially home roommates. Either way, you bring a finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. In his normal voice, he says, “I’ll be quiet,” and you laugh together at his volume—neither of your roommates would care, but the teasing you'll receive tomorrow if they knew it was Joost you were bringing home…endless. 

“Come, now,” you say, taking Joost’s hand and leading him up your steps, down the hallway to your room.

Your home is tiny and cozy and lived in—the three of you have worked very hard to make this feel like a household instead of just a shared living situation, frames lining the walls of your antics and travels together, baby pictures from home, posters of music artists and movies that one or all of you like. Joost lags behind you trying to look at them, but you just pull him along. Waiting any longer feels like a travesty. 

Once you get down the hallway, open and close your door, you push him up against your door and kiss him again to his surprise, your teeth clacking together from his smile and your enthusiasm. “You want me that bad, huh?” he teases, and you roll your eyes. 

The answer is yes, but you’re not going to let him know that yet. 

You room is as tiny as the rest of the house, a queen bed in the middle with off-white sheets, a desk on the far side, a dresser with a mirror when you walk in. 

“I don’t do things like this very often,” you mumble, fumbling with his angular belt buckle between your fingers, the cold metal of it and the jagged edges of the plate spelling “ALBINO” in a stylized font. 

“Me neither,” Joost breathes as he tries to help you, but ends up fumbling with it, too. “Holy fuck, if I knew this would be so hard to take off, I wouldn’t have worn it.” 

“Cool belt, nonetheless,” you say, and he kisses you thanks. 

“It’s the name of my album,” Joost beams as he finally gets it unclasped, pulling it through his belt loops. You undo his button, unzip the zipper, he does the rest, clumsily pulling down his pants slightly. “We should listen to it.” 

“Later.” From here, as you palm him over his underwear, feel his length through it, you can tell—he’s big. “You should’ve told me you were hiding this back there, maybe I wouldn’t have argued with you as much.”

“I was afraid you would’ve clutched your pearls if I did, schat, the way you yelled at me.” 

“You would be right,” you agree, knowing you would’ve probably thrown a drink in his face if he made some remark about his dick size to you in the midst of your argument. “But if you told me, we probably wouldn’t have sat out there for so long.”

“I wouldn’t have given up that conversation for the world.” 

From anyone else, these words would be hyperbole; strangely, from Joost, they feel true. it feels like you know him already, and he knows you. Perhaps it’s the result of having such a circle of a venn diagram of friends and acquaintances. Perhaps you did know him from a different time and you just forgot.  

“Me neither,” you agree softly, smiling into the kiss you give him as you reach into his boxers and wrap your hand around his hard cock. He’s just as thick as you thought. 

“Fuck,” Joost breathes into your mouth already, and you watch him and his face contort in pleasure as you jerk him lazily in his underwear just for the added sensation of the fabric rubbing against him. Gazing at your lips, eyebrows furrowing, chest moving up and down and breathing heavy, he says softly, “I haven’t done this in…a year? A year and a half? So please, have mercy on me.” 

“Go home with someone? Me too.” You figure that it makes sense—any fling he has is probably on the road, in hotel rooms, anywhere but home. You're not exactly welcoming guests on Friday nights either, but you’re holed up in it 24/7. 

“No, I mean—any of it. I don't do casual often, at all, really.” 

You scoff lightheartedly, “Yeah, sure.” 

“I’m serious,” Joost smiles as you take his length out of his boxers and get on your knees, the plush carpet cushioning you.  

You don’t do one night stands and you certainly don’t do them with self proclaimed “performers,” yet here you are. 

Now in front of you, his cock in your hand, you make complete peace with your decision, and it’s easy to do so. 

He is so pretty—all pale, the tip a delicate rosy pink and leaking wet, a vein running along the underside. It’s nestled in a thicket of lightly trimmed dark blonde hair; you give him a few pumps, running your thumb over the head for some lubrication when you do. 

“Won't listen to my music, but you’ll do this, ridiculous,” Joost says quietly, hand on your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

“You’re still on that? Big ego, shocker.”

“Obviously not a shock, you’re holding it.”

In shock at his audacity, you gasp dramatically. “Don’t get cocky, now. You still needed to beg me for streams earlier.”

You give a kiss on the pink tip, salty precum coating your lips. A perfect moment passes when you look back up at him—he rolls his head back in pleasure, a quieted moan slipping past his lips at your tongue finally on him, just one lick to the slit but enough to get him a little louder. 

His cock twitches in your hand, and you grin, kitten licks to his shaft, “Too much?” 

Joost says breathlessly, “I think my knees will buckle sometime tonight, schat,” and you beam up at him. 

“That’s a big compliment,” you purr, taking the head of his cock into your mouth and sucking lightly, which earns a strangled groan for you, a curse under his breath. With every bob of your head, you take a tiny bit more, about half—you're ambitious, but who can blame you when Joost is so pretty? Struggling to keep it together, his stomach muscles jumping and twitching with every hollowing of your cheeks, every drag of your tongue along the underside of his shaft. 

Joost’s hand comes up to the back of your head, just resting there gently as you swallow down his cock, dripping spit on your chin; it hits the back of your throat and you almost gag, having to pull back and pump him a few times, the shiny head now a deeper pink. 

“You like it that much, hm?” he says, moving your hair out of your eyes as you lick a stripe along the underside.

“When you make those sounds—yeah, I do.” You lap at a bead of precum dripping from his slit, and it makes him hiss; it makes him groan even more when you pop the head into your mouth and suck again. 

Involuntarily, he thrusts just a little in your mouth—”Can I do this?” Joost asks, and you nod around him. He’s gentle when he starts, and you prepare to take more of him by breathing through your nose.

He makes these little thrusts into your mouth that make your eyes water, shallow as you suck around him, steady with one hand on your head. With every thrust into your open mouth, he breathes heavier, his pretty lips are dropped open. Spit pools at the sides of your mouth; one long seat into your throat, followed by another, and you gag around him, making him groan loudly. “Holy shit, schat,” Joost breathes, and you feel accomplished. “Enough of that, I think I’ll cum.”

With his hand, Joost wipes your spit from your chin gently; brings you up to meet him for a sloppy kiss, which you smile into as he reaches around to your dress zipper, pulls it down a few inches, rough fingertips against your soft back. You start undoing the buttons of his button-up for him, fumbling just as you did earlier with his belt. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to slow down around him. 

The zipper catches and you miss a button on the way down, both of you entirely too distracted by kissing like it’s a competition, like you want to eat each other—thankfully, you get all of them undone, and so you run your hands down Joost’s chest covered in hair, his happy trail, back down to his cock again. It makes him falter as he brings down your zipper but he manages to do it, fingers light as a feather running down your spine, nudging your dress down. 

Erratic and wild as the man in front of you, your heart beats a million miles an hour, your hands in his hair as he pulls down your dress completely and it crumples onto the floor. 

Joost pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips, pupils blown out and wide as he scans your body, your breasts and your pebbling nipples. You move your arms in front of them, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t be shy,” he laughs softly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed—“ he moves your hand over his heart—it beats as fast as yours, and you give him a small smile. “I’m nervous, too.” A kiss that seems to calm your nerves. “Can’t believe someone pretty as you would take me home.” 

He rubs your back, and already you feel comforted—how is this the same guy who spilled his drink all over you? “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Do you forget how your dress is still very sticky because of yours truly?” 

You laugh together as he kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, then kisses your lips slow and achingly gentle, licking into your mouth and rolling your nipple gently between his two fingers, his other hand cupping your cheek. He drags his tattooed knuckles down the curve of your breast, making your breath catch in your throat, a small whine falling from your mouth when he runs them down your stomach, fingertips down over the lacy black fabric of your thong, down more and teasing at your covered clit. 

“Get on the bed,” Joost murmurs, and you practically scramble to it before he stops you with a loose grip around your wrist. “Woah, woah, woah.” With a puzzled expression, you turn back to him. “We can’t have them watching, what?” he says, gesturing at your bed. Staring back at you with gigantic embroidered blue eyes: three of your cat plushies placed upon your pillows from earlier when you made your bed. You weren’t exactly planning on guests tonight. “Blasphemous, no? They can look out the window.” Scooting behind you and to the bed, Joost scoops up the three, climbing over it to your desk facing outside. The moonlight streams in through your curtains as he sits them in a line and turns them around. “Much better.”

“Much better,” you repeat, laughing. On your now clear bed, you lie back and lean over. Opening the lower drawer on your nightstand, you rummage around for the box of condoms you know is somewhere in here but is covered by notepads, extra pens, random pouches filled with indeterminate belongings. Under a folder filled with paperwork and old assignments, you find the box, opened but largely untouched except for one used for a 4th date Hinge guy from months and months ago who didn’t even make you cum. 

You dig the box out and hold it out to him. Settling between your legs, Joost says, “Not yet,” taking it out of your hands and placing it on the nightstand. “I want to taste you, schat, I’ve been wanting to all night.” 

…Eating it already? You’ve declared that Joost is ran through, but you find yourself caring less and less with how enthusiastic he is. Still, though, there’s a part of you that’s apprehensive about letting him see all of you so soon. 

“Joost,” you blush, closing your legs. He moves them so he can see your face, and your cheeks grow hotter as you reason, “We just met.”

“And?” Tilting his head to the side, Joost scoffs. “We’re already naked in your bed, schat.” 

He makes a good point, but still…you’ve never had anyone offer to do it on the first link. “I don’t know…You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You just put my dick in your mouth, it’s only fair I do something in return.” Just a little, you part your legs for him; slowly, he takes a place between them, gaze disarming as he comes to lie on his stomach and rests his cheek on your thigh, giving it a chaste kiss. So convincing, but you don’t really need to be convinced, do you? “I will make it worth your while, baby.” 

Soft mewls come out of you inadvertently when Joost noses at your inner thigh, sucks at the sensitive skin. “We could just move on—that is perfectly fine, too. But I could give you even more of a good time if we do this.” 

“You talk big game, Joost,” you laugh. With his age and strange tattoos and his bleach-damaged hair and his expensive attire, you expect Joost to be bad at…all of it, really, but he’s only subverted your expectations tonight without having the chance to fully even touch you yet. 

“I wouldn’t do so if I couldn’t prove it to you.” Joost presses a chaste kiss over your panties, over your clit, and somehow, your heart ups gears, beating unsteadily. “And if I didn’t want it so bad,” he adds in a low voice. Completely different from the smiling, pink-nosed boy you saw in him earlier, Joost is hungry for you, the look in his eyes telling you everything you need to know about the veracity of his words. “If you don’t want me to see, I’ll close my eyes—for now, we can just do this.” 

Whoever had him last must have trained him well.

Lathing his tongue over you, Joost spreads his spit over the cloth of your thong, soaking the fabric even more than it already is as he holds your gaze. One arm is hooked around your thigh; the other hand, you’re not entirely sure, but judging from how heavy he’s breathing, how desperate he looks as he eats you out over your panties, the movement of his arm—he’s touching himself, and you wonder if he can feel how much more wet you become at the idea that he is. 

A few hours ago, thought yourself unshakeable in the face of him—now you’re a squirming puddle in his hands. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—but I promise—“ Joost says, big blue eyes shining at you, hands now clasped together as if he’s begging for it—you figure that he is begging for it, technically, and who are you to deny him the opportunity? “Do you really not want it?” Though he’s giving you an out, he sounds so resigned, and it makes you smile a little. 

From the sidewalk, your front steps, the threshold of your room, you wanted Joost badly; wanted him even after considering all the outcomes of this: a waste of a free night, or an hour or two with an overconfident and underperforming boaster before you shoo him away, or a sweet but egotistical rapper in your tidy bedroom putting plushies on top of your university textbooks and leaving his clothing on your floor. 

Despite yourself, you want him. The confirmation that he wants you just as badly, too—the air in your room is charged with electricity, warm and stuffy almost even with the cold outside. You haven’t felt something so strong in forever, too distracted by work and school and life to really care about your body’s needs, even less so what it wanted. 

Joost is exactly what you want. 

“No, no, please,” you breathe, already lowering the side of your thong. “I want you, please, Joost.”

The confidence feels more like giving permission to yourself to be so vulnerable with Joost. No one has seen you this intimately in months (feels like years) and definitely not after such short time together. 

“Okay, schat. Okay,” Joost says, pressing one last kiss over your underwear before helping you pull it off. When you kick it off somewhere on the ground next to the bed, he screws his eyes shut dramatically, and you laugh. 

“You can open your eyes, you know?”

“Hey, I said I would keep them closed for you, I’m not going to break my promise.” He shakes his head, moving forward to kiss…somewhere, you’re not really sure, but it ends up being the junction between your leg and your center, which tickles you. 

“Break it, I don’t care.”

“If you say so.” Joost shrugs, then opens his eyes. Already, it’s as if he’s trying to study you, and it makes you want to hide. Against your better judgment, you open your legs wider for him to have more room, and he gives you a small grin. “Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk,” Joost says softly, one tentative lick up your seam that makes you shudder. Your cheeks feel warm with how reactive you are to him. Synapses overloaded with his skillful tongue teasing at your clit through your lips, parting them slightly with his fingers—you don't even have it in you to translate what he said to English in your head. “Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig,” he groans, laying his tongue flat against the bud, lapping at it a few times, smacking his lips loudly against you. 

He wraps his lips around your clit, making you moan loudly at how good it feels; you tug at his sweaty blonde hair, and he laughs, he laughs with his mouth on your pussy, and the vibrations of his deep voice make you go crazy. Already, you feel your climax about to approach—in the whirlwind of your busy life, you had no time at all for any self-love, and you guess that your heightened sensitivity is a direct result of that. 

Or maybe Joost is just that good. 

You watch Joost as he devours you slowly, eyes trained on yours and unflinching, arms hooked around your plush thighs and holding you down—even if you wanted to, you couldn’t get away from him. 

When he reaches his right arm up to paw at your breast, you can’t help but notice—“You—is that Crazy Frog?” Crazy Frog tattoo?!?! On his forearm of all places?!?! Who exactly are you sleeping with? You are entirely and endlessly entertained and intrigued by the stranger you’ve picked up tonight. 

“You know Crazy Frog?!” Joost exclaims, pulling back from you with a pop that makes you moan, lips glistening as he sits up a tiny bit. 

“Yes, I know Crazy Frog, Joost.” You laugh, amused if not a little puzzled at the notion that Crazy Frog could be some niche reference for anyone who’s used Youtube in the last 15 years or born before 2003. 

“I thought you would be too fancy to know him, I’m glad you aren’t.” 

