#I at least know generally the note it leaves off on and I don’t. like it
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ngl im not sure if im looking forward to playing y6
#im scared of it#I think it’s mostly going to make me sad and disappointed. prospects not great#I know I shouldn’t be saying this yet without knowing everything but. nnhdghjsmm…#I at least know generally the note it leaves off on and I don’t. like it#for the record I’ve played 0-4 + dead souls#have yet to play 5 6 and 7#I have 5 already and can play it at any time but I’m waiting til I finish dead souls prolly which won’t take too long since I’m on the last#part of it#rambling#sigh
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Hashira reacting to your affection
How will the hashira reaction to your affections?
Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader
Types of affection included: kisses, hugs and cuddles, affectionate biting/nibbles, compliments
Note: I wrote this over the past few days and is by far the longest fic I’ve ever written! Enjoy!
Here’s the Upper Moons + Muzan version
Sanemi Shinazugawa
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Kisses: 8/10
Sanemi grumbles when you don’t kiss him on his lips. He needs at least one kiss on his lips every morning after waking up, and a kiss on the lips when making his way to the next mission. Intimate and long kisses are his favourite, especially when he’s holding you in his arms, making out with you in the dark of your bedroom. It makes him feel very loved and secure like that.
Cheek kisses are alright, Sanemi doesn’t mind them. Quick pecks here and there make him grin slightly, but he prefers it when you kiss him properly.
Forehead kisses make him feel like a child. It’s not a good feeling for him since it reminds him how much he’s missing his mother. When you kiss him on the forehead, Sanemi would grimace, but not push you away.
Neck kisses make him shudder and blush, especially when you sneak up behind him and surprise him with them. He’d gasp and turn his head to you, asking what’s your problem. You just don’t know how sensitive his neck actually is, and the goosebumps you’re causing (and perhaps cause something to stiffen in his pants). But in return, Sanemi loves making you squirm under him while he kisses your neck, nibbling down here and there. Besides classic lip kisses, neck kisses are his favourite as well. Only if he’s not the one receiving them.
“Hey, you missed. Come kiss me properly.”
Hugs and cuddles: 9/10
Sanemi loves holding you for hours at a time. Cuddles are his absolute favourite activity to do with you, just holding you and caressing your back. Sometimes he’ll just lay there, caressing your face with his calloused fingers and admiring you and your sleeping beauty.
Hugs in general are nothing too special for him. He doesn’t really like initiating them since that’ll make him look desperate (according to him). But sometimes, Sanemi would lay in your bed and open up his arms for you to join him. If you do, you just fell into his trap. He would wrap the blanket around you and roll you in with him, forming a blanket burrito. Now, you’re forced to cuddle him until either of you has to go to the bathroom.
“No, you can’t leave. I don’t care if ya have plans, I’m your plans now.”
Affectionate biting/nibbling: 6/10
It confuses him. Is it a joke? Are you challenging him? Or just trying to annoy him? Sanemi doesn’t mind, even if you bite down hard, since he is pretty pain tolerant. He will flinch or yelp quietly when you nibble on his hand or shoulder out of nowhere but if you do it during cuddles, Sanemi will just eye you, quietly judging… He grumbles when you leave a hickey on him. It makes him embarrassed if he can’t cover it up. Surely the other hashira are going to tease him every day until it faded… and probably even longer.
As mentioned before, Sanemi will nibble on your neck during steamy make-out sessions. He likes leaving hickeys on your collarbone and neck and in other obvious spots, obviously marking you as his.
“Hey, stop biting or I’ll bite back. I mean it.”
Compliments: 6/10
Compliments about his appearance make him feel proud of himself. Sanemi will brush you off and hide his blushing face, but on the inside, he’ll feel more confident and prideful. Pointing out how cool his scars look will make him less insecure about them. As long as you like them, Sanemi thinks.
Complimenting his skill as a hashira and his breathing style will make him flustered. Now everytime Sanemi uses a breathing technique, the only thing he can think about is how pretty you found the visuals. They aren’t supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to be intimidating, damn it!
“Tch. I ain’t cute... and I’m not fucking blushing!”
Kyojuro Rengoku
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Kisses: 8/10
Regular kisses make Kyojuro blush just a little. Your soft lips on his feel like heaven to him, the way you cup his cheeks and pull him closer… He’ll return the kiss with extreme enthusiasm, making sure to either pull you a little closer and pour his love and passion for you into that act, or to place multiple pecks on your lips. Kyojuro just cant get enough!
Cheek kisses make him smile brightly and return the favour as well. After you finished kissing him, he’d place a hand on the area where you kissed him, feeling the lingering affection. Kyojuro feels like cheek kissed are convenient, meaning that whatever you are doing, he’ll find a way to steal your attention for just a moment by kissing your cheek randomly.
Forehead kisses feel intimidate and protective. Kyojuro would close his eyes and feel your lips on his forehead. In return, he also likes giving you forehead pecks. He’d cup your cheeks and tilt your head downwards for him, then place a warm and affectionate kiss on your skin.
Neck kisses make Kyojuro squirm. A lot. He doesn’t really like getting them. He jumps everytime he feels your breath on his neck… please don’t do this to him, his neck is just too sensitive and ticklish! Kissing your neck makes him nervous, so he’ll grow flustered everytime he does it.
“May I have another kiss? You forgot my other cheek!”
Hugs and cuddles: 9/10
Kyojuro loves, loves, LOVES cuddling you! He doesn’t care if he is sweating or you’re sweating, cuddling together with you is one of his most favourite things in the whole world. He adores holding you against his chest and taking in the feeling of feeling your skin against his. Sometimes, when you’re asleep, Kyojuro will just stare at your beautiful face. He’ll smile at himself and admire your beauty and think about how lucky he is. Kyojuro also likes warming you up with his warm body, especially in the winters. He’d pull you even closer and make sure that you two are properly wrapped in a blanket together and huddled up in the warmth.
He also adores giving out big bear hugs. Kyojuro would pick you up and spin you up in the air, holding you by your waist and just twirling him around. He’ll do that in public, in front of Shinjuro and Senjuro, in private and whenever he wants! Kyojuro loves you dearly and will demonstrate it everywhere! Even if it’s childish at times.
“Father look! I can lift her well above my head!”
“Put that poor woman down, you’re gonna drop her.”
Affectionate biting/nibbling: 8/10
Kyojuro doesn’t mind your random biting or nibbling. He probably does it himself! When you two cuddle together or simply make out a little, Kyojuro might switch over to kissing the top of your hand, nibbling down on it a little. He also likes nuzzling into your neck, biting down gently. He might even leave a little hickey here and there. Whenever you nibble or bite down onto his skin, he will laugh loudly and place a kiss onto your cheek.
“Do I taste good? I hope so!
Compliments: 7/10
Calling him handsome brightens his day almost as much you kissing his cheek. They make him grin and feel proud. He’ll push his chest out a little and blush, thanking you loudly for your kind words. Also, Kyojuro loves to compliment you. He is your biggest cheerleader and will support you with his words and actions however he can. If you’re feeling down, he’ll make sure to cheer you right back up with encouraging and kind words
“Thank you, my flame! Your words warm my heart!”
Gyomei Himejima
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Kisses: 8/10
Kissing Gyomei anywhere proves to be quite a challenge. You can’t really reach his face without having him to kneel or sit down, therefor the only chance you have to kiss him is early in the mornings when you two lay together in bed. That’s where Gyomei is the cutsest, all sleepy and sluggish. His voice will be even deeper and raspier and his hair is messed up. In those early morning hours, you have the best opportunity to give him kisses.
Forehead kisses are his favourite since that is the area you can never reach him normally. He connects those kisses with the times you two lay in bed and hold each other and the times you smother him in affection.
Cheek kisses are feel nice, but aren’t his favourite. He likes to return the favour though and kiss you on your cheek. Gyomei especially finds it adorable when you ask him to lean down in order to kiss him. It makes him cry a little everytime.
Regular kisses are nice. He likes it when you ask him to lean down, cup his cheeks and kiss him on the lips. It does taste a little salty though, given how Gyomei starts crying when kissing you sometimes.
“Apologies for my tears, dear pearl. May I have another kiss?”
Hugs and cuddles: 9/10
Gyomei adores holding you close to his larger body. He likes being the big spoon, but his favourite position would be holding you while his head is nuzzling against your soft chest. That way, you can run your fingers through his hair and trace the muscles on his back. He loves the warmth you give him. Gyomei’s absolutely loves running his large palm over your body, tracing your features. His hand will linger on your waist and rub you up an down, then it will travel downwards to your buttocks (if you let him) and caress your backside a little, then it would go down to your thighs and gently squeeze you here and there.
Gyomei likes hugs a lot. Your hugs are cute to him and how you’re trying to wrap your arms around his whole waist. He will lean down slightly and hug you back, mumbling quiet affectionate words to you. Gyomei is the best hug giver.
“Your body is my temple. I’d like to worship you more, if you let me.”
Affectionate biting/nibbling: 7/10
When you nibble on his shoulder like that, your behaviour reminds him of a feisty cat. It’s adorable and Gyomei will let you to as you like. As a way to tease you a little, he may pat your head the same way he would pet a cat. Gyomei won’t do it in return. He doesn’t always give out hickeys, but he doesn’t mind having them. Knowing that you left a mark on him for everyone to see makes him smile sightly.
“What do you require? Would you like me to pet you?”
Compliments: 8/10
Gyomei starts crying when you praise him. He’ll thank you and compliment you as well, trying to please you. He doesn’t always know what exactly to compliment, given that he is blind, so he sometimes compliments something very random about you. Hearing you giggle after Gyomei points out that your hairstyle _feels_ different but better than yesterday makes him cry and smile at the same time. Your laugh is the sweetest melody to him.
Gyomei appreciates your praises and compliments and the encourage him to keep training.
“Your skin feels so soft, my beloved.”
Giyu Tomioka
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2901102df76912c89e6cd233d0344a60/965b75064086a69b-82/s540x810/a4994bca85f457fe1992753c822e941453fed03f.jpg)
Kisses: 7/10
Giyu tenses up everytime you surprise him with kisses. It’s not like he doesn’t like them, he’s just not used to get affection like that. But when you two are hanging out in private, maybe even making out, he’ll blush and return your kisses with eagerness. Your lips on his feel like heaven to him, or as close as he can get there.
Regular kisses on his lips make him blush brightly but he’ll eagerly try to reincorporate your affections by kissing you a well. Giyu isn’t very good at kissing though, but practise makes perfect! The more you kiss him, the better he’ll get.
Cheek kisses are one of his favourites. They don’t make him as flustered and they’re convenient. Giyu can just lean in and give you a quick peck on your cheek and remind you that he loves you lots. Sometimes, when you two sleep together in the same bed, Giyu’ll kiss your face all over.
Forehead kisses make him feel oddly secure and loved. When you cup his cheeks like that and lean in, kissing his forehead and playing with his hair a little. It makes his knees feel weak when you do that.
Neck kisses make him tense and flustered, especially when you sneak up on him. Giyu would let whimper your name and try to shoo you away, but give up after a while. He’ll try to stop himself from moaning…
“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that again. Ah…”
Hugs and cuddles: 8/10
Giyu likes cuddling you. It makes him feel safe and secure when you hold him in your arms like that. His favourite position is being the little spoon and you big spooning him, running your fingers through his black hair. Being held makes him feel incredibly relaxed and secure, being loved like this. His doubts about your relationships and insecurities vaporise for just a moment. He also loves to lay his head on your chest. In his opinion, that’s the best way someone could sleep at night. Giyu probably won’t initiate the cuddles himself, thinking you would just say yes to please him, but once you initiate the cuddles, he’ll happily oblige.
Hugs are a little complicated for him. He grows incredibly tense when you hug him in public. Giyu doesn’t really know what to do with his arms or hands, where to look or how to properly and respectfully breathe around you. He really is scared of making you uncomfortable or do something you might dislike. You’ll need to tell him that you’re perfectly comfortable with him hugging you back and hugging you at all. He can handle hugs in private a little better.
“Mh.. can we cuddle a little longer? I’m… still tired.”
Affectionate biting/nibbling: 3/10
Giyu will just eye you judgmentally. Why are you doing that? It hurts.
“Ouch… why did you do that?”
Compliments: 8/10
You make him feel better about himself when you compliment him. As an acknowledgement of your words, he’d nod his head and smile slightly. Sometimes Giyu has a hard tome believing your words, but by you insisting on them being true, he began accepting them more and more.
Giyu will try to give you a lot of compliments back, but they sometimes come out a little dry and not the way he planned on making them sound.
“You did well today. I appreciate your presence.”
💠
Hope you enjoyed this! My requests are open for the hashira as well as the demons. I am very picky with requests though and will only write the ones that truly speak to me- wich is actually most of them. :P
Note: 700 NOTES?? I am very surprised this took off so well- not that I am complaining. Thank you for all your reblogs, comments and likes <3 I appreciate every single one of you <33
Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!
Take care of yourselves <3
#💠 house of vry 💠#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer#kny x reader#fluff#demon slayer hashira#sanemi x reader#sanemi x you#demon slayer sanemi#kny sanemi#kyojuro rengoku x reader#rengoku x reader#rengoku kyoujurou x reader#gyomei x reader#gyomei himejima#giyuu x reader#giyu tomioka#gyomei x y/n#gyomei x you#kyojuro x reader#rengoku kyojuro#giyuu x y/n#giyuu x you#demon slayer gyomei#kny kyojuro#kny giyuu
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3c096831393b045c3b38c45abd5343c9/57f90feadfa45552-2a/s500x750/a6beb23f146cf30fddabad34b7de2a84f5a5c947.jpg)
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How high on the clingy/protective scale these boys are …
Dick: a solid 8.5/10.
A very clingy bean.
Dick would be attached to your hip 24/7 if he could but he couldn’t answer that makes him sad.
In the wise words of @obsessedwithromance on one of my recent posts; ‘if Dick was a dog, he’d be a husky.’
And he’d make a very vocal husky at that with how often he whines and whinges whenever you tried to move from his grasp, acting as though every attempt in removing yourself from his arms were an attack against his character. So he will take personal offence to you wanting to leave him out in the cold and desolate place that was your bedroom. 💀
‘Stop trying to get out of my arms.’ He moans, tightening his hold on you as he buried his head into your neck, locking legs with you for extra measure. ‘Dick, I love you but you’re being too clingy for me right now.’ You reply and had just noticed the error of your ways almost immediately and were about to explain yourself but it was already too late, for you had set Dick the human husky off.
‘Me? Clingy? I thought you liked it when I was clingy? Why the sudden change? What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me?’ Dick began his tirade and you could only lay there and let him talk your ear off -and loudly might I add- about how you apparently didn’t love him enough, which was a bunch of bullshit, but dick was too in his feelings to listen to reason. You’ll have to kiss him to shut him up, there’s no other option.
So once he’s settled down, he’ll go back to cuddling against your back,smiling dopily while you could only congratulate for a job well done at defusing the situation form getting any worse. You love your dramatic human husky and you wouldn’t change anything for anyone.
Jason: 7.5/10 or a 8/10.
The only time you’re seeing this man be clingy as all hell if he’s in a particular mood and want your affection, which might as well be all the time with this man, or after a not so great nightmare.
He would wake up in a cold sweat and immediately look for you and hold you against his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear, only just until his breathing evens out and not so tense in the muscles. Until then he holds onto you tightly and familiarises himself with you in anyway that he could, whether that be counting your eyelashes, noting the different shades that make up your eyes and much more.
At least just enough to help him gain some sense of self and awareness that he was safe and sound from all harm.
Like Jaime, Jason would watch over you like a hawk as Red Hood without a shadow of a doubt, and Jason has his reasons to do so as he knows the type of people who litter the streets of Gotham at night like the back of his hand. He doesn’t want to subject you to that sort of life of constant fear of having to look over your shoulder in hopes that there wasn’t someone following you home.
For in his minds eye, he’s your sole protector and the one thing that stands between the scumbags of the street and you. Jason doesn’t take this position he’s given himself lightly, it’s unlike him to anyway, as your safety is his top priority and he’d do anything to obtain it; whether they way it’s obtained was morally questionable or not, he doesn’t care for as long as your safe, he’ll live to learn with having permanent blood on his hands.
Damian: 5/10 on a good day. 2/10 in general.
He’s not an overly clingy person. Protective? yes. Clingy? No. It’s just not in just nature and he can be very awkward going about it too.
Damian knows he doesn’t have to constantly survey you 24/7, he has more faith in you and your abilities then most. He knows that you won’t call upon him if at all when faced with a situation that you could easily resolve yourself.
However if you were to get hurt on his watch or otherwise, that’s when he gets slightly clingy and will attempt to be within any space with you possible. Damian shows care in a completely different way than most and will more or less act like a guard dog when it came to you.
This little dude will point his sword at anyone that comes into close contact with you while glaring at them, meanwhile you’re having to push the blade of his sword down and away from the poor victim, only for Damian to raise his sword back towards their throat once more.
‘Pack it in.’ You’d hiss.
‘No. You’re practically useless when hurt, so let me deal with this one.’ Damian said.
You purposely ignored the fact that he had just called you useless and instead pushed the blade of his sword down until it was pointing at the floor again. ‘He’s not even a threat, just a regular citizen. So you can stop it with the fear attics now.’ You told him in a hushed tone. Damian meets your eyes with a glare of his own. ‘How you can be certain he’s a harmless civilian? What if he’s a low life thug of an underground drug syndicate on the rise? You can’t allow yourself to trust every face you meet.’ He replies, not one to back down for anyone, not even you.
You sigh as you rubbed the sides of your head. ‘Well at least try not to cause more issue for your dad. I swear between you, Jason, Tim and Dick I don’t know who gives him the most grey hairs.’
Jaime: runner up for Dick’s crown with also a 8.5/10
He’s clingy in a sense that he fears of loosing you constantly.
Khaji-Da doesn’t make the situation any better as it only encourages Jaime’s Innate clinginess tenfold, and now Jaime can’t go a couple of minutes without offering to join you on wherever your going.
He just cares about you very deeply and wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’d ever lost you despite having the ability to stop any harm from coming your way. So needless to say that you spend most of your time with him and his family is a severe understatement.
It’s not as though he doesn’t trust you, he wholeheartedly does, but that trust doesn’t extend to potential outside threats. Hell, he would even go as far as to watch over you as Blue Beatle, much to the behest of literally everyone that isn’t Khaji-Da because the scarab is just as clingy over you in a sense that you were Jaime’s mate and there for should be within close proximity to him at all times.
It’s endearing but I think it’s about time you told Kahji-Da to cool it on the whole threatening people you talked to with plans to eliminate them…
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc comics x reader#dc x you#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#jason todd fanfiction#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson x you#damian wayne x you#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagines#damian wayne fluff#jaime reyes imagines#jaime reyes x you#jaime reyes x reader#jaime reyes imagine#jaime reyes fanfiction#dc fluff#nightwing x you#nightwing fluff#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader
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🥀 … ( reaction ) it’s not over ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이키즈 ՞
⸃ ⸰ ⌁ trying to breakup with them but they don’t let you ヾ
yandere!스트레이키즈・ fem!reader g ・yandere cw ・THIS IS A DARK GENERE manipulation , mentions of murder, language wc ・ 1.5k | click to library
request. can i request yandere stray kids' reaction to you breaking up with them, at least trying to? if i can request something else as well, a general headcanon to the type of yanderes they each would be.
「 ୨୧ authors note 」 you asked for two things so i tried to combine them to , i hope you don’t mind !
﹙ 𐙚 : bangchan ﹚ .ᐟ
chan is a manipulative yandere; he knows how to flip a situation and make you seem like you’re in the wrong. “you want to leave?” he asks with disappointment leaking in his voice. “did i do something wrong?” he sounds hurt. “i just don’t think we’re gonna work out anymore , you’re too controlling.” he tries not to get mad, “controlling? is me wanting to protect you too controlling?” you cant answer him. “my friends don’t even want to hang out with me because you’re always there.” he complain. “i can’t even go out with out you.” chan is smart though, he knows how to gaslight you. “what happens when you go out? when you went clubbing and that guy tried to take advantage of you , your friends are just jealous , do they have boyfriend who want better for them? no.” he said. “I do this because I love you.” he said , you start to feel bad. “if you want to leave then i can’t stop you but just know everything i did for you.” by then you already feel like shit , how could you do this to him? you couldn’t leave him when he cared so much for you. “i-im sorry.” you held your head down in shame. “it’s my fault for listening to my friends.” you don’t even notice his menacing smile, cause he knew he had you once again.
“it okay , but you know i can’t just let this be.”