“I may have a stick up my ass, but that doesn’t mean I live under a rock.” 

“Great,” Joost smiles, climbing up over you to give you a quick kiss before you gasp at two of his fingers circling your clit. “Then we will get along just fine.” Kiss to your cheek, and he’s back on you again.

The pause in stimulation makes you more sensitive, somehow, and when he immediately sucks your clit hard, it punches the air out of your lungs—you clench your thighs around his ears, but it just makes him suck harder. In the matter of a minute, your orgasm is coaxed out of you by Joost and his wonderful mouth, your moans no longer quiet and subdued; you have to cover your mouth with your hands, but it’s no use when he keeps licking your swollen clit on your comedown, every stroke of his tongue bringing intense waves of pleasure surging through you, making you sob out his name like your neighbours won’t have it memorized by the time tomorrow comes. 

Joost pulls away from your pussy slightly when you finally release all of the tension in your thighs, your body, letting your vice grip on his blonde hair go. Every part of you feels like jelly as you try to catch your breath, sweat on your brow, the pulse between your legs strong and steady as a result of the beautiful man lying between them. 

“You want another?” Joost asks, wiping his mouth, then giving you a wet kiss on your overstimulated clit that makes you curse his name to his raucous laughter. “I can give you another, I could do this forever if you asked.”

“No, no need, that’s very much enough, thank you,” you say, shaking your head. If you could stand not to have him inside you for one more minute, you’d take him up on his offer. “That was too good.” 

“Dank je wel,” he grins, then kisses you, your own flavour on his lips and his on yours. 

“Graag gedaan,” you giggle in your crappy accent and he kisses you again. 

“Wowww, fluent. Very impressive, schat.” Joost nods, giving you a small round of applause, and you roll your eyes but pull him in for another kiss anyway. He moves to sit down so you sit on top of him—his cock is still hard as it was before, a small wet spot on your sheets next to you from where he laid down. 

The feeling he gives you, it’s inexplicable—all those days writing reports and essays, brainstorming and editing, thousands and thousands of words upon paper, and Joost has rendered you speechless in mere hours. No sound between you—no jabs, no complaints or thinly veiled flirty insults, just your shared breaths in your bedroom, just the dull shuffle of your now messed up comforter against your sheets as you reach over and rip off a condom from the sleeve, the box falling over and onto the floor. 

For once, you don’t quite care; you only care about ripping the wrapper, taking it out, pinching the tip of the condom, rolling it down his hard cock as you kiss him open-mouthed and thoughtless.  

“All fours,” Joost whispers, and you let yourself follow his lead after so long having to be in complete control of your life. It feels good being with him, feels good when he places your legs far apart and you settle on your elbows, back arching. You’re so exposed like this—you almost flinch when he dips his fingers into your dripping folds. You turn your head to look back, let him see you and your face as he teases your clit. “Who would have thought?”

“Thought what?” you breathe, wiggling your ass back against his hand. 

“Nothing to say? No teasing?” 

“I’ve done my teasing.” You already knew Joost’s hands were big—but when he wraps them around your hips and pulls you to him gently, the size of them is stark, so warm and gripping you tightly. He comes closer behind you, his thighs behind your ass, dragging the tip of his cock through your slit with a groan. “Joost,” you sigh in a small voice, so overcome by your need for him. “Please, I need you, please fuck me.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.”

With a few more swipes of his cock through your wetness, a few circles of the head against your clit that make arousal pool in your stomach and between your legs, he finally inches it inside of you just a little. 

He’s going so slow, and you—you've never been so impatient in your life. You slide back for him, loud moans coming from the two of you at the fast stimulation, his cock dragging against your walls as you  take him deeper. “Oh my god,” you whisper as he eases more of himself into you, then leans over you, chest pressed against your sweat-sheened back and a hand snaking around to knead your tits. 

“‘Ik ben een god,’ I guess,” Joost says into your ear with a laugh, and you can't help but laugh too, even with all the ego dripping from quoting his own song calling him a god while he’s fully inside of you. 

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to flatter myself,” he says, and the grin in his voice is absolutely diabolical; he says it with a hard thrust into you, which you moan at, the way his cock hits your spot so amazingly, your eyes almost roll back into your head. Every nerve in your body is electric, so many months without use, without stimulation, Joost is a shock to your system. “You do it enough for me.” 

You practically hide your face in the sheets as he falls into a rhythm thrusting into you at an angle so deep inside you could cry—you would never let Joost have that satisfaction, though, so you bite your lip and revel in the pleasure. Every steady seat of his cock inside you, every single breathy moan that falls from his mouth, every whispered murmur of your name accompanied by his hands roaming your back. 

The sticky slap of his balls against your clit, the wet sound coming from your pussy so filthy it could take you out of this dizzying haze. Really, it sends you in deeper, burying you in it the way he’s burying himself inside of you. 

“Fuuuck,” you drag out as you grip your sheets for any leverage, eyebrows furrowing with his hands gripping tightly on your hips to bring you back onto his cock. “Joost, like that.” The pace he's set for you both is aggravatingly perfect—you think you might want it forever. 

“You sound so pretty saying my name like that, baby, do it again.”

“Joost,” you mewl, eyebrows scrunching that you’re letting him have what he wants. You start to say it again, but as you do—he sinks into you so quickly, so hard, then starts sliding out of you so slow you let out a strangled sob. You can’t say anything else when he continues fucking into you, only letting out stifled sighs with every movement. 

“So much to say earlier, now look at you. It’s okay, I know it’s good, liefje,” he says softly. 

“So good,” you murmur, the drag of his thick cock in and out of your pussy bringing you almost to the edge as you collapse your torso onto the bed, so exhausted with the endless dopamine hit you’ve managed to score with Joost—almost to the edge until he ceases his movements completely as he’s fully inside you. 

“Schat,” Joost breathes, and you turn around and pout at him, completely (and justifiably) annoyed at the stoppage of his wonderful hips. 

“Fuck you, why'd you stop?” you ask, propping yourself back up on your elbows and shaking your head. 

Joost leans over you, lips on the nape of your neck, so you turn your head. “Fuck you,” he says, and you kiss him as he laughs. He’s so full of it—You’re so full of him, a comfortable pressure inside of you and snug against your spot. “You need me to hold you up? You can lie down if you want, schat, maybe it will feel even better.”

“Yeah, hold me up.” At your wish, he stands you both up on your knees as he supports your stomach; one hand wrapped around your waist and the other snaking down, down between your legs. 

You’re sure that this will collapse you once more—you don’t mind. He resumes thrusting into you, breathing into your neck, kissing your shoulder. The wet slaps of skin against skin, the sighs and the breaths and his raspy voice in your ear when he finally touches your sensitive clit alongside the firm movements of his hips. “Let it out, lieverd, I know,” Joost murmurs into your neck as you sob in pleasure; there isn’t a single second of reprieve he gives you, not even slowing the circles he’s making on your sloppy clit. 

You don't have it in yourself to argue; not against the ego or his wandering hands and his voice you’d deem condescending if you were still arguing on the stoop in front of the bar earlier—Joost is right, it is good, and this angle he has thrusting up into you is mind blowing, even as the rhythm becomes irregular and disjointed as he kisses and bites the side of your neck. 

Your heart beats ever faster, the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens with every languid and messy thrust inside of you. You reach behind yourself to hold onto Joost around his shoulders, gripping his hair as you bring him in for a rough kiss, all teeth and carnality—you were so composed, once upon a time. He’s given you every reason to forget that. 

“Oh, fuck, schatje,” he mumbles into your mouth. You pull back to look at Joost in his glory—he’s even prettier like this, messy and sweaty, patches of pink all along his cheeks and neck, eyes focused and almost stern. “My hand is cramping,” he says, and you laugh when he adds quickly, “And you also feel amazing, but also my hand is cramping.” 

“Keep going, I'm almost there,” you say, and he obeys, still rubbing your clit, your wetness smearing on your pussy and his hand. “Do it for me, Joost, you feel so good,” you breathe, and he nods, kissing you deeply—it hits you before you even register it, takes you off guard when you climax and you have to pull back from him to moan his name, looking him in the eye when you do. 

You’re never this loud—it’s very vulnerable realizing how much he’s coaxed out of you, Joost watching intently, soft smile upon his lips at your clenching pussy around him as the waves of your orgasm come through you, practically leg shaking. 

He kisses you quiet again; kisses you until it’s his turn, thrusting sloppily into you, the overstimulation stinging, but so good still. 

He whimpers your name, and you contemplate asking him to give you another orgasm; he whimpers again into your neck, just a soft vocalization against the still filthy sounds of the final few thrusts he can give you as he cums, the warmth you can feel through the condom flooding your pussy. 

When he stills, Joost places his forehead against yours, and you breathe together in silence—if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of you have been with each other for years. 

“I’m really surprised I lasted that long, schat,” Joost breathes, and you laugh, watching his face as he grins at you 

“I’m surprised, too,” you tease, giving him one last kiss and untangling yourself from him; he’s still inside you, softening with every passing moment. When he slips out of you, you hiss—it feels empty, how sad. 

“Hey, mean.” You flop down on your bed, completely spent, sweaty, still wet between your legs and watching as he takes off the condom, ties it off, and throws it in your waste bin. “I showed you a good time, didn’t I?” 

“I’m not sure,” you tease when Joost comes back to sit next to you, putting his underwear back on with an annoyed rolling of eyes. “Maybe you’ll have to show me one next time?”

“Next time, huh?” he smiles, slipping his shirt on from the pile on the floor, starting to button it up. “Ehh, I’ll think about it,” he says, and you slap him lightly on the shoulder. 

“You’re a dick, Joost.” Joost cackles as you barrage him with a bunch of weak punches to his shoulder and back, getting your revenge for the dress and your purse, for him being a rapper and a fuckboy and the giver of the best dicking down of your life. You try not to let it kill your vibe—it likely will later, but for now, you can just be silly about it. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

“The door next to mine.” 

Closing your eyes, you lie back on your bed, half expecting him to just dip, hoping he’s not that much of a fuckboy. But a few minutes pass, and there’s a soft knock to your door, and Joost steps gently into your room again with a glass of water and a washcloth in his hands. 

“Did you think I would just leave?” Joost asks, coming around to your side of the bed and handing you the glass. “Glassie water!” he says in a singsong voice, and you look at him puzzled as you thank him. “You’ll understand when you listen to my music more.” 

“‘When…’” you laugh as he gives you an offended look and nudges your legs open. The washcloth is cold when he places it on your skin and you wince, shaking off his apologies about the water’s temperature because it’s sweet that he’d even do this in the first place. 

As Joost cleans you up, delicate and gentle as ever, he says softly, “I will send you whatever money it takes to clean your purse, I will give you my number, and I’ll send you my schedule for the next month. Okay?” 

“Schedule? You sure it’s not filled with other strangers from the club?” 

“It’s not, I swear. You’re going to come to one of my festival shows this month, and you're going to like it.” Joost leans in and you expect a kiss for some reason, but he just takes the glass from your hand and drinks from it himself. A free festival pass doesn't sound so bad. “Ruby and Marina are back. I said hi.” 

“Oh god,” you laugh, covering your face. “What’d they say?” 

“They were surprised you took me home, but apparently they won a bet with Tantu, so—we did something good, I think!” 

“You think?” 

“I know!” You laugh at his…everything, really, sinking down in your comfy bed, realizing how heavy your eyelids are, realizing that you still haven't even exchanged numbers or last names. Does it matter this far in? “I think I should get going, schat. The sun is rising.” 

In the middle of his sentence, you practically drift off into slumber, pulling your covers over your bare body. “It’s cold, stay.” You pat at the spot next to you. “But not for too long.” 

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) askbox hereeee - juno

[ftmkinki]

Update all text in red before posting

Edit: this isnt complete, pls feel free to ignore

I love the idea of buying a house thats SOOOOO cheap because of reports of "ghosts". And then, having very kinky experiences with them ;) so i wrote a story about it!

FTM!Reader x ghosts you/your they/them pronouns only

Cnc, free use, bondage, ghosts (obviously), tags updated as i write more

Nsft under the cut 💗💗

You scoff at the idea that such a good house was sold for a meager 20,000 because of stupid rumors. It was big, didnt need repairs, had a beautiful fenced in garden, was in the perfect location, good neighborhood, far enough away from neighbors that you can be loud without consequences but close enough to get to everything easily. You kept an eye out for what was really wrong all through the moving process, but nothing showed. It really was just horrible reputation that gave you your absolute dream home!

You had all your stuff moved from your previous apartment (and your parents/friends place because there was ZERO storage in your apartment) and after a long long day of setting up, your bedroom and living room were ready for you to spend your first night there!

That night you decide to really treat yourself. Destress in the best way a single person can in your opinion. You get dressed up in your sexiest lingerie top and pair it with a set of peek a boo panties and thigh highs with garters, a collar, and grab a pair of nipple clamps (with attaching chain) and a bullet vibe. After everything is on you in just the way you like and the vibe is securely affixed (but off) to your tdick with body safe tape you start to prepare for a proper welcome to your new house.

As soon as you bend over to peel back the blankets and get ready, you feel a spectral hand caress your ass. You shoot up, shocked and a little afraid. You see nothing behind you when you turn around though.... after a tense moment you decide it was the wind and the stress of moving that made you think that; and set about continuing the final setup of your destress night.

You're arranging pillows and setting the mood, when suddenly your bullet vibe turns on, causing you to moan loudly and bend over until your torso was resting on the bed. You feel a spectral hand trail appreciatively down your nack, fingers catching on the edges of your lingerie until the hand smooths slowly down your ass, ending the motion with a firm grab.

"I never thought this house would be bought with me still in it," a husky and excited voice said, "but if this is what i can look forward to at night, i dont think i really mind."

"Who are you!?! Wh-" abruptly your ring gag was roughly placed in your mouth. You could feel spectral hands forcing it in place as the excited voice said

"Shhhhh, you're just gonna be our warm fleshlight from now on thats it baby. You even did such a good job prepping yourself for us like a good slut. Now just let us take it from here"

You were still confused and a little scared, but they seemed to add to your arousal not detracting from it. You let out a whimper and begin looking for the other people in the "we" equasion. Nothing showed.

But right when you were going to make a confused noise you felt a spectral cock

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free (Teaser)

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Vegas, something that his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of every second of his life being planned by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Notes: What can I say? We got all the tropes in this bad boy, because I don’t know when I can write again, so let’s put everything in this sucker and call it a day! This is canon-ish. I included some real-life events during this period, but it may or may not be loosely rearranged to fit the narrative - just go with it. Ginger Yoongi, because this is the LOOK I don’t give a damn what haters say. I have not written in a decade and this is me attempting to pick things back up, I hope you like it xo

BTW, the teaser scene is inspired by that leaked video of the BTS tour crew’s  private party in Vegas. It’s here if you want to see it. Enjoy! xo

Read the teaser under the cut!

!!!! Edit: Read Part 1 here !!!!

P.S. Leave a comment to be part of the taglist 🙂

***

"Yoongi, marry me!" You shout at the top of your lungs, earning laughs from the people around you. On the other side of the room, a couple of other people shout the same catchphrase, including Taehyung, who seems to get the most kick out of it out of all the members.

Coerced to do one of those Tik Tok dance challenges, Yoongi stands in front of the room, hides his face behind his hands and you watch in delight as he awkwardly sways his hips side to side. More cheers erupt and two seconds after he decides he was done.

"Hajimaaaa!" Your friend says to no one and everyone, cheeks burning as he stalks back to the chair he was occupying across yours.

You push his beer bottle towards him, "Good job, gramps."

"Fuck off," he says with no real bite, taking a long swig off his drink to cool off his reddened cheeks.

It's great to finally get some down time with the crew. After such a fast-paced, high production tour, everybody needed to blow off some steam. This Korean BBQ restaurant off the Strip was the perfect venue to get the team together for samgyupsal and drinks. The vibes were, as the kids say, immaculate.

You are already sufficiently buzzed so you sit down as Seokjin takes his turn to do the challenge. He really seems to be more into it than the man currently giving you a look.

"I heard you." He narrows his eyes at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What? It's the new viral catchphrase," you shrugged. "Everybody and their grandma is saying it these days."

"Not their grandma."

"You should be flattered."

Stop, you thought he would say. But his response catches you off guard.

"Only ‘cause you said it."

And he has the audacity to lick his bottom lip, a ghost of a smirk forming.

Fuck. Your throat dries up. When did it get so hot here?

“And in case you were wondering…” he leans forward, a dopey-ass grin now on his face. “The answer is yes.”

***

WHAT DO WE THINK? Join the taglist by leaving a comment so I can let you know when this story drops.

Tag: @jajabro @yooglefics

[schrodingers-romy]

Jilted (not) Lover [Mitsuya Takashi x Reader]

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x GN!Reader Word Count: ~2,100 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Takashi is your best friend (who you have some more than friendly feelings for); so you don't understand why he never seems to want to spend time with you anymore.

Warnings: mild misunderstandings, kissing, no gendered terms for reader; reader is a bit insecure, and Takashi is a little less emotionally mature than normal.

Notes: wasn't feeling good so I finally sat down and wrote an idea I've had for a while. Probably needs more editing but I want to let it finally fly free

You thought nothing of barging into your best friend’s room; after all, he gave you a spare key for a reason. “Takashi!” you called excitedly. “They let me off work early today! Do you wanna maybe go out and do something? I heard there was a new—”

You were cut off before you could even finish. “I’m sorry,” Takashi said, not even bothering to raise his eyes from the patterns in front of him. “I really need to finish this today.”

“Oh,” you said, deflating slightly. “Well, I could just hang around here if you want some company. I can help too!”

Still, you received barely any acknowledgement. “I’ve got it, I just need to focus. I’ll see you later, though.”

Your smile felt brittle. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll go see Yuzuha then. Don’t forget to show me your new design when you’re done.”

The door clicked shut softly behind you.

Later, you heard from Yuzuha that Takashi went out to the arcade with Hakkai that same day. You were hurt, but you wanted to think the best. Takashi probably just finished early and assumed you were busy. It was nothing.

Except it wasn’t.

-

Ever since the two of you met in middle school, you had never gone more than a few days without hanging out. Throughout high school you basically lived at his house, becoming almost like another sibling to his sisters. Even once you both graduated and got different jobs, the two of you spent most of your free time together. (Enough time together for you to develop a horrible infatuation with him, at the very least.)

And yet, for two weeks straight Takashi had been completely blowing you off.

He was always busy with last minute designs, or he had to take his sisters to something, or he already had plans with Draken or Hakkai or the old Toman members. Normally, he would ask you to tag along, but he barely talked to you other than to let you know he couldn’t see you or spend time with you.

You never said anything, keeping a nonchalant tone around him. But god, did it hurt. You didn’t know what you did wrong to deserve this treatment; you couldn’t remember anything. Maybe he had just finally gotten tired of you and was trying to let you down easy.

You did your best to ignore those thoughts. It’s Takashi, you thought. If there was something wrong, he would communicate with you. It was probably nothing. (You needed to tell yourself that to keep from breaking down.)

-

Even though your relationship with Takashi was at a standstill, you still talked to his sisters.

Today, you had come over to make the girls lunch before they left to go hang out with their friends. Takashi hadn’t come out from his room when you called.

[“It’s fine,” you said, “I know he’s busy.”

The girls gave each other a look when they thought you weren’t paying attention. At least these Mitsuyas noticed something was up, you thought bitterly.]

They were long gone, after thanking you for the food and each giving you an awkward teenager hug on the way out. You have the rest of the day free, so you take your time cleaning the dishes, in the pathetic hope that Takashi will come out and you two will go back to normal.

You think that your prayers are answered when you see him come down the stairs. He seems a little surprised to see you still there, and he gives you a small, distracted smile. Your heart flutters as you smile back.

You think he’s coming towards you, but he walks right by the kitchen and heads towards the door instead. “Thanks for making lunch for the girls. I’m sure it was great,” he says, lingering for a moment. “You can leave the rest of the dishes; I’ll get them when I come back.”

“Oh. Where are you going?” you ask. You can hear a nearly imperceptible buzzing in your ears. You wonder if you’re angry or just sad; it’s hard to tell sometimes.

“Just out with Draken. I’ll see you later, yeah?” He’s already opening the door to leave.

You try to keep your composure, but the way you slam the plate as you set it on the counter is telling. “Yeah. See you later, I guess.” You wince. Even to your own ears, you sound bitchy. And you were doing so well in keeping it straight...  

There is a second of hesitation, and then the door closes. You busy yourself with drying the remaining dishes, not bothering to look up. Takashi probably left already.

But then you hear his footsteps as he comes into the kitchen. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

You still don’t look at him. You hate how concerned he sounds. Because of course he noticed how snotty you sounded; it wasn’t subtle. And Takashi was nothing if not a mediator, so he would obviously want to talk it out. But now, even after praying for the barest scrap of his attention back, you want nothing more than for him to leave you alone. You aren’t ready for whatever sort of conversation this is going to be.

On one hand, you are still hurt by how he treated you, how he hung out with you less and less as he replaced you with Draken and Hakkai. On the other hand, you feel like you’re being nothing but a spoiled brat. Takashi doesn’t owe you anything; he’s nice, so this is probably his own way of letting you know that you were too clingy and that he needed space while trying to spare your feelings. You just don’t want to hear that out loud.

At this point, you can feel yourself getting worked up. Your own thoughts buzz in your head like a swarm of angry locusts, rattling to the ever-quickening beat of your heart in your ears. You don’t quite know if you want to cry or scream.

He’s right in front of you now; you can see his shoes sidle up next to your slipper-clad feet on the kitchen floor as you valiantly avoid eye contact.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he says, voice softening even more. Because of course he can tell you are getting more upset.

“Just go,” you say. You sound muffled in your own ears. “Go hang out with Draken, or Hakkai, or your other gang friends. I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s up.”

“Oh, now that I want you to leave me alone, you won’t.”

“Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” He sounds a little offended now, and that just makes you angrier.

You spin around to face him for the first time. You can see how his eyebrows furrow, purple eyes glistening with concern as they take in your expression.

You lose your grip on your emotions. “Oh, what does that mean? I mean you’ve been ditching me for weeks now! Every time I come around, you’re too busy, or you already have plans with someone else!” You take a deep breath, trying to rein yourself in. “Look, if you don’t want to be around me anymore, just say something. Not any of this ‘hinting’ bullshit. Just…just say something…because I honestly don’t know what’s going on, Takashi.”

Your anger burnt through you quickly, like a flashfire, and you can feel your eyes starting to water.

Takashi looks stricken. One of his hands comes up to grip yours, using it to pull you into a tight hug. It only takes one murmur of your name, spoken gently into your hair as he tucks your head underneath his chin, for you to fully break.

There are tears streaming down your face now. You start to babble. “You’re my best friend, Takashi,” you say, pitifully. “I miss you.”

You feel his arms tighten around you, until you can almost feel your bones grinding together. It kind of hurts, but you are just happy to be held. His grip loosens soon enough, and he pulls back so he can look you in the eyes.

“I fucked up.” He smiles sadly at you. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. You’re my best friend too…but I couldn’t stay like that, and I didn’t know what to do about it.”

You feel your heart drop; you don’t understand. “What’re you trying to say?”

He lets out a sigh, and then reaches to clasp both your hands in his. His eyes dart around the room, nervously, before settling back onto yours. There is a quiet intensity in them that he only has when things are serious. “I want to be more than friends. I like you…romantically. I realized it a few weeks ago…you were always so special to me, and I didn’t understand why until Draken pointed it out to me.”

He let out a light chuckle. “I treated you differently than I did everyone else because I had—have—a crush on you. I didn’t know what to do about it, so I started avoiding you. I thought I would blurt out something that would ruin our friendship. I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I’m so sorry.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. It seems so inconceivable that he would return your feelings. You don’t even know what to say, so you focus on the end of his short speech. “So much for being the emotionally intelligent one, huh?” you say, tone lighter than it has been this whole time.

He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, tilting his head down. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’m better with other people’s problems than my own. But cut me some slack, this is the first time I’ve been in love with someone before.”

You freeze. “Love?”

He already told you he had a crush on you, but this brings your thoughts to a halt. Love is a much more serious claim than a simple crush.

Takashi seems to think so as well. His face shutters. It’s clear he didn’t mean to say that much, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah. Love. But it’s okay you don’t feel the same way. I’m good with just being friends. Or whatever makes you comfortable. Um. I owe you that much after being such a shithead, huh?” He looks uncomfortable, like he is just waiting for you to reject him. Like it’s inevitable.

You give him a sharp flick on the nose. “Idiot. Who says I don’t feel the same way.”

“…You do?”

You let out a snort, fighting to keep a grin off your face. “Like I wasn’t pining after you for years. God, Takashi, I follow you like a lovesick puppy, and you didn’t catch a hint?”

You open your mouth to say something else, but you’re swept back into his arms before you can. The two of you are face to face now; from here, you get the full force of his blinding grin. He’s smiling so wide that his eyes are nothing more than crescents of purple, his pretty eyelashes nearly brushing his cheeks. He looks breathtaking.

You break out into your own smile, unable to keep the happiness off your face. You feel so light, lighter than you have in a long time. The knowledge that Takashi loves you is like a shot of dopamine straight to your brain; you feel nearly delirious from the sudden rush of happiness.

“I love you,” he says. He sounds so tender when he says it, you can’t help but tilt your head up to press a kiss to his lips. It’s nothing more than a peck, but the touch of his soft mouth against yours sends sparks through your body.

“I love you too,” you say.

He looks at you in awe, before he leans down to steal another kiss from your lips, this one longer, and deeper.

You never want to leave; you would happily spend forever standing in the middle of his kitchen, trading heartfelt kisses and basking in the warmth of your love with Takashi.

-

(Draken wonders what happened to Mitsuya; he missed their hangout without so much as a “can’t make it” text. He can only hope the other boy finally got the balls to confess his feelings to you. He loves his sworn brother, but he’s getting tired of seeing Mitsuya avoid you. And he is definitely getting tired of hearing his lovesick ramblings. Well, if the two of you haven’t gotten together by now, Draken supposes he could always go with Yuzuha’s plan to lock the both of you in a closet until you worked things out.)

[indigovigilance]

Bullet Theory

Thesis: Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet during the Final Fifteen kiss. This bullet contains his memories. He tucked it under his tongue, then began to access the memories during the ride up the elevator.

Edit: debunked by God himself, in response to this post. As a reminder, please don’t send fan theories to NG.

Proof:

Glint in the mouth

Inspo credit to this post by @somehow-a-human

Yeah so we were already paying way too much attention to that very special four-letter word we thought Aziraphale was going to say, but it so happens that during that cut-off phoneme is the only time you can see this shiny object in his mouth. (catching this on the right frame was emotionally painful and I’m sending Gavin Finney my therapy bills (actually no I’m not I love you very much sir)).

So that’s the basis of this theory. Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet that he then tucks under his tongue.

Add’l Evidence Post-Kiss

Aziraphale works his jaw after raising his fingers to his lips: [gif]

Then when the Metatron comes in, he turns his back on the Metatron and raises his hand. I originally thought he was wiping his eyes. Now I think he’s raising his hand to his mouth, maybe to spit out the bullet, maybe to make sure it’s secured under his tongue.

Credits Scene

Aziraphale has the craziest fucking look on his face through the credits, we can all agree. But towards the end, his eyes flicker back and forth, as if he is watching or reading something. Then he smiles. I hypothesize that he is still accessing his memories during this time, and getting the information he needs to [redacted].

Thematic Justification: The Bullet Catch

Aziraphale having a bullet in his mouth as part of a two-man act of deception is not a fresh concept by the time we get to The Final Fifteen.

Additionally, the use of surreptitious modes of communication, where messages are passed from person to person inaudabily, is introduced in this same magic trick. 

NB1: I wish I could credit the person who I first saw point this out (relatively recently). It wasn’t even tagged as meta, I don’t think. But the gist was there’s some parallelism between “aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear” and the “pin the lips on the lips” move that Crowley pulls in the Final Fifteen. If I find it I will properly cite.

NB2: One hypothesis that has circulated around, I think creditable to @sendarya, is that Aziraphale mouths “trust me” to Crowley just before he gets on the elevator. This isn’t necessary to the Bullet Theory but it would be thematically consistent.

Small objects carry memories

Why a bullet? Well, it’s a small object that has meaningful significance between the pair of people involved, much like:

Beelzebub introduces us to the idea that a small object like a fly can be used as a storage container for memories. We also see that the object entering the body of the person is a viable way for the memories to be delivered.

(btw Jon Hamm if you’re reading this, you have very pretty eyes)

“I keep a derringer in a hollowed out book”

K, so it’s not like Crowley is just carrying a bullet loaded with Aziraphale’s memories around with him at all times, is it? (I mean, it could be, but probably not. I’ll just point you to this meta for my theories on why, if Crowley had anything that needed to be kept safe, he would keep it in the bookshop.)