﹙ 𐙚 : lee know ﹚ .ᐟ
lee know is a unpredictable yandere; one minute he’s calm, the next minute he’s lashing out , throwing things and breaking them. “leave? sure you can go out for a few hours , be home by 9:30 — no leave for good.” he stops petting the cat , looking up at you. his gaze alone is enough to scare you into submission , but you stand your ground. “i want to leave for good.” he doesn’t say anything just stands up. “no.” he walks away. “no? you can’t stop me from leaving , let’s just end this before things get worse.” he’s calm and level headed , until you piss him off which is what this conversation was doing. “did you not hear what the fuck i said!” he shouted , slamming the plate down into the sink , shattering it. “minho I can’t do this!” you shouted back , but he grabs your shirt , pushing you against the wall. “you don’t get it do you? you aren’t leaving.” he says threateningly. “i will kill you before letting you go.” and you know he’s serious. “i-im sorry.”
“that’s better , now go feed the cats while i clean the mess you made up.”
﹙ 𐙚 : changbin ﹚ .ᐟ
you can’t leave him; you want to but he made it so you can’t. changbin will make it so you’re so dependent on him before you decide to end the relationship that you it’s too late when you want to call it quits. “where will you go?” he asks. “you don’t have a job, when’s the last time you paid a bill?” he’s so relaxed about the situation. “i can get one and i can pay my own bills.” you respond. “you’d forget to feed yourself if i didn’t cook for you, or buy you food don’t be stupid.” if that doesn’t work he’ll just scare you into staying; he won’t ever hit you… that being said he might not hit you but he will use physical strength to scare you ( think about that one video of him holding seungmin by his arms and wrist ). “please let me- listen here.” he squeezed the back of your neck. “ch-changbin please, do-don’t hurt me.”
“i wont hurt you , but you need to drop this shit and drop it now.”
﹙ 𐙚 : hyunjin ﹚ .ᐟ
hyune is confusing ; he doesn’t really see what he does is wrong; so what he doesn’t let you out? what’s the reason for you to go out there when he’s inside here. “i can’t do this anymore.” he’s just sitting there painting as usual , not really listening because you’re being ridiculous. “are you listening.” he turns to you. “are you done?” and you’re just in shock. “good , go sit down.” doesn’t truly believe you’d leave. “hyunjin i said im leaving, i can’t stand being in here anymore.” that’s when he drops his paintbrush. “i said go sit down.” when you walk towards the door is when he fully gets up. he’s not violent — unless he needs to be, so he will rough you up , grabbing you by your shirt , throwing you on the bed. “why can’t you just fucking listen?” he curses. “there’s nothing out there for you , you can’t get any better then here.” he says , throwing your bag of clothes in the closet. “if you get up again , throwing you to bed will be the least of your problems.”
“now sit there and be good, like i said the first time , i won’t tell you again.”
﹙ 𐙚 : jisung ﹚ .ᐟ
jisung is a unhinged manipulative yandere; and his entire life is revolves around you. you’re the reason he breathes every morning. so if you aren’t there, what’s the point? “jisung we have to end this, this isn’t safe for either of us.” you held a bag in your hand full of your stuff. “look at your arms and legs they’re all cut up.” he stared at you with tears in his eyes. “i did it to show you how much i love you, why don’t you understand i love you so much im willingly to kill myself for you.” you stopped him. “that’s the problem ji , you’re not well. he’ll cry — very loudly , cries likes he’s been stabbed because in his head he might as well have been. “no! you said you love me! if you leave me i’ll kill myself , i really will.” he goes immediately to the knife he’s hidden because you threw the rest out. “jisung where did you get that?” he doesn’t answer , just puts it to his throat.
“the moment you step out the door i’ll do it.”
﹙ 𐙚 : felix ﹚ .ᐟ
his obsession with you is too strong for him to let you go; even if his heart is telling him to, his brain is louder , he’s basically fighting himself and his brain is winning. “felix please let me go!” your legs were now tied to the bed , one arm connected to the bedpost as he tried to feed you. “im not hungry i want to leave!” you shouted , which made him flinch. “i-i can’t.” he says. “i know it’s wrong , you should be out there living life , but i just can’t.” he can’t let you leave him , he needs you. “I need you with me okay , i can’t breathe without you dove.” puts drugs in your food to keep you docile , he doesn’t want to hurt you , he’s probably the less dangerous one towards you at least. “im sorry please just drink some water.” you give in not thinking its drugged — until you involuntarily start to drift off. “fe-felix.” you can hear the sadness in his voice , he genuinely feel’s guilty. “im sorry, im so sorry.”
“i just love you so much i can’t let you go.”
﹙ 𐙚 : seungmin ﹚ .ᐟ
i have said this before; seungmin knows you’ll leave regardless if he forces you to stay or doesn’t ; not matter if he threatens you, hits you, whatever. so he lets you go, that’s fine go — but not without a cost , guess you finally decided you no longer wanted your friend alive… otherwise you wouldn't have made the stupid decision of leaving him. “what did you do?” you dropped your phone upon entering his house. he has lured you there calling you from your friends phone… the friend who was currently bleeding on the ground; beaten mercilessly. “why the fuck did you have a male friend anyway if not to be a whore , should’ve killed him months ago. literally doesn’t care if you’re crying. “don’t cry now , this is your fault.” he said. “told you , I won’t ever hurt you.” he said the knife bloody , pointed at you.
“but everyone else is free game , these are just flesh bags to me, they mean more to you than me.”
﹙ 𐙚 : jeongin ﹚ .ᐟ
jeongin is a yandere who likes to play games; you want to break up? go ahead and leave. when you do , he’ll actually leave you alone for a while , let you live your life, even let you get a new boyfriend. but that’s just cause he wants you to think he’s gone; give you that high; before the low. everything is so good — then suddenly you lose your job, so you have no income; then your boyfriend suddenly breaks up with you no warning. it’s like everything went to shit , and who is there to pick up all your broken pieces? well jeongin is there with open arms, ready for you to step right into them, but not without consequences. see that job you lost? jeongin called in a favor and got you fired. that boyfriend? well let’s just say jeongin sent a few photos of the both of you together and it was the end of that. “you see how i did all that.” he tells you after you sobbed in his arms after he told you what he did.
“i can make this much worse , don’t ever think of leaving me again.”
©️LUVYENI
#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#skz smut#skz hard hours#stray kids hard hours#stray kids hard thoughts#skz hard thoughts#yandere skz#yandere stray kids#bang chan hard hours#bangchan x reader#lee know hard hours#lee know x reader#seo changbin x reader#seo changbin hard hours#hwang hyunjin x reader#hyunjin hard hours#han jisung hard hours#han jisung x reader#lee felix hard hours#lee felix x reader#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin hard hours#yang jeongin x reader#yang jeongin hard hours
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Slow Morning with Leon Kennedy
Summary: a warm winter morning after with your boyfriend. (RE4R Leon x Reader)
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: alludes to sexual content happening the night before, no smut, ur so in loooooove. would it even be a story of mine if it wasn’t at least a bit angsty? tooth-rotting fluff, unspecified gender of reader.
Notes: writing the aftermath because i’m scared of writing smut. #needthat. also, happy holidays to everyone celebrating stuff at the moment! <3
You awaken with the golden morning sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains and casting an entrancing glow on your bedroom walls. Every morning, the sight reminds you of that afternoon spent at the furniture store where you and your boyfriend deliberated way too long over picking the perfect amenities for your first place together. Leon wanted some blackout curtains, but you figured some pretty see-through ones could start off the day with some much-needed serotonin. You got your way and you were right. You’re home a lot more than Leon, anyway. It feels like he’s always gone on missions. He typically can’t even disclose the details of them to you, either, leaving you to find out he was risking his life across the globe only when he comes back. That feeling of hopelessness – of not knowing where your partner is, or if he’s safe… it’s a most devastating feeling you wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
It's that D.S.O. agent’s arm, sleepily thrown across your midriff, that now pins you down to the heavenly mattress. You couldn’t escape this warm, golden confinement even if you wanted to. He’s recently come back from Spain and can’t keep his hands off of you since – not that you mind the constant affection. You can’t so much as brush your teeth without having strong arms wrap around you from behind, or cook dinner without him plastering kisses down your neck and shoulders, or even pick out your clothes in the morning without getting groped lovingly. And despite all of that, there’s still a tenseness to the way he moves, the way he carries himself. As if you’re both waiting for the other shoe to drop – waiting for him to be ripped away from you again. So you take the time you have now to admire his sleeping form. It’s the only time he truly looks peaceful. You trace a careful thumb over the space between his brows. There are usually a few tense lines there, giving away the insurmountable stress he carries with him wherever he goes. You’d give anything to have him like this all the time: warm, safe, at ease and at home.
He begins to stir and you continue to caress the angles of his pretty face. His long lashes flutter slowly. He looks godly, with the white sheet thrown loosely over his bare frame and the celestial light glowing from the window behind him…
“Morning, baby~” he croaks groggily, making you smile. He only calls you pet names when his mind is dazed from sleep, or in especially tender moments.
“Shhh,” you coo. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He shakes his head ever so slightly, despite struggling to keep his stormy eyes open. He nuzzles closer to you. “M’awake now,” he mumbles against the skin of your chest.
“Sorry.”
He gives you a look that you read perfectly – don’t apologize – and playfully nips the fat of your chest. You squeak, still sensitive from his generous attention to it last night, before giving his hair a light tug away. He just grins like the beautiful fool he is for you. “Careful. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish. Must still be pretty spent from last night.”
“Fiend.” You scoff, but he can’t see anything other than amusement on your angelic face. “You’re that confident in your abilities?” you pull his leg for no reason – he very well should be.
“Mhm.” The blond yawns. He stretches onto his back causing the thin sheet to drag down and his defined v-line to peek ever so slightly from above it.
Your face warms and you make to get out of bed before the urge to start last night’s endeavours all over again takes over. “First thing in the morning. Shameful,” you scold half-heartedly as if you aren’t having the exact same thoughts.
Leon groans and hooks a toned arm around your waist. “Don’t,” he pleads, pulling you back down into his warmth.
You giggle, reaching back to hold him back. “Don’t you have anywhere to be? Won’t Hunnigan want to see you?”
He nuzzles his face into your neck, never getting enough of your warmness, your smell, your everything. The linens already smell like you. Part of him aches at the realization that there isn’t a hint of him there, granted he’s been gone on missions a lot. He’ll take waking up and having his senses consumed by you over waking up sore in a shitty motel, or even worse on something that’s not even meant to be slept on in the middle of a mission. Anyday. “No. I fought like hell to get time off for the holidays.”
That snaps you out of your cozy wooziness in a shared heartbeat. Your head jerks back to look at him, your eyes wide in disbelief, shining with a rare light of hope. “Really?”
“Mhm.” He dares to grin, pleased with your adorable reaction. Lovingly, he pulls you up to straddle his lap.
It always makes your stomach turn, how effortlessly he can handle you around. With a last-second thought, you pull a sheet along with you to create a weak barrier between your intimate parts and him, still wanting to relish in the comfort a moment more before things inevitably turn heated again. You bask in the idea of the two of you getting to pretend to live a normal life for a week or two. You could have this domesticity every morning…
He shoots you a mischievous look. “Minx.”
You only laugh. “We have all the time in the world.”
He sits up to litter warm kisses along your tender neck, his hands resting firmly on your hips. “And I plan to take advantage of every second,” he finishes your sentence.
To egg him on, you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Oh! We can make breakfast together… And I didn’t finish decorating the apartment! And we could go ice staking! I still can’t believe you don’t know how,” you begin to ramble, getting pleasantly overwhelmed with the possibility of all the seasonal activities you could finally do with the love of your life.
He chuckles softly, lifting his head from your neck. His lips are starting to swell deliciously. “Sure, baby. Anything you want.”
Leon was never a religious man, but he’d worship you if he could – drop to his knees and pray for a drop of your attention – his saving grace. He intended to make his devotion clear every crisp morning during this break.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#resident evil#resident evil 4#re4 leon x reader#re4 remake#re4 leon#leon kennedy smut#re4#leon kennedy x you#holiday fluff
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♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time (part 2)
♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream, Dead by Daylight, Hannibal (TV) /Silence of the Lambs, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (og), slashers (general)
♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Hannibal Lecter, Bubba Sawyer
♡ reader; gender neutral
♡ cw; graphic sexually content!!, mentions of vouyerism, documentation kink (yay Danny), manipulation, breeding kinkish content, lots of cumming inside, light pet play elements
♡ notes; seven babes in one post wowowowow! i’m just trying to get caught up with everyone else before i start doing new prompts. but! i have a big list of new ones do not fear
these weren’t written in one sitting like some of my other fics so i’m sorry if the quality wildly varies
•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•
Jason Vorhees
> It’s been gentle coaxing towards each step of the relationship with Jason
> And while you have the patience of a saint when it comes to that man, you’re also incredibly pent up. You’re just as much of a virgin as him and starting to wish he’d fix that.
> But you keep it to yourself, not wanting the pressure him into anything and getting yourself off when he’s not there. It worked well enough before after all.
> One day he comes home when you’re in the middle of mastrubating and you quickly scramble to hide the fact
> He knows somethings up right away, you’re covering yourself with a blanket and red faced…He’s repressed, not stupid.
> You apologize meekly and expect him to walk away - instead he grabs the blanket and pulls you forward by your thighs
> “J-Jason- baby? Are you going to-?”
> He pushes his mask up and goes down on you like a man starved… he may or may not have been home earlier than you realized, listening to you whimpering and moaning his name
> And getting you off ends up getting him very excited- excited enough that he doesn’t care about anything but doing it again
> And if you want him inside you, he’s more than happy to oblige.
> You shyly straddle him and sink onto his cock, holding onto him tightly
> He hides his face in your neck as you slowly move, murmuring sweet words of encouragement to him
> “Jason, it’s so good- you feel so good-“
> After a bit he holds your hips, fingers digging in as you get him closer and closer
> You gasp as he comes inside by accident, too shy to admit you liked the feeling
> He doesn’t even pull out as he holds you, knowing that as soon as he can, he’ll be helping you ride him again
Bo Sinclair
> It slips out when you’re cuddling and watching but not watching some silly movie with copious sex scenes
> “What’s your favorite position, darlin’?”
> “Hm? Oh, I dunno?”
> “Top three then-“
> “Bo I haven’t even-“. You blush bright red as he slowly grins
> He doesn’t leave it along the rest of the day- he has cute little innocent virgin partner
> He likes it way too much- and you like his fixation on it too much
> When you get him alone again you huff and straddle him “Stop teasin. Show me your favorite position, then.”
> You don’t have to tell him twice- and he’s a gentleman, letting you ride his face before he finally fucks you
> He’s got chest against your back and hand between your legs as he slowly uses you
> “Fuck- you’re squeezing my cock so tight- pretty little fucking virgin-“
> His dirty talk gets you both off…again, and again, and again…
> He doesn’t stop until you start whining and pushing his hand away, overstimulated and sore
> “Fine, fine…we’ll try the other top two tomorrow,”
Vincent Sinclair
> Honestly, Vince isn’t huge on sex
> When you offhandedly mention you haven’t done anything before he doesn’t mind and he doesn’t get overly excited like some people.
> He let’s you make the first move
> …or at least he’s going to, but you don’t say anything about it for a long while
> He finally asks softly if you want him to touch you.. and meekly you say yes
> You’re not sure who’s happier- you as he makes you come with just his hand, or him getting to watch you
> After a few days of this you finally get the nerve to ask to do more- his good side goes bright red at the idea of you touching him and you giggle and praise him the entire time.
> But about halfway through he makes you stop and pins you- still gentle but very daring for him
> You giggle again “…wanna go all the way?”
>He nods eagerly and he positions you- very gentle missionary with his forehead against yours
> Even inside you he stops so he doesn’t cum, coaxing you over the edge twice before he gets too close
> The third time you cum you wrap your legs around him and make sure he can’t pull out
> He’s so apologetic after he cums inside- but quite pleased in the same breath
Danny Johnson
> The conversation comes up when he asks you to model for him- a boudoir shoot, naturally
> You’re his muse already- but he wants to shoot more than just your pretty face and the hickies he leaves
> He’s surprised when you’re shy and look away, mumbling that you aren’t pretty enough for that
> “Course you are babydoll- no way no one’s ever told you that. Unless you were screwing them with the lights off-“
> “Danny I haven’t screwed anyone.” You pout
> He tries his best to hide his perverse excitement and looks determined- he’s got an idea…Those usually don’t end well
> Next thing you know he’s pulled a mirror to face the bed and has you on his lap, kissing at your neck and feeling you up.
> He spreads your legs and makes you look as he starts to touch you- you’re not sure if it’s the lewd situation or just him that makes you cum faster than you have ever before
> He makes just as much of a show of cleaning up the mess you’ve made on his hand, and you can feel how hard he is against your ass
> You pull yourself together enough to pout and grind down on him- that’ll show him
> Your revenge quickly backfires as he manhandles you to your hands and knees, grinding against you in a much more expert manner
> It doesn’t take long before you’re babbling beneath him, begging to take him
> He takes his sweet time teasing you- once he’s finally inside you’re pushing yourself back against him, fucking yourself with him
> He lets you do the work- it makes it easier for him to enjoy the show
> At least until he’s about to cum
> Then he pulls you up, making you watch in the mirror with one hand and holding you against him with the other
> “Fuck- look at you- that’s my good fucking baby (/girl/boy)!”
> When he pulls out it splatters across the mirror and he grins and gets a picture- just your bodies in the reflection
> If you thought you’re getting away to rest though…you were mistaken- he had a lot more pictures to take, and a lot more methods to get you to make pretty faces for them
Billy Lenz
> Billy takes things fast. He’s depraved an eager man.
> You aren’t very far into the relationship when he lets his hands wander while you’re cuddling
> He frowns when you push his hands away insistently- you’d talked so confidently about this on the phone…
> “I wanna touch my pretty toy-“
> You mumble something he can’t hear- making you pout as he tilts his head and leans in closer curiously
> “You’ve never- oh.” His grin is huge and excited
> After some convincing you make it a game- how long can you two go without going too far?
> While you want to have sex with him, you’re nervous, so you figure that’ll buy you time to muster up enough courage
> But Billy being Billy, it isn’t long until he finds a shortcut- he bites and kisses and laps your neck and grinds up on you every single time he gets the chance
> If it was PG-13 before, you were heading fast to an R rating
> Finally you can’t stand it any more as he’s got you on his knee, pushing it up as he oh so innocently rubs your hips and kisses you
> “Billyyyy- please — I need it-“
> “Need what?” For once he’s acting coy- so you quickly show him as you undo his pants
> He’s all giggles and moans when you blow him- cumming down your throat quickly
> And before you can move he flips you, going down on you and to your chagrin already hard before you cum once
> But he’s not a monster- or maybe he is, because before he’s even got it in you you’re whining that it’s all too much
> He licks away your overwhelmed tears as he slowly pushes in, cooing softly for once
> Though as soon as your comfortable he’s saying the filthiest things in order to coax louder and louder moans out of you
> Without warning or real permission he cums inside, grinning at the mess and finger fucking whatever leaks out back inside as he coaxes you to another orgasm
> Once he’s finally done late into the night, he holds you tight and continues to coo praises - Billy’s baby was so good! -and he knew they’d be just as good for him in the morning
Hannibal Lecter
> Hannibal knows almost everything about you, especially if you ever began as his patient
> Even if you don’t tell him expressly, he has his theories- but he’s not trying to be too forward
> It’s going to be your idea when he shamelessly uses you :)
> He has it planned to the T as well- you’re having a sweet little date night in and he’s admiring you on the couch
> Perched on his lap you giggle and shiver as he gently brushes your neck, and your thigh, and your stomach- each a little “accident”
> Not that you’re complaining or he’s apologizing for the increasingly lingering touches
> “…darling? Ah- we’ve never done anything before but…”
> “But what my love?”
> “Can you pretty please touch me?”
> He’s so proud of his little pet and tells you as much as he lays you down right there, going a step forward and using his mouth
> Of course he wants, needs to taste you
> But he doesn’t let you come- not yet
> No, he makes sure you’re already riding him slow and deep by the time he makes you come for the first time
> He stops and showers you in praise before helping you move again
> He wants you to crave him inside- and by the way you’re already whimpering with every little move he thinks it’s working
> He’s territorial- coming inside isn’t even a question, even if he pretends it it
> “Good puppy…Very good. Master’s going to cum- are you going to let me cum in that pretty little hole?”
> As you manage a blissed out sound, you’re sent over the edge and he takes the moment to cum inside
> You only hum an acknowledgment as he pulls out and lays you down, practically tucking you in with him
> What a good pet you made…
Bubba Sawyer
> Bubba is so scared of sex at first…Well, small correction- he’s scared of having sex with you.
> I mean Drayton’s idea of sex ed was simply not telling him about it because he didn’t ask “Sex is- well nobody knows!”