We learn in S2E4 that Aziraphale keeps a gun in a hollowed out book somewhere in the shop. A gun wouldn’t be any good without bullets, right? This may not be the reason the derringer was left as a Chekhov’s Gun for S3, but it’s a possibility. If Crowley wasn’t already in possession of a bullet, he knew that he could find one in the shop. Even more likely, the exact bullet used in the 1941 magic trick is a precious keepsake being kept somewhere in the bookshop, and Crowley chose to use that exact bullet because of the memories already directly attached to the object.

Why Aziraphale even has memories to be returned to him

We know that Aziraphale could have had his mind wiped because Heaven has done it before. Certainly once. Probably twice. We know this because when Metatron is announcing that Gabriel, alongside having his memories erased, is being demoted to 38th class, Muriel pipes up and reminds us that they are 37th class:

So this wasn’t a “just Gabriel” thing. Mind-wiping is a routine form of personnel management in Heaven. There is NO reason for us to believe that it didn’t happen to Aziraphale. But in case you need a reason to believe it, here goes:

We know from our interactions with Jim that the person whose memories are missing (1) doesn’t necessarily know and (2) isn’t necessarily distressed by that fact, even if they do. Muriel also fits this “cheerful empty shell” archetype. You know who else does? Ding ding ding. The one and only A. Z. “wiggles with delight” Fell.

I can already hear your very valid counter-argument. This guy is actually terrified out of his mind on any given day that his romance with a demon will be discovered. Yes. Because he’s involved in a romance with a demon. The other two angels we’ve met don’t have this issue. Beyond that, though, these three characters share more in common with each other disposition-wise than any of them do with the other angels we’ve met (Uriel, Michael, Sandolphon, etc.).

We also know that Aziraphale has been [demoted] at some point from Cherub to Principality. This is book canon: 

"Technically Aziraphale was a Principality, but people made jokes about that these days."

This has also been confirmed (insofar as Neil Gaiman ever confirms anything) by Word of God:

(marketing video screengrab clipped for brevity)

We don’t know for sure it was a demotion, but I think we have enough evidence to infer that with a high degree of confidence.

Anyways.

Summary: Aziraphale is a cheerful angel who was demoted and has a name that is not biblical canon. This evidence indicates that was probably mind-wiped. This is not the first time I’m proposing this. It won’t be the last.

How Crowley Did It

My meta on Continuity Errors gives the complete proof for why I believe that Crowley is able to stop time without Aziraphale knowing, and I propose in that meta that the kiss was a cover-up for the exertion of effort necessary to pull that off. I further proposed that during the pause, he retrieved something from the bookshop. At the time of writing, I didn’t know what. Now, I have an inkling that it was a bullet.

If you need a refresher on Clock Theory, here’s one. The idea is that the clock behind Aziraphale shifts by fifteen minutes from before the kiss to after the kiss. This is consistent with a theory that Crowley paused time (but the clock kept running) in order to retrieve the bullet, dump Aziraphale’s memories into it if he hadn’t already, and then return to transfer the bullet to Aziraphale.

Why Crowley Kept the Secret So Long

As with Continuity Errors, I am ending this meta with a very unsatisfactory “I don’t know.” The motivation for Crowley to keep Aziraphale’s memories from him until the very moment he’s about to leave must have been a strong one. I think it has something to do with why Crowley was so insistent on trying to get Aziraphale to run away with him, instead of dealing with whatever’s coming. But as with Continuity Errors, I suspect that the good omens meta hivemind (and the vast collection of people who are posting clues, you have no idea how important you are) will assemble yet more breadcrumbs that we can follow to some sort of hypothesis.

Until then,

iv

(here's my meta index if you would like to read more stuff like this)

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter two || extortion

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. will have a happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 6.1k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The smell of cherry blossoms brought a smile to your face as sunlight spilled through the beautiful buds. It was your favorite time of the year and while you and Miriko didn't often share thoughts without intending to, you could feel the enjoyment and relaxation absolutely brimming from her soul. You didn't have it in you to cut her off completely during moments like this, even for both of your safety. Especially when in truth, this was what she enjoyed the most about a domestic life.

Your shoes scuffed quietly over the paved surface on the way to a small coffee shop. Nothing would hit the spot quite like tea on a day like this one.

A bell rings over your head as you push through the door of a small local shop. Smiling politely at the cashier, you order a London Fog. In a few short moments, you were sitting at a small table in the corner, browsing your phone while you quietly sip your tea. Every so often the small door bell would ring but you paid it little mind, sitting in your own world.

Every now and then you found yourself reflecting on the strange life you lived since Miriko awoke. It was too dangerous for you to live in the city, too dangerous for you to hold a normal job. You had gotten lucky that a wedding flower business had worked out at all for you, and even luckier that Miriko had graciously offered her gift to you to aid with that.

Even luckier was Miriko herself. What would have happened had she been a malicious curse? Would you have been put down by Gojo like so many other curses? Would Miriko have killed you? Would she have forced you to search for the remaining cursed object to awaken her after all these years? You often wondered why she seemed to have no interest in such a thing, but you weren't about to test your luck in asking. You trusted her with your life, and yet sometimes you found yourself fearing her. You often referred to her as a miracle, but there were moments that reminded you she was a curse.

The bell above the door jingles once more but you pay it no mind, focused on reading a book on your phone. That is, until Miriko’s warning of a curse-user catches your attention.

Raising your head, you lock eyes with an all-too-familiar white-haired man. At least, you assumed you were staring at one another from behind his black blindfold. A lump forms in your throat as he makes his way towards you without hesitation.

“Well if it isn’t miss y/n,” he greets you with a smug grin, pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat without asking permission. He leans forward on the table, paying no mind to the frown you now dawned.

“I can’t help but feel like nothing I say to you ever seems to matter,” you grumble quietly, eyes narrowed behind your pink sunglasses. You cross your arms over your chest, setting your phone down on the table before you.

With a chuckle, the cocky man shrugs and leans back with arms crossed behind his head. “How’ve you been?”

Perplexed by the question, your features twist in confusion. Small talk? You didn’t know Gojo well but you knew well enough that he wasn’t one to seek you specifically out to chat, unless- oh shit. Had he come looking specifically for you? You swallow the lump in your throat at the realization that there was no world where he casually happened to stroll into your favorite coffee shop on the other end of town.

“What do you want, Gojo?”

His eyebrow raises at your hostility, though he’s quick to brush it off. “I want to know how you’ve been.” He grins as he pushes the two front feet of his chair off the ground.

“I was better five minutes ago,” you retort venomously, your eyes narrowed behind the tint of your rose glasses.

“Ouch,” he feigns hurt, “and here I thought I was reconnecting with an old friend.”

Shaking your head incredulously, you barely manage to keep your eyes from rolling. “Friends don’t kidnap each other.”

“Touché,” he hums, his smirk never once fading despite the topic. He leans forward, grabbing your tea and taking a sip to your complete and utter disbelief. The way he so confidently strode circles around you, how were you meant to make heads or tails of his actions? Could he possibly believe he had any good will left with you? Surely he knew he was in no place to be making requests of you after your last two meetings with him. And yet-

“Do you need something?” Your eyes widen slightly and you take in your surroundings, searching for other sorcerers, but there were none. Of course he had come on his own, this wasn’t a coincidence. Before he could respond, you questioned him further. “Wait, how did you find me? Did you follow me?” You lean forward as you accuse him of following you.

Matching your energy, your adversary leans forward on the table. “No, I didn’t follow you,” he grins, “I came to get coffee.” You had to fight the scoff in your throat at his blatant lie. “But now that I’ve got you here, I do have a favor to ask.”

This time you don’t fight the urge to roll your eyes, leaning back as you stare out the window. It’s too nice of a day to be getting harassed by Satoru Gojo. “You’re joking,” is all you mumble in response.

The white-haired man clicks his tongue. “Listen, I teach a group of students and one of them is just like you,” he says, his voice growing more serious. You dare to turn your gaze back towards him, examining the way he takes a sip of your tea as he leans in further. “The higher-ups want me to kill him when it comes to it. That’s not the world I want for this kid. That’s why I’m here.”

Given the Shibuya Incident a few months ago, you’re well aware of Sukuna’s vessel. Miriko was familiar with Sukuna and had filled you in on the details of the king of curses and his twenty cursed fingers.

“Gojo, if anything, you owe me after you showed up uninvited,” you respond exhaustedly. Gojo’s smirk falters as you rub your eyes in disbelief, blinking your eyes back open to see him still overly joyful. He was some asshole, expecting anything more from you given your current feelings towards him. “This isn’t my problem anyhow.”

“It will be,” his voice lowers. You stare discontentedly at him as he moves a hand through his snowy locks. “If he can’t control Sukuna when he gets the twentieth finger…” Gojo trails off, frowning. “I’ll win, of course,” he grins, narrowly missing your eyes rolling back into your head for what felt like the twentieth time this morning. His silence speaks volumes, the serious frown he dons all the information you need to know what he’s thinking.

“I’m not killing a kid,” you hiss, your voice low in the extremely public cafe setting. “You can tell me over and over it’s Sukuna, I am not-”

“I’m not asking you to,” he interrupts, letting out a long sigh. “It’s my job to prevent that outcome.”

There’s always a but.

“But,” he begins, leaning in further. “If I fail, if I can’t find a way to separate or defeat him,” he pauses again, lips parted. “I don’t think there’s anyone else capable of defeating him.”

You could only blink as you took in the information. Clearly he cared a great deal about his students. He was an asshole, not heartless. That became abundantly clear when he showed up at your door. You had to figure that he likely also believed that Miriko was whole, which you didn’t plan on correcting him about any time soon. On top of that, he was asking you for something that he didn’t understand the cost of. Sukuna’s death at the cost of your own life, of Miriko’s? Was that something you were willing to give?”

No. Do not humor him, y/n.

Miriko has been practically screaming since the moment he’d made the request, and you could do little more than ignore her despite the headache her outcries were bringing on.

“Let me get this straight,” you tell him, laying out the facts. “You want me to train the vessel to control Sukuna, or figure out how to separate them with my knowledge of being a vessel,” you glance up at him from where you were staring at what was once your London Fog. He nods, his carefree smirk returning. Oh how you hated that smirk and blindfold- “and if you fail, I have to kill him.”

“That about sums it up,” he grins all-too-cheerily.

“And if I say no?”

“Well, if Sukuna’s free you’ll end up fighting him at some point,” he shrugs slyly.

“So you’re extorting me,” you state blandly. “I agree and run the risk of having to kill someone, or I disagree and I run a bigger risk of killing someone.”

He shrugs, barely reacting. “Unless I succeed on my own,” his voice grows darker as he pulls his blindfold up just enough to see the sly glint in his eye. “But this is Sukuna we’re talking about.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you sigh. You weren’t left with much choice and between the draconic curse in your mind uttering obscenities at the man sat before you and the person in question both about to give you a headache, you could only rub your temples to attempt to alleviate your oncoming headache.

“If we both fail?”

He sits forward, nodding slowly. He had clearly considered the possibility whether he believed he would fail or not. “It’s a risk,” he admits. “But I have better odds this way.”

You ball your hand into a fist as you watch him take another sip of your London Fog. The audacity he had to walk in, take your drink, extort you, and all for what? An act of self-preservation? So that he stood a chance against Sukuna? He was using you. Your jaw clenches as you sigh, trying to contain your anger, your cursed energy flaring like a stoked fire.

That seems to be all he needs to see to realize he’s won as he gets to his feet, pushing your tea back across the table. “Careful, y/n,” he teases with a tilt of his head. “Wouldn’t want to lose control now, would we?” Miriko’s anger boiled alongside yours in your stomach, and you had to consider him incredibly lucky given that you were able to keep your own curse at bay. “Be packed, a driver will be at your place by noon,” he tells you as he strolls out the front door.

He never even ordered a coffee.

Liar.

–

You’d been dragging your feet on packing, debating the concept of leaving before a car could ever arrive. When it came down to it, he’d found you before and he would find you again. In fact, you had grown more and more certain over the past twenty four hours that he’d always had an eye on you, though you didn’t know enough about him or the Jujutsu Society to know exactly how.

The least you could be thankful for was that you rarely, if ever, used your technique beyond growing flowers for your business, a reversed version of your usual technique.

Your heart drops at the sound of tires rolling over the gravel path beyond your gate. Although Miriko didn’t say anything, you could feel her irritation growing. You didn’t share all of your thoughts or emotions with her unless they were strong, though with every encounter involving the head of the Gojo clan, you knew exactly how she felt at all times.

A knock at your front gate pulls your attention back to reality and with a wistful sigh, you make your way to the noise. Standing at the gate is a tall man with short black hair and glasses. He greets you kindly, introducing himself as Ijichi, and you greet him in return. He offers to take your bags and opens the back of the vehicle for you, turning with wide eyes as you begin to lead Taro into the vehicle.

“Oh, um, I don’t think-”

“No dog, no sorcerer,” you hiss unintentionally, feeling bad the moment it comes out. You sigh, composing yourself. “Sorry,” you grumble as he nods finally. He seems uneasy, though you suppose someone with as low of a cursed energy output as himself driving someone like you around would do that.

Each moment staring out the window left you longing for it to last longer. Just one extra moment back in your cozy cabin running your business. Anything to keep you away from Jujutsu Tech.

The school was tucked in the trees just on the outer edge of Tokyo, well-hidden by a barrier that seemed to allow your passage. As the car slowed to a halt, Gojo’s presence irked the curse hidden within you and you struggled to keep down the growing feeling of irritation, unsure if it was your own or Miriko’s emotions that were influencing you.

“Look who made it!” Gojo called excitedly, much to Miriko’s dismay. You had her on a short leash, choosing to suppress your cursed energy on the school grounds. You could only hope Gojo was keeping the majority of your secret beyond what was necessary to know about you. You shoot him a grim look before forcing a more agreeable smile to the woman who stood alongside Gojo. She wore a cute blue turtle neck with a long lab coat over it, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders. A toothpick hung from her lips, her tired eyes wrinkled at the corners as she smiled at you.

“Shoko, this is our newest special grade sorcerer, y/n,” he waves his hands in the air towards you. “This is Shoko,” he introduces you to her, “our resident doctor.”

She waves kindly at you. “Satoru mentioned you’ll be joining us for a bit so we set up a private cabin for you,” she tells you, waving somewhere behind her to where the cabin was set up.

As she speaks, Taro hops out of the car behind you, his happy demeanor changing in an instant to a growling one as he bares his teeth to Gojo. He’s a good boy. Still, you tell him to relax and he sits happily beside you.

“And who’s this?” Shoko greets your dog as her tone changes to one more fit to speak to a dog. You chuckle at the site, laughing.

“That’s Taro,” you introduce him. His tail happily swings from side to side as Shoko leans down to scratch behind his ears. Beyond you and Miriko, he wasn’t too familiar with other humans so the interaction was thrilling for him.

“Well isn’t he just the best? Yes you are!” She stands once again, composing herself as she gestures for you to follow with a calm smile. You spare a glance at Gojo as you gather your bags, who grins slyly at you. Choosing to ignore him, you snap your fingers as a signal for Taro to follow as you fall into step with Shoko.

Your eyes wander the length of the school grounds before you, mostly open fields with several massive buildings extending at their length. There was a group of six students sparring towards the end of the field, though the sight of one of them in particular caused you to pause.

“That’s a panda,” you state in bewilderment, hearing Shoko’s amused hum.

“He’s a student,” she tells you as though it’s completely normal, gesturing for you to continue following her.

“What have I gotten myself into?” You whisper quietly to yourself.

“So, where’d you come across Gojo? He mentioned you’re special grade, not many of you around,” Shoko comments casually, quietly eyeing you. 

“I’m pretty sure he kidnapped me last year,” you bite your lip at the thought, “and then he extorted me.” Grimacing, you meet the shocked face of the woman who was leading you in the direction of a small cabin tucked away in the trees.

“Wow.” She gapes, shaking her head. “That’s a new low, even for him.”

“So he’s not always an asshole?”

Shoko laughs with a shake of her head. “No, but he could certainly do with a lesson in manners. He’s always been like that though, you get used to it.” She stops in front of the small cabin, turning towards you. “Wait, so how exactly did he convince you to help us if he’s kidnapped and extorted you?”

Shrugging, you set your bags down now that you were stopped. “The extortion was a part of this arrangement,” you state plainly, though you knew at the end of the day there was at least some bit of irony to this entire situation that Shoko couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Well, Gojo’s a dick, but I promise he does have good intentions,” catching your raised eyebrow, she continues. “Either way, I’ll give him a good smack for ya.”

You sigh with a small chuckle. “Thanks, Shoko.”

She gives you a tour of your small cabin, letting you know where she and everyone else would be situated should you need them. Shoko’s infirmary was in the building just across the field from your cabin, while Gojo’s own cabin was in view of yours. Turning to leave, you hesitantly stop her.

“Hey, what’s special grade?”

Her eyes widen in shock that you aren’t aware, uncertainty flashing momentarily in her eyes as she explains to you the meaning of your assigned grade and how few other sorcerers had such a class.

You thank her quietly as she makes her way out to the infirmary, turning back to your new house. Your new home. Light sifts through the sheer curtains that hang on the window above the kitchen sink, a warm glow illuminating the wooden interior of the small cabin. The cabin had a full kitchen to your right, a dining table placed towards the back of the kitchen area and a small living room with a television and couch to your right. Stairs cascaded up from the corner behind the dining room table to a loft with a queen bed and a small night stand on either side adorned with a lamp. There was even a dog bed in the corner of the room.

In all honesty, it left you a bit shocked. Although tucked away in the trees, there was lots of space for Taro to explore and even for you to grow flowers should you desire to.

On top of that, Shoko seemed nice which you were grateful for, and figured should you need any help you would be able to go to her rather than Gojo, which you were grateful for. The only difference that was beginning to get to you was how lonely it felt in comparison to your home. Despite the amount of people here, Miriko had grown very quiet. It was unnerving, but you weren’t about to push her given how uncomfortable you both were with the situation.

Maybe she would come around later.

–

Holding your hand out, Taro excitedly drops his favorite ball into your hand, his tail wagging wildly. Giving it a toss, you smile as he dashes away after it. The golden rays of the setting sun shone on the Rottweiler’s gorgeous black fur, and you were so caught up with his enjoyment that you didn’t notice someone approaching.

“Do they have a name?”

Jumping in surprise, you stare in shock at the tall blonde man standing at the edge of the steps you were sitting on.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, no longer focused on Taro. Examining the blonde, you notice he’s wearing a light blue button up with slacks, as well as a yellow tie. From the way he’s standing, you can only see one side of him, but the straps across the side of his head tell you he’s got an eye patch as well.

“No worries, I wasn’t paying attention,” you forgive him quickly with a dismissive smile. “That’s Taro.”

The blonde turns his head to face you and you’re able to see his entire left side appears to be covered in scar tissue. Is this what it’s like to be a sorcerer?

“Nanami Kento,” he introduces himself, watching with mild amusement as your dog barrels excitedly towards him, doing small spins as he drops the ball he’d been chasing at Nanami’s feet.

You introduce yourself in turn and Nanami nods, committing the name to memory as he adjusts his sleeve and throws the ball for Taro.

“I hear you’re-” Nanami begins, though you interrupt him.

“Yeah, I’m special grade.”

“-Quite the flower connoisseur.”

You stare at one another, your mouth agape at how rude you had accidentally been. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed-” you desperately try to backtrack, but Nanami shakes his head.

“I understand,” he shoots you a lopsided smile. “Gojo did also inform everyone of that, to my knowledge.”

“Right,” you mutter wistfully. A breeze ruffles Nanami’s carefully coiffed blonde hair as he carefully observes you. The way his deep brown eyes quietly examined you should have sent a feeling of unease through you, but his presence was oddly calming.

“You should make use of the yard,” he motions to the grassy area Taro was barreling around, vigorously shaking a toy. “It’ll be a nice change of scenery around here.” He tells you before curtly waving and heading on his way. 

He seems nice, you think to yourself, leaving the thought open for Miriko to respond, although she doesn’t. You head back inside to get settled for the night, only managing to throw your hair up into a bun before someone is already at your door.

Your visitor calls your name and you groan in response. No matter how hard you tried, there was no escaping Gojo.

If I ignore him, will he leave? You ask Miriko, hoping that maybe just this once she’ll respond.

Surely, to your surprise she does.

Continuing to clean and unpack, you ignore the sing-song tone Gojo uses as he calls your name and continues to knock.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there,” he calls as he knocks again. Completely suppressing your cursed energy, you begin moving slow and quiet in hopes he’ll get the message. “Cursed energy doesn’t change the fact that you’re in there and you hear me.” With an irritated sigh, you stop suppressing your cursed energy, able to connect to Miriko again.

I will kill him.

You chuckle at the Death curse, sighing as you open your door.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to come with me,” he grins from where he’s leaning against your doorway. He no longer has on his blindfold, his blue eyes peeking at you from over his black shades. You glance at the clock, shaking your head. “No chance, I’m gonna read and go to bed. It’s already eight.”

“How old are you? Exactly, it’s only eight, you’re coming with me.” He beckons you along with him, turning to wait for you on the steps. You grimace, flipping your gaze back towards the cabin to find an excuse, but Gojo catches on too quickly. “Nuh uh, c’mon,” he beckons again. Silently complying, you let out a breath and lock your food behind you, keeping a small distance between you and him.

“How’re ya settling in?” He asks, glancing in your direction.

“Been better.”

Gojo wasn’t a fool. He knew you were being short with him. He was well aware you weren’t his biggest fan, though he had done what he needed to do in order to keep an eye on you and put in place a contingency plan.

“Aw, c’mon!” He grins, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turns to face you, walking backwards. He catches the way your eyes narrow at him from behind your own glasses, choosing to ignore the look. “I’m doing you a favor if you think about it.”

“I’d love to hear how you think you’re doing me a favor. Really, amuse me,” you spit out, rolling your eyes as Miriko’s anger fuelled your own. It was hard to ignore her emotions when they were practically running through your veins when they were strong.

“Well, for starters you’re surrounded by just about the best there are for bodyguards,” he motions cockily to himself. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You could potentially save some lives,” he muses, “and to top it all off, you have a great cabin and don’t need to hide anymore.”

The audacity that this man had to suggest that you, a vessel that no one knew of, who lived a life in a beautiful cottage of your own creation outside of town, had the option not to hide in the cabin you didn’t want to be in to begin with. You hadn’t realized your feet had planted themselves on the ground as you stared at the white-haired asshole in disbelief.

“You’re kidding, right?” Your words come out far more hurt than you intend. “You took my safety from me over a year ago. You, single-handedly, took my safety, you took my life, and now-” you find yourself choking on your words as anger bubbles in your throat. You step forward, pointing a forefinger straight at Gojo’s chest, though it never connects with him due to a force you can't see. “Now I’m in more danger than I ever have been! I’m surrounded by people who don’t know what I am, who don’t know what I can do, who don’t know why I was hiding to begin with, and it’s all because of you!” You growl, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight tears now that you were full-on yelling at the taller man. And that only makes you angrier, what person wants to cry when they’re yelling? “And you know what, Gojo? To top it all off, the only reason I’m here at all is because you decided if someone had to kill a child, it may as well be me,” your words drip with venom, shoving your finger nearly against his chest. Your body begins to shake but you don't waver, burning red eyes looking for a sign that he felt even a little bit bad.

The sign never came, though. He stood before you, letting you vent your anger at him with little more than a frown. He doesn't respond, just stands before you in silence. The worst part is that you want him to react. You want him to yell back. You want him to feel something about what he had done to you. You want a reason to leave, a reason for him to let you leave. But still, he stands in dead-still silence. His piercing blue irises are hidden by his sunglasses in the darkness that surrounds you both and you can't make out anything about his expression.

Letting your hand hang back at your side, you drop your gaze to stare at your feet. Your chest heaves as you struggle to regain your composure, teeth gritted furiously. Silence surrounds you both, only interrupted by the sounds of summer cicada and the occasional whistle of the breeze. The cool night air is brisk, but a welcome feeling against your warm skin.

Taking one last glance up at Gojo, you watch as he simply turns to leave, heading along in the direction he was leading you.

“I- I’m going back to the cabin,” you stammer, stumbling back in the direction you came, struggling not to cry. You didn’t catch him turn back towards you, hands in his pockets again.

“Look, I don’t care what you do,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “but Shoko sent me to get you. She put together a fire with faculty staff.” Your gaze falls to the ground, though you were listening. Your brow furrows when you realize he almost sounds hurt. “Besides, you should probably meet the people you’re workin’ for.” And with that, he turns away from you and begins walking back to the fire. Holding your head in your hands for a moment as you let out a deep sigh, you wipe the tears from your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself down and very slowly follow Gojo, keeping enough distance that he wouldn’t talk to you. Admittedly, you hadn’t realized it wasn’t him you were working for, so it did make sense to meet everyone while they were all gathered.

You approach a corner towards the back of one of the buildings, light dancing across the ground the closer you get. Fire licks at the night sky, sparks disappearing among the stars above as you pause with a wry smile.

“Y/N!” Shoko calls, waving you over to her. Relief washes over you as she drags a camping chair close to her. You’re glad to find Gojo settling opposite the fire to where Shoko beckons you. Several other voices of different faculty members greet you as you pass by, the only person rising to greet you was a man who appeared older than the rest of you were.

“Yaga Masimichi, nice to meet you,” he bows, pleased as you introduce yourself and bow back. “Thank you for your assistance, I’ve heard good things from Gojo.” You nod, forcing a smile at the mention of Gojo’s name. The man sits back down and allows you to take a seat beside Shoko. Nanami’s to your other side, and as parties weren’t your usual scene, not to mention that you weren’t in the greatest mood, you were grateful for the two somewhat familiar faces.

You were quickly introduced to Choso, Nitta, Ijichi, and Atsuya, although you were familiar with Ijichi from the ride here. You introduce yourself only for your heart to drop as questions are immediately thrown your way from the faculty members you were just meeting.

“I hear you’re special grade,” Nitta comments.

“So I’ve been told,” you sigh, trying to mask your tiredness.

“Special grades don’t pop up outta nowhere,” Yaga comments, eyes narrowing. “‘Specially not at your age. How were you unregistered for so long?”

Heat creeps up your neck to your ears and you shoot Gojo a glance, unsure of what he had told his boss. Your boss. You gingerly move a strand of hair from your face, a strange sensation of being in trouble creeping up on you. The feeling was reminiscent of being back in school, something you certainly didn’t miss.

“She’s from outside the city, not many curses out there,” Gojo explains casually, which you’re thankful for. Given what he’d put you through it was the least he could do.

A waterfall of questions poured from the group at that, your eyes wide as you tried to get to everyone’s questions. Questions about where you were from, your hobbies, how you met Gojo, and your technique (which you did your best to avoid), were thrown at you from left and right. Nanami, Shoko, Choso, and Gojo stayed mostly quiet though Gojo smirked through the interaction. You were just relieved he kept his mouth shut for once.

Sensing your exhaustion at the onslaught of questions, Nanami tilts his head towards you, speaking only to you rather than the broader group. They had finally moved on to a topic apart from yourself and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You don’t need to stay here, you know,” the blonde quietly tells you. You meet his careful gaze in surprise, noticing now that he looks as tired as you feel. He leans back in his chair, looking equally as thrilled to be at the fire as you were.

“I mean,” you worried your lip between your teeth, “I should probably stay,” you reason. “After all, Shoko set this up as a welcome.”

Nanami’s brow furrows as he curiously tilts his head. “Satoru organized this for you.”

You stare blankly at Nanami, sparing a glance at Shoko who was deep in conversation with Choso. Gripping the arms of your chair, you shoot a nod at Nanami, getting to your feet and thanking everyone for the warm welcome before excusing yourself. Your gaze briefly lands on Gojo from behind your tinted glasses. Although you weren’t able to see his full expression from behind his black glasses, you noticed his smirk falter when he found your stare.

You turn back to Nanami, who was standing as well and he nods as a signal for you to lead the way.

“You don’t want to stay back?” You question curiously.

He shakes his head. “No, I have work tomorrow,” he explains. “And while I do often work out of Jujutsu Tech I’m not a part of the faculty staff.” You nod slowly, uncertain of how the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers works. “I don’t usually stick around past five,” he tells you, his eye fixed straight ahead.

“Sorry you’re here so late,” you apologize, though he shoots you a small smile.

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. A comfortable silence falls over you both as he walks you to your cabin in the dim moonlight. You tilt your head to get a better look at him, noticing that not unlike Shoko, he had a rather gaunt look to him as though he hadn’t slept in a long time. Even so, he carried himself in a much different way than Shoko did. He had a much more somber and serious attitude than it had seemed the rest of the faculty did.