> And from what he’s read in books and heard on the radio, it’s sinful and dirty and ruins you
> And he’d never want to dirty you. You were the nicest, cleanest thing in his life.
> So when you ask him if he’s had sex he vehemently shakes his head and you tell him you haven’t either. Good!
> “Well- ah- would you want to? With me, I mean?”
> He’s absolutely shocked- didn’t you know it was dirty?
> “We don’t have to- I just- I really like you. I wanna make you feel good.”
> Maybe he had some details wrong. That’s what he tries to reason as he lets you take his mask off and undo his pants. He’d try it, but if he felt wrong, he’d stop so you both stayed clean…
> It takes all his will not to immediately buck up into your throat when you put him in your mouth.
> You’re sloppy and clumsy and he’s just the same, groaning and whining and gripping the sheets. Before he can finish you pull off and he pouts.
> “C-can we- I mean- can I-“ You huff and get frustrated at your own embarrassment, starting to slip your shirt off and hoping he gets the message.
> He goes red and nods quickly, practically tackling you and kissing you sweetly before he moves into position
> You help him ease himself into you , whimpering and making sure he’s comfortable too
> “Oh my god- that’s it baby- just like that,”
> The praise makes him move harder than he means to but god you’re grateful
> When he does come he pulls out and paints your stomach- and as soon as he realizes you haven’t done the same he uses his hand to correct that.
> He holds you tight and doesn’t let go the rest of the night, keen on trying more in the morning
#slashers#slashers x reader#slashers x you#tcm#scream#black christmas#dbd#hannibal tv show#friday the 13th#house of wax#cw breeding#cw voyeurism#cw kink#cw pet play#bubba sawyer x reader#hannibal x reader#billy lenz x reader#bo sinclair x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#danny johnson x reader#jason vorhees x reader#gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n
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fail-safe
pairing: yoongi x reader
wordcount: 8k
glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.
alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.
[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]
[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]
notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)
as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist
Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.
The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.
He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.
You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.
Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.
He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.
He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.
You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.
Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.
“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”
He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.
He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.
“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”
“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.
“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”
“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”
You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”
“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.
You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.
You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.
You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.
You go where your love goes.
“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.
“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.
“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.
“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”
“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.
“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.
He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.
Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.
“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.
“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”
It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.
“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”
“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”
He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.
“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.
He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.
Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.
“Did you win?”
“Nope.”
“Let me throw that out for you.”
“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”
“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”
“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”
Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.
“Sure.”
( ♡ )
You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.
As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.
You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.
You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.
Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.
You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.
So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.
“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”
“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.
Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”
You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.
The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.
“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.
“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.
“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”
There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.
You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.
There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.
“Yoongi.”
“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.
“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”
“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”
You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”
“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.
“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?
You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.
Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.
You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”
He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”
“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.
Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.
“I will teach you next week.”
“Oh my-…”
He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”
“Ouch.”
“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.
“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”
“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”
“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.
You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.
He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.
“You can have the helmet.”
( ♡ )
Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.
He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.
Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.
It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.
You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.
“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.
“Why are you up?”
“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.
“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.
It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.
You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.
Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.
“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.
“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.
You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”
“But that’s still easy.”
“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.
He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”
Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.
You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.
“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”
You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.
“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.
You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”
“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.
He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.
“Yoongi?”
“Hm.”
“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”
He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”
You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.
Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.
You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.
He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.
Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.
( ♡ )
Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.
Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.
When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.
You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.
Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.
It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.
“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.
Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”
The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.
You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.
Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.
“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”
He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.
Yoongi’s your next plausible option.
“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.
“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”
“Heh.”
Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”
You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”
“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”
“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.
“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.
The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.
“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.
“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,
“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.
Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”
“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.
“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”
“But it is.”
You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.
You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.
By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.
The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.
“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.
He thinks that you don’t get him at all.
“What do you meandon’t?”
Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”
“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”
Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.
“Can you be my first kiss?”
“Are you insane?”
“Ugh.”
You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.
You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.
You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.
“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”
“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.
“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.
You try until the solemnness turns into pity.
“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”
Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.
“You already know what I’m going to say.”
( ♡ )
You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.
You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.
You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.
Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.
Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.
Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.
You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.
“What the fuck?!”
Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.
“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.
“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”
“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.
He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.
“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”
“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”
“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.
“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”
“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”
You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.
You leave your home without saying another word.
.
.
.
Namjoon’s panicked.
He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.
He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.
Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.
He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.
The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.
Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.
“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.
It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.
“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.
Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”
Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.
“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.
“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”
Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”
It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.
Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.
Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.
They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.
Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.
There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.
“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.
“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.
“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”
The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”
You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.
Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.
#HOW R WE FEELING TARGET AUDIENCE!!! :O#yoongi imagine#yoongi oneshot#yoongi oneshots#yoongi series#yoongi angst#yoongi angst imagine#yoongi fluff#yoongi x reader#yoongi x y/n#yoongi au#min yoongi imagine#min yoongi scenario#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x you#bts yoongi imagine#bts yoongi x reader
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ᡣ𐭩 WICKED LOVE WILL LEAVE ME BLIND
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: dangerous games are played between you and dazai during one of the most important events of the year for the japanese underworld. you're never this risky, not when your reputation is on the line, but fuck being near him just seems draw out all of the worst in you.
(wordcount: 4.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia member!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, public sex, spitting, unprotected sex, gagging dazai w/your panties, switch!dazai, switch!reader. lmk if anything is missing!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOOWWWWWWW u all can thank tumblr user mioblobby for this one, she sent in an ask 3 days ago and this consumed me so badly that i dropped all of my wips to write this. anyway, enjoy dazai & pmreader being absolute FREAKS in public
His gaze hasn’t left you once all night. You can feel it dark and heavy from where he’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, black coat hanging around his shoulders and a cold, unapproachable expression on his face, looking every bit the wraith people claim him to be.
Chuuya is off somewhere to your side, smooth talking two of Mishima’s daughters, surely planning to end the night in one of their beds to get those loose lips moving about the meeting that their father had with Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber two weeks ago, something he’s been unnervingly tight lipped about when Mori pried.
You’re entertaining two of the younger members of Mishima’s upper echelon, Abe Kimifusa and Ibuse Masuji—they can’t be much older than you, early twenties max, and they’re delighted by the attention you’re giving them. Ibuse is half hanging off your shoulders, arm wrapped around you, too many drinks in as he leans in close and laughs at some comment Abe makes about one of their fellow executives. You smile idly as you listen, resting against him as you take in their words, trying to pretend to be engaged with the conversation to not give away how you’re hyper-focused on a certain black-haired executive in the distance.
Usually, he would join you and Chuuya in your attempts to gather some easy intel on the Sun and Steel—that’s what he’s done the past year and a half, at least, targeting some of the older members of Mishima’s upper echelon who would sell half of their organs and their soul for a night with the untouchable Demon Prodigy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now, knowing what he told you, but you still can’t help but be a little surprised that he’s not even trying to put up a facade of charm and wit, rather spending his time skulking in the shadows watching you, especially when his usual targets are so blatantly staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.
You think it’s hypocritical the way you’re so pleased over the fact that he’s not entertaining anyone tonight, because the thought of him letting any of those men drape themselves all over him like Ibuse currently is with you leaves a very sour taste in your mouth.
You also think that’s why you’re letting Ibuse take it as far as he has—to see Dazai get wound up about it. You don’t typically let people get touchy with you unless you plan on taking them to bed, and you have absolutely no intention of fucking Ibuse Masuji. He’s pretty enough with dark hair and a nice smile, but too stupid for your taste—maybe that’s a good thing though, if he’s already so loose-lipped now with only a few drinks in him, you can’t imagine how much he’d let slip in a post-orgasm induced haze.
You start to reconsider your decision on Ibuse, looking up at him contemplatively as he makes a snide comment about Kamatsu Sakyo—an older executive of the Sun and Steel, one of the ones you know have spent a night, or more, with Dazai, so your smile is a bit more genuine when you hear the way Ibuse drags him for being incompetent and useless.
“The older generation has to go,” Ibuse hisses, shaking his head as his arm tightens around you, leaning back against the wall. “They’re running us into the fucking ground. That fucker Kamatsu wants us to take that deal from the Red Chamber-”
“Masuji,” Abe warns, giving you a careful look, not as drunk as his companion. You raise your eyebrows at the comment from Ibuse, looking at him questioningly.
Ibuse waves off Abe haphazardly. “The Port Mafia did it right,” he says bluntly, taking another sip of his drink. “Wiped out the whole old regime after the previous boss died. That’s what the Boss should’ve done when he took over from his father. All of these old fucks need to drop dead.”
“The meeting with Xueqin went that poorly?” you ask casually, sure to keep the interest out of your tone as you look up at Ibuse.
“Don’t even get me started,” Ibuse scoffs. “That fucker wants-”
You’re careful to keep the irritation off your face when you hear the telltale sound of Mishima preparing to give his annual ‘thank you, fruitful alliances ahead!’ speech that always bores you to tears. Next to you, Ibuse sighs and pulls his arm off of you, pushing off the wall.
“We’ve gotta go up there with him. I’ll find you later?” he asks you, eyes a bit too hopeful, voice eager as he waits for your response.
“Definitely,” you say—the things you do for information.
With most of the attendees of the ball distracted by Mishima’s speech, you slip away to make your way over to the far corner where Dazai is waiting. Still, he tracks you—from the moment you make your subtle escape from the crowd until you’re standing right in front of him in the shadows where he’s lingering, his gaze remains trained on you, intense in a way that lets you know that he’s unhappy, if the way his jaw is tight didn’t.
“You’ve been having fun tonight,” he drawls, voice low as he looks down at you, arms folded across his chest.
“Is that what it seemed like?” you say lightly, taking a step closer, casting one last glance behind you to ensure that all eyes are pinned on Mishima before hooking your fingers into his belt loops to tug him closer to you. “At least I’m doing my job properly then.”
“It’s your job to let Mishima’s whore of an executive drape himself all over you?” Dazai tilts his head to the side, one hand sliding behind you to close the small distance between the two of you, leaving your chest pressed to his.
No, you let that drag on just because you could tell how irate Dazai was becoming over it, but Dazai doesn’t have to know that. So instead, you play coy.
“I have appearances to keep up,” you say, tilting your head up with a simpering smile, enjoying the way his gaze immediately darts down to your lips, lingering there before he has to forcibly drag it back up to your eyes. “You know that.”
“Yeah?” Dazai hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze drifts above you. “Maybe I should be making more of an effort with appearances then, Kamatsu has had his eye on me all night.”
Your eye doesn’t twitch at his words, but your grip on his belt loops tightens. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice deceptively mild.
“And why is that?” Dazai drawls, looking too smug for your liking as he looks down at you as if realizing how much his threat bothered you.
“Because I’ll win,” you say easily, fingers slipping from his belt loops to slide your hands up and down his sides before settling them on his slim hips, relishing in the way his lashes flutter at your touch. “You know that. It’s unlike you to pick losing battles.”
“I won’t lose,” Dazai says with a scoff, and you walk him backward until the back of his knees hit a chair, guiding him back to sit down in it as Mishima finally starts a long-winded speech that’s going to last at least twenty or thirty minutes.
You give Dazai another teasing smile as you stand in front of where he’s sitting, lifting your hand to his chin, tilting his face up toward you. You lean down, lips brushing his as you murmur, “You already have.”
“Have I?” Dazai asks, amused. He unconsciously leans forward to capture his lips with yours but you shift just out of reach before he can, raising your eyebrows pointedly at the annoyed look he gives you.
You make quick work of undoing his tie, slipping it from his neck before wrapping it loosely around your wrist, hyper aware of the way his gaze is trained sharply on your face, studying your every move. You bring your other hand back up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, and your breath catches as he leans into your touch, eye lidded as he looks up atwith you. He tilts his head to the side to press his lips against your palm, keeping eye contact as he lifts his hand to cover yours, shifting it so he can graze his lips against the pulse point on your wrist.
“You have,” you agree, grateful that your voice isn’t as breathless as you feel from the combined intensity of his gaze and his lips on your skin.
“How so?” Dazai looks entirely too smug, probably can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, and you itch to wipe the smugness right off of his face.
“I’m meeting Ibuse after this speech,” you tell him, now entirely too smug yourself as Dazai expression drops and goes icy, fingers stiffening from where his hand is still pressed over yours. “Need to get him to spill about the meeting with the Red Chamber, he already started getting into it before. If I get him alone, we’ll know everything we need.”
“Go ahead,” Dazai sounds deceptively calm, you’d almost believe he didn’t care if the look in his eye didn’t betray him, cold and promising bloodshed. “I’ll kill him.”
“You’ll start a war,” you say absently, the tips of your fingers brushing through his dark hair.
“I don’t care,” Dazai replies, and you know that he’s serious—it should worry you, he could throw all of your work with the Sun and Steel out the window in a split second, but instead you only find yourself giddy, tongue pressing behind your teeth and a smile curving at your lips as you look down at him.
“Careful, Dazai,” you breathe out, “almost sounds like you care.”
He does care, you know that and he knows that, but he refuses to admit it out loud. Refuses to put a label on anything between the two of you. You think it’s his way of maintaining some semblance of control over things; he thinks that if he actually admits what’s going on between the two of you, it’ll be a loss of control over himself that he can’t afford.
As if threatening to start a gang war with the Mafia’s most important ally because you’re planning to sleep with someone for vital information isn’t a loss of control in itself.
You also think it might have to do with the broken gasps he’d let out over the phone during the assassination plot on you a few weeks ago, when he thought that he’d miscalculated and they called his bluff, that they were going to get to you and no one was going to be able to get there in time to protect you.
“Everything I never want to lose is always lost the moment I obtain it.”
You wonder, maybe, if he thinks that not making things official with you is his way of protecting both you and himself.
But it’s fucking frustrating. It’s frustrating dealing with his hot and cold—days where he’s so clearly enamored with you, spending hours laid up with you admiring you while you do work, looking at you with eyes that should only be reserved for long time lovers, and then there are days where he can hardly bring himself to look at you, avoiding you at every given chance, cold and aloof. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhausting, you just want to be with him.
His eye darkens, jaw clicking at your words, but he doesn’t respond other than that.
You’re not sure what exactly compels you to take another step forward, you watch as his gaze tracks down to the low cut of your dress, as he shifts in his seat, legs spread, clearly withholding the urge to adjust himself in his pants. A dangerous thought crosses your mind, one that you know you should toss away because of where you are, how many people are just on the other side of the room, but you find your body moving before you can stop yourself.
You watch him inhale, gaze tracking down to where your hand has slipped into the high slit of your dress, casting one last look over your shoulder to make sure the two of you are at an angle that no one would be able to easily see you before pulling down your thin black panties—the ones you know he loves and wore just to see the way the pupil of his visible eye becomes blown wide at the sight of them, breath hitching.
You shift closer to him, balling them into your fist, one hand sliding behind the back of his head, fingers entwined with his dark hair as you tilt his head back, eyes tracing the exhilaration on his face as he looks up at you, realizing what you’re going to do, where you’re going to do it.
“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. The words are reverent, he speaks them in the same way you imagine he would tell you he loves you, it makes your breath catch. “Here? What're you gonna do if one of them looks over and sees you stuffed with my cock, hm? How're you gonna explain why you're full of cum when you go meet that clown?”
“You talk too much,” you note, stepping forward. “Open up.”
Dazai’s lips part instinctively, but before you stuff his mouth with your panties, you lean over him, fingers hooking around his bottom lip as you force his mouth a little wider, watching as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter when you spit right into his open mouth, swallowing it immediately.
Your lips curl up as you lift the hand holding your panties, taking in an unsteady breath as he lets you push your panties between his lips; he lets out a muffled groan around them, eyes sliding shut as if savoring the taste of them. You shift your dress around slightly so you can comfortably straddle his thighs. His hands immediately fly to your waist, but you click your tongue lightly, pushing them off and sliding his tie around his wrists once you’ve got them behind his back.
He tilts his head to the side, giving you a heavy, judgmental look. He doesn’t even have to speak to know what he’s thinking: “You really think this is going to stop me?”
You give him a sweet smile, leaning in to graze your lips against his jaw, feeling the shaky breath he lets out around your panties. “If you free yourself from them,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear as you speak, “I’ll stop.”
You don’t wait for his reaction, directing your attention down toward his slacks, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You ease his cock out of his briefs, weight heavy in your hand, tip flushed pink and leaky. You give it an experimental pump, using his own precum as lube, and watch as he tilts his head back, giving a full body shudder.
“You’re so easy to rile up,” you sigh softly, shifting forward so that his cock slides between your slick folds, you press your lips to the underside of his jaw to smother the moan you almost let out when his tip catches on your clit. “I love it.”
You know he’s trying to shoot you a withering look, but the effects of it are severely diminished with how his face is flushed pink and his eyes are unfocused. You give him another saccharine smile, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re sinking down on his cock.
You can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up until the tip of his cock is nudging right up against your cervix. It takes all of your self control to bite back the loud gasp that nearly rips from your lips, not wanting to have to bury your face in the crook of his neck just yet, watching as he lets out a choked noise that’s loud even with your panties stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“Careful,” you warn, leaning in to drag your lips up his neck to the corner of his lips. You lift one of your hands to hold the back of his head again, gripping his hair as you force him to look at you again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. His gaze is unfocused, lips parting as he heaves around your panties, throat spasming—he looks fucking divine, and for a moment, you regret doing this here because you might have to kill someone if they see him when he’s looking like this. “You don’t want them to see you like this, yeah?”
You can hear the whine that builds in the back of his throat, trying to rock his hips up into yours. The sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt is too loud—Mishima is still speaking loudly, drowning out any noise that could possibly be coming from your secluded corner, but it’s so risky, you almost don’t know what’s gotten into you. If anyone happens to wander over this way…
“God, what do you do to me?” you gasp, leaning in so you can graze your teeth against his neck, threatening to bite down.
You’re never this reckless—not when it’s your reputation on the line, you’ve spent years honing it into the weapon it’s become, and here you are risking it all just because Dazai Osamu decided to give you bedroom eyes during one of the most important events the Port Mafia attends. Fuck, he drives you insane.
His head lolls forward, forehead resting against the side of yours, lips brushing your ear. You can feel his heavy pants, each one catching over a moan muffled by your panties. You rock your hips back and forth quickly, each drag of his cock against your walls making you hot and lightheaded. Whether it’s just from the sheer pleasure of it all—the way the tip of his cock pressees right into that sensitive spot deep inside of you, the way he’s so quickly coming undone beneath you, body trembling and drool pooling at the corner of his lips around your panties—or if it’s because of the way anyone could wander over in this direction, catch you fucking Dazai so brazenly when there’s a crowd of one hundred and fifty, two hundred of the most important people in the Japanese underworld just on the far side of the room, you don’t know, but heat pools in your abdomen so quickly that it’s almost impossible to control.
You can feel his breath ragged, his body tense, each roll of your hips against his has Dazai falling apart, and you can feel the telltale sign of his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he’s about to finish. You tug his hair, pulling his head back from where it's fallen against you, and you lift your other hand quickly up to his lips, pushing them inside of his mouth to hook your fingers around your panties, pulling them out of his mouth.
Instantly, Dazai is pushing himself forward to press his lips against yours, freeing himself of his own tie so his hands can fly to your waist. You let out a low moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue into yours, one hand sliding from your waist to your back, keeping your body flush to his as he grinds you down on his cock hard.
“Fuck,” Dazai groans into your mouth, voice choked. You can see the way he can hardly keep his gaze steady, the way he’s gripping your dress to try to keep himself grounded. “I-ah, shit-I’m close. I’m-”
You lean in to swallow his moan, kissing him hard as his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips stuttering as he spills his cum deep inside of you. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cum filling you up, warm, heavy, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling out from where his cock is still stuffed deep inside of you; it’s the last thing you need to push you over the edge, mind blank and jaw falling slack as your body shudders in his arms.
Black dots spot your vision, your nails dragging down his black coat, your whole body consumed with pleasure—it hits you so hard that you think maybe you might’ve passed out for a split second. The feeling of your release sends a shockwave through Dazai, you can feel the way his body spasms and jerks when your walls suddenly tighten around his sensitive cock.
“God,” Dazai breathes out against your lips, eyes glazed over as the two of you come down from your high, an expression so adoring on his face that you think for a moment, you might be imagining it. “You’re so…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaves it to your imagination, and you want to press, but you don’t have the chance because you’re slapped hard with reality when you hear Mishima’s speech coming to an end, eyes widening. Your legs are shaky as you push off of him, hissing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your cunt—you almost snort when you see how Dazai twitches and winces at the sudden movement, still sensitive.
“Clean yourself up,” you tell him sharply, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, trying to catch sight of yourself in the reflection of a nearby glass, watching from the corner of your eye as Dazai stuffs himself back in his pants, wiping your cum off of his expensive black slacks before sucking it right off of his fingers. He grabs his tie from where he’d let it fall to the ground, and then your panties, winking at you before he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket.