“How long do you plan on staying?” He interrupts your thoughts, catching your stare. Heat rises to your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught.

“However long Gojo needs me, I guess,” you sigh quietly.

Eyebrow raised, Nanami turns his head to face you fully. “You aren’t here by choice?”

“You could say that,” you laugh dryly. The cool breeze blows through your hair as your cabin comes into view. “Gojo didn’t leave me with much of a choice.”

“I see. I suppose that was you arguing with Gojo earlier, then?”

You freeze, nearly tripping over your feet. “You heard that?”

Nanami stops, facing you as he quietly examines your features. “We couldn’t hear what you were saying, but we did hear the argument,” he explains. His vision follows you as you take off your sunglasses for a moment to rub your eyes before replacing them on the bridge of your nose. They didn’t make it easier to see the man in front of you in the dim moonlight but you certainly didn’t need to raise any suspicions regarding your eyes that weren’t unlike Gojo’s. Interrupting your thoughts, Nanami’s voice brought your attention back to the sorcerer in front of you. “May I ask you a question?”

You nod cautiously, almost certain he would question you about your technique.

“I recognize that it wasn’t your first choice to help Gojo and I can’t blame you for that,” he hums as he earns a wry smile from you. “However, do you plan on helping Itadori?”

“Itadori? Sukuna’s vessel?” Nanami nods. “Oh, um, I do.” You shuffle uncomfortably. “I don’t mean any harm.

“I didn’t assume you did,” Nanami turns back to continue leading the way to your cabin. He adjusts the tie around his neck to hang more loosely as he clears his throat. “Itadori could use a more reasonable mentor than Gojo. He’s brash and needs to learn when it’s best for him to stay back. He could use someone like you,” Nanami’s gaze softens and you catch a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “He’s a good kid.”

You smile softly in return. “I’ll do my best.”

Nanami hums, clearly satisfied with your response.

You come to a halt at your door, turning to face the kind sorcerer. “Thanks for walking me back.”

Nanami had stopped at the edge of your porch, nodding. “Here,” he holds his hand out, “let me leave you my number. Send for me if Gojo gives you too much trouble,” he offers. Heat rises to your cheeks, dusting your ears a rosy red that you could only hope he didn’t see in the moonlight.

“Oh, sure,” you agree as you hand him your phone. He has it for only a second before handing it back. “Thanks again,” you smile, turning to part ways.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || Thank you for all the love on the first chapter!! I've written and even finished more fics than I'd like to admit but just never seem to have the courage to post them so I appreciate all the love ♡

[hyukalyptus]

a coincidence — rockstar!yeonjun x fem!reader

cw. rockstar!yeonjun x audiencemember!reader, chubby!reader implied, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol, oral (m. receiving), sex (condoms mentioned <3), roleplaying(?), orgasm denial, lmk if there's more. notes. this is part of @napofamoon's growing pain rock band!au collaboration :D thank you @nightlyawnzz for being a beta reader :3 and thank you angie for that one line of dialogue (didn't know if you wanted to like not be tagged lol), not super well edited, smut under cut <3 wc. 2.8K

Who is that? Yeonjun’s seen hundreds—thousands—of pretty girls at his concerts. But no one’s ever truly made an impression. Every once in a while, there’d be one that barely stuck out from the crowd, but nothing ever stuck. After a while, the crowds started getting blurry. Has performing become a bit boring for him? Maybe. There wasn’t a spark anymore. No reason to perform. 

But you…you immediately caught his eye. A bright star in a sea of dull strangers—smiling, drinking, dancing to the music, having a blast. You looked fun, exciting, flirty. And he wanted—needed—to get to know you. But first, he needed to get your attention. 

He’s cool, casual with his bass; he’s a natural. The way he moves with the music, pouty lips singing under his breath along with the frontman, the stage lights sparkling in his eyes—it didn’t take much focus for him to nail every song. 

So he decided to have a bit of fun tonight. Moving a bit more, putting on a bit more of a show than usual, getting closer to the edge of the stage without being too obvious. All to get your attention. So why won’t you look at him? Just a bit closer and maybe…

Bingo. 

You’ve locked eyes and there’s that something he’s been looking for. Something he’s been looking for for a while. That spark. That reason to put on a bit of a show. 

And you could tell. You were just as into it as he was. 

Watching his every move—flirting without crossing a line, giving him seductive looks, dancing in his direction. It was fun. It was thrilling. That unspoken desire between two strangers—and one of them admires the other before they’ve even met? How scandalous, hm? The tension grew and grew until—

“Thank you everyone; good night!”

But…what do you do now? How could he find you later? Oh, why didn’t he slip the security guard his number to give to you? Where are you? No, no, no, don’t leave. 

There was nothing he could do; the lights were dim, the curtain was drawn, the crowd was spilling out the front door. You never left his mind, though. Not when he put his bass in its case, not when he zipped his hoodie up to leave, not when he plopped down on his hotel bed, never. 

Desperately trying to get you off his mind, he heads down to the hotel bar. Oh, how pathetic is this? A world-famous rock star sitting alone at a hotel’s bar sipping a whiskey feeling sorry for himself? Over what? Some girl? 

Please don’t sit there…he begs silently watching a strange figure take the seat in the bar stool next to him. Despite the need for alone time, he couldn’t help but glance over at the sound of your—

“Just a vodka soda, please.” 

Oh, shit. It’s you. What does he do? Why are his hands so sweaty? When did he turn into such a loser? Getting this worked up over a girl. He needs to get your attention again, but he doesn't want to come off too pushy. You’re here alone too and maybe you wanna keep it that way. 

Fuck it. 

He clears his throat, cooly-maybe-not-so-cooly saying, “I saw you in the audience.” Just as you planned. Well, sort of. You didn’t mean to run into him. Glancing across the room at the hotel you were staying in to see that hot bassist sitting alone at the bar was pure luck. 

But you need to keep it cool. Don’t be too…weird. Just a simple glance and gentle nod is enough. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” He asks, knowing your answer. He could see your desire just as much as you could see his, but you weren’t gonna give in just yet. You nod again, adding a quiet hum. “Are you from around here or…?” Should he move a bit closer? Sure. Should he brush your knee with his fingertips? Why not? Oh, they give you goosebumps. You don’t pull away or even flinch. You’re welcoming this. 

“No, I’m here on business. That’s why I’m, you know, at a hotel right now.”

“Right.” He pauses, like he has to think of the next thing to say, “I’m Yeonjun, by the way. But you already knew that.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“No reason,” he snarks. “Just that you bought a ticket to my show.”

“As if,” you roll your eyes. “I was bored and the show was right down the street.” Lie. All of this was lies. Of course you were a fan. Both of you knew that. 

“So you got front-row seats from a scalper then?”

Now it’s time for some fun. Turning toward him, you introduce yourself, face inching closer and closer, his hand sneaking up higher on your thigh, your heartbeat getting faster with each millimeter. You maintain your confidence best you know how, but you must admit, he’s intimidating. Is it that way he unapologetically stares at your body? The way he’s flirting with a fan after a show? The way his lips look like they’d perfectly wrap around your—

“Do you always find fans to flirt with after the show?” 

“No. Never,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “But you’re so…” he tucks some fallen hair behind your ear, eyes roaming your face, “gorgeous. I haven’t stopped thinking about you in the audience. Then boom, here you are at my hotel’s bar. Must be fate.”

“Or a coincidence.” 

Both resorting to a shrug, there’s tension in the air like you’ve never felt. It’s excruciating. He’s leaning closer to you, oh, what was he about to say?

“I saw you watching me,” he whispers right against your ear—close enough to feel his breath. Fuck, he’s good. This is gonna be fun. And you’re gonna be a brat. At least for a little. 

“I was watching all five of you,” you say, adding an annoying eye roll for good measure. 

“Nope,” he says, sitting back and smiling like he knows a secret of yours. Which he may. “Only me.” 

“So what if I was?” You narrow your eyes at him. You weren’t gonna break eye contact now. You can’t. But he doesn’t expect you to keep it. He expects you to cower and blush like everyone always does. But you don’t. And he likes that. “I’m waiting.”

“Makes me wonder what else you wanna watch me do is all.”

“Like what?” 

“I dunno,” he chuckles. “You tell me. You were the one that couldn’t stop staring at me.”

That jerk. That stupid fucking jerk. Looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, you glance down at his lips—side note: jesus fucking christ they look delicious but that’s beside the point right now—and lean in as close as you can without touching him. Parting his own lips, he tilts his head just barely and closes his eyes. 

“Aw, you’re so cute.” You giggle. “You thought I was gonna kiss you?”

While you’re watching him retreat, defeated at his own game, he runs his fingers through his messy black hair. 

“So you think I’m cute?” 

Let’s give in now. “No.” You stand, taking a deep breath and walk behind him, sliding your hands down his chest, bending to meet his ear to whisper, “I think you’re fucking sexy.” 

Goosebumps—but this time, they’re on him. Has anyone ever done this to him before? Let’s take it one step further. You bite his ear lobe gently and he sighs, your name falling out of his lips breathlessly. 

“Hm?”

“Come upstairs with me,” he whispers. 

Another step further. Sliding your hand up the back of his neck, you grip some of his hair, tugging it harshly, his eyes widening as he hisses. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Will you come upstairs with me? Please.”

Turning him around in his barstool, you stand between his legs, his eyes roaming up and down your body. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

It was all a blur as he took you upstairs—heading straight for the elevator, pushing you against the wall to finally crash his lips into yours, hands roaming your body trying to decide what part of it to grab onto. The ding of the elevator snaps you out of it before stumbling down the hallway to his room. 

When he finally gets the door open and the door slams behind you, he’s gentler, like he wants to take his time with you. But you don’t. You drag him toward the bed and push him to the mattress to straddle his hips. Wrapping his hands around your waist, his hands slip under the skirt of your dress to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. 

Lifting off him, you lift your dress over your head as he eyes your pretty white lace lingerie while he smirks to himself. Fuck, he looks hot when he bites his lip like that. And, god, you need his shirt off. Tugging at it, you rock your hips back and forth to shimmy it off while he stays laying down. Hands on bodies, breath heavy, lips on each other’s…god, this was fun. 

He flips you to your back, pressing his lips to your chest, trailing kisses over your collarbone. Pushing your face to the side to access your neck, he covers it in sloppy, wet kisses. 

Since when was your bra so uncomfortable? And since when was it such a cock blocker? With that out of the way, his lips find your nipples, sucking harshly, but licking them to soothe the stings. Tugging at the waistband of his joggers, you can’t stop begging him to fuck you. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says, mimicking your tone from earlier.

“Please, Yeonjun—” you gasp at the feeling of his finger gliding over your clit slowly—slower than anyone’s ever touched you before. But it’s amazing. “Will you please fuck me?” 

“Not yet,” he whispers. Standing to pull his pants and boxers down in one motion, he looks over your body. Oh, what was he gonna do with you and everything your body has to offer? Put you on your knees so he can cum all over your full tits? Fuck you from behind so he can see your ass jiggle? Fuck you in missionary so he can see your tits and tummy jiggle while he squeezes your thighs? There’s too many options to pick from.

But before he can make the decision, you crawl over to the foot of the bed, making a big show of it before reaching for his hips. Wrapping your hands around his hips to squeeze his ass, you pull him closer, kissing the tip of his cock. You were going to be the death of him. But you haven’t even tasted him yet. Glancing up at him through your eyelashes, you finally sink down on him completely. 

And fuck do you feel good. 

Fingers fumbling through your hair as he tries to steady himself, his head falls back to let out the most beautiful moan you’ve ever heard from a man. He whispers your name. 

“What?” You look at him, your lips forming a pout while you wait for an answer. He responds with a simple eyebrow raise. “You said my name,” you say matter-of-factly. “What is it?”

“Don’t tease me.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

Hooking his hands behind your knees, he pulls to flip you on your back while you let out a yelp. He boxes you in with his elbows, dragging his teeth over one of your nipples while you grip his hair, back arching to meet his mouth. He covers you in kisses. You don’t think anyone’s ever kissed you this much. Nothing will ever be enough after this. 

As he makes his way down, your legs fall over his shoulders, showering your thick thighs with kisses. Using his mouth to put the smallest amount of pressure on your clit over your thong, he makes you whine and involuntarily grind against his chin, trying to relieve any tension. But he’s not giving in either. Backing away, he chuckles at you. That jerk. Why does he have to be such a jerk?

“Don’t do that to me,” you say. Eyes dark, he takes the waistband of your thong between his teeth, pulling them down slowly, letting them drag over your skin. Kneeling between your thighs, he keeps that spine-tingling eye contact as he rubs his tip over your center. That sends a jolt through your body, letting your brain finally catch up with your body. 

“Will you wear a condom?”

Nodding, he quickly rustles through his suitcase messily splayed across the floor. Ripping the condom open with his teeth, he starts to roll it down himself, which is a glorious sight. And he can tell the effect it has on you. You smirk, glancing up at his eyes—eyes that are sparkling back at you. 

“Eyes on my cock, baby.”

Fine by you. Sliding it down so slowly, you’re entranced. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

One hand pressing on your hip, the other lining himself up with your pussy, he pushes himself inside you, your eyes rolling back and he groans in your ear. Short shallow breaths grace your skin as he thrusts fast and hard, just like you wanted. 

Bodies rocking together, he stares at your tits bouncing with his movements. Your nails start dragging down his back, but he quickly pulls out to turn you over, lifting you by your hips to bring you on all fours, your ass on full display. He spanks you, hard enough that your cheek will be pink tomorrow morning. 

Pressing on your lower back to deepen the arch, he thrusts into you again. With your face squished against the mattress, his hands dig into the fat of your hips to hold you in place. The fire in your stomach roars, legs trembling, muscles weak. He yanks you up by your hair—you were hoping he’d do that—to press your back to his chest, letting you feel how heavy he's breathing. 

“Don’t cum yet,” he says.

“Who said I was close?”

That evil laugh makes your eyes roll. “I can feel it.” Well, you can’t really argue with that. He was right. “Don’t.”

“You really like telling me what to do, huh?”

He snakes his hand in front of you to circle your clit, turning your whines to whimpers, desperately fighting the urge to let yourself go. What would happen if you did let yourself cum, though? It might be exciting to find out, hm? But being told what to do and when is just as exciting.

Grabbing his arm, your nails dig into his skin. He releases your hair, pushing you to the mattress roughly, face pressed against the mattress. Fists full of bed sheets, his hands spread across your ass, skin spilling through his fingers. 

It’s getting increasingly difficult to hold it together—the only thing letting you is knowing how good you must be making him feel if he’s making noises like that. 

“Yeonjun,” you gasp, his speed increasing. “Please.” The way he grunts tells you he’s close too, but he doesn’t plan on holding back. Pull my hair again, pull my hair again, pull my hair again, you keep thinking to yourself. And, oh, did you say that out loud? Because he pulls your hair again, finding an even deeper spot inside if you, the feeling spreading to your toes. 

“Please, Yeonjun—” you yelp. “Please let me cum.”

He groans again, your name falling out of his lips before adding, “Cum for me.”

Your loud whimpers are muffled by the pillow you’ve shoved your face into, the fire in your stomach roaring louder and louder until—

Fuck…

God, this is good. Your orgasm explodes inside you, fireworks going off in all directions, filling every nook and cranny of your body. Praising you through your orgasm, he encourages you to cum hard around him, reminding you of how good your pussy feels around his cock. 

Your body relaxes, but his doesn’t. He thrusts deeper inside of you, desperate to reach his own climax.

“Fuck—” he grunts, spanking you again. He loves seeing you jiggle like that. Reaching in front of you, he massages your tits, squeezing to get a firm grip. 

His breath hitches, his thrusts getting sloppy as he twitches inside you, groaning through his climax.

Collapsing on top of you, he catches his breath, chest rushing and falling against your back. Rolling off you to plop onto the mattress, he turns to look at your face while there’s a stillness in the air. 

“...so you’re a fan now?” 

“Haven’t I always been?”

Chuckling, his face turns to the ceiling, running his fingers through his hair, resting his arms above his head. As you make eye contact, both of you burst out laughing—

“I didn’t think you’d like the roleplaying thing as much as you did,” you giggle.

“Well, what can I say? It was hot,” he says. “Great idea, baby.” Tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, he smiles at you, kissing your forehead. “I love bringing you on tour with us.”

“I love it too.”

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (3/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur returns to your cabin after you presumed him dead. The time between your last meetings have lead Arthur to a realisation.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

6000 words

Sooner than expected, you heard of Arthur. Unfortunately, not because he sent you a note or stopped by again. As you rode into Annesburg three days after wishing him luck for the big score he had planned, the paper boys yelled through the town: "Saint Denis robbers still on the run! What happened to the gang of Dutch van der Linde? Find out in today's edition!"

Normally, you weren't too big on reading the newspaper, but this time…you hadn't never snatched it so quickly out of the boy's hand, leaving him to boast with the change you gave him. Hosea, dead. Lenny, dead. No account of any other names. You weren't sure who "a further gang member was arrested and awaits trial" meant. It only took a couple of days until everybody seemed to talk about it. Your main source of income being doing women's hair, you got a fair bit of gossip about the news.

Everything you heard from the ladies, took with a grain of salt. Either way, nobody ever mentioned Arthur by name. Your anxiety reached its peak when a rather well-off woman, not typically your demographic, had visited family in Saint Denis and brought an unsettling theory with her. Apparently, the most important members of the gang, including the leader, could have fled on a boat and drowned in the storm that was raging over the ocean the same night.

The "they have fled the country"-rumours were the most popular. Drowned in the ocean or not, the version varied based on who told you their theory. With every day you didn't hear the contrary and had no word from Arthur, you believed that you'd never see him again.

That was until one morning. You were working in your garden, busy with fixing the fence that had long stood neglected, when you saw a rider approach. Whether it was the hat or the horse you recognized first, you weren’t sure. But unmistakenly, the man on the horse that lazily trotted towards your cabin was Arthur.

You put your tools down and approached him, forcing yourself to walk calmly. The closer you got, the more unfamiliar he appeared. His beard had grown out, looking unkempt and way too long for what you were used to see him wear. Long strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. Arthur’s skin was darker than usual, even the unforgiving desert in the west hadn't left his skin as sunburned as it now appeared. Most of the red had settled into a golden-brown tan, particularly strong around the area where he cuffed his sleeves. For not seeing him for almost a month, this was quite a change.

A faint smile appeared on his lips when you reached him and walked next to his horse, leading it to your cabin.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you blurted out straight up.

Maybe a “Hello” or “Thanks for stopping by” would have been more appropriate, but the thought that had driven you insane the last three to four weeks just slipped out.

"I know. I'm sorry", Arthur jumped off his horse when you had reached your newly fixed gate. He looked at you, trying to take it all in. He had missed you; he had thought of you so much the last days and weeks, having you in front of him was a little overwhelming. But you looked like he remembered you. You weren’t wearing your fine clothes that you had worn when you caught him in your pond, but the worn jeans and shirt that had seen many fences painted and potted many plants looked good on you. It looked homely.

Arthur cleared his throat before he asked, "D'ya still cut hair?"

It was awkward...the ways he pronounced his question, the uncomfortable manner in which he scratched his way too long beard, seemingly unhappy with its new length.

Before you could answer, he added sarcastically: "Tried finding a barber on the Caribbean island but didn't came across someone I wanted to trust with scissors."

"Caribbean island?", you repeated questioningly, leading him into the cabin.

The tension between you felt peculiar. If tension were a tangible thing, you could have thrown a lasso and seemingly strangled it out of the air. But it wasn’t, so you and Arthur only struggled with finding your rhythm again.

"I came as soon as I could after returning...", Arthur explained apologizing, as if he had to rectify not visiting you sooner.

"Arthur. I thought you were dead", in front of your table, you stopped and looked directly at the man.

"'m afraid I have to disappoint", he chuckled, "Instead I'm here, asking ya for a cheap haircut because we lost...ten thousands in the sea."

"Ugh", you groaned, readying a chair for Arthur to sit on right at the table, "You sound so desperate, I might just give ya that haircut for free."

Arthur placed his jacket on a hinge next to the door and his hat on a free spot on the table. Again, it felt like he knew exactly where to place them, just as if he was coming home after a workday.

"Where d'ya want me, miss?", Arthur asked politely as if he had just entered a barber shop and there wasn't only one chair that looked prepared enough to serve as seat for his cut. You pointed at the chair a little absentmindedly, gathering your equipment and laying it out in the table in front of you.

"How short were you thinking?", you asked, walking around the seated man, ruffling his hair a little.

"Whatever you prefer", Arthur answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?", you asked, letting your finger scrape through his hair. His hair was wet at the roots, so you added surprisedly, "Did you just take a bath?"

"Might 've...", Arthur shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"You didn’t have to”, you reassured him, secretly amused by how endearing you found it.

"You wouldn't say that if you’d seen me before the bath. After three days in the Caribbean, killing half of the Pinkerton's agency and moving camp, you would have shot me on sight", Arthur joked, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Your answer was a soft chuckle.

After combing his hair, you repeated you question: "You're sure you don't want me to tell you how you want your hair done?"

"I trust ya", Arthur said.

"Mh, big mistake", you grinned. You caught Arthur's eye for a moment, and you could have sworn it was admiration in his expression. And trust, which honestly, was seldom for this man.

"I'll just cut it a little shorter than you had it when you first came to collect me", you said, waiting for his confirmation.

"...collect you and failed miserably at that", Arthur added.

"I thank the lord every day for that", you said jokingly. It was no laughing matter, though. You knew that as well as Arthur. The list of people the gang had lost in the last two months was long and you not rejoining was probably the only thing that had kept your name off that list.

You started doing Arthur's hair and one minute in, you decided to carefully pose the question of "What the hell happened the last couple weeks?". Arthur couldn't stop talking. He explained the plan of the bank robbery, explained when it went south. When Hosea was mentioned, he digressed a little. You too ended up sharing some anecdotes of the old man. You had loved him and felt a pang of guilt that you hadn't sent word to him that you were indeed fine. Hosea had been so kind to you when you expressed your wish to be on your own for a while, he had wished you the best and you had never even thought about sending a letter.

Then Arthur mentioned escape from Saint Denis. Your mouth went dry when Arthur recounted the storm, how he went overboard, nearly drowning and not knowing how lucky he was that he washed ashore on a beach. It was uncanny how some of the rumours you had heard mirrored the actual story.

Then came Guarma and everything that happened there. The return, the Pinkertons apparently following someone to Lagras and finally the move to Beaver's Hollow. They had been up there for a couple a couple of days now, and so much had already happened.

You listened, occasionally asked a question, but most of the time you were concentrating on not messing up the haircut. You had never heard Arthur talk that much before. Sober, that is. He can be quite a chatty drunk, but it seemed like he just wanted to get everything off his chest.

"How does that look?", you asked when you were done with his hair, holding a little mirror for Arthur to see.

His only response was a nob and a slight smile.

"Okay then", you spoke gently, "your beard's next."

The whole retelling of the last couple of weeks was what Arthur needed, but it killed his mood the same time. At least, that's what you though he was silent for. You cleared a spot on the table for you to sit on. It was way more comfortable sitting in front of Arthur while trimming his beard, but if you sat on a chair, you wouldn't have the height you needed.

You took a seat on the table in front of Arthur and noticed how his eyes immediately fixed on the ground.

"D'ya mind spreading your legs a little?", you asked. Despite the request confusing him a little, Arthur did as he was told and you put your on foot on his chair, so you wouldn't topple forward. Arthur tried his best to stifle the cough that worked its way up as he choked on his own saliva at this move.

"We're not going for a clean shave, are we?", you asked casually, trying to catch Arthur's eyes. He shrugged: "Whatever's easier for you."

You shook your head and began to trim his beard back to what you remembered he had the last time he visited you. Soon after you started, you noticed Arthur's cheeks getting warm and red. You were well aware that your cleavage was on his eye-level, probably the reason why he decided he was better off inspecting the floor. Meanwhile, you enjoyed gently tilting his head the way you needed it, finding no resistance from the man himself.

You talked only little, answering insignificant questions Arthur posed when the blade wasn't near his face, and he could actually move his mouth. You were almost done, only lining up his beard to give it an overall cleaner look, when Arthur said something out of the blue.

"Y'know, I been thinkin' about you. A lot," Arthur croaked, his throat dry all of a sudden.

"Mhm", you answered, not sure which direction that was supposed to go. You stopped shaving off the stubble on his neck when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Uh, I mean...", Arthur clears his throat, forcing you to stop the shave and look at him. Finally, his eyes found yours, "We're...uhm...friends, I hope." He forced a little chuckle that didn't sound genuine, especially under your curious gaze. You gave a quiet hum as sign of agreement.

"'s just that I...look, I understand if ya've found someone else. Hell, I took my sweet time and it wasn't fair how I treated you when you...", Arthur cleared his throat again, the words coming difficult to him, "when ya told me about yer feelings."

This was the point when your heartrate picked up and you felt your hands become sweatier. You had to put the blade down for a moment to wipe your hand on your shirt. Your mind was still caught on the line 'I understand if ya've found someone else'...like that had even been an option for you. For months you had tried to get over this man, then he came back waltzing into your life and you put your own ugly bounty poster on the wall as a reminder. And the you fixed the bedframe that he had fixed rather unsatisfyingly. You hadn't told him it broke the very same night he had “repaired” it. Nothing had changes the last year, you were pining as much for this man as ever...and yet, you didn't quite know how to react.

"I really like ya", he finally said, " I know well I don’t deserve it, but if ya wanted to give me another chance…"

"Morgan", you exhaled, "I got my boot between your balls and a blade at your throat...if you want to pull my leg I suggest you-"

"I mean it", and Arthur's gaze was so intense, this time it was you who struggled to watch him in the eye. You knew he wasn't lying. Hell, you hadn't really expected that he was just pulling your leg, you just said it to say something…to lighten up the mood that appeared so heavy again.

"Okay", you mumbled, barely able to disguise the tremor in your voice. Then you took the blade again, carefully turning Arthur's head upwards so you could better reach the hair you still needed to shave. There was this long and uncomfortable silence that neither of you wanted to break. You heard the birds outside, the blade scratching the skin and a heartbeat...if it was yours or Arthur's, you weren't quite sure.

Arthur thought that Guarma had been hell, but he found that your silence and okay was even more tortuous.

Finally, you were done. With a hairdressing brush you got rid of all the loose hair that decorated Arthur’s face. He gave you a slightly annoyed look as you tickled him behind his ears. Then you took the little towel that had prevented hair from falling into his shirt out in the garden to shake it out.  

The moment you stepped into the cabin again, Arthur's eyes caught yours and they were demanding an answer.

"I've never stopped loving you", the words burned as they left your mouth. The towel was thrown over an empty chair. Saying the words out loud…it changed something. Because as long as you had only thought them, there was this slim chance that they weren’t true. But there was no backing-out now, no denying.  

You continued: "But I can't...I won't rejoin the gang. I want to live here."

You said that because you knew that Arthur wouldn’t leave the gang for you, but you wouldn’t rejoin in either.

"Y/n...this thing is pretty much over", Arthur sighed. He was referring to the gang. He had alluded to it when he had recounted the happenings of the past weeks, especially breaking John out of jail and earning Dutch's disapproval. This was the first time he directly admitted it, "I want the Marstons safe...and the women...then it's done."

"Oh, so 'one more big score and then you can leave everything behind", you mimicked Dutch's voice. A tinge of animosity accompanied your words and this certainly wasn’t lost on Arthur. You couldn’t help but feel a bit unfairly placed in this situation.

"C'mere for a second", Arthur beckoned you, his eyes following every one of your movements until you stood in front of him, your hips brushing against the table. Arthur remained seated in his chair. Glancing at the man quickly, you congratulated yourself on having done a good job; his haircut looked sharp.

Then, suddenly, Arthur took your hand. It was such an unusual gesture, it alarmed you immediately. His hands were warm and rough, but not in an unpleasant way. Arthur held your hand lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

"I promise this is the last time. In a week, we're going to hit a train with army pay. Wednesday evening. After that, I'm done", Arthur spoke earnestly.

"I can't-" believe you, you wanted to say, because you knew it had been the same story with Mary. You knew that once an outlaw means always and outlaw. Not even Arthur's word was enough to ensure that those bonds wouldn't bind him to his old life and to the gang.

"Don’t say nothing yet", Arthur interrupted calmly. He stood up and let your hand slide off his, as he walked to his satchel. He pulled out his journal and carefully put it next to you. With no hesitation, he opened and skimmed through it. You couldn't see most of the pages because he flipped through them so quickly.

"It ain't even half-way done", Arthur assessed, showing you the empty pages, "I'll leave that here 'n collect it in a week."