His gaze lifts to you as he rises to his feet, drifting lazily over your form, lingering on the way your skin glows with a soft sheen of sweat, the loose strands of hair that cling to your forehead—something you hope you can play off considering the air condition in the ballroom isn’t on. Then his gaze settles down on the lower half of your body, lips curling up into a slow smirk.
He takes a few steps closer to you, holding his tie out to you. “Re-tie it?” he hums, and you roll your eyes because you know he can do it himself and you know he has some sort of ulterior motive right now, but you take it from him regardless.
You quickly slide the tie around his neck, trying to tie it quickly before anyone catches sight of the two of you, but with you so focused on getting this done, you miss the way his hand sneaks forward until you feel it slip into the slit of your dress.
“Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice low, but your breath catches when you feel him gather up all of the cum that had dribbled out of your cunt, head falling against his shoulder as you try to force yourself not to react when he uses two fingers to stuff it right back inside of you.
You can feel the wicked grin against your ear as he leans down to tug your earlobe gently. “Good luck explaining this to Ibuse.”
Then he steps away, dark eye glittering dangerously as he looks down at you.
“I’ll find you later,” he says before turning to walk away.
You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a promise and you don’t have time to make a snide comment asking, because you hear Ibuse approaching you from behind, giddy and excited until he catches sight of Dazai’s infamous black coat retreating, swallowing thickly and eyes flickering nervously between the two of you—a common reaction to the executive’s presence, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable he can be.
You wonder if Dazai would make Ibuse half as nervous and uncomfortable if he’d known he just spent the last fifteen minutes with your panties stuffed in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back, whining and whimpering, muffling all of his sounds so people didn’t overhear the two of you. But you dismiss that thought—that’s knowledge for you to keep to yourself, you don’t like sharing.
“Let’s get out of here?” you hum, drawing him out of his thoughts before he can spiral.
He lights back up again, but you can tell he’s still nervous from Dazai’s brief appearance. “Yeah, c’mon.”
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/14d24af5f66d2dc520d4d2c9be42a3df/af9c19b9d56ce462-15/s540x810/d0a92396d34a0e3dada051ad48814d02f0e554b2.jpg)
Two hours later, you wander out of one of the back rooms in Mishima’s mansion, intent on getting back to headquarters. You don’t get more than two feet before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you backward hard until your back meets a familiar chest.
Your heartbeat stills from the brief bout of erraticness when you felt someone grab you, relaxing back into Dazai, tilting your head back and to the side to look up at him as he holds your hips, keeping you flush to him.
“Did you fuck him?” Dazai asks, voice low and expression unreadable.
You have half a mind to say yes, just to see what Dazai plans to do if you did. He can’t kill Ibuse, not even he is reckless enough to start a war with the Sun and Steel right now, but you don’t think you want to risk it.
“Didn’t have to,” you say honestly. “He was babbling out everything I wanted to know before the doors even closed.”
Dazai searches your face for a moment as if trying to decide if you’re being truthful, when he does, one of his hands slips off your waist into his coat, and you hear the familiar sound of Dazai flipping the safety of his gun back on.
“Dazai,” you snap. “You can’t just-”
“I can do whatever I want,” Dazai interrupts you with the type of confidence that lets you know he had every intention of putting a bullet through Ibuse’s head if you fucked him, regardless of the consequences. The thought of that alone makes your blood run hot, pupils dilating as you look up at him; Dazai’s lips curve up slowly as if he knows just what’s going on in your head. He looks behind you curiously before focusing back down on you asking: “Is he passed out in there?”
“Mhm,” you agree, watching him curiously as you try to figure out what he might be thinking. “Drank too much.”
“Good,” Dazai murmurs, walking you right back into the room you’d come out of, a sharp smile on his face. He closes the door behind the two of you, gaze flickering over to where Ibuse is unconscious on the couch before he backs you up until your knees hit the corner of the bed, pushing you back onto it. “Let’s see if we can wake him up then.”
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bsd smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#dazai osamu smut#bungo stray dogs x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut
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Mac and Hugo had made their way to the seaside town of Brindleton Bay. It was the birthplace of Charles Langston II and the place where he married his wife Madeleine.
Mac felt like they had been lucky, to find yet another famous figure in their family tree whose lineage they could trace back one step further. But they were also very aware that they may be nearing the end. Unless another notable figure came up, it was going to be almost impossible for them to trace the family tree back further given how far they had already come. They couldn’t believe their luck so far that they had managed to trace back into the 1890s - and hoped that perhaps there was one more mystery left for them to uncover.
Mac and Hugo traipsed along the Brindleton dockland markets, pondering where they should start. Both agreed that a cemetery may hold some clues if they could find the name Langston.
They approached a man at a stall and asked him whereabouts the cemetery was.
‘We’re doing a family history project,’ explained Mac. ‘Looking for the name Langston. Apparently they lived here way back in the 1890s at least.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said the man. ‘The cemetery is up at the lighthouse. Langston you say? There’s an old farm called Langston Farm up the back of town, too. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for?’
Mac was ecstatic. Another stroke of luck! They headed off for the cemetery at the Lighthouse, where they found several old, crumbling headstones bearing the surname Langston.
There was a young boy aged eight - Oliver Langston, whose parents were Charles and Charlotte. And not too far from his headstone were those very people - Charles and Charlotte Langston, whose headstones noted that they were survived by their five children - Agnes, Charles, Juniper, Frank and Sybil.
This was it, Mac thought. Charles Langston II - here was his mother and father. He had siblings too. And they lived here in Brindleton Bay. The old farmhouse must have been their home, and Mac and Hugo eagerly made their way there.
Traipsing through the forest up an old dirt track, Mac didn’t know what they would find. A hopeful part of them hoped maybe there would be descendants still living there for them to meet.
But they knew realistically that it was wishful thinking. And when they came upon the old farmhouse, it was sad but unsurprising to them that it was old, decrepit and abandoned.
Mac felt a deep foreboding feeling that they had reached the end. There were no more leads to follow. They would never know what life was like here on this farm in 1890, or how its inhabitants came to be there.
‘I… don’t know what else we can do,’ they confessed to Hugo. ‘It feels like there are no more stones that can be turned over here. It’s an old abandoned farm. I thought maybe someone would still be here…’
‘Hey now,’ said Hugo softly. ‘This is ok. You have traced your family history into the 1890s. Mac, you’ve uncovered 12 generations of people who came before you - they lived such diverse lives. We got stuck so many times and we still got here. Maybe this is the end, but that’s not a bad thing. Think of everything you can share with your family when you go home.’
Mac felt sad, thinking about going home. They had so enjoyed spending this time with Hugo, having a companion to share this journey through history with, to motivate them to keep going even when they got stuck.
‘It’ll suck though to go home… and leave you,’ they confessed to Hugo.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Hugo, wrapping Mac in a big hug.
In the quiet moment under the sunset, in the forest next to the abandoned old building, something passed between the two of them. A mutual agreement that while this was the end of their search for their family history, this wasn’t the end for them. Their story was only just beginning.
#sims 4 decades challenge#ts4 decades challenge#sims 4 historical#ts4 historical#ts4 legacy#sims 4 legacy#the langston legacy#gen 12#2010s#mackenzie prescott jones#charles langston#charlotte langston#agnes langston#ernie langston#juniper langston#oliver langston#sybil langston#frank langston
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casual
suguru geto x f!reader
**loosely based on casual by my beloved chappell roan
—
in the three months that you spend with suguru geto, he leaves a sour taste in your mouth and it’s not only because he tastes like black coffee. and in the two months that follow, before your deeply unfortunate circumstantial reunion, the last five words that you uttered to him, the sentiment behind them, only seems to grow.
you can go to hell.
and it’s all you can think when he shows up to the emergency room – a pinkish sunburn across his nose, his hair messily tied back – and eyes dripping in a concern that fills you with a rage. and it’s a deep sigh that he gives you, before reaching for your hand.
“what happened to you, peach?”
--
the general education class that you choose to satisfy your values and ethics inquiry is the sociology of religion. counting all the stakes – a stellar review on rate my professors, a night class at the start of the week, and minimal homework – it makes for the most ideal choice.
“so what’s your major?”
the downside? the midterm and final project are group assignments. and on any other occasion, you would have appreciated it – getting to split the work, taking some of the load off and sharing the work with someone, except for the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the class – and for the most part, you were expecting some half-brained idiot that would make you do all the work.
you suppose it’s at least fair that he’s not horrible to look at. in the dimmed lights of your apartment, there’s something almost off putting about your partner, suguru geto. you count seven piercings across his ears – dangling silver pieces almost shining in the glint of the light – and the smallest rim of purple around his eyes. harsh cheekbones, a hard jaw, and wrinkles by his eyes.
“educational studies. what’s yours?” you state.
“computer science.”
you hum in response, filling the two glasses with water and snatching one of the peaches from its container before taking your seat across from him, noting that he has a dimple on the left side when he smiles in response to your gesture.
“did you want some?” you ask, holding the peach in between the two of you.
he shakes his head, slumping against the counter in what seems an almost unnatural pose – his long limbs spreading into the space underneath your chair. you wonder if he always had an unusual way of taking up space.
and it seems that as time goes on, he gets more and more unusual. quietly working through the portions that you split up, except for a few deep breaths here and there, though he would stop once in a while and would almost ask for approval of what he had written, waiting for some confirmation from you that it was okay with you.
“you’re comparing adam and eve to…orpheus? i’m not really familiar with that.” you state.
suguru nods, before turning towards you to explain. his eyes waver in the slightest as he turns over to you, his gaze flitting down to your lips, before looking back up at you.
“you don’t have to be polite. you really can have some if you want, it’s really sweet.” you state.
suguru smiles.
“maybe later.”
you shrug.
“so orpheus…”
“it’s a really old greek myth. orpheus and eurydice. to kind boil it down, eurydice is in the underworld with hades. and orpheus is trying to convince hades to let her return to the mortal world, with him.”
he scoots his chair a little bit closer to you and you’re able to note one thing – that there’s a resonance in his voice, that it hums in his chest when he talks.
“hades tells him that he’ll let him take eurydice with him, but on one condition. she has to walk behind him.”
“that’s not that hard.”
suguru grins.
“isn’t it?” he asks.
you pause.
“you’re being told by this big, all powerful god, that she’s walking behind you. but you can’t look. you wouldn’t even consider the fact that you were being fooled? that maybe she had decided not to follow?”
“i mean, i guess. i don’t think it would really cross my mind, i…i think i’d just follow out all the way til the end because i’d kind of have faith if that’s what i was promised. and that she’d want to come with me too.”
suguru pauses, like he’s almost taking in what you’ve said – like it’s the first time he’s heard it – and responds rather slowly.
“you’re rather trusting, aren’t you?”
you roll your eyes.
“is that such a bad thing? what do you think about it?”
suguru shrugs.
“it was a worthless pursuit in the first place. there was no way that he wouldn’t have turned around and looked back.”
“what do you mean?”
“it’s simple. he loves her. if he hears something that deceives him – like the sound of her tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back. if he thinks that she isn’t there, he won’t be able to get over it and he’ll turn around.”
you pause, mulling the thought over. and you suppose it’s true – that if you really did love something, it would be almost impossible not to check for the promise of their presence.
“i guess. so what? she goes back to the underworld?”
“yeah. it’s one of the most tragic love stories.”
“i guess it’s kind of romantic. that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”
and in the split second that the two of you stare at each other, he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, with the strong taste of coffee lingering on his lips.
you’ve kissed three people before in your life – the boy you sat next to in the seventh grade, your date to the prom, and now suguru geto.
the first was overwhelming. a quick locking of the lips, that at the time, made you nearly erupt into a puddle of butterflies. the second was lackluster. waxy from too much chapstick, abrupt from the fact that he was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth.
and the third was indescribable. only because you could feel it – something lingering under his demeanor that you couldn’t exactly place. there wasn’t a word for the feeling it gave you – though there was one that was close enough.
curiosity. about what that feeling is, about who suguru geto was, and why he felt so inclined to kiss you upon your third meeting.
you wanted more of it.
“you’re right, you know?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.
“about being trusting?”
he laughs.
“no. about the peach. it really is sweet.”
he leans back, eyes fixed on the reading in front of the two of you again, as you reach up to touch your lips, the sticky sweetness of the fruit gone from your skin.
--
suguru comes around often after the fact. always here and there, an almost abrupt and concise text testing the waters.
[suguru]: is your roommate home?
[you]: nope. she’s at the district.
[suguru]: can i keep you company?
[you]: okay!
and he always arrives promptly twenty minutes after the fact, to the point where you wondered if he lingered around just to get there as fast as he could. and never empty handed – with dinner, dessert, or a flower that he plucked out of the cement in his hands.
that was the thing that confused you about him.
after the very first time you kissed, he had made one thing very clear.
no attachments. you’re not together.
but yet, he’d show up sometimes and do nothing but kiss your forehead and sleep in your bed next to you. or make you do something entirely mundane – like watch toy story three with a sheet of cookies in your oven – or watch you study.
and in the two weeks you had known him, you knew better than to question. your curiosity never stopped you, but you found that you were always left with more questions than the vague answers that he gave you.
“hey peach?”
“yeah?”
“your mom is calling.”
you widen your eyes, immediately snatching the phone from him, and giving him a weary smile. and you side shuffle into the walkway between the laundry and your bedroom, pressing the phone to your ear and murmuring under your breath.
“hi mom.”
“hi doll. how are classes?”
you pick at the loose thread of your sweater, nearly breaking the seams of the sleeve, noting suguru’s curious eyes – that he’s very poignantly trying to hide – from the kitchen.
“they’re good, ma. what’s up?”
“right. i’m so sorry to do this to you, my sweet, but i won’t be home when you get back.”
“what?”
“we’re going on a trip to see sheila in new york. and well, her vacation is only during those dates and we want to spend as much time with her as we can.”
you sigh, the frustration tempering in yoru chest.
“i already paid for the tickets. i saved up for a month trying to buy a flight back.”
“darling, i know. i’m really sorry, but you know how it is. she just gets so stressed out that we just wanted to go out there and make her holiday nice.”
“and what about my holiday? you don’t want me to have a nice christmas with my family?”
you can feel it burning in your cheeks – that embarrassing feeling that’s been simmering in your chest since you were kid. a mix of an insurmountable amount of envy and dejection, from trying to vie for attention from the second that you realized you never had it.
“don’t try to make me feel guilty.” she scolds
“i’m not trying to make you feel guilty! i just wished you would have thought about me too.”
you hear an irritated sigh on the end of the line, which is your first sign that you had made a mistake. because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was push your mom’s buttons.
you wonder if it’s because she sees herself in you – and that utter hatred that she has for herself was now placed on you instead.
“do you always have to be so curt with me?”
“i’m not being curt, i just…”
“maybe when i die, you’ll think back and wished that you had appreciated me more. been more understanding that i’m not just your mother, i am someone’s friend too. that i have my own life. and that at the very least, my friends like to call me here and there. acknowledge me while you do god knows what wherever you are.”
“okay, well, i –”
“enjoy your christmas. we’ll see you in the spring.” she states.
there’s a static on the other end of the line and you drop your phone, staring at the dark screen in your hands for the few seconds that follow. and you must have been standing there for too long, because a few minutes later quiet footsteps accompany you in the dimly lit hallway, suguru’s head obscuring the light from the bulb.
“hi peach.”
“did you hear all of that?”
“no.” he responds.
you look up at him and glare. and he reaches forward, hands soft on your cheek wiping away the wetness that you hadn’t noticed. you’re not sure when you started crying.
he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.
“you’re a liar. if you’re one thing, it’s nosy.” you respond.
he smiles.
“maybe when it comes to you. what happened, pretty girl?”
you shake your head, his grabby hands coming around your waist as he presses you closer to his chest. you can hear his heart thumping against your ear, the metal of his necklace cold on your cheek, as you heave a sigh.
“nothing.”
“oh, come on, peach.”
you look up at him, expectant and full brown eyes waiting for an answer, as you give in.
“i just thought i would be going home next week for break. but i think i’m just going to stay here.”
“because your parents are going to…”
“see their friends in new york.”
suguru frowns. you can’t tell if it’s pity in his eyes.
“it’s not a big deal. i just was expecting to go home, that’s all. and it’s not that big of a deal that i’m going to stay here, the weather is nice and it’s probably frigid cold there.”
suguru pauses.
“you’re going to be here alone?”
“yeah. my roommate is from the east coast.”
“you should come home with me, for break.”
you look up at him, eyes wide.
“what?”
“s’not that far from here, i usually just make the drive. there’s a nice coffee shop on the way that i always stop at for some energy. and my mom is really nice.”
you shake your head, almost too violently.
“i can’t just go home with you. i wouldn’t want to impose.”
suguru pulls back, his fingers fast on the screen, as he murmurs under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“you’re not an imposition to me, peach. i can’t leave my baby here alone.”
“sure. but to your parents, and…and staying rent free in your house.”
suguru grins, handing over the phone to you, as you read the texts on the screen.
[suguru]: can my friend come home with me for break? her name is y/n.
[mom]: YES!!!!!
[mom]: A GIRL!
[suguru]: not like that
[suguru]: but she’s sweet
[mom]: I’M GETTING EVERYTHING READY
you look down at the phone, noting the sweet heart emoji that he has near her contact name, the contact photo a picture of the two of them when he was considerably younger, hugging cheek to cheek.
“and i stay rent free in your apartment all the time.”
“suguru, this is…weird. i can’t just come home with you, that’s…that’s too much.”
he shakes his head.
“it’s casual. we’re just friends, you’re just coming home with me for break so you won’t be here alone.”
right. you’d almost be inclined to believe him – if it wasn’t for the fact that the time you spent around him, the more curious you got.
the more that feeling festered in you, wanting to know anything and everything about him, wanting to crawl deep into his skin and memorize everything and make sense of why he was the way he was.
“you promise?”
“for sure.”
--
“you’re a loser.”
mei mei is never one to mince her words. and you’re grateful for it – because it’s something that you need when you return from your two weeks stay in long beach with suguru over the break.
because despite the words that he told you, the ones that you didn’t really believe anyway, you come back in a worse state than you expected.
you think you love him.
because in the days of uninterrupted time that you spend together, you let your mind wander too far. because in the quiet moments that the two of you had – knee deep in the passenger seat outside the stupid coffee shop you stopped at, giggling in the bathroom when you went to dinner, and tangled in the bed sheets with him every night – you let yourself taste too much.
let your mind run a little too wild. thinking about meeting his friends at the pier he showed you, of living together in an apartment in the following year.
and the two of you teeter a dangerous line. putting each other as emergency contacts, swapping your wardrobe in between your flats, and showering together every morning – his soft hands massaging the shampoo into the roots of your hair.
“don’t be mean.” you state.
“i’m not being mean, i’m just saying that…”
mei mei sighs, cheeks in her hand, with an almost irritating look in her eyes – wholeheartedly judgemental. she just didn’t get it.
“look, he’s friends with todo. that guy i know from the finance club? and i asked around about him, apparently he loves to brag about how he gets girls off all the time. now either he’s talking about you – clearly not the way you talk about him – or he’s talking to someone else.”
you sigh. because you can’t even put it past him. because in the months you had known him, he was impossible to understand. a futile effort to read. impossible to touch.
“look, i’ll just ask him later.”
and when he comes around your apartment, well after mei mei has left, he brings a slice of peach cobbler that his coworker insisted that he take home with him.
“peach cobbler for my peach!”
you wince.
“that was corny. even for you.”
“i saw an opportunity and i took it.” suguru responds, shrugging as he loops his arms around your waist, chin resting against the top of your head as he eyes the pot of boiling ramen on your stove.
and you bite the bullet as fast as you can.
“do you see other girls?” you ask.
“huh?”
you swallow hard, dry patch in your throat, as you feel the sweat tickling the top of your forehead. it’s from the heat of the stove.
“do you see other girls? or guys?”
“no. do you?”
you shake your head. and you’re unsure how to word the next question – because there was something humiliating, too bare about having to admit that you want more to him – when things were so sweet as they were.
perhaps you should have known better. coffee was always bitter at the end.
“why do you ask?”
you shrug.
“dunno. was just thinking about us. and how we spent break together and all that.”
suguru presses a kiss to your hairline.
“yeah? did you have fun?”
you hum in response.
“yeah. i really liked the city. and your mom and your sister. it was really sweet of you to take me.”
you pause, wincing as you decide to be as blunt as possible.
“and i like you.”
he laughs.
“well, i like you too.”
“no, no, i like you. well, i more than like you, but i…i can’t say those words.”
there’s a silence. and his arms feel like loose limp noodles around you. and you realize now, that you made the wrong choice. you turn around, only to find hollow brown eyes staring at you, the makings of a frown on his face.
“suguru?”
he winces.
“i can’t.” he whispers.
“why not?”
and you’re not sure what it is, but it throws him into a panic. with his facial features scrunched up, eyes hollow, and nervous hands running through his hair.
“i just can’t.”
you cross your hands over your chest, the bitter contempt of rejection blooming in your chest, as you look down, picking at the scab on the inside of your palms as you ask again.
“i said i didn’t want any attachments.” he adds.
“i know. but can you blame me for being confused? you took me home to see your family.”
“as a friend.”
“you didn’t act like my friend while we were there.”
suguru groans.
“and that’s my fault, i know that but –”
that one stings. admitting that he regrets it.
“okay, well. that’s alright. maybe you should leave now, then.” you state.
“wait peach, no. i don’t want to leave, i just..”
you scoff.
“you don’t want to leave?”
“no?”
it comes out meek, almost timid when he utters it. a question. like he can’t even admit it fully – that he wants to stay. and it fills you with anger, searing red hot anger on the heels of being cast aside so nonchalantly, that it comes to a head then and there.
“do you really think so little of me?”
“what?
“i’m not good enough to be your girlfriend. but whatever else you want, that’s fine. i…i thought you thought of me better than some girl you just fuck around with.”
suguru sighs.
“you’re not some girl i just fuck around with.”
“am i not, though?”
suguru shuts his eyes, the look on his face is so pained – so miserable – that it irritates you.
“you’ve made it abundantly clear. that you like me a decent amount, but not enough to care about whether or not you’ll lose me.”
you bite down so hard on your lip that the taste of metallic blood fills your mouth, coupled with warm tears in your eyes.
“and for that, you can go to hell.”
--
“what happened to you, peach?”
you scoff, curling your nose at the old nickname, as he yanks the closest stool – his legs still too long to even be comfortable on the thing as he leans forward, noting the dried blood on your forehead.
“a car accident. you can leave now.”
suguru frowns, almost resembling a kicked dog, as he shakes his head. there’s something softer about his expressions now – something you’re sure is a byproduct of the time you spent apart or the fact that you have a broken rib – and you choose to ignore it for the time being.
“i can’t just leave.” he whispers.
“and why not?”
suguru shakes his head.
“you have a broken rib. and a deep cut on your forehead. forgive me if i’m concerned about you.”
“i can’t. knowing you, you’ll casually linger around here for a few days, and when you figure it’s appropriate to leave, you’ll be gone with the wind.”
the two of you sit there in silence, the harshness of the words hanging in the air between the two of you.
and yet again, suguru geto leaves you with a never ending pit of curiosity. about what he was doing here, to ask how he is – to make it a note to him that his cheeks look fuller, that his eyes aren’t rimmed red anymore, and that he looks good.
that you like the new hairstyle. that it killed you when he wasn’t around anymore. that you still want him to go to hell.
suguru twists the silver ring on his pointer finger a few times – a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth – before you break the silence, your curiosity getting the best of you another time.
“why are you here?”
“they called me. i’m your emergency contact still.”
“no, i gathered that. why are you here?”
suguru pauses, swallowing hard before responding.
“if orpheus hears something that deceives him – like the sound of eurydice tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back.” suguru states.
you scoff. vague again.
“right.”
“no, really. i got the call. and i didn’t think and just showed up. i just…just had to see you.” suguru states.
he pauses.
“it’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”
you turn to glare at him, at the audacity of him repeating your own stupid words back to you.
“is it? because his carelessness left her in hell with hades.”
suguru scoffs.
“i never did tell you the end of the story, did i?”
you roll your eyes.
“orpheus becomes so distraught that he uses his lyre to charm death – just so that he can return to the underworld to be with her. and people debate how it happens, him being ripped apart by irate women or getting killed by the menades, but it does happen. he dies and goes to the underworld. and in some versions, people think that he reunites with her in the underworld. and she forgives him.”
“and why would she do that?” you ask.
“because he tried his best to do right by her. he was asked to do one thing – to stay away. and that’s what he did, because…because i know you’re right. because you do deserve better, i do think the world of you and think you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you, the way that you want.”
suguru pauses.
“it’s not my fault that i can’t help but look back. i can’t do anything about the fact that i love you.”
you swallow hard, an embarrassing amount of regret – mixed in with that deep longing that he left in your chest – searing through you.
“in the casual way, right?” you respond, sarcastically.
he groans.
“it’s not casual at all. it wasn’t casual when i leaned forward to taste the sweetness of the peach on your lips – especially when i fucking hate peaches. and it wasn’t casual when i took you home with me, it was…i just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. and it’s not fucking casual that i drove three hours when i was supposed to be home this weekend just because i the thought of you sitting in this room alone, in pain, was driving me crazy.”
you wince, turning to look at him. and it seems that in the mere acknowledgement of his presence by locking his eyes, it seems to fill him with something – something that puts the whisper of a smile on his face.
“what?”
“i turned around for you. i didn’t know i would, but now that i have, i…i realize that i probably always would have.”
“okay?” you whisper.
“are you going to forgive me for it? not doing it earlier, for…for not getting it right the first time?” he asks.
you pause, mulling the thought over. and the silence, he takes it as an invitation to plead his case.
“i’ll beg. i’ll get on my hands and knees if that’ll do something to make it better.”
you turn to look at him.
“you…you’re special. i haven’t forgotten about you and…and i know we had something. just let me fix it? i’ll get you a hundred gifts, i’ll tell you a hundred times and i’ll - oh!’
he reaches into his bag, shoving his arms into the depths of the pockets, before yanking out a little napkin and reaching forward, opening your hand and placing it in your palm.
“a tissue?”
“open it.”
and you oblige, unfolding the tissue to see four little gummy peach rings in the napkin, before turning back to him.
“peach rings?”
“for my peach! i eat them all the time now, even though i fucking hate peaches. i only had a few left so i grabbed what i had left when i ran out. and i ate some on the way on accident because i was nervous, worried about you and all..”
you look down, the sugary crystals on the candy almost sparking in the light, as you look back at him. and he's wholeheartedly different - not the cool, cold guy you left behind, but a weird mess of awkwardness and jitters, and maybe even the tiniest hint of desperation.
he seems wholeheartedly more touchable this way.
“you make no sense.” you state.
suguru frowns.
“i know. but i’m trying.” he responds.
and you sigh, wiping your hands at your side, before eating one of the candies. bitter at first, but sweet at the end.
“suppose that’s my problem then. i’ll have to figure you out.” you respond.
suguru’s face splits into a smile, his motions so eager as he leans over the railing of the bed, the angle entirely off as he leans forward to kiss you. and it’s entirely different from every other time you’ve kissed him – full and whole, a warm and tender promise behind it.
“you’re wrong, you know?” you whisper.
“about what?” he murmurs.
“the peaches. they taste good.”
he laughs.
“is that right?” he whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips, as he wavers his eyes up again, to the cut on your forehead.
he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the bandages, before pulling back, lips lingering over yours.
“i think i need one more to decide.”
--
an: idk.
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#seeingivywrites!#suguru#suguru x you#suguru x reader#suguru x y/n#suguru fluff#suguru angst#suguru geto#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto fluff#suguru geto angst#geto#geto x y/n#geto x you#geto x reader#geto fluff#geto angst#geto suguru#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru fluff#geto suguru angst#jjk#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk fluff
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One thing that I find absolutely hilarious about mdzs is how flippantly the cultivation setting is treated and how little it actually means for the characters. Esp compared to mxtx’s other works.
Like, svsss has the more typical style of cultivation with formal levels (qi gathering, foundation establishment, core formation, etc). It’s slightly bullshitted thanks to Airplane’s writing style, but it’s implied that it takes decades of hard work to move between stages and it’s also implied that cultivators can and do live for centuries because they are cultivating towards immortality
And tgcf literally focuses on people who cultivate into godhood. Like we see ‘regular’ cultivators as well, but we also know that people in this setting are capable of becoming literal gods, and we know that it typically takes a lot of hard work to do so as well
But mdzs? Forming a golden core is nothing. Everyone has one. They’re handed out like candy. Wwx is lauded as a prodigy for forming one as young as he did, but his peers still seem to form theirs in their teens. And having a golden core means little to nothing for the characters except boosted strength and stamina, and that they can use magic
Putting aside the literal war killing people off and affecting the average cultivator’s lifespan, we see almost no evidence of anyone cultivating to immortality aside from Baoshen-sanren, who is an outlier. These characters all have golden cores! Granted, every xianxia-style story has different rules for how cultivation works, and in mdzs the focus seems to be more on using cultivation for practicality (night hunts) rather than any sort of ascension, but usually having a golden core will at least extend your life beyond the normal length
Not in mdzs! Jin Guangshan dies in his…sixties, maybe? Possibly younger, even! But he’s generally thought of as ‘old’ and everyone readily accepts that he died from ‘overexerting himself’ in that orgy. A sixty-year-old cultivator with a fully-formed golden core is considered old and decrepit! That’s a young’un in other cultivation settings!!
The other ‘old man’ we see is Lan Qiren, who could ostensibly be as young as his thirties during the Cloud Recesses study arc (bc keep in mind that he’s Qingheng-jun’s younger brother, and given the general lifespans of all the mdzs characters, it’s not unreasonable to assume qhj married and had his kids in early adulthood). Granted, to my memory wwx is the only one who thinks of him as an ‘old man,’ and anyone above, like, twenty would be seen as old to a fifteen-year-old, but still. Wwx continues to consider him an old man post-timeskip when it’s entirely possible he’s only in his late forties or fifties.
I don’t really have a conclusion or any sort of deep analysis for this, I just thought this difference in setting was an interesting/funny departure from mxtx’s other works and wanted to ramble. Feel free to leave thoughts/observations in the notes!
#Cherri talk#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#svsss#tgcf#mdzs characters meeting 800yo xie lian: you can DO that??
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Music Boyfriend part 1
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Part 1 / 2 / 3
Summary: Eddie is an anonymous frontman of Corroded Coffin and meets his long-time pen-crush while on the run from the law.
Notes: This is HEAVILY inspired by movie Dinner in America, I was obsessed with the dynamic and felt it fit Eddie and Reader so well. general plot similarities but not a complete retelling of the movie.
Eddies POV
Sweat dripped down the nape of Eddie Munsons neck, chest raising and falling at a rapid rate, his hooded reflection an image of fierce rage as he attempted to calm down his heart and mind after the show. It was the biggest crowd they had played for. At least 100 sweaty bodies mashed together screaming his lyrics. Eddie was in a euphoric state the whole set, Corroded Coffin was finally making it in the scene, people were actually taking them seriously.
“Great show tonight dude” Gareth the bands drummer spoke as he walked past smacking his palm against the skin of Eddies exposed back.
“Owners talking about getting us back next weekend”
Eddies heartbeat was still pounding in his ears when he roughly ripped off the black ski mask from his head, damp curls sprawling out from their confinement.
Shouting could be heard from outside before the door to the small green room slammed open. “They’re looking for you man” Jeff ran in. Eddie could hear the police outside the door, their voices getting closer.
“Quick get out of here and lay low, whatever you did this time they’ll forget in a few days”
Eddie cursed before haphazardly putting his mask back on and shrugging his leather jacket on his shoulders before entering the cold night air.
The cops were looking for Eddie, and with the mask on he was no longer Eddie, he was Vandal, Van for short, but he made a run for it just to be safe.
Eddie knew back at the bar his band will be getting interrogated right now. But their story was always the same “we don’t know no Eddie; the lead singers name is Van”
He liked to keep his real identity a secret on stage. It was easier due to all the trouble he gets up to during the day and he just preferred the anonymity of it, he could be anyone once that hood came on.
Down the street now Eddie slowed to a brisk walk, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag once he finally got a breath. He smiled at the irony of that, thinking of ways he could incorporate that into a lyric, connect it back to the bands rebellious non conformity message.
After a few more minutes of walking Eddie made it to the nearest service station, pulling his hood off and stuffing it in his jacket pocket before entering. He beelined straight to the confectionary section ripping off a chocolate bar and stomping down the aisle for a packet of chips. At the counter he watched the bored clerk perk up at the sight of him, adjusting her shirt to show off more cleavage.
“What can I do for you” she asked in the most flirtatious voice she could
“Uh, cheapest bottle of bourbon please” Eddie answered giving the girl a wink before she turned around to grab the bottle.
“What time do you get off?” Eddie leaned his elbows on the counter so his eyes were in line with her chest, noticing the way she pushed her chest out more and stood with her hand on her hip.
“I’m here all night, but it’s pretty dead, I can lock the door” She replied seductively. Eddie considered his options. Try to go home to his uncle who likely already received a visit from the cops, or hole up here with a pretty lady until the authorities cool off for the night.
The answer was obvious.
-
Eddie was rudely awoken by the zip of his leather jacket hitting him in his eye socket. Groaning he stretched in the plastic chair he had curled up on, flinching when he pinched a nerve in his back. Uncle Waynes couch would have been a better option.
“You have to leave now my supervisors going to be here” A voice spoke above him.
Eddie squinted open one eye to see a dishevelled version of the girl he met last night. On the floor to his right was an empty bottle of that bourbon and a plastic cup with the remnants of his last few cigarettes.
“Get me another packet of Marlboros would ya” Eddie resumed his stretch, rubbing the eye that he could already feel a small bruise forming around.
He heard movement and a small box hit him in the chest.
“Out! Now!”
Eddie scrambled to his feet shrugging on his jacket realising he still had no shirt underneath.
“Can I pinch a shirt?” Eddie asked the girl frantically cleaning up the back room they spent the night in.
“They’re next to the drink fridge, hurry” she answered, uninterested in Eddies company by now.
Eddie walked out the back entrance of the service station clad in a shirt saying, “Warning, Choking Hazard” with an arrow pointed downward, he chuckled to himself, pleased with his selection before lighting up another cigarette and making his way in town. He was starving and could use a greasy cheeseburger to soak up some of the alcohol still swirling through his system.
If he was lucky, the police had forgotten about Mr Wheelers stolen car and Mrs Norris’s once perfectly manicured lawn (he didn’t see the pot hole, he was trying not to pop Mr Wheelers tyre obviously).
Down the main strip of Hawkins Eddie kept his head down trying not to draw any attention. He was on 80% of these peoples hit list, been done dirty by Eddie one way or another. This was why he was so eager to blow up with the band and get the hell out of this shit hole. He approached the record store, interested in this week’s new releases. Him and the band had been trying to get Corroded Coffins album in store for months. Keith the asshole kept saying they weren’t selling amateur garage band shit, so Eddie deeply despised the place.
Like a magnet Eddie found his way to the metal section, browsing the albums he already knew and loved when one cover up the back caught his eye. It was Corroded Coffin, he had hand drawn that cover himself, he recognised the charcoal smudge scanned onto the left edge of every album they printed. It cost him a fortune, only two existed in vinyl format and 50 cassettes, all the copies they hand out at shows now are hand scratched mixtape style covers. This was one of those 50 official cassettes.
“Its limited edition, hence, the markup” A soft voice spoke from behind Eddie. He turned his head and scowled at the girl stood behind him. She was twiddling with a sticker that read ‘SALE’ a crooked name badge on a too big shirt with ‘Hawkins Records’ printed on the opposite side.
“Yeah, I know its limited edition, its one of 50” Eddie spat back protectively. Who was this girl telling him about his own band?
“Its one of my own copies. I bought two because I’m such a fan and wanted a backup but Keiths been pushing back their request to sell in the store, so I sacrificed my spare to put out, they deserve to be in stores, have you heard of them?” The girl rambled, seemingly forgetting her own surroundings once she had started talking.
“Of course, I’ve heard of them” Eddie grumbled putting the album back. “Better question is how have you heard of them”
Eddie turned fully now to look at the girl. She was nothing like the people who come to his shows, she radiated too much of a cautious, anxious energy. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin and ashamed of her own actions, but Eddie was no psychoanalyst, he couldn’t make those kinds of conclusions. She looked up at him but a little to the left, never making eye contact and she had a twitch in her leg that looked a little like Gareth tapping a kick drum.
“My friend Jack showed me their album, he works here Monday to Thursday, he’s really into metal”
Eddie looked her up and down as he tried to work this girl out, she was fucking weird, and that was saying something coming from him, the towns resident freak.
“Did you know the bands lead vocalist Vandal wears a mask?” Her leg began to twitch more as she continued to talk about Eddie, to Eddie.
“He stays anonymous when he performs, I find it so hot no one knows who he really is” Her twitching turned into a small bounce and Eddie stepped back away from her.
“Oi! Nutcase, stop harassing the customers, get back to work!” Keith yelled from the front of the store, shutting down this girl’s excitement. This didn’t sit well with Eddie at all.
“Does he always talk to you like that?”
The girl looked down at her shoes nervously. “Yeah, he does”
Eddie grunted, “He’s an asshole, you know that?” The girl only nodded back.
Her submission to the asshole up the front only enraged Eddie more. “Hey! Keith!” He shouted across the store, stomping up to the counter.
“Find someone else to pick on” He growled before planting one hard punch to Keith’s face, definitely breaking his nose. Other customers in the store looked up, curious about the commotion.
“And treat your staff better”
Keith groaned in pain, “She’s fucking useless man, what the fuck”
Something in Eddie felt protective over this girl, and he wasn’t sure why. She was a fan obviously and a part of him felt indebted to her for her devotion to his art, whether she knew it or not.
“Come on” Eddie grunted, pulling the strange girl by her arm and out of the store. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before Keith calls the police and they’re hot on his trail again.
“Where are we going?” She asked still being dragged by Eddie.
“To your place”
Surprisingly it didn’t take any convincing at all for this girl to lead Eddie in the direction of her house, taking backstreets to avoid attention. Eddie added this to her list of traits that made her a freak, who the hell takes a guy like Eddie home after that?
“Hey, stop” Eddie interrupts once they were far enough away, he thought they’d be safe from authorities. “Fuck this shit” he said ripping off the name badge from her uniform. “You don’t need that shithole” The girl looked at Eddie now, analysing him.
“Am I fired?”
The question baffled him, how does he answer that. Did he just get her fired?
“Like I said, you don’t need that shithole” He punctuated, motioning for her to continue walking, he was still fucking starving.
-
She led him up to a plain white house, perfect coverup assuming Keith doesn’t talk. Inside, it was as plain at the exterior, perfect picture of boring suburbia. Eddie couldn’t help comparing it to somewhere they’d send him to torture him.
“My Dads on a trip and my Moms at work, no one will find you here” The girl said, practically reading Eddies mind.
She walked him through and into the kitchen offering him a glass of water, which Eddie rejected as he pushed her out of the way to scan her fridge.
“Where’s the beer?”
The strange girl shrugged, “Dad doesn’t like beer”
“Is there any booze in this house?” He asked, already getting irritated.
“Well, dads got a special bottle of whiskey he saves for Christmas each year in his study, he says its vintage”
“Perfect” Eddie answered, “Go get it”
He continued to rummage through the fridge, pulling out bread, turkey meat and cranberry jelly. The girl stayed put, not answering Eddie. “Is there a problem?”
“Its Dads special Whiskey, he only drinks it on Christmas”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Whatever”
Once his sandwich was made Eddie began to look around the house, looking for anything valuable he could snatch on his way out tomorrow. “What’s your deal then?” Eddie called from a gallery wall near the front entrance, viewing a series of boring family photos, this family didn’t even go on vacation, every photo looked like a Macys photoshoot.
“What do you mean?” She asked sneaking up next to Eddie, causing him to jump and hold his chest.
“Fucking creepy, don’t do that” He hissed before composing himself, “I mean, what do you do besides work at the record store, did you go to college? Actually, how old are you?”
“I’m 20, I did one year at college, but mom thought I’d be better working and getting some life experience and going back later when I gained a bit more confidence”
Eddie noted the way she spoke to the wall rather than to Eddie, so he turned to face her directly, encouraging her to do the same.
“You think you’re getting life experience getting yelled at by Keith?”
“Not really”
Eddie crossed his arms, “what do you want to be doing then?”
The girl took a moment to consider her next words, biting her lip in thought. “Follow me” She led him up a flight of stairs and into a bedroom with the most contradicting aesthetic Eddie had ever seen. Her bed was cutely decorated with girly blankets, a pile of stuffed animals in the corner. Cascading over the bed was a frilly canopy covered in fairly lights. To the opposite wall was a white traditional vanity with a pretty jewellery box decorated with glittery stickers, and various lip glosses and juvenile makeup products. The walls however were covered in aggressive Metal band posters. Eddie spotted a concert advertisement poster they had put up around town for one of Corroded Coffins gigs. She had a stack of cassettes beside her bed that Eddie imagined didn’t contain a single Madonna album.
“I want to start a band” She spoke quickly, rummaging through a cardboard box of letters, papers and various craft equipment.
“I don’t have anyone to join the band, but I’ve been writing songs” She pulls out one envelope generously decorated in stickers. “I sometimes send the love songs to Vandal from Corroded Coffin” she explains turning around to show Eddie the letter she had, addressed to his uncles PO box.
Eddies stomach dropped, face void of any blood as he stared at the familiar envelope connecting the dots between this girl and the girl he’d been fantasizing about for over a year now.
This was fucking bad.
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut#fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#stranger things fanfic
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Sea Sickness
Sea Sickness
Luke Hughes x fem!reader (established relationship, but still new)
Idea: Reader gets nauseous from being on the boat at the Hughes’s Lake House and snuggles up to Luke.
Requested: Nope.
Author’s Note: I know I’m bouncing around who I’m writing for, but I’m on a NHL spree right now. I also get nauseated if I'm on a boat or in the ocean for too long. Fun Fact: I wrote the beginning part of this on a note card while working by myself in the OR today. We had a really long case where I just had to check up on people during the middle of it (hence why I wrote this on a card because I don’t like going on my phone when I’m in the OR. It's unprofessional). I don’t know any of these people personally. The closest I’ve gotten to the team (that wasn’t just playing in the band at the games or when they were walking past us down the 2023 red carpet in tampa) was a tuba was talking to some of them in his plane row on the ride back from that trip (he ended up being the tuba you see in the senior picture from 2024) and one of the coaches had to share our bus on the way back from the 2023 frozen four game with his wife and two young daughters (I kept trying to get the younger one to smile at me unsuccessfully). Someone from my hotel room also shared the elevator ride up with the entire Fantilli family the night they lost that game in 2023 (I think Adam also won the Hobey Baker award that same night). I’ve also been playing my lego lord of the rings game. Anyway, enjoy this little blurb.
Tagging some of my favorite Hughes/NHL writers, love y’all.
@wineauntie @thedevilrisen @winterbarnesblog @sc0tters
I forgot to mention that this is kinda based on the cute stuff @bedsyandco writes
I'm now sad when I'm uploading this because a friend from college drumline has an incurable brain cancer. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers (he's only 19 or 20).
Requests are still open. Feedback is always appreciated. Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new. If you want to only be tagged when I upload something for a certain character or shows, let me know as well.
Warning: None, just general fluff. Feeling sick on a boat.
Word Count: 488
Being on a boat wasn’t your most favorite thing in the world, mainly because the last time you were on a boat, it got stuck in the middle of the laek and had to be towed back to shore (true story), but when your boyfriend Luke invited you to spend the weekend at the lakehouse with ihs brothers and friends, you weren't going to say no. The weekend had been filled with lots of eating, playing outside, and the boys being competitive at every game they pick up (even the old board game you brought to teach them how to play). Just trying to keep up with them all was exhausting, so that’s how you ended up on the back of the boat enjoying the warm air instead of diving into the water again. The boys had been going back and forth between wakeboarding and chatting on the boat deck. With them supplying the lake with plenty of waves, the constand up and down was starting to make your stomach sick. You scooched over and made yourself comfortable laying your head on Luke’s shoulder. He then opened his arms and wrapped you in his warm embrace so you could crawl on his lap and snuggle closer to his chest.
“You feeling ok?”
“Yeah, just want to stop the constant movement.” It was getting to a point were you just wanted to stop the constant movement. It being really hot out didn’t help either.
“We’ll head to shore soon. Then we can cool off inside.”
Being wrapped up in Luke’s embrace with his fingers gently carding through your hair or down your shoulder leaving goosebumps in their wake and shading you with his fit body definitely helped keep your mind off of your stomach and the boat’s ever shifting movements. Luke wasn’t much of a pda person, but you always encouraged him to show little bits of it at least in front of his family or close friends.
Little did you know, that’s exactly who was eyeing the interaction. Jack, Quinn, Trevor, Cole, and Dylan all had stopped what they were talking about in favor of watching the interaction between you two. Eventhough they were not all related, they felt like proud older brothers seeing Luke be so considerate and affectionate in front of them. Of couse they’re all going to tease him relentlessly later about this, but they were gentlemen in regards to respecting the timing and the moment.
“Just lay down and close your eyes. We’ll be on shore soon.” You snuggled deeper into Luke’s neck keeping your eyes closed and focused on his soft skin, his natural scent, and the way his warm body curled around yours. He even tugged on your legs to pull you fully into his lap as his large frame wrapped around your body fully encasing you in his warmth and comfort.
Nothing better than enjoying the summer with those you love.
#nhl imagine#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes#hughes brothers#luke hughes fluff#luke hughes imagine#jack hughes x reader#quinn hughes x reader#nhl#nhl players#hockey#hockey imagine#new jersey devils#nj devils#umich hockey#umich imagine#umich x reader
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♡ It's time to go - FC 43 ♡
Summary: it's go time. franco's final race in f1 for the foreseeable future. you don't want to say goodbye, but is it really goodbye?
Author's Note: i'm tired and sad and i already miss him
WC: 1911
CW: angst? fluff? girl idk what this fic is anymore, mentions of his DNF eheh, happy ending 😚
You remember when you saw his face not long ago. You had met him at an F3 event and the two of you immediately hit it off and became so close in such a short amount of time. He was your favorite person and when you found out he was moving up to F1, you nearly broke glass with your scream.
For months, the two of you raced with, and against each other. There were ups and downs but you wouldn’t change it for the world. It was amazing, being able to go to work together and see each other all the time. The two of you were always spending time together in the paddock. For a minute, the world seemed so simple. But it’s gonna be over soon.
It’s the day of the final race of the season in Abu Dhabi, the final race with Franco, for god knows how long. Neither of you were ready to say goodbye. Sure, you would see each other every so often, but it wasn’t going to be the same. He wasn’t gonna be at every race with you, he wasn’t gonna be on track with you, he wasn’t going to be there after every race to walk you home.
You had already put on your race suit and made your way to the Williams garage to see Franco before heading over to your garage. When you arrived, you were greeted by a few of the mechanics and engineers. Across the room, you spotted Franco as he was going over some numbers for the race.
He felt you watching him, looking up and smiling when he saw you. Making his way over to you, he asked what you were doing there. “Just saying hi and good luck today. Also wanted to say I’m gonna miss you on the track. It’s been fun driving against you these past few months.” you say.
“It’s been a pleasure being able to share the track with you, y/n. I’m going to miss you as well. I’m not sure what’s in store for me but I do know that I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
You can’t help but blush at his words. You truly felt like Franco was one of the best things to happen to you. In such a short amount of time, he’s taught you so much and you’re the person you are today, because of him.
“Let’s make a deal. We promise to see each other at least once a month. I don’t want you to disappear, Fran.”
“I like that deal. And, I’m not afraid to disappear. My dream was always to make it to Formula 1, and I made it. The one thing I wanted all my life was all mine for a short time. But now it’s time for me to go. If I don’t get the chance to come back to Formula 1 then so be it. The birds will still sing and the leaves will still die. Nothing will change.”
“Everything’s going to change. Who’s gonna make the whole grid laugh? Who’s gonna yap everyone’s ear off? Who’s gonna flirt with all the interviewers?” you ask, laughing to try and prevent the tears from rolling, “Who’s gonna be there to hold my hand and tell me it’s gonna be okay when things go to shit? Who’s gonna put a smile on my face everyday? I don’t want my favorite person to leave.” your tears are falling now.
Franco’s face falls when he sees how much love you hold for him, he quickly pulls you into a hug that makes you grab onto him so tight so that he doesn’t slip through your fingers.
“Don’t worry. I know I’ll see you again. You’re gonna win races, beat the competition out of the water. And I’ll still be here by your side, even if it’s not physically. We’re gonna call and text all the time, you’re gonna keep me updated on all the drama in the paddock, especially the drama between George and Max. And you’re gonna become a champion. Okay?” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back to try and help you calm the tears.
“You changed my life, Franco. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in the paddock, or in general. Please don’t be a stranger.” “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere. You’re the greatest thing in my life, butterfly. I don’t think I can live without you now that I know what it’s like to have you here.”
“You’ll make me cry when it comes to an end.” The tears are fully streaming down your face now. Your heart aches not knowing when you’ll be able to race with him again. You breathe him in and fight the tears.
Alex clears his throat behind the two of you, trying to get your attention. The two of you pull apart and wipe away the tears, looking at Alex as he stands there awkwardly, “Just wanted to let you guys know we have to get ready to get in the cars soon. Bye.” he says, walking away with a small wave.
Franco and you shared a little laugh before looking at each other and nodding your heads. You reach a hand out for Franco to shake, and he does. “One last time.” you say.
“One last time.”
-=+=-
Everyone fought hard on the track today. Unfortunately, your engineer told you that Franco had to retire the car during the race. When you heard those words, you just shook your head in disappointment. You were insanely proud of Franco and of how far he’s come, but he got stuck with an awful car. His last race shouldn’t have ended like that.
But like your engineer said, there was nothing you could do. All you could do now was keep pushing and try and score points for the team. You overtook some cars and now you were approaching the end. You were 2 seconds behind Charles and you were pushing the car to the limit. You kept inching closer and closer to Charles and when you entered a DRS zone, you and Charles fought hard. You pushed and pushed until you finally made it. You ended the race in P3.
“Congrats, P3. You did amazing this season, y/n. I’m proud of what we’ve done this season and can’t wait to go again next year. Until then, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you.” you hear through your radio. Your engineer has been amazing through the years and has helped you in tremendous ways.
“Thanks, man. This season was hectic and tough but we pulled through. Thank you to the team, the engineers and mechanics who have spent countless hours making the car what it is. They did an amazing job and I’m thankful. Here’s to next year.” you say as you make your way to parking your car.
You get out of the car and are immediately greeted by Carlos and Lando, all of you congratulating each other on everything. You saw your team on the side and ran to hug and high-five them and give them a few more thanks. You’re going down the line when you spot Franco there, absolutely shouting his head off.
Immediately, you run to him and hug him. You can barely hear him through your helmet and the cheers all around but you make out his words, “I’m so proud of you. This isn’t the end, yeah?”
“Yeah, never the end.”
You let go and make your way to the cool down room and prepare for the podium.
When you are called out for the podium, you walk out and smile wide. You’re proud of yourself and the team that helped get you here. You stand tall and look at your team, beaming with pride. They’re all watching you, watching how you hold your head up high despite all the shit that gets thrown at you. In the middle of the crowd, you can see Franco. He’s still cheering for you and you see him scream “That’s my girl.” Causing everyone to turn their heads in confusion. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene as Franco is giving no fucks and keeps smiling up at you.
After the podium celebration and post-race interview, you made your way to your garage and you were engulfed with hugs and cheers from the crew. Horner walked up to you and thanked you for the season and that he’s excited for next year. After a ton of pictures, you were able to get a minute to breathe and change out of your race suit.
You had just finished putting on your shoes when you heard a knock on the door. You open the door and are greeted by a happy Franco. “Hi”
“Hi, come in.” you say as you open the door wider for him. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in the Williams garage right now.”
“I was in there but I wanted to come see you for a minute. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh,” your anxiety begins to take over, it’s written all over your face and Franco spots it.
“Oh no, don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I, um, I have something to confess. Over the time we’ve known each other, I’ve started to notice how happy you make me. I have been too scared to admit it, to you, to myself, but this feeling is something that I want to keep chasing, feeding it more and more every time I look at you, every time I hear your laugh or make your cheeks blush. I was way too scared to admit it, but I want more than to just race by your side on the track. I want to be by your side in life, I want to share my days and every moment with you. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I would be stupid to continue to ignore what I feel, because I’ve never felt something as strong as the love that wraps around my heart whenever I am with you. It’s like you’ve taken over my mind. I wanna tell the whole world about you.”
You could feel tears brimming your eyes, as if you haven’t cried enough today. You grab his hands, feeling his soft touch on yours. Eyes meeting as you smile up at him. Without a word, you lean in and kiss him softly. Your hearts are leaping in a giddy whirl. He’s frozen at first, until he lets in, realizing that he truly loves you so.
When you pull apart, Franco is left breathless. He can’t believe that just happened. He finally got the girl of his dreams?
You wrap your arms around him and pull him close to you, “I hope you know there’s no chance I’m ever letting you go, now that I have you. You’re stuck with me for life. We’ll grow old together, and then if we turn into a tree, I’ll be the leaves.”
“There’s no one I’d rather spend eternity with. You’re the number one girl in my eyes and nothing will ever change that. I’m in love with you and it’s a feeling I want to show.”
It was moments like these that reminds you that sometimes, the heart races faster than the car.
#f1 fanfiction#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto angst#franco colapinto fluff
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A Bargain pt. 2
paring: Azriel x Reader | type: angst | words: 4,5k | warnings: this story explores a little darker themes like the loss of eyesight due to fire. thank you so much for beta reading @moonlightazriel 💛 here you can find part one (I'm sorry it took me forever to write the second part)
Heart rapidly thrumming against your ribcage, you follow the shadowsinger, listening to every step you take, your fingers not once lifting from the railing.
Every sound, every scent, settles into you, making you hyper aware of your surroundings. Except for light and darkness there’s nothing your eyes can tell you, so relying on your other senses is what keeps you alive.
"We‘re almost there." Azriel’s low voice sounds in front of you but he seems closer now, no longer and having stopped so you could catch up with him.
It‘s time now for the doubts to come creeping into your mind at full force, making your palms grow damp and cold sweat break out on the back of your mind.
You know Gwyn will be here and you are safe, but you haven’t left the library in… you haven’t since you arrived here all those years ago.
Speaking of Gwyn—you feel her presence immediately when the first strays of sunlight fall upon you, warming your skin and making an involuntary smile appear on your lips. It has been so long without feeling sunlight on your skin.
"You came," Gwyn’s voice sounds beside you as her fingers gently take your hand into hers, and she guides you along. "I‘m so glad you did, although a little sour that it took Azriel to convince you and that I wasn’t persuasive enough." She laughs, a playful note in her beautiful voice that makes you join in.
Listening to her and the other priestesses sing has cured many moments where the dark memories threatened to reach the surface.
You allow her to guide you to a place where more people are, your mind tells you that, feeling the presence of at least ten other people. The other priestesses who begin to silently greet you, the warmth and kindness in their voice palpable.
"I‘m Nesta Archeron," the last female voice tells you. "I‘m Gwyn‘s friend and—"
"You won the Bloodrite alongside her. I have heard all the stories about you! It‘s a pleasure to meet you, Nesta Archeron." You are scared the excitement in your voice will scare her off or make her believe that you are strange, and for the first time in a long while you are happy you can’t see her expression. But she takes you by surprise, gently taking your hand into hers, the one Gwyn formerly was holding.
"And I‘ve heard stories about you, Y/N Y/L/N. It‘s my pleasure to meet you." She is smiling, you can feel it and mirror her expression.
As you let all the sounds, the scents, the noises settle into you, you slowly find your grounding in the now new surroundings. You haven’t been here before, you know this, but somehow it is still part of your home. Both Gwyn and Azriel have explained exactly where you would be going and what it looked like — a training field for the Valkyries and the Illyrians.
A male voice, loud and commanding, shakes you out of your thoughts. It comes from somewhere further away and you remember it. You have heard it somewhere before. It‘s Cassian, the general of the Illyrian armies and Nesta Archeron‘s mate talking.
He is giving some instructions that all make no sense to you before he claps his hands and people begin to move around you, shuffling into probably every direction.
You can feel how your throat clogs up, making it hard to breathe and swallow.
Suddenly the doubts come back, making the back of your mouth ache.
Leave! Go back to the Library! a voice loudly says in your mind, making you want to move but your feet are you rooted to the ground. It feels like something is keeping you here, making it impossible for you to lift your feet—like an invisible pull that wants you to stay.
You feel like everyone is rushing around you, away from you, toward you, you don’t know. Your head starts to spin, fingers curling towards your palms in an attempt to steady yourself. It fails until—
A soft brush, featherlight and barely palpable makes the skin of you upper arm tingle. Azriel’s shadows, undoubtedly.
He is close as well, you feel his presence before you hear his voice.
"Are you alright?"
"I am!"
He can sense the lie, you know it. You can feel it. He moves closer, stepping into you and his hand lands on your elbow. "Tell me, do you want to return?"
You want to go back down to the Library, but at the same time you also want to prove to yourself that you are stronger. That you won’t just give up. You can do this, you can face whatever Azriel has planned for you. You are a fighter.
You want to be strong. You can be strong.
"No…no, no I don’t," you splutter, knowing your voice is shaking as much as your knees. "I want to stay and try out what you have planned for me … remember we have a bargain." You lift your arm, the one he is not holding, wiggling it.
"I don’t want you to do something you are not comfortable with just because—"
"What’s my first task?" You swallow your worries, your doubts, the fear, amd now step even closer. There is really no distance between the two of you but the closer you are, the easier it is for you to read people. Your palm lands flat on his chest, feeling the fabric of his Illyrian leathers and the solid muscles beneath.
"You are here, Azriel, and so is Gwyn. You promised to keep me safe and so did Gwyn. I know I‘m protected and nothing will happen to me." You know and really want to believe it, but it is hard, and not yet completely possible. But that's alright, as long as Azriel believes you that you are alright.
Additionally, you know a bit of nervousness is always healthy, without it you would do the most reckless things without a second thought.
At first you start with some grounding exercises—Gwyn helps you with them, while the Illyrians train with the other priestesses, but you can always feel a certain shadowsinger’s presence close to you. Taking off your shoes, you can feel the soft grass beneath your feet when you start on some grounding exercises. You‘re mostly doing these exercises for balanace in the first days of training and they really help — in all honesty, you start to like doing them more and more; your self-confidence grows.
You have been so afraid, so terrified of going outside, but slowly the tension starts to ease and you realise that your life has so much to offer that you would have missed had you stayed in the Library forever.
You are very grateful for Azriel, and Gwyn. Without them you would have never gone this step.
Especially without Azriel, and the bargain you made.
Absently, your hand reaches for your upper arm, traces over the place where you think the tattoo is. Azriel’s fingers on your skin still linger phantom touch, and tell you where your bargain tattoo is.
A smile appears on your lips as you allow yourself to enjoy the moment, until—
"I think we should go a step further today." Azriel‘s ever so gently takes yours into his, holding on lightly. "Of course, only if you want to."
"What does it include?" you find yourself asking, tipping your head back slightly so the sun can warm your skin again.
You may not be able to see anymore, but you can still feel everything and you will take pleasure in it.
"I want you to try out something, show you how good your balance already is. I want you to try and walk over a beam."
A beam!
"How far up is it?" The question immediately bursts from you.
You hear a small laugh from him before he answers. "Not that high and I‘ll always be by your side. Just like my shadows."
Drawing in a deep inhale and letting it fill your lungs, you decide to trust him. He won’t let you fall, or get hurt. You know this.
"I won’t let you fall, Y/N.“ He squeezes your hand. "I would never let you fall.“
You want to trust him, you really do, but for a moment your doubts gain the upper hand. It is a huge step, and you need a moment to consider it.
Inhaling deeply, you listen into yourself. Into your heart, the soft thrumming of it telling you that you don’t need to be afraid. Azriel is here for you, he will make sure you are alright no matter what.
So, you allow him to guide you over to where the beam is, a soft wind caresses your face as Azriel helps you climb up a few steps.
The wood is smooth beneath your bare feat, cool, when you take your first step onto it, not once letting go off Azriel’s hand.
"Are you ready?“ the shadow singer asks beside you and you dip your chin, your jaw set so tightly you’re unable to answer.
With another deep inhale, you once again steady your breathing, but the faint creak of the wood beneath your foot sends a jolt of unease through you.
Another cool breeze brushes your face, and then you take a step forward, now both your feet resting on the beam, one after the other.
Another step forward. Another brush of the cool breeze against your face. Your breath catches as you suddenly see a bright light in your vision and you’re taking right back to the fateful day.
Fire. Nothing but unbearable heat and blinding light, like icy spikes piercing your skin. The brightness was overwhelming until everything went dark. Blank. Plain. No colour. No shape. No figure. Only darkness. And deafening silence.
Your steps waver, too slow, too uncertain, and your body starts to tremble. You loose your footing, slip, your weight tilts and your balance is lost.
Panic spikes when you start to feel how you are falling and—
Strong hands catch you. Your body is pressed against a solid chest as quick breaths escape your lips, your demeanour shattering, laying the panic within you bare.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry, you’re safe,” Azriel says against the top of your head, his voice steady and low, but you can barely hear it over the buzzing in your ears.
Your breath hitches and you bury your face in his shirt, hoping that listening to the soft thrumming of his heart will calm your own.
But it doesn’t help. The memories are back, the fear you felt when you stood atop the beam brought back memories you never wanted to revisit. Hot tears spring to your eyes and sobs rip itself free, leaving your trembling lips.
“Azriel, I’m sorry,“ you whisper and pull away. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
Frustration coils within your stomach, and you step back lifting your hands to cover your face.
He reaches for you, however, tugging your hands away from your face and pulling you into him again. And you let him to it, let him embrace you in his warm, tight hold.
“Don’t apologise. Never.“ You can feel him rest his cheek against the top of your head. “It was my fault. It was too soon, we should have given it more time.“
You don’t want him to blame himself or feel bad about the moment. You don’t even want to cry, it feels silly and excessive, but you can’t stop it. There’re so many unresolved emotions within you that you kept hidden and locked away for so long, sometimes it is hard to just stop them from rising to the surface and shattering through the shell.
As your tears start to become less, and then sobs grow quieter, you can hear footsteps coming closer.
A soft palm lands on your lower back and then in a calm voice, Gwyn says, “You’re allowed to be scared.“
You pull away from Azriel, so you can turn to her.
“You’re allowed to be scared, but today you must also be proud. About everything you’ve done, you’ve achieved in such a short time. I’ve fallen of the beam so many times even though I still have my eye-sight. You walked almost half of it without using your eyes. Y/N, when you go to bed tonight, I want you to be proud of yourself for what you have managed to do today. Don’t let the fear win the upper hand. Never!“
>>>>>>>
"You shouldn’t think about what happened today," Azriel’s deep voice sounds over the great expanse of the rooftop training area. It brushes your goosebumps-covered skin and you turn to him.
You‘ve heard him approach a while ago, his footsteps something you remembered very soon.
"I meant what I said, you shouldn’t be proud of yourself and look forward to doing better next time."
He is close then, so close you can feel the warmth of his body.
"My step-brothers poured oil over my hands and set them on fire. I have never felt greater physical pain than that day. I grew in an abusive household with a step-mother who would delight in locking me into the basement for hours, sometimes days.
"I remember often thinking that my life would end right there and then, that I didn’t have an ounce of happiness within me and that I would never be able to live a normal life."
He swallows roughly and the first tears fall from your eyes as his words, his revelation, sinks into you.
"And then I met Cass and Rhys. They showed me how good life can be, what love is and … that no matter what I should never give up. They showed me what I am capable of, the things I could do. They showed me my strength and I learned to understand it. I wanted to be strong, never weak again, never vulnerable again. I was strong and I was ready to prove it to everyone, especially myself."
Without a further thought, you reach for his hand, taking it gently into yours and squeezing softly. "Azriel…"
The words die down in your throat. After everything he has revealed, you find it hard to answer him.
Gods, the things he has experienced…
Your heart is crying for him too, loud and unyielding and a shiver courses through you—not from the cold of the evening wind, but because you can feel his pain.
"I don’t ever want to be weak again either," you whisper after a moment of silence, and close your burning eyes.
"What happened? What happened that day?" Azriel‘s voice is hoarse, as if he struggles to speak too.
"I was an apprentice at a locksmith near Sangravah. When the Hybern soldiers came they destroyed everything in their way." You need a moment to breathe as slowly the memories return—one after the other, and each more painful.
"I don’t exactly remember what happened, but one male came close to me, turned to the fire I had just lit, put a torch in it and set the whole place on fire. I wanted to run, but couldn’t escape fast enough. The windows burst and the glass splinterd …"
You know he can imagine the rest.
"I‘m so sorry." His hand trembles on yours and you can hear the tears in his voice.
"I was just lying there, everything hurt. I was at my lowest point until Morrigan found me."
You can hear him swallow, roughly, before clearing his throat.
"Do you trust me when I tell you that after our bargain is completed you will no longer feel weak."
"I trust you." And you really do. It‘s no lie. You trust him and you know yourself that the training, all the exercises you do for balance and to sharpen your focus, are beneficial for you and your wellbeing.
You blow out a long breath, tipping your head back, your eyes facing the sky above you, and despite not being able to see you know it is covered in a million stars.
"Speaking of the bargain," you begin and a sheepish smile forms on your lips. "You haven‘t completed your task yet."
"You really want me to sing for you?" He chuckles softly.
"It‘s part of the bargain, and you know what happens when you don’t fulfill your part." The smile turns into a grin.
"Well, so shall be it." Azriel tugs at your hand and together you sit down on the ground, so close your shoulder is resting against his.
Do you think I'd give upThat this might've shook the love from meOr that I was on the brink?How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?Now that it's doneThere's not one thing that I would changeMy life was a storm, since I was bornHow could I fear any hurricane?If someone asked me at the endI'll tell them put me back in itDarling, I would do it again, ah, ahIf I could hold you for a minuteDarling, I'd go through it again, ah, ahI would still be surprised I could find you, darlingIn any lifeIf I could hold you for a minuteDarling, I would do it again, ah, ah(Francesca by Hozier)
For a moment you don’t know how to react, eyes wet with tears. His voice is more beautiful than you could have ever imagined and it touched your heart and soul. A shiver runs through you, not from fear or cold, but from the beauty of his voice and the words he sang to you.
You swallow, and draw in a deep breath. Your fingers tremble and then you say, “Thank you.” You don’t really know what exactly you are thanking him for – him singing to you, the training, getting you out of the Library. Probably all of it, and your heart begins to glow. You know you are falling in love. Falling in love with the shadowsinger and it’s a beautiful feeling.
"Can I … I would like to touch you." Your eyes are still wet with unshed tears from how beautifully he sang.
A soft cough slips through Azriel’s lips.
"Your face. I would like to trace your features to create a picture of you in my mind," you immediately clarify when the innuendo in your request screams loudly at you in your mind.
He doesn’t answer, not in words, at least. His hand closer over yours before he brings it to his face. You feel the stubble on his chin beneath your palm, and then start to explore. Gently, you trace his eyebrows, his jawline, his nose and lastly, his lips.
He is beautiful, you know it without actually seeing him. Stunning, most definitely.
A sigh that has him parting his lips, fetches you back and you realise your thumb is still resting on his lower lip, no longer moving.
"Thank you." You pull your hand back, and heat flushes your cheeks. "I like you, Azriel."
There‘s a pause and Azriel doesn’t answer. It doesn’t unsettle you, you don’t expect him to say it back, you just wanted him to know.
"I like you too, Y/N," he finally admits. Once again you can hear the smile in his voice. And the honesty. And you can feel how his hand reaches for yours again, gently taking it into his much bigger one, lacing your fingers.
“What a coincidence,” you snicker, leaning into him. "And I like this." A small pause. "Being here with you on this quiet night."
Now, Azriel is the one to lean in, you can feel the press of his body against you and then he leans his head against yours.
"I like this a lot too," he whispers and his voice sounds a little sleepy.
"Maybe we could do this more often?" Hope laces your voice as you pose your question.
With a small laugh he agrees and you know that you have never heard him so joyful before.
>>>>>>>>>
“Let’s do it differently this time.“
Azriel is standing so close, his chest almost touching yours and even though you have hugged him the day before, this feels different now. More intimate. Yesterday his arms offered comfort as you cried, today … it feels different.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs. “Feel the way the wood feels beneath your fingertips. Listen to it, feel it, imagine it.”
You let your fingertips brush over the wood until you feel a much bigger hand wrap around your, its calluses scraping against your skin. Azriel is guiding your hand over the beam, slow and deliberate.
“Think about how you feel, think about how it will feel beneath your feet, imagine yourself walking over it. Be in the moment and forget about everything else, about your fear.“
Easier said than done, you want to say, but you allow yourself to trust him, to follow his lead and let his words settle into you.
Your fingers curl around the edge of the beam as your imagination sharpens. You have done a lot more grounding and balancing exercises in the days between your almost-fall and today. The confidence hasn’t returned fully, but partly and so you find yourself standing right next to the beam once more, ready to face it again. Soon. Not yet.
“You don’t have to see it. You just have to feel it,“ he whispers and he is so close you can feel his breath against your ear. “Be in the moment and feel it, every step. And when you’re ready, we’ll try again.“
You do as he tells you, almost as if becoming one with the beam. Underneath your palm you feel the faint humming of the wood, and become hyper aware of ever little splinter, every hole and every fibre.
Your breath evens out, your mind sharp and focused, the task ahead a clear vision within your brain and a sense of willingness fills you.
You want to do it. You want to manage walking this beam. Not for anyone but only for yourself. You want to prove it to yourself that you are ready, that you can do it.
And so, in a voice full of confidence, you say, "I‘m ready to try again."
A proud hum sounds from Azriel, his hand slipping away from yours so he can give you space to turn. He once again helps you climb the few steps, and so you find yourself in a similar position again as a few days ago. But this time you won’t let your fear win.
Your breathing steadies as you place one foot in front of the other and take a small break, balancing yourself in the moment, feeling the wood beneath your bare foot, becoming one with the obstacle ahead of you.
"I know you can do it," Azriel says from beside you, his presence as grounding as ever. "Don’t let your fear win. Never let it take the upper hand."
Determination takes root in your chest, and you step forward, each movement deliberate, strong and still careful.
"Use your senses,“ Azriel says. "You may not be able to see, but you can always rely on your hearing. On what you feel."
Your focus narrows, sharpening as you start to move with the beam — it sways and you sway with it.
"That’s it!" Gwyn cheers from the other side of it. "Move with it! Find your rhythm."
And you do as told. One step after the other, always in balance, every movement in sync with your breaths. Your puls starts to hum —not with fear, but with confidence— as you walk, forward and forward until you stop.
You stop and give yourself a short break to arrive in the moment. To grasp what is happening. You’re truly doing this and a smile blooms on your lips.
"Don’t overthink,“ you can hear Azriel say beside you and you give your head a small, barely there shake.
"I don’t,“ you hum. "I’m just enjoying the moment. I can do it!“
If he answers something, you don’t know because you start to walk again, driven by confidence and a fire within your soul that you thought has long died down.
You know it’s only a few more steps, you know it without Azriel having to tell you. You can feel it, you can see it in your mind. Every last step you take is measured, your muscles remembering every movement you practiced even though the beam starts to wobble.
You won’t stop, you won’t give up and you won’t fall this time. You can feel a small shift, knowing that now you’re almost at the end the beam will start to sway even more. But you’re not afraid. You breathe through it, and keep going.
Until!
Strong arms catch you before you can take the next step, lifting you off the wood and onto the ground, a heartfelt laugh embracing you like a warm coat. "You did it, Y/N! You fucking did it!“
"I did,“ you breathe, and it sounds almost a little like a question. Like you can’t quite believe it. But then joy fills you, every fibre of your being and a smile breaks out on your face. "I did it!“
He takes your hands into his, squeezing them lightly and you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Yes, you did it“.
There’s also pride in the shadowsinger’s voice and it does something to your heart.
Bliss spreads throughout your entire body, raw and overwhelming, and before you can stop yourself, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek—or at least, to where you hope his cheek is.
He stiffens immediately, you can feel it, his demeanour shifting.
Azriel’s shadows start to swirl frantically around the two of you as heat flushes your skin.
“I—uh…” His voice falters, and Azriel clears his throat.
If you didn’t know better, you would say you could hear Gwyn snickering in the background.
The smile on your face turns into a big grin, you just can’t help it. "Thank you, Azriel!“ You take a step closer to him again. "Thank you for helping me and showing me what I am capable of!“
"You don’t need to thank me. This was all your doing! I took no part in what you managed today!“
"But you did, Shadowsinger!“ you insist, closing the distance between you and pressing your palms flat against his chest. "You showed me how to find confidence in myself, you gave me strength and you … sang for me. So let me thank you! Let me show you my gratitude.“
"I sang for you because I wanted to, Y/N. And I helped you because I knew that there was so much you could do and that you have the strength to do something great,“ he hums and it sounds joyful. "But if you insist, will you allow me to take you out for dinner?”
tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @eerievixen @feyretopia @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @illyrian-dreamer @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel @berryzxx
@cataclysmica @its-sam-allgood @sstrohma @sidthedollface2 @anuttellaa @vaf24 @arcticfoxxes @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @velarisnightsky444 @weirdo-fun
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Hi, just wanted to say that I love your work! Especially with Benny and Frankie so much that I have an idea for Benny! Female reader (not picky about the name) meets Benny at a bar days after she catches her now ex-boyfriend cheating on her and they hook up at his place, but she leaves before he wakes up. She later finds out she's pregnant but doesn't tell anyone who the father is. Months later while still pregnant, her friends convince her to come with them to see a MMA fight and low and behold Benny is there fighting. He doesn't see her at first, but when the fight ends (which he wins) he sees her and she leaves abruptly while hiding her stomach since she's wearing baggy clothing. However, Benny manages to catch up to her, where she reveals the news to him. They then talk some more at her place where he reveals to her that she's been on his mind ever since that night and begins the start of something new.
One Night Can Change Everything
Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 6400+
Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!
Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
Notes: Rea is a general nickname for a “reader” character that @mermaidxatxheart came up with and I think that’s genius! This is not beta’d.
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❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)
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**Reader is not described
Main Masterlist
Benny Miller Masterlist
“Ok, that’s it. I’m making you get out of this bed now,” My best friend Sage declares as she towers over my bed, where I have lived for the past several days. Ever since I caught my boyfriend sleeping with my co-worker. Co-workerS.
Ex-boyfriend now, I suppose.
I groan, attempting to roll over but Sage grabs my shoulder and flips me back over, digging her fingers lovingly into my skin. “I love you Rea, I do. But you have to get out of this bed. He’s not worth it.”
She’s right. I know she is. But we had been dating for nearly 2 years, mostly. It was on and off, but we had talked about marriage, kids, all of it. I thought he would be my forever but apparently, I was his “for now”.
Fuck this asshole.
I sit up quickly, nearly colliding with Sage, and yank the covers off me, determination flooding my veins, choking out the hurt. For now, at least.
“Alright, alright. I’m up.”
Sage points to the bathroom. “First, please take a shower. Then we’re going to Mick’s.”
I’d almost forgotten about Mick’s, Sage’s favorite bar. Probably because it’s full of rugged, blue-collar men and Sage definitely has a type. Not that I can blame her.
“Ok, but I’m just going for you. And science.”
Sage snorts. “Sure, Rea. Sure. Don’t forget to shave.”
—--------------
An hour later and I’m walking into Mick’s front door, loud music vibrating through me. It’s busy, but I’ve seen it busier and we manage to snag a couple of stools at the bar. Within 10 minutes, Sage is led to the dance floor by some burly lumberjack, complete with flannel shirt and all. I throw my hand up in the air in a “what about me” motion as she glances behind her, shrugging and gesturing around the room before focusing all of her attention on the flannel clad bear of a man in front of her, who is surprisingly agile. I turn back to the bar, taking my hand off the top of my glass, tossing the last of the liquid down my throat, coughing slightly at the burn. I set my glass down, my finger trailing along the rim, wondering if I should call an Uber or wait for my friend, when a man slides in next to me, flagging down the bartender.
“5 beers, please.” His voice has a slight drawl to it, his tone warming me all over.
“Seems a lot for one man.” Where the hell did that courage come from?
The man, clad in a button up light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up that opens to reveal a camo print shirt, turns his head to me and for what feels like days, I’m rendered speechless. This man is gorgeous - a sloping nose, sandy blonde hair that flips out from behind his backward hat, some patchy facial hair, and the most intensely blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They glance quickly down my body and back up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Ain’t all for me, sweetheart. Got a table full of impatient assholes waiting for a beer.”
I cock my head to the side. “You lose a bet or something?”
The man tips his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking with it and I feel my body tingle. I could listen to that sound forever.
“How the hell did you know that?” His smile is wide, all of his attention on me, his eyebrows raised in question.
I shrug. “I’d send the guy who lost a bet to get the first round, at least.”
He chuckles. “Smart girl…I’m Ben. Friends call me Benny.”
I tell him my name. “But my friends call me Rea.”
“I like that. Nice to meet you, Rea.” He sticks his hand out to shake mine, but before I can, 4 beers slide in front of him and he glances down at them, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
Finding courage from somewhere, I lay my hand on his forearm and have to resist squeezing. “You have to go back so soon?”
He smiles again, the skin around his eyes crinkling with it. “Nah, sweetheart. I’ll be right back. Promise me you’ll wait right here?” There go the eyebrows again, pulling together and making him look like a puppy. Fuck I am so screwed.
“I’ll be waiting.”
He hesitates for a brief second before taking my hand and kissing the back of it. “Now that’s something to make a man move fast.” He winks, grabs the four beers, and heads off into the crowd, making his way towards the back of the room. Hate to see him leave, but damn I’m loving watching him go, his 6’3 frame easily visible over the crowd. He drops off the beers somewhere at the back of the room, turning quickly to push his way back through the crowd, his eyes locking on mine and giving me a sly smile.
“You waited.” He slides back into the barstool next to me as I pull my leg from it, the universal gesture for this is saved.
Fuck his eyes are so blue. “You came back.”
A smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
I look down for a moment, my mind going back to my ex and all of his cheating, making me feel less than. Benny seems to sense something, his large hand hesitating a moment before he gently squeezes my arm. “You ok?”
I shake my head, my eyes locking back on his blues. “Yeah. I’m great now you’re here.”
Benny is easy to talk to, fun, and flirty. He’s in Delta Force, or was, with his actual brother, one of the men that he’d owed a beer to earlier. We talk about everything and anything, Benny eventually pulling me to the dance floor and whisking me about, sometimes dancing and other times being silly and smiling when I laugh. After several songs, we need a break, managing to snag a couple of stools at the bar, sipping on a couple of drinks.
“So you live local?” He asks me, taking another swig from his beer.
I nod. “Yeah. I don’t typically come here, but my friend Sage dragged me out of the house.”
“Well remind me to thank her. She here?”
“Actually,” I turn and look out at the crowd for several moments, finally seeing her in the back corner, making out with Flannel Bear Man. I chuckle. “Yeah, she’s a little occupied.”
Benny chuckles, taking another swig of his beer, his free hand hesitating a moment before landing on my bare thigh, just above my knee. “Well I can keep you company.”
His warm hand against my skin has my brain short-circuiting. I can’t think of what to say so I return his question. “Are you local?”
He nods, his thumb slowly rubbing circles across my skin. “Yeah. But some water main or somethin’ broke in my building. They put us all up in hotels until they fix it. Burst a few pipes.”
“Oh no! Is your stuff ok?” I place my hand over his on my leg, giving it a little squeeze and move it further up my thigh, heat immediately rushing to an area not far from where his hand is.
He clears his throat. “Uh, y-yeah. Well, I had some water damage but didn’t lose anythin’ big. They just have to put down new floors.”
The music volume suddenly goes up by several volumes, turning the place into a mini club. Benny winces and I can see that it triggers him, the loud sounds and people becoming a little much. I lean in closer to his ear, gently rubbing circles into the back of his hand.
“It’s too fucking loud! Wanna get out of here?” I pull my head back to look at him, our faces only an inch apart. His eyes flit between mine, briefly pausing on my lips.
“If you’re sure, hell yeah.”
I smile and he returns it before I lean back into his ear. “Let me flag my friend down and let her know. Stay right here so I don’t lose you.”
He turns his head, his nose brushing against my cheek. “I’ll be right here.” Hating that I have to move, I gently place his hand on his thigh and give him a wink before turning, scanning the corner where I had last seen Sage. She’s still there, Flannel Bear Man sucking on her neck. I force my way through the crowd and eventually emerge in front of her. Sage’s gaze takes a moment to settle on me.
“Rea! Where’ve you been?” She yells above the music.
I gesture to where I came from. “At the bar. Waiting for you.”
She gasps as Flannel Bear Man starts to bite her skin. “S-sorry, Rea. I-”
I cut her off, not wanting to intrude any longer. “No worries. I’m getting out of here. With a guy. I’ll get an Uber.”
Sage reaches out and grips my wrist, breaking the suction from Flannel Man who only seems to just realize I’m standing here.
“A guy? You found someone? Do you need condoms?”
“Sage! I have to go!”
“Wait!” She pulls her clutch from somewhere and digs around in it, quickly sliding a few foiled square packages in my hand. “ Remember, it’s just a rebound. Don’t get attached. Have fun and be safe!”
I can’t help the heat in my cheeks, but I tuck the condoms in my bag. “Thanks. I’ll ping you my location.”
Sage releases my wrist and smiles at me before I turn back to Benny, shoving my way through more bodies on the dance floor. I emerge on the other side and see him still sitting where I left him, hat turned backward and looking so fucking hot.
This is all so unlike me, but I like Benny. Sage’s words echo through my head “it’s just a rebound. Have some fun.”
I walk up to Benny and he turns his head, standing and giving me a wide smile. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”
I nod and he offers me his hand, which I happily accept, his touch warming me all over as he guides us through the crowd and out the front door, the volume immediately decreasing the moment the door closes behind us.
“Now I can hear myself think!” Benny chuckles as he pulls my hand to his lips, lightly brushing them against my knuckles, his puppy dog eyes on mine. “Did you drive?
“Hhhm? Oh, uh no. Uber.”
Benny nods. “I have my jeep. I can drive us somewhere? Unless you’d feel safer using Uber?”
I study him for a moment, deciding that I trust him. “I love Jeeps.”
He smiles, his grip on my hand tightening slightly as he directs me to the parking lot, chatting a little too fast about his Jeep, like he’s nervous. He helps me into the passenger side, sliding across the hood to make it to the driver’s side quicker, smiling at my laugh. He starts the Jeep and gets the ac started before turning to me.
“Where to?”
It’s just a rebound. Have fun. “I’d love to see your hotel.”
His eyebrows raise, that same smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah? You don’t have to. I mean, we could just get a burger or somethin’.”
I look down at my hands in my lap. Did I misread the signals? He was definitely coming on to me, right? I wasn’t reading into that? Before I can spiral further, Benny puts his hand over mine. “Hey, look. I like you and think you’re fucking hot as hell and would love to take you to my room to uh, show you the room. But I don’t want to presume or make you feel obligated or anything.”
I would choose a fucking gentlemen for a rebound. Fuck. I close my hand over his and meet his eyes. “Thanks, Benny. I don’t want to push you or presume either.”
He chuckles once, removing his hand to put his Jeep in reverse and then back into drive. “Sweetheart, you can take advantage of me any day.”
That breaks the awkwardness and has us laughing, falling back into conversation easily as Benny navigates through traffic. Gently, I lay his hand on my bare thigh again, wrapping my hand over his. He’s talking about something, I honestly can’t focus because he’s started to move, his fingers tracing slow lines across my skin as his hand moves further up my leg, getting closer to where I desperately want him to be. We hit a red light and the Jeep goes quiet, Benny turning to look at me as he slides his hand further up, his pinkie finger just barely tracing the crease of my thigh, heat and wet pooling just beyond his touch. My lips part and I let out a gasp of air, my eyes finding his.
There’s a moment of hesitation but then I grip his shirt, pulling him towards me, our lips crashing together. He nips at my bottom lip and I gasp, Benny taking full advantage to slide his tongue into my open mouth, a small moan escaping me. His free hand leaves the steering wheel to grip the back of my head, holding me to him as he explores my mouth. The car behind us honks and we jump apart, the light having already turned green. Benny sticks his hand up to apologize to the car behind us, driving on, but immediately places his hand back on me, this time, his pinkie grazes up my panties and I squirm a little in my seat, not used to this much attention. He stills his movements.
“Is it too much?” He’s actually concerned.
“More like, not enough.”
Benny makes it to his hotel in record time.
Heated touches and kisses down the hallway has Benny dropping his room key a few times. As he tries to jam it into the lock, I slide my hands around him from behind, moving up his stomach from under his shirt and fuck he has a nice body, my hands moving lightly over his toned chest. He finally jams the key into the lock and flings the door open, tossing his keys on top of the dresser. He spins back around to face me, his eyes blown wide and dark with lust.
He swallows hard. “Are you…are you sure?”
I step close to Benny, gently take his wrist and turn his hand palm up. One hand still holding his, I open my bag and fish out one of the foil squares, and place the condom in Benny’s hand. He glances down at it before looking back at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“Rea, did you get a condom from your friend?”
I can feel the heat blooming in my cheeks. “No! I mean, technically yes but she-”
He cuts me off with his lips, one hand wrapped around my head and the other grips my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he pulls me flush against him. I can feel him hard beneath his jeans and I moan into his kiss, pressing myself against him so I can try to relieve some of the rapidly increasing hear between my thighs. He moves us and I feel the bed hit the back of my knees, but he holds me tighter before breaking the kiss. Both of us rip the shirts from our bodies, my bra quickly following. I reach for my pants but he grabs my wrists and stills them, his blue eys falling to my chest. He gently cups a boob and lightly pinches the nipple and I gasp, the small movement shooting straight between my legs.
Then Benny sinks to his knees, eye level with my pants. He pops open the button on my jeans, sliding them down my legs where I help him kick them off. His large fingers trace the outline of my panties, the heat pooling there as I gasp at his touch. He hooks his fingers into them and slides them down my legs too, his eyes locked on the space between my thighs.
“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he half whispers. A half chuckle escapes me before it turns into a moan as he slides his nose up my slit, bumping into my clit. He growls, using my hips to push me down on the bed, tossing my legs over his shoulders like it was nothing.
Which I have no time to think about because his mouth is on me, his hands on my inner thighs, pressing them further apart, widening his canvas. His tongue explores me, seeking all the areas that have me writhing under his firm grip. He somehow finds spots that I didn’t even know existed, sucking lightly, lapping, the coil of pleasure quickly tightening until a sound erupts from me, somewhere between a chant and a moan, my fingers gripping his hair to keep him in the same spot as he prolongs my release.
My head is in a blissful haze, but I manage a whine as he pulls away from me, taking his pants off when he does. I hear the sound of the condom opening and I watch him as he rolls the condom on himself. I lean up on my elbows to see better, because he’s gorgeous, not girthy but longer, and definitely not anywhere near a size I’ve had in me.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take my time.” I blink, looking up at his face and see that there’s a hint of concern there, like he wants to make sure I’m comfortable.
I scoot further up on the bed to give him more space. “Don’t worry about me. I can take you.”
His eyes darken and he grabs my ankle, yanking me back down towards the end of the bed. I squeal, my body heating up again as he lowers himself between my legs. He pauses, his eyes bright as he glances between my own.
“You’re so beautiful,” there’s that almost whisper voice again, his eyebrows pulling together so he looks like a puppy.
“So are you, Benny.” We take each other in for a few more moments, my body about to burst with all of the tension and hormones racing through it. “Now please fuck me, now.” I know I’m begging, but I don’t care.
And neither does Benny, apparently, as he smirks. “Yes ma’am.”
He slowly presses his hips forward and I let out a moan as he stretches me, pushing further and further in. I’m not sure how, but he bottoms out, dropping his head to my chest, breathing heavy for a moment.
“Fuck, you feel so good. Gimme a sec so I don’t blow my load like a teenager.”
I manage some sort of confirmation sound, but then a moment later, he slowly pulls out and presses back in, repeating this a few times so I can adjust to his length. It’s driving me mad and I writhe under him, feeling every inch of him as he slowly moves in and out of me. He pulls out, his hips pausing as he looks down at me and it’s like time stops. Just for a moment. Then his lips crash to mine as he pushes forward quickly, sliding into me in one fast movement and I cry out, my hands gripping his biceps, nails digging into his skin as his hips set a fast pace, his direction and speed adjusting to my moans of pleasure. Every time he pushes in, he hits a spot somewhere at the back of me, a place no one has touched, and it sends sparks through my vision, my entire body like a livewire as he pushes me towards the edge.
“Fuck, Benny, I’m gonna-” my body ignites, pleasure radiating out from my cunt, his name tumbling from my lips in praise, begging him to keep going, or stop, or do it again. I have no idea, my head so engulfed in pleasure.
“Fuck!” He yells, pressing into me one last time before he grunts, little pants and gasps tumbling from him. His head falls to my chest as he comes down.
We stay like that for several moments, trying to catch our breath. Eventually, Benny pulls out, tossing the condom in the trash can by the bed before rolling onto his back next to me.
“What’s your third favorite dinosaur?”
I laugh, my entire body moving with it as Benny joins in, tears running down our cheeks as my movements turn me towards him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question, let alone just after sex.”
Benny shrugs, smiling. “Had to break the tension and awkwardness somehow.”
“Well that definitely works!”
His face grows serious. “You didn’t answer the question.”
After that laughing fit, I think on it a moment. “Pterodactyl. Because they can fly.”
Benny nods. “Interesting. What’s your favorite then?”
“Nope. I’m saving that answer for after round 2.”
His eyes grow dark almost instantly. “Round 2? Like, tonight?”
“Well, my friend gave me a whole row of condoms and I don’t want to take any home.”
—----
A few hours later, I’m laying in Benny’s bed, thoroughly fucked, Benny sprawled across the bed on his stomach, lightly snoring. He’s so fucking beautiful. But then Sage’s words echo in my head “It’s just a rebound. Have fun and bounce.” I sigh, unsure of what to do. I actually do like Benny, but is that just because he’s the first guy to actually pay attention to me in a long while? Self-doubt seeps in, my ex’s hurtful words and actions taking away the blissful feeling I’d had moments before. I shake my head, telling myself that if any of it was true, I wouldn’t be in a gorgeous man’s bed, a man who just spent the last few hours pulling every spark of pleasure possible from me.
I quietly stand, gathering up my clothes. I get them on and lace up my boots, trying not to wake Benny. It’s better if I leave before he wakes up. Rebounds don’t work out anyway, so why prolong the inevitable?
I turn to head towards the door and see the hotel pad of paper and pen next to the phone on the dresser. I stare at it a moment before grabbing the pen, scrawling a quick “Thank You” with a heart at the end. I slide it under his keys and walk to the door, glancing back at the sleeping form of Benny, the man who just restored my confidence. I close it quietly behind me, making sure the lock clicks into place and request an Uber to take me home.
—----
Over the next few weeks, I try to get Benny out of my head. I try to stop thinking about him or talking about him. I know he’s a rebound, and those relationships don’t work out, as Sage has reminded me more than once. And I’m not sure I’m ready for a new relationship. I think. But talking to him had been so easy, effortless. Like we had been friends since forever. In a moment of desperation, I looked up the hotel on my Uber app and called it, knowing they wouldn’t give me any information about Benny. I can’t blame them. I don’t even know his last name.
—----
2 lines. The pink lines emerge bright against the white of the testing stick, showing me the same result as the other 4 pregnancy tests I’d taken. My stomach lurches again and I make it to the toilet just in time. I close the lid and flush, wiping my mouth with a washcloth as I stare at my reflection. How the fuck did this happen? We’d used a condom every time, and he used them correctly. It must have been a faulty condom. Fuck, Benny. How am I going to tell him? No really, how? I don’t even know his last name and now I’m having his child. A knock at the door pulls me from my spiral.
“Rea?”
I sniff and wipe my face again. “Pregnant.”
She’s silent for just a beat. “Can I come in?”
I make a noise in approval and she opens the door, heads directly for me and pulls me into a hug where I let myself lose it. Tears streaming down my face, dry heaving breaths, all of it. It takes me a while to calm down enough to talk. Sage wipes my face with a cool cloth and it helps to soothe me a bit more.
“Are you going to tell him?”
I scoff. “How, Sage?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Call the hotel? They have to have his info.”
I shake my head. “They won’t give it to me. Especially since I don’t know his last name.”
Sage cocks her head to the side. “How do you know?”
“Oh. I uh, I may have called a few weeks ago to uh try and uh…find. Him.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it. “That doesn’t really matter now. Do you know what you want to do?”
There’s so much I don’t know. I don’t know Benny’s last name. I don’t know where he lives, just that it’s local. I don’t know what he’d even say. I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know a lot. But there’s one thing that I did know right away.
“I’m keeping the baby.”
Sage takes a deep breath and nods once. “I can’t wait to be an auntie.”
—----
“Come on, Rea! You need to get out.”
I sigh, rubbing the side of my belly. “I’m 6 months pregnant, Sage. I don’t belong at an MMA fight.”
Sage copies my sigh and places her hand over mine. “You’ve been cooped up in your room for weeks. Just…come out to get some fresh air?”
“By sitting in a crowded auditorium surrounded by drunks?”
Sage shrugs. “I’m sure they won’t be drunk drunk. Besides, Henry has a special section all roped off just for us.”
Henry is super sweet. The burly bear sized, flannel clad man from Mick’s had fit right into our friendship, even becoming a sort of surrogate brother for me. And it’s clear to me that he loves Sage with everything he is just by the way he looks at her.
I sigh again, shrugging in a defeated manner. Sage squeals and grips my arm. “Thank you! Oh, you’ll have fun! Just wait and see!”
So now I find myself in a crowded auditorium, surrounded by people drinking. Well, ok the crowd isn’t bad around us. Sage was right - Henry had literally roped off an entire section just for us and glared at anyone who tried to grumble about it. He was really into MMA and had a couple of cousins that were fighting so he always had tickets to some match that was happening. Are they called matches? I don’t know.
Whatever they’re called, we’re a few in, Henry leaning over to tell us about each of the fighters as they’re announced. These matches are pretty brutal - I didn’t realize just how violent they can get, even with rules in place. The last match ends and the guy with the mop comes back out, cleaning away the blood that came from the last guy losing several teeth with a blow. Once cleaned, the microphone squeaks back on to announce the next fighters.
“From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing 6’3, weighing in at 195 pounds, I give you BEN MILLER!”
A familiar memory scratches at the back of my head as the crowd screams and the doors open from the locker rooms somewhere in the throngs of people now on their feet. Henry leans in to yell in my ear.
“This guy is great! He’s kicked my cousin’s asses a few times! He…”
Whatever he said after fades into the background, which has dimmed to a loud hum, as Ben Miller struts into the ring, tossing his shirt to the side, revealing a very familiar tattoo and his face finally comes into my view.
Benny.
My stomach leaps into my throat, my heart hammering through my chest as I stare down at the man who I could never shake from my mind, even before I was having his child. Which he doesn’t know about.
A bell dings and Benny takes a few steps towards his opponent, who immediately clocks him in his jaw, Benny’s head flying backwards. The man manages to get a couple more hits in, Benny almost absorbing all of the hits. But then the man hesitates and Benny takes that moment to attack, winding his way around the ring, jabbing at his opponent in swift, concise, planned motions. The man only stays up for a few more seconds before crumbling to the ground and giving in. The crowd goes wild as the ref holds Benny’s arm in the air, blood trickling down from his nose, a giant smile on his face. My stomach lurches and I quickly stand, yelling something about the bathroom to Sage as I grab my jacket and run for the doors, the room suddenly too small and loud. I shove open the arena’s double doors and stumble out into the nearly empty hallway. The doors close behind me and I pause a moment, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. But then the doors open behind me again and I attempt to stand up right.
“Rea?”
Benny’s voice echoes down the hallway and through me, my insides simultaneously tightening with nerves but also excited and swooning at his fucking calming tone. My back is to him but I don’t move. He takes a step closer.
“Rea? Is that you?”
Fuck. This isn’t how I would want him to find out. But how would he find out? It’s not like I could find him. I didn’t even know his last name. I don’t-
“Are you ok?”
His voice is closer now, only a few steps behind me. I swallow hard, willing myself to hold it together as I turn to face him, keeping my jacket covering my belly. His bright blue eyes immediately find mine, a smile quicking spreading across his beautiful face. He’s still shirtless and I have to focus to keep my eyes on his face.
“Rea! It is you! I thought I saw your face in the crowd! Did you see me fight?”
I manage a small smile. “Y-yeah. I did. Congrats.”
He shrugs. “Thanks. That guy was easy but when I saw you, I thought maybe he’d hit my head harder than I thought. What…I mean uh, how are you?”
I sigh, my small smile dropping. “I…I have to tell you something.”
His expression turns serious. “Ok. But if it’s about me not calling you, you sort of left me without a last name or number.” He chuckles but stops when I don’t react.
I hold his gaze a moment longer before letting my jacket fall to the side, exposing my belly under my form fitting black dress. His eyes immediately fall to my belly, his head turning to the side as he takes it in. I can see the moment it clicks, only a second or 2 after I moved my jacket, his eyes widening as his brain works double time to do the math. He points to himself.
“Is that…am I…the dad?”
I nod, rubbing my hand along the side of my belly where the baby is currently moving. “Yes.” I wait for the yell or scoff of disbelief, storming off, telling me I won’t get anything. All of what I had anticipated. But when I look up at him I see tears shining in his bright blues.
“You’re not fuckin’ with me?” His eyebrows pinch together, enhancing the shine from his tears and I shake my head.
“No. You’re the only one I’ve been with since my ex.”
His eyes shift down to my belly again and his hands start to reach out, but then he stops, looking back up at me. “May I?”
I give him a small smile and nod. “Yeah.”
Benny drops to his knees in front of me, placing each of his large hands on either side of my belly, rubbing small circles into my skin. I take his hand and move it, placing it right over where I’d just felt movement.
“He was just kicking over here.”
His eyes shoot up to mine. “A boy? I’m gonna have a son?”
Fuck how can his eyebrows do that? “Yeah. A son.”
And the tears start to fall, quietly streaking down his cheeks as he laughs, trying to dab at them with the hand I hadn’t just moved. “Hey, little man. It’s me. Your dad.” A hard kick lands right in Benny’s hand and he whoops, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You got your old man’s feet!” He continues to talk to my belly in the middle of the hallway, not caring if anyone sees him. His face is animated and lit up, despite the dried blood caked under his nose and for a second, I can see an entire future laid out before us. A wedding, a house, dancing together, maybe more kids. The love. It’s only when I snap out of this fairytale vision that I realize I was smoothing back his hair. I yank my hands back and drop them to my sides.
“Shit I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
He glances up at me. “Nah it’s ok. Actually, it felt good.” He watches me for a moment before his expression hardens. “Ok I need to get off this floor.”
He waves away my offer of a helping hand, gesturing towards my belly as he groans, standing to his full height before stretching out his legs. “I’m gettin’ too old to be kneeling on hard ass floors.”
We’re quiet for several moments, each of us just watching the other.
“Why did you leave without sayin’ anything?”
I take a deep breath. “Benny, I…I’m sorry. I thought about you after that night. A lot. My friend had told me to just make it a rebound, to get my ex out of my head. Which it did, but what I didn’t expect was..well..you. I liked, well…like you a lot. You make me laugh, have some amazing stories, you’re funny, and hot as hell. But you also make me feel seen and heard. Like I wasn’t just there for convenience, which is ironic considering how we met, I realize that. I thought about trying to find you but the hotel wouldn’t tell me anything and I didn’t have anything to go by. And then I found out I was pregnant and I feel so guilty for not t- telling y- you, but I di-didn’t know h-how. I’m so s-s-sorry!” I can’t fight the pregnancy hormones anymore and the tears come, streaming down my face as I try to turn away, looking down and wiping furiously at my face. But then he’s there, pulling me towards him as best he can, his hand cradling the back of my head.
“Hey, it’s ok. I never did tell you my last name or ask for your number neither. I could’ve but I didn’t.” My crying slows and he pulls back just enough to look down at me, wiping away a tear. “And I’ve regretted it ever since. I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you either, Rea. But I really had no way of finding you. But now that we’ve found each other again, can I have your number? I’d really like to take you to dinner.”
I let out a shaky chuckle. “It’s ok, Benny. You don’t have to do that.”
He cocks his head. “Do…what?”
“Take me to dinner. Listen, you can be as involved as you want. I won’t hold you to anything. I just wanted you to know. But you don’t have to-”
“No. I’m not asking you out because you’re pregnant. I’m asking you out because I’ve wanted to for months and regretted it every day that I didn’t.”
“Benny, really. It’s ok.”
“No, I- will you wait right here a moment?”
I nod and he places his hand on my belly once more, his son giving him another thump before he practically runs back through the double doors. Once they close, I walk over to the wall and lean my back against it, my emotions running through me. Is he telling the truth? Were we both just fucking idiots? That’s an obvious yes. But still, I don’t want him to feel like he owes me. It would be nice to hang with him again, though. No, Rea. Don’t make him feel forced. The double doors fly open and Benny comes running up to me, his wallet in his hand.
“I don’t need money, Ben-”
He shakes his head. “No. Well I mean if you need it, I’ll gladly give it but that’s not…here.” He slides out a small slip of paper from behind his driver’s license and unfolds it, handing it to me.
It’s the thank you note I scribbled to him and left in the hotel.
Tears well in my eyes again. “You..you kept this?”
His eyes sparkle as they look at me. “Hell yeah I did. I told you, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. But I had no way of findin’ you. I went to the bar every night hoping to see you walk in. But I never did.”
“I got too busy with work and then..” I gesture down to my belly and he laughs, placing a hand on my stomach again.
“Yeah I can’t blame you for not wanting to be in a bar. Especially your first trimester.”
My eyebrows raise. “What do you know about trimesters?”
“My sister was a hot fuckin’ mess during hers. Sick all the time, emotional, all of it. She felt bad about it too no matter how much we told her not to worry. My niece is 5 now and has the attitude to match.” He chuckles. “I can’t wait to meet this little guy..my little guy. Ours? Fuck this is hard to say.”
“Either way, I’m just glad you can say it.” I clutch the paper in my hand for a moment before handing it back to him.
“So when’s that dinner?”
We’re married a year later.
---------------------------------
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