"What?", you questioned, frowning, "What if I decide to read it as a bedtime story?"

"'s nothing in there that yer not allowed to know", Arthur mumbled, "Contrary. Sometimes I think I'm much better expressing my feelings on paper. I've never been a good talker."

Silently, Arthur opened a page in his journal that had a little dog-ear. The left side was empty and only had smudges of pencil on it, on the right side there was this impressively detailed bounty poster. It had the layout of the bounty posters they have hanging all over town, obviously it wasn't printed, but hand drawn. You recognized your name, your 15-dollars-worth and then yourself, staring back at you. You hadn't imagined Arthur to be one to draw people, let alone portrait style. In the brush of his pencil you recognized that he might be more professed in sketching trees and animals, but it was a perfectly decent drawing of you. Hell, it was even flattering, compared to the atrocity they had on your real poster.

Arthur put the journal away, leaving it on top of a pile of books on your nightstand.

"I jus' need t'know if this is a place I'm allowed to return to", Arthur finally asked.

"Always", you replied without hesitation, your gaze still fixed on his journal. Is he trying in tempting you to read it? Because if that's the case, it was definitely working.

"So I won't be greeted with a gun in my face?", Arthur chuckled.

You sighed, taking a brush that stood abandoned in the corner of the room and started to swipe Arthur's hair out of the house. "If you're going to bring that up one more time, I swear I'll give you a reason to fear me", you quipped.

"Oh, I already fear you a great deal", Arthur said sarcastically.

You shot him an intense gaze.

"You staying for dinner?", you asked in between the sound of bristles scratching on wood.

Arthur shrugged, mumbling: "They won't miss me for another day..."

"Good. Then go hunt something", you asserted, gently shoving him outside by brushing against his boots until he took the hint.

"Yes ma'am...", Arthur mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. When you had successfully shoved him outside, you closed the door behind him, not without a bit of force. It left him slightly perplexed and wondering.

You had tried your best to hold your feelings together, but it had become a little much. Since Arthur's confession, your hands hadn't stopped shaking and you hastily put the brush aside, sitting down with your back against the door. There were so many feelings inside you that all needed to be addressed, but you struggled to even detangle them.

First and foremost: You had spent months pining for Arthur, only to be rejected in a cruel way and then again wasting months in trying to get over him. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he comes back into your life with a request that suggests anything but care for you. So, he leaves, and appears again. Then leaves again, presumed dead or out of country and now he's here again, asking for another chance as if you even had the power to reject him. You didn't know if Arthur would be able to make you happy. In a way, you feared it might be the opposite because there was still one score...one more score. He might die, or he might stay for another score, and another, and so on.

You stifled a sob. Scenarios played out in your mind, and they all converged into two possible outcomes, ending with Arthur dead or disappeared, disappointing you yet and yet again because one can't just stop being an outlaw. The 5000 on his head won't just disappear, presumed or actually dead - it didn't matter much.

"Son of a bitch", you hissed, mad at the situation.

You just wanted to be happy and find some closure for this surge of emotions that had held you hostage for months, if not years.  

"Y/n?", Arthur's voice was so soft when he called out your name, you almost jumped in shock because you thought he had long gone hunting. But his voice came from right in front of the door.

"You okay?", he asked quietly.

"Yeah", you croaked, and it sounded anything but convincing.

"Ya sure?", he wanted you to confirm.

"I just need some time to think...", you whispered, trying hard not to sob.

"I'll stay close", you heard him state, then there were his steps leading away from the house.

For a while, you just sat on the floor. How to proceed?

By the time Arthur returned, the door to your cabin was wide open again, the sun shining inside. You had made your decision.

"I got us a rabbit", Arthur announced, "already skinned it. Figured it ain’t your kinda work."

You responded with an appreciative nod.

"It’s a real beauty”, Arthur grinned, a wisp of humour in his eyes, “or was, anyhow.  I shot it with a small arrow so I reckon the meat-“ before Arthur could put the rabbit down on the table, you had sneaked in for a hug.

"Oh", Arthur stuttered, carefully placing the rabbit down. He lifted his bloody and dirty hands in the air to make sure not to get any dirt on you. Even though you wore clothes that had seen better days and apparently had been demoted to housework, he still didn’t want to get you dirty. Despite his desire to reciprocate the hug.

"Y/n…", he chuckled apologetically, "I need to get washed up."

At that moment, you suddenly looked up to him, your faces mere inches apart. He noticed your gaze drifting between his eyes and lips, then you leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his cheek.

The blush was immediate. Your hands instinctively found their way to his face and tenderly cupped his cheeks. They were just as warm as they had been when you cut his beard.

"I'm really glad you're here", you said, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I'm-" Arthur began, but you interrupted him with a proper kiss. It was a brief one, testing the waters if Arthur would be fine with that. As you pulled back slightly to assess his reaction, he didn’t hesitate a second, closing the distance between you once more. "I really …don't wanna get ya…dirty", Arthur mumbled between kisses. He could feel the corner of your lips curving into a smile each time you interrupted him. The man struggled to keep his dirty hands in the air.

The kisses quickly became more passionate, and when your hands left his cheeks, one to rest in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, while the other one boldly explored his chest region. It occasionally shifted to grab his arm and squeezing lightly.

Arthur mumbled your name warningly, twice. Then he couldn't help but put his hand in the small of your back, pushing you closer. His bloody hands would surely leave a mark on your clothes, but neither of you cared about that, as his hands became just as active as yours, sometimes cupping your cheek, at other times allowing himself to explore your body a little.

Arthur had just enough control to not place you on the rabbit, when he lifted you up on the table. When both of you became short of breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. Your legs had snaked around his, caging him in.

"Haven't done that in a long time", Arthur's voice was raspy as he tried to apologize for the somewhat sloppy make-out session.

"Me neither", you giggled and placed a final kiss on his cheek, "brushed your hair for nothing", you noted, looking up to Arthur's tousled hair. Your fault.

Arthur backed away a little, as much as your legs allowed him: "Christ." He had left signific signs of blood and dirt all over you.

"Mhh…", you hummed amusedly, "Ain't my fault you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"T'way I see it, darling…", Arthur smiled and tried to brush some dirt off your cheek with his thumb, "it's precisely your fault."

Arthur had headed to a keg outside to get cleaned. You decided to get cleaned up only after butchering the rabbit, as this would get your hands dirty again anyways. As the meat sizzled in the in the pan, you decided it was time to wash up as well. While you put the finishing touches on the dish, Arthur sat at the table, leisurely smoking a cigarette and observing you. He had asked if he could help you with anything, but you had declined, insisting that he had already done his part by hunting the rabbit. It was your turn prepare it.

When you plated the meal, it was really nothing too complicated, and yet, Arthur thought, for a free meal, it was perfect. You initiated a conversation; it was more light-hearted than the one you had when you cut his hair. The weightier themes seemed to have lifted from Arthur’s heart, and both of you sought distractions.

You told Arthur more about how you passed your days, gardening, drawing, riding into town. Really most of the money you earned the honest way, cutting hair and doing the odd delivery job for the grocery store.

It was frightening how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Two or three years ago, you would have never imagined, talking so freely to him. Though he'd always been kind, there was an air of unapproachability that had since crumbled completely after the heartfelt conversation you both shared.

The conversation where Arthur poured out his frustrations and regrets concerning Hosea's and Lenny's death, had brought a sense of liberation. It dawned on him how long it had been since he spoke so openly with anyone. Arthur leaned back into his chair. In front of him was his empty plate, opposite of the table, you sat within arm’s reach, chatting about an interesting traveller that came past your cabin a few months back. Arthur listened attentively, his eyes following the movements of your fingers skilfully rolling a cigarette.

Neither of you ran out of stories to tell the other. Arthur talked about people he had met on his travels, a clumsy photographer, a man obsessed with fast horses and racing.

You only realised how long you had been talking when the light in the cabin became sparse, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

As the visibility waned, limited to the faint glow emitted by the burning tip of the cigarette, you finally rose to your feet to illuminate the cabin with the warm light of lanterns.

"I'll get my bedroll", Arthur announced, standing up with a grunt. He hadn't allowed himself to be this idle in a long time. All he had done today was sitting still for a haircut, killing one rabbit and then indulging in a lavish meal while engaging in easy conversation. His body had finally caught up with the stress of the last few weeks and he didn't know how to feel about how much his body ached. Despite the sun barely disappearing, Arthur would have been ready for bed. Funny, he thought, admitting one’s feeling for a girl could drain his strength that much.

At his announcement, Arthur noticed that you halted and were about to open your mouth as if to suggest something. But you didn't and let him venture outside.

When he took longer than anticipated, you followed him outside, only to find him leaning against the fence, his eyes in the sky. The sky was in this beautiful transition phase, going from hues of purple to a serene shade of blue with the first stars emerging in the east. You observed Arthur’s profile for a while, he didn't protest or showed any signs of being disturbed by your presence.

He was handsome. Something about his stature made you want to lean into him. But you didn't. Instead, you stood there, finding it hard to peel your eyes off him. Your lips quivered under the urge to say what you had thought earlier. After a big breath, you tried to say as casually as you managed: "I know my bed is too small for two people...but I was thinking if I put the mattress on the floor we could-"

"Y/N", Arthur interrupted you gently. He turned to look at you. Caringly, his hand found your shoulder, "It ain't right just yet."

Lying next to each other, cuddling, hugging, maybe stealing another kiss, you craved it badly. You finally had what you had desired for so long, you wanted it all at once. But Arthur knew that it would be unwise. He thought a lot about you, hell he did. And in his mind, he'd be too embarrassed to admit it of course, you had done way more than just kissed. But he knew it'd be wrong. He didn't want to fully commit just yet, and he didn't want to get your hopes up. It was genuine, when he said that the train robbery was the last score he wanted to do with the gang, but one train robbery is enough to get killed and he wouldn't dream about giving you this kind of pain. If he held it vague, if there was no sleeping close to each other, there was also no missing this proximity...if. Always if.

"Fine", you sucked in a little air, "but you take the bed then."

The two of you headed inside, Arthur with his bedroll clamped under his arm.

He shook his head: "It's your house, I can't jus'-"

"Exactly. It's my house, I can sleep in the bed every damn day. Besides, I don't figure you had a proper bed on Guarma, did you?", you teased.

"No, but-"

"Neither do you have one in camp so please- accept it", you looked up at Arthur rather desperately.

"Fine. You don't come complainin' to me if yer back hurts tomorrow", Arthur quipped.

"Oh, I'll definitely complain", you grinned. Arthur gave you his bedroll to spread in the corner where he had slept the last time. Arthur had sat down on the bed and watched you quietly as you readied your sleeping corner. When you glanced back at him, it was evident how weary he was, his eyes barely open, sitting up only out of politeness.

"You don't have to stay awake for me", you smiled, leaning against the table and studying the exhausted man. You noticed how tired he had become during your conversation. He had at least supressed three yawns.

"I jus'...haven't seen ya for so long, I don't want to waste that time with sleeping", Arthur explained. You found it cute he thought that way.

"You're not wasting anything", 'because we'll see each other again in a week, right?' you added in your mind. "I have this book I want to finish anyways, you just rest", you assured him.

You waited until he had settled in, exchanging a couple laughs about how unstable your bedframe was, and then you did the dishes. It didn't take you long, but Arthur was asleep when you had finished. He was turned towards the wall. On the nightstand was his journal. He had put it on top of the book you were currently reading. You took the book and settled on the bedroll.

You woke up to the sound of the bed creaking and blinked at Arthur, the first rays of the sun casting a warm glow on his frame. At some point during the night, he must have woken up and shed his clothes, as he now rested in the room clad only in his unionsuit.

"'m sorry, darlin'. I didn't want to wake ya", he apologized his raspy morning voice.

"It's okay", you yawned, forcing yourself to throw off your blanket to stand up, "I'll make some coffee."

In a couple big steps, Arthur was at your side: "You sleep some more, it's my turn for breakfast." Arthur squatted next to you and tugged you in before you could protest. You forced your tired eyes to stay on his face and not venture further down, pondering what the thin material might reveal.

When Arthur shot you a content smile, seeing you were up for no protest, a wave of panic washed over you.

"You won't just leave, right?", all of a sudden, you were wide awake.

"I won't", Arthur assured you.

"'cause if you do-", you started, a yawn interrupting your threat. Arthur chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked, happy that your yawn cut off before you could destroy that innocence with another gory threat.

"I'm way too scared of what you'd do", and then, to your surprise, he kissed your forehead. You only relaxed when Arthur had stood up again and indeed started to set up coffee. You were soon off to sleep again, only woken when the sizzling of fat in the pan woke you.

Arthur had made eggs. You ate in silence. A couple of times, Arthur tried to start a conversation, but you weren’t in the mood. He’d be gone in a couple of hours and you’d be left wondering if he’d ever return. Arthur knew that this was what was plaguing you, but he didn’t find the right angle to approach you.

You both did the dishes together, you helped Arthur by saddling his horse and then he had mounted it, looking down at you.

“Ya ain’t so happy about the prospect of me returning in a week, ‘s that it?”, Arthur joked.

“No”, you answered dryly, “I ain’t so happy about you leaving for a week.”

Arthur sighed and steered his horse closer to the fence: “Climb up here, I gotta tell ya something.”

Rather unwillingly, you climbed on one of the horizontal planks that kept your fence together. Arthur offered his hand for support and as an excuse to pull you a little closer. He kissed you, gently, on your lips.

“I promised I’ll be back, didn’t I?”, Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and neither were you when you whispered a dire “Yeah..”

You didn’t like the good-bye kiss. In fact, you wished he hadn’t done that. It hurt even more, seeing him disappear between the trees in the distance. For a while, you stood there helplessly, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before you ventured into your cabin, distracting yourself with some cleaning before your eyes fell on Arthur’s journal. You noticed a piece of paper sticking out. Without thinking, you opened the journal and the loose paper floated to the ground. You didn’t even bother picking it up, your eyes caught the first word written on top of the page. It was your name, written in Arthur’s familiar handwriting.

“Hell no”, you kicked the paper under the bed before you could read any further. You weren’t up for some heartfelt “Good-bye, in case I die I want you to know this”-letter. Frustration and anger bubbled within you as you scrambled into your good jeans and crammed your revolver into its back pocket. With a swift motion, you picked up your hunting rifle, mounted your horse and started to follow Arthur’s track.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x--x-x-x-x-x-x-x

next chapter: here

Shoutout to @little-honeypie who basically wrote the confession scene. I wouldn't have ever finished this if it weren't for them <3

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